WTF?

So there I was at the Tuesday market saying hi to Carl.
Whoa, WTF? That is one crazy squash!
"Yeah, everyone says that but no one is gonna buy it."
Serious?
"Yep."

An hour and a half later*, I'm finally leaving. I hear Carl say "hey, you have your car today?"
Yeah.
"Then either you're taking apples or that damn squash!"
I struggled back with two grocery sacks and at least a fifteen pound marina di chioggia, all while leaving a hand free for my three-year old to hold.

I had good intentions on making some gnocchi. Then halloween hit and I found myself looking at this cucurbita and thinking it looked like some big rumply brain. Dude, brain-o-lantern!

It was a bit tough for carving. The skin wasn't so bad to get through, but the flesh was hella-thick! I sawed away at it, then cut some from the inside too, and still needed to hack some more. I managed though, and I think it turned out pretty good. The kids liked it, saying something like "daddy's pumpkin is silly!"


Yep, silly indeed. But when else am I gonna have such a crazy squash at my disposal? Besides, tomorrow, if the slugs didn't get it in the night, I just might go "recover" some of the flesh from one of the thickest spots and look up a gnocchi recipe.

Because hey, like WTF?



* I've been known to linger at the market for hours, but today I was actually working on something.

hints that spring is nearly here

Sometimes, here in sunny California, it can be a little confusing as to exactly when it's spring. Sure, you've got that whole equinox thingy and all, but well before that, spring has sprung. The plants know what's up. Some keep track of the temperature while some pay attention to the sun's rays. Some pay attention to neither. Or both. I try to make sense of it all, but it's the little clues of it's arrival, such as these flowers placed so lovingly into the hood of my car. When I see this, I know spring is near.

Another way of telling is by who visits. Think about it. You probably have a few relatives or friends who you only see at certain times of the year. A holiday perhaps. If this regularity can be counted on then you start thinking things like: "oh, hey, auntie so and so is coming to town, it must be (insert occasion here)." When it's Saint Nick, you think x-mas. The Great Pumpkin, Halloween right? And so on and so forth. Well, around here, before that big damn bunny makes his appearance we get a visit from Princess Cinderella and the Pink Princess Mariposa. Yes, spring is here when I find myself making lunch for these two.

Maybe you are a devout eater of what's in season. If that's the case you'd probably say spring is here when you're eating asparagus or something else fresh, green and newly emerged from the cold or recently frozen ground. Now, I love my asparagus and all, but to me nothing says the arrival of spring like eating peach pie. You heard it: P E A C H P I E. The filling for this baby was made back at the end of September and tucked away into the freezer. With the warming weather and trying to imagine what we can cram in the freezer that is the last of winter's goodness, it seems we shall need to make some space. The peachy goodness has got to go. Next up is a bag of Red Haven pie filling. When that one goes, there ain't no more warm peachiness until I feel the fuzz from this year's crop on my lips.

When I really know it's spring though, is when the light streams through the Tofuhenge just so. It will pierce through one of the bean curd windows and illuminate the center with a nice clean line. With high enough air quality in the kitchen the light will even shine through all the way to the pull-down panels on the ancient Wedgewood. Of course you have to have constructed your "henge" with the proper alignment for this to happen, but when it finally does, as far as I'm concerned spring is here.

Silly readers, and you thought tofu was just for eating!

Happy almost sprung..........

gooey hearts day

Happy Gooey Hearts Day Honey!

I love my wife. She is the best-est pardner a monkey wrangler could ask for. She brings home the bacon and possesses the sensitivity and talent to bust out a few frosted pink buttercream with sugar sprinkles chocolate cupcakes for our family on this special day of pinkness and candy sweet things of joy.

You see, we have fallen head over heals in love with our kids. It is crazy labor of love food items like this that say so. (See, it's not just me in this household who goes overboard with the cooking love.) Apparently it's something designed into our primitive brains so we cook for our children and therefore we don't eat them.

Well, that said, what is better in the eyes of a four year old who is waaaaaay the epitome of girlie and the apple of our eyes, than having pink frosted cup cakes? As the princess of our little world, she deserves the best. Sometimes though, the princess can sound like anything but.

We were sitting on the livingroom floor. I had the wee one sitting between my legs with a few toys. The Innocent little princess was running about the room with a nylon strap that we have for the purpose of aiding in stretching during yoga and the sort. She came running over and plopped herself down in front of me and little dude. She smiled at us with a devious little twinkle and proceeded to tell us something very excitedly, leaving no doubt in my mind that what she was speaking was intended for her little brother and not a lovey or imaginary item:

"Daddy, I'm gonna catch him and drag him into my room!" she says, her eyes all big.
"Then, I'm gonna screwdriver him. In his eyeballs and his nose, his ears......and his teeth!"
I'm looking at her rather shocked I must say, but can hear my wife reminding me when I need it the most that it is better to hear these kinds of things rather than bear witness to the act. Like I said, I love my wife. We make a great pair.
The princess went on, her eyes looking up and away to the side imagining another horrid act to commit........"and in his toe jams" she squeels thinking she's hit the ultimate in brotherly torture.
She chuckles a bit and adds, "then I'm gonna poison him."

I told her to hold that thought and I immediately wrote down the exchange, to share with her and her brother when they are older. I thought about how I much I love my big sister and that we must have started off somewhere near this long ago. Seeing this quote by the computer for the past few days, I just had to share it on this here day of smoochiness and sugar. There are definitely two sides to love. At the very least, it is one long continuum, that you may find yourself anywhere along. With the case of siblings, and the perspective of the parent, you pray it moves toward the supportive, accepting, and not producing bodily harm end.

Our little princess has broken us into this whole parenting thing. Our younger one will just have to suffer the consequences.

Happy Gooey Hearts Day Everyone!

santa, chicken bones, fairies and magic

It was christmas eve night at about 9:30pm. We were on the bridge back home enjoying light traffic and happy children despite the late hour and occasion. After a brief moment of silence the elder monkey blurts out: "I see a white sleigh in the sky!"
"You do? Where honey?"
"Over there by the hills daddy!"
"Just above them right there hon?" I pointed to a plane, low in the sky heading southward, making sure to sound convincing and enthusiastic, "Is it the one with the blinking light right there?"
"YEAH!!! IT"S SANTA DADDY!!!!!!!"
"WOOOOWWWOWOW!!!!! That is soooo coool sweetie!"
"YEAHHHHH! SANTA!" she squeels.
"Wow. Santa must have a flashing safety light on the back of his sleigh just like mommy and daddy's bikes huh? You're eyesight is much better than mine but I can sure see the flashing light real well."
"Yeah, Santa has a flashing light on his sleigh so all the airplanes flying around don't hit crash into him. He's being real safe."
"Wow honey, not everyone sees Santa on his sleigh on christmas eve night!"
"Yeah, but I did!"

I've always wondered how old St. Nick gets around safely in such dense air traffic. Thanks to my knowledgeable and eagle-eyed daughter, I now know.

I was working on printing up a list of beer bottles available at a new bar here in oaktown. It specializes in belgain brews and features a few nice 'Merican ones as well. Have you heard of The Trappist? Like, damn, this place is cool. And, it has incredibly high alcohol belgian ales that encourage one to ride their bike rather than drive. I call that a step in the right direction.

In order to do a little homework before going and getting some exercise, I wanted to study-up on what's available, but my printer was acting all funky and paper was getting jammed. After trying three times with no success I finally pulled open the cover to have a thorough look. Nothing out of the ordinary except some tweaked and torn paper shreds. I cleared these and then slammed the cover shut in the prescribed fashion. Out popped a small object about 1/2 inch long and stick like, but with rounded edges and made out of some very light material. Oh crap I thought. Great, some tiny little tab of plastic snapped off and the printer is forever maimed. But the piece wasn't plastic. Or from the printer. It was one of those small chicken bones that always winds up being chomped on while enjoying chicken stewed in a chile verde. Apparently "someone" was not fond of having the bone in their possesion and it mysteriously ended up stuck under the edge of the printer. It reminded me of that maneuver where as a child you take the gum from your mouth and scrape it from your hand onto whatever edge your little fingers find under the folding chair at a family picnic. Only, I don't think anyone was sitting on top the printer while eating chicken verde. In a folding chair. That I know of that is.

But after my discovery, maybe I should look at it again and scan for gum too.

Once, riding the bike over to the farmers' market, the monkey spotted these and said "Look daddy! Christmas puppies!" I almost wrecked the bike laughing so hard.

I was reminded of this the other day, when we dropped H off at work and on the way home saw one of those electrical transformer boxes in Emeryville that are painted with stencil art. There are dozens of them, black shapes on yellow backgrounds. The one we saw was the typical profile view of a person (like the kind used in most crosswalk signs years ago) only this one had wings.
"Hey check out that art work over there; that person has wings!"
"Yeah I think it must be a fairy daddy!"
"You think?" I asked with a twinge of doubt, feeling myself slipping into playing the contrarian.
"Yes, a girl fairy."
"Really? How can you tell?"
"Because it has wings."
"You mean boy fairies don't have wings?"
"No."
"Not at all?"
"Well, they have one tiny little one, but it just flaps around in the breeze is all."
"Oh." I thought about it for a while then asked: "Sounds like it's better to be a girl fairy."
"Yeah, girl fairies are a lot better."

It really is a blessing to be in the presence of a set of eyes that don't have the same filters in place.

Why such big chairs? Well, it's kinda like around here when things happen or a new skill is demonstrated without any clear explanation of how exactly. It usually ends in "It must be magic daddy!"

Like this morning. Not sitting on such a large chair mind you, but unexpected indeed. I was making a dough when the elder monkey asked "Do you hear that Nutcracker music daddy? In the livingroom?"
"No. Do you?"
""Mmm hmmm," she says with a funny smile and then prances off. A few minutes later I walk in and discover that the Nutcracker is coming through the stereo and is about halfway through the performance.
"How did this come on?" I ask.
"I don't know." Said with a little shrug and smile.
"You mean it was just on when you came in here?"
"Yep!" Then she starts twirling around doing her best to be on her tippie toes.
"You sure you didn't turn it on sweetie?"
"Really I didn't daddy. I just used my magic!"

So according to that logic, from now on, all posting about food that contains a recipe will include an attempt to quantify the amount of "magic" that was used.

Call it a new years resolution of sorts.

Didn't think I was gonna get around to posting again, so sorry to sound repetitious but........

Happy New Year Everybody!

naan too soon

Naan experiment 1: Garlic Chevre with Sesame Seeds.

It all started innocently enough. A simple potluck invite and mention of a theme and next thing you know I've volunteered to do naan. That means it was time for a naan experiment, but, the recipes I had in my mind, to try all together somehow at once, called for yogurt and I hadn't any on hand. Or in my fridge. As usual, I had to make do with what was available. I figure garlic naan is good, so some gifted garlic chevre went in with some milk, to go along with the active starter as the liquid component for my dough. My typical ratio of 1/4 whole wheat would be used. The few recipes I read spoke of kneading the dough for longer than five minutes so I assumed that they were after gluten development. I went ahead and pounded away for a while, then set it to rise in the oven.

After an initial floof, I put our pizza stone in the oven and cranked it up to blistering hot. Out comes the rolling pin and begins the thumping and squishing the dough until I work out the thickness I should start with. After the first pinch-ballup-squashandroll maneuver, I slapped the bread on the hot stone and stood back to avoid singing my eyebrows. Looking away I noticed our phone had a message. I pinched-balledup-squishedaround-andflattened the next one and then pulled the tester from the oven. I tore a bit off, shoved it in my mouth and shuffled over and hit play on the phone, hearing a disturbing message that was something to the effect of my cousin Rohan being due any minute. Though I didn't expect him to eat any of the milky-cheesy naan, I full well expected him to scrutinize me in how it was prepared. I began to get nervous. I could hear his first line: "please tell me you're making calzones," or maybe "don't tell me you're making naan!" I then imagined the tirade he would undoubtably launch into when he found out about my yogurt substitution and involuntarily gave a small shudder.

With the first rolled too thin, it fluffed nearly all the way resulting in a pita and was rather dry and thin compared to what I was envisioning. I abandoned my plan for immediate success (like, duh) and pulled out a few hot dogs to nosh on with the sample pieces I'd have to eat. I thought about the rack positioning I had arranged and decided to move the pizza stone to the top for the next round in order to try crisping the naan some. I worked on rolling out a few more, a touch thicker this time, hoping for a more doughy middle and lightly browned top given the new configuration. I got out a little butter and clarified it really quick, brushed the top and sprinkled on some sesame seeds. In went the next round.

With what looked like the best so far in the oven, Ro opens the door without a knock and invites himself in, grabs a beer from the fridge and in a quick maneuver cracks the top with his teeth and spits the cap out. He then pauses to tilt the bottle in my direction and give me a wink and nod, all in a highly practised manner before taking his first swig.
With a raised eyebrow I get: "Smells nice D. But what is that........some type of bread with like, what, goat cheese or something?.......plus some garlic?"
""Yes Ro, I'm making bread." I tried for the distraction move. "Are you well? Is the beer satisfying"
"Bloody well, thank you. And the stout is nice. Much too cold, my clueless American family member, but tasty indeed. Too bad it won't warm up appreciably before I'm through with it." Then lifting his nose and giving the air a prolonged sniff, "Wait, that smells familiar. Are you attempting a naan of sorts my dear cousin?"
"Well......." I didn't know how truthful to be, fearing the scorn and judgement I knew was imminent. I decided to tread lightly and thought that if I said something highlighting it having all this cheese in it, that it might trigger the vegan preferences he sometimes displays, resulting in him leaving it to me. "Yeah, cheesy garlic goaty cheese bread" I blurted.
Instead of the response I'm hoping for he lets out a: "Sounds great!" followed by a brief belly rub and "mmmmmm, goaty cheese bread!"
"So this sounds good to you my vegan cousin?"
"Oh yeah!"

We sampled the next round, me having a sense of accomplishment with my results and my cheery cousin polishing off his beer and moving on to his next without even a nod. I remembered the hot dogs I had boiled earlier and went to reach for one when I sensed scrutiny from behind.
"Are you gonna eat that?"
"No. Simply chew it up and spit it at you, why do you ask?"
"Because it would make a great bagel dog."
"Ro, that's brilliant!" Then I thought about it. "Wait, you want one too?"
"Absoposilutely."
"Does this mean you're taking another carnivorous detour from the veggie highway?"
"Maybe. I just know that right now, this dough would make for one great bagel dog wrapper, and coupled with them fine all veggie hot dogs and a chance to relive a childhood memory while enjoying a warm beery tummy, well, then, how do you Yanks say it, shit damn pardner, sign me up!"
"They are most certainly NOT vegan there Ro."
"But the package said Prather Ranch right?"
"Yeah. And.....?"
"Let us sit and eat. Then I shall explain," he says, reaching for another beer.

So, my wannabe vegan cousin and I sat and enjoyed some bagel dogs. They were way better than anything either one of us had as youths. These were uncured organic free range beef, lovingly wrapped with sourdough garlicky goaty bread and served with a (couple) nice dark beer(s).

"Well D, these are the best vegan bagel dogs I've ever had the fortune of tasting."
"What the......there was nothing vegan about them!"
"Sure there was. You see, if the cows eat only grasses, then this is vegan beef."
"Uh-huh, and what, somehow you're not then actually eating the cow?!?"
"Exactly. If you make hot dogs from cows that are strict vegans, then the meat used is really only a form of concentrated vegetal-mass, especially if you grind it so thoroughly. Meaning that this meal is really 100% vegan!"
"Well, even in the fictitious world of your mind where beef is vegan, the hot dogs would be, but not the goat cheese dough."
"Hmmmm," then a few hmmphs followed by a sigh. "I suppose not the dough. What a shame. Maybe we should have another beer to help commemorate the perfect vegan bagel dog. That very nearly, almost was."
"How eloquently put Ro."
"Right!" Then with a wink and a nod "another stout for you my brother?" then seeing the look on my face " c'mon, they're really good, I know the brewer......."


Notes to self: Really tasty, but really springy dough that is hard to get the right thickness. Maybe I'll try a commercial yeast version and/or knead the dough less next time. Garlic sesame combo works nice. Putting pizza stone near the top can result in radiant heat from oven roof browning the highest portions of the naan (good thing, although if using an electric oven it would probably burn the crap out of it being so close to the heating element). Overall, a good learning experience that warrants at least another experiment.

halloween fruits

It's that time again. The crazy time of year when the Great Pumpkin rises over the patch and the ghouls and goblins come out to eat. Time to dress up and go sample some autumn fruit at the Berkeley Farmers' Markets, like on this coming Tuesday Halloween-eve as part of the Fall Fruit 'N Fright festivites. If you're in the East Bay, don't miss it and come check it out! If you can't make it, there is also this Saturday the 27th (tomorrow, sorry for the short notice) a chance to come for a preview fall fruit tasting while shopping. Then if you're lucky you can come again on Tuesday the 30th for more tasting and holiday festivities. Eat pie! Honor the dead! Dress up with the kids and come on down and carve a pumpkin! Show them that Halloween ain't just candy, it's also a bounty of great fruit. And what better way to get kids to love fruit than to give them the best in a fun atmosphere.

Rumor has it that master baker and sourdough saviour JtheC fresh from a desert camping trip will be making a brief appearance to cut some fruit for the public. A small flamingo and baby penguin that are the fruit of his loins might be in tow but other than avian off-spring, no miracles will be involved. However, J-man will be wielding a really sharp paring knife (which he keeps in his sleeve for such occasions, and hopes to not injure one of his healing hands this time) and working alongside other volunteers (is it really any suprise that he does?) while lovingly slicing some really delectable fruit, and serving it to you, the market shopper, for free. Just come on by the Ecology Center booth with a mouth ready for stuffing with tantalizingly super tasty pears, apples, and persimmons, maybe even some early citrus and spooky bloody looking pomegranates.

It's time for fun. See you there! Tell the folks at the booth that the Monkey Wrangler sent you and if you're there later in the day, give JtheC a big squeeze while enjoying the festivities......

two great tastes (?)

The door opens without knock or notice of any kind and in pops my cousin "greetings D!"

"Oh, hello Rohan. How are you?"

"You mean, are you well? You americans say it all wrong."

"Right Ro. Sorry. Are you well?"

"Yes, thank you for asking. Dearest of cousins, please forgive my intrusion but what on god's green earth is this next to your fruit. A tastie of sorts?"

"Wha?.......uh, oh that? A few gifts from my SIL. Want some coffee and a nibble of chocolate?"

"Indeed!"

"Well, take a closer look."

"Bloody hell, what the %#&! is this?"

"A few gifts."

"GIFTS? Like from a, what do you call it, a white elephant party?"

"Yes. I mean, no. No white elephant component, but yes, gifts like the thank you very much, I will enjoy these items immensely KIND. Ones that I will enjoy without fail. Ones that on some strange level, I have been searching for going on 5 plus years!"

"Are we really going to have coffee that has passed through an animal while enjoying a square of bacon flavored chocolate?"

"Yeah, check it out. It says mit speck on the bar and weasel on the bag. Everyone knows what that means."



I really have been trying to find a chocolate dessert item that contains bacon. More specifically a bacon chocolate chip cookie. I've never been brave enough, no, make that drunk enough to have attempted a batch at home though, and then into my lap drops a candy bar containing bacon, that puts off the experiment for at least another year. Wheew!

And the passed through an animal coffee? Haven't you ever heard of the stuff? Well, this gifted version doesn't actually pass through the weasel, or any weasel for that matter. It has just been processed with enzymes to simulate the passing through a civet's intestinal tract and out it's butt, only then to be dried in the sun, then ground up and brewed. Ah, technology.

Mmmm, that's some tasty weasel.
And Zotter is my new culinary hero.
Just thought I'd share.

fresh picked produce

This past weekend, we went on down to Reedley, to my wife's folk's house. Being that it is the month of July, and her father is a gardening fiend, a trip to their house is like a trip to the market. As usual, we picked stuff for a few hours before packing the car and heading back home, this time resulting in a whopping 111 pounds of produce. Which come to think of it, is about half of our all time biggest load.

While visiting, I was speaking with my father in-law about our recent jam adventures and intentions of preserving stuff from this trip. He mentioned some of the things his mom used to "put up," including elderberry and blueberry when the berries had a good year. His reference to putting up food struck a chord with me. It reminded me of being very small and wandering into my grandma's pantry to stare at the multi-colored glass jars filled with food. He meant preserving and putting on the shelf for storage too, and coming from a child of the depression, this was something nearly everyone did. It wasn't considered liberal, or hippy or new age. You weren't considered weird or even strange in the least bit. You had an excess of a particular kind of food, so you feasted on it and then preserved it for later. No contemplating whether you needed to, or should. No pledging to folks that you would. You just did it.

So are we. I guess that makes me a child of the depression. Only this one is defined as the time when we forgot for the most part, how to grow, prepare and preserve our own food. We rely on others for our processed food needs, keeping the source obscured, cheap and distant, resulting in a massive depression of another kind marked by excess filled with emptiness.

As I write this, we have golden ketchup, seasoned tomato sauce and dried figs. There are peaches to jam, dry, or cut up for freezing. Plums to eat. Not pictured was corn and carrots. There were a number of white onions. That paper bag was half filled with green bell peppers and these light yellow, medium-hot kindamagigs. After picking up a pork roast, tomatillos and jalapeños yesterday, I've been having fun with chile verde in grandma's test kitchen today, and the aroma is making me weep with happiness.

Keeping this one short today, so I gotta go. Gotta stir, peel, chop. Salt and boil. Try not to burn the hell out of myself in the process. A lot of work, that will be yummy later. September and beyond is going to be delicious.

Time to put up.

now entering: the "goat zone"

I was at a friend's for lunch. Amongst no less than four kinds of meat was a largish, goaty, hunky portion of torso thing. It had some ribs and some type of leg socket something or other. When all was done, the remains of the remains ended up coming home with me. I wan't sure what I'd do with it, but if the past is a place to reflect upon and learn from, I'd have to guess that if all else fails I could stuff the stuff in sourdough. It was time for goat calzone, or goatzone, if you will.

So I went with the calzone triple combo: bell pepper, onion, mushroom and garlic. I know that's four, but garlic doesn't count. It's more like a spice. Or so I think somtimes. Like, now. With these items releasing their magic aroma, and fresh dough on the counter, it was no suprise that Rohan would show up. He has a calzone radar.

"Knock, knock."
"Hey whassup Ro?"
"Not much bro."
"No really, what's up......you in the hood and thought you'd drop by?"
"Yeah, that and the fine goat I could smell from 3 miles away."
"And what, you want some?"
"Like, yeah."
"So I guess this is gonna be another one of your lapses from that strict vegan diet?"
"Mmm hmm. What can I help with?"

So while I reeled at my cousin's unexplained and imminent "lapse," I was happy he offered to help. I asked him to go hit the garden to harvest out first lettuce of the year and get some herbs for the veggie fry. He scored a green onion, thyme and parsley. The herbs would go nicely with the goatzone and the onion would pair well with the avocado, carrots and lettuce after being smothered in a honey mustard dressing. Then I asked. I just had to, to find out what his twisted logic was this time.
"Are you really gonna eat meat again?"
"Yep."
"Because.......?"
"Because goat is the most widely distributed meat on the planet."
"Huh? Where the hell did you hear that one? Nevermind. That makes it good for a vegan how?"
"I don't know really, something about the least number of cultures being offended by the consuming of said creature. Let's talk more when our mouths are full and the beer is flowing, I'm bloody famished."
"Right. Uh, yeah. Me too."

We rolled out a few rounds, added some of the cubed up goaty remains, plopped down some veggie fry and topped it all with grated cheese. We played around with the proportions of filling a bit, knowing that the goat was smoked and thus quite a powerhouse of full flavor. I was afraid it might overpower the rest, so Ro suggested we make a few with just goat and cheese. I raised an eyebrow at these decidedly non-vegan items and received a curt "oh, sod-off would you?"
"This has nothing to do with grass Ro," I quipped.
""Would your readers rather I say fuck-off instead? I can do that."
Point taken.

After folding over the top and sealing the edges with a touch of water and a bit of crimping, I placed the ready ones on parchment paper. I cut a few slits in the tops so they wouldn't explode, pushed them in the oven, shut the door and prayed.
My pizza stone is a bit small like my oven, so we did three at a time. I believe one was all veggie and cheese, one goat and cheese, and another filled with all the ingredient options.

I just love what a nice hot 12x12 tile that costs under four bucks can do. In essence, if it's a high-fire tile (one where the heat involved not just dries the clay very well, but actually melts some of the material and allows mineralization to occur) the results are indistinguishable from a real pizza stone. (Which is just a high-fire tile in a different shape, maybe with a thicker or thinner profile, and costs like ten times more.)


We sat down to our calzone, served with the garden salad and some potatoes that I tossed with herbs, olive oil and salt, and baked while the oven was heating up the stone. It was smokey and fresh with a nice chew to the bread envelope.
"Man I love being in the zone!" Ro blurted out after his first bite.
"What, the meat zone?"
"No the goat zone."
"You mean goatzone?"
"No. Not goatzone like calzone, but two words like goat zone. Like the twilight zone, but tastier. Kinda like that episode where the lady goes in for an operation to look more normal. Only after, when they are taking off her bandages, they realize she still looks the same. She doesn't look like everyone else and so the doctors start discussing her options of going and living in a special community where others are like her, where she can live out a more normal life."
"Weren't the doctors all ugly like pigs though and she was actually beautiful?" I asked, failing to see the connection he was trying to make.
"Yeah, that's the one."
"And how is being in the goat zone like that one?"
"Well, I'm beautiful, unalterable, misunderstood, and being a goat eating vegan, destined for living on the fringe of society."
"I see."
"Is there any more beer?" we said in unison while reaching for the last goatzone.

Sorry Ro, I mean goat zone.

And thanks again for the "hunk" of goat Dr. Biggles. I'll be dropping a few goatzone off for lunch tomorrow, and then you can tell me about your experience in the "goat zone."

february was vegan abandon month

Yeah, I know. This post is coming out in March, but I need to document an experiment before it fades from memory.

My cousin Rohan dropped by last weekend after hitting the farmer's market. A strict vegan, he unloaded his veggies all over my counter and then said "ho, what have we here?" and presented me with two pounds of ground lamb.
"Damn, bloody hell Rohan, what gives with the meat?"
"Well, Ted had some good looking stuff and I was hungry for samosas."
"LAMB samosas? Are you running a fever of something? The last time I checked, lamb was still considered meat."
"But it's february."
"And......"
"And I eat some meat and a few sorts of carefully selected animal based items then."

His logic went something along the lines of this: being the shortest month of the year, if a vegan is going to "loosen" their restrictions for a bit, then it makes sense to have it be then. We were nursing beer while he pontificated on this one, and by the end of his diatribe I was grinding up a garam masala. At least he offered to do more than play with bread this time and set about making a dough for the samosas.
"Really, it's kinda like your grandma's pasta dough, but without the egg. You'll get the hang of it in no time."
While our dough was resting, he sauteed the lamb with an onion and potatoes, then finished it with peas. He showed me how to pack the dumplings and while assembling them, we began to fry them as we went.

They looked delicious and were well received by the mouths around. We all gorged on at least two, but had leftovers. Bummer. They might not be as crisp the next day, but tasty indeed. I immediately looked forward to waking up the next day. I fed my starter, and started thinking of what to add to my dough tomorrow. Rohan raised a brow at the prospect of bread, and begged to crash on the couch, promising to not snore too loudly, and even referring to making breakfast for us sometime before noon, if he should wake.

The following morning we had plenty of leftover meat filling, so Ro heated it in a pan and poured in some scrambled eggs. It was before noon, a two full hours in fact. I began thinking that maybe he should eat meat more often.
"What do you call this dish cousin? Samosa scramble?" I asked.
"Nah, Huevos Rohanos. Hey these eggs are nice and fresh amigo, did you get them at the tienda or the farm-mark?"
"Yeah fresh indeed, from Senor Velasquez at the Tuesday night. They're laid the day or two before I get them, can't beat it huh?
"No you can't. Hey did I ever tell you about the time a chicken laid an egg in my hand while I was holding it?"

Always one-upping me that guy; fuck he can be annoying sometimes......

Before the scramble, while he was getting his beauty rest, the monkey and I pounded out some sourdough, and shortly after breakfast, we punched it down for the first time.
"Hey can I run an experiment with some dough?" he wondered aloud.
"Sure, what'cha thinking? Calzones?"
"Whoa, how'd you guess?"
"We've made them together before Ro, remember?"
"Kinda, did we have a few beers?"
"I'm positive. Maybe even more than a few."
He sighed. "Oh yeah.......those were rippin'!"

We formed a few rounds and filled them with our meat filling and a bit of jack cheese, then folded them over and crimped the edges. Into the oven they went. When they came out, we did a side by side taste test with the samosas as the challenger. I included some hot mango chutney as a dip for my samosa and Rohan went with some hot pepper spread for his calzone. I suspected that he wouldn't hardly touch the spread, not for lack of taste, but distraction with the sourdough encasing the lamby, spiced filling and cheese.

We reflected on my latest reading adventures and started to pick apart our meal. The lamb was a touch "older" tasting as they tend to be this time of year at the ripe age of one or so. The potatoes were creamy and soft and complimented the green pop of the peas nicely. Our garam masala was just divine for this flavor pairing, and the construction of the samosas was a simple task to execute overall. The calzones were equally yummy and the sourdough had a nice chewy texture and strong flavor that went well with the seasoned lamb. Looking at the two side by side, I thought about how it represents my cousin and I. I'm thinner skinned and a bit crunchy on the outside. He's soft and doughy, but a bit sour. But we both have the same insides, even if his is a little.....cheesey.

I love my cousin dearly, even if he is a total quack. And with an ever-changing set of culinary restrictions, he is a hard man to pin down. I can't wait for our next adventure in californio indian cuisine. Until then, this is more or less what we did:

LAMB SAMOSAS

garam masala for this:
1 t cardamom seeds
1 T black peppercorns
2 t coriander seeds
1 t cumin seeds
1 t brown mustard seeds
6 cloves
1 stick cinnamon

grind into powder and store in a sealed container. this made about twice as much as needed for the meat filling.

lamb filling:
2 pounds ground lamb
1 pound russian fingerling potatoes
1 large yellow onion
1 cup frozen peas
garam masala powder
1/4 t turmeric

saute onion with about a tablespoon of the garam masala in hot oil. add lamb and continue to cook. add diced potatoes and cook until lamb is no longer pink anywhere. decide that it needs a bit of yellow stain for those creamy potatoes and add some staining powder. cover and lower the temp, checking every few minutes until the potatoes are tender. add peas, stir, replace cover and remove from heat. make dough while this is cooling some.

samosa dough:
1 c whole wheat flour
1 c all purpose flour
1/4 cup canola oil
about 1 c warm water
1 t salt

combine flours and salt with oil. begin mixing and start to add water to the dough a few tablespoons at a time until it starts to form a shaggy ball of sorts. knead for what seems like ten minutes and set aside to rest for a while. divide into 12 balls and begin rolling each into a flat disk. roll each disk into a cone, pack the hole with filling, fold over the "flap" and pinch the edges closed. the pot we fried these in would only hold two at a time, which worked out to be perfect as it took about as long to fry them as it took to construct two more. serve with your favorite hot style condiment and a large beer or two.

Should you feel adventurous and want to try the filling stuffed into a dough of sorts, go right ahead, you'll like it. Indian lamb calzones are really good. We were kinda pissed we only made two, as it necessitated us reverting back to childhood and fighting about who got the bigger one. We never really grow up do we? Especially with family around.

1st meme thingy

So, like, I was just chillin', and like, this dude like comes up, and like, tags me, and I was like all, chishhhhh.........yeahhhhh! And he was all like, like, cheawww!

And so I sat down and thought about a response to being tagged for a list of 5 things you don't know about me. As usual, I thought about it WAY too much.

1. I love to carry everything I need on my back out into the backcountry to go fishing, alone occasionally where I can have the entire fish, and pizza, to myself.....oh yeah, I did a post about that one.

2. Ummmm, I like to take my monkey's stuffed animals and pose them amongst food on occasion. Oh yeah, been over that before.

3. Okay how about, to some people I look like Jesus! Damn! Said something about that too.

4. I'm a serial murderer. Apparently someone out there wrote a story about it and they're on to me.....sshhhhh!

5. I could live off of sourdough bread products and water. There, I've never said that before. (BFD though, as if you couldn't guess that one from reading anything on this blog.)

Uhhhhh, 6. Over-analyzing things is certainly a problem for me......but wait, I've even said that before somewhere.

*wind and rain for two days*

Ahhh, there, I've had a few days to mull it over. 5 things, hmmmmm......as this is a new-ish blog, I had to do a little unabashed self promotion and point you toward a few things you could know, if only my blog were cooler and more interesting and perhaps you had checked it out before. Since it is really only in the last month or two that I have had any traffic, and this tag really is about knowing something, I think maybe I should start at the beginning. You know touch on a thing or two from childhood, then maybe talk about a non-food interest, slink on back into the kitchen for a fun food anecdote, and then wrap it up with a phobia. How's that sound?

Here goes:

One: I was baptized in my Grandma's kitchen sink. Seriously. My parents were hippies, my grandparents staunch catholics. On a rare opportunity that my Grandma had me over without my parents, she and my eldest aunt conspired to baptize the "heathen" whilst they were away. Really. This aunt was very involved in the church when she was young and wanted to be a nun. She reminded my Grandma of some bible passage that talks about the intention of the act being one of the key components, and so my head was wetted. And although this aunt is my father's sister, she is the godparent to both myself and my mother. That's really a whole 'nother story though.

Two: I love elephants. I didn't have a teddy bear as a child. I had an elephant. In a way, I still do. I don't have them absolutely everywhere in the house, but I will admit that I can now decorate half of a medium sized christmas tree with elephant decorations. I'm not really proud of this, but I am pround of the love it represents from folks who see this icon of bulk, loving care, big ears and bad skin, and think of me. If I could spell out the sound of an elephant blowing out its trunk right now, I would.

Three: I'm a sadistic hiker. I once hiked from the valley floor of Yosemite all the way to the top of Cloud's Rest and back in a single day. For those who have not been there, this hike starts at an elevation of 4000 feet and in a short 11 miles, climbs to nearly 10,000 feet. On that particular day, when I finally reached the top, a very kind person asked me where I was coming from. I was very sweaty and gasping for air, as nearly 6000 feet of elevation change is huge, especially when you live at sea level.
"Did you camp on Sunrise creek somewhere (translation: ~8 to 9000 feet elevation) and come the rest of the way (approximately 2-3 miles) this morning?"
No (drip, drip, gasp, pant, pant)
"Oh, so did you spend the night in little Yose (~7000 feet elevation) and hike up (6-ish miles) this morning?"
No (drip, drip, pant)
"Where did you come from then?"
The valley floor.
"You know. there is an EASIER WAY to do this hike, RIGHT?"
Yeah, I know.
For clarities sake, she explained how besides the two previous options, I could have hiked from another direction and started at a much higher elevation, not hiked as many miles, and not had nearly as much elevation change.
Mmm, hmm, I know.
She shook her head like I was crazy, which was true, so I just smiled, said nice talkin' to ya' and tried to find a place to rest and grab a bite.

Four: I cried the first time I killed a crab for making cioppino. You see, my grandmother and my father made cioppino the old-fashioned way; killing the crabs with your bare hands (maybe a knife too) by tearing their shell open, then pulling all of the legs off and tossing most everything into a boiling cauldron of fishy, clamified, wine laced, tomato sauce base. This next description is a bit graphic, and the animal rights-ists might get alarmed (of which I dabble in a bit by eating humanely raised stuff when possible, thank you), so look away for the next minute and twenty three seconds: When you rip open the shell, you see the innards beating away, and this takes a few seconds to stop. While tearing the legs off, if the crab is really fresh and feisty, they will flex in a contracting manner, giving the effect of a severed limb fighting back. And to keep it a little more fair (whatever that means), I don't rubberband the pincers anymore before dispatching them. They have a fighting chance in my kitchen, and oh boy! them stinkers can give you a good nip or scratch, let me tell ya'. I write this not for grossing you out, but for a taste of what goes on in that empty space upstairs while making cioppino in my home. And it is a process that has evolved over time. I still think of the initial battle with the first one, how it was the hardest one emotionally and physically, how confronting being the executioner was a struggle from the moment I bought the beautiful magister. Only now, when it's time for action and we're thirty minutes from eating, I start my routine by imagining that scene from Star Wars (Empire was it?) where Vader walks out amongst the battalions of storm troopers while the big symphony sound booms: BUM, BUM, BUM, BUM, BA-BUM, BUM, BA-BUM, BUM..........and I place one belly down on the counter, put my thumbs in that convenient gap in the back, and show this ancient species what my monkey strength can do to one of their kind. It is now an exercise in communicating and fixing my place in the animal kingdom, keeping it real somewhat, and enjoying crab at it's freshest. Boo, hoo, hooooooo........*sniffle*

5. I have a fear of worked butter. This one is gonna take a bit of explaining, so bear with. Lets see......what comes to mind when I make this statement are things like butter carvings resembling turkeys, in full plumage mind you. If this were chocolate, or just about any other food item I'd be okay with it, but somehow, the amount of handling is what really creeps me out and makes me fearful for the rest of the meal. I can't explain why, it just does. Yes, I struggle with understanding it too. I don't really mind molded butter, as in general it seems like it is freshly churned or beaten and then immediately put into a form of sorts. That's all good with me. But when you take a block of it and carve an animal or something else stupid out of it, all the way down to even just taking a melon-baller and scooping out little individual servings, I just want to hurl. And it realy sucks, cause I love butter, but just not when you do cutesie things with it. Barf!

That's it! So what do you think? Do you feel you know more about the wrangler? Let me know. It's called "leaving a comment" and it's a new way of communicating back to what you are reading. Go ahead, give it a try, it don't hurt, trust me......

So I guess I've got to reach out and tag five more, and politely request that they share in the madness and selfishness and let us know more. I've got my tickle-torture finger reaching out and I'm gonna tag:
you, because you're new and I really like pizza.

you, because your stuff looks amazing. Tasting and looking.........has anyone seen this stuff yet? Damn!

you, because you come from one of my favorite places, currently live in the home of my favorite sweet potato variety, and your food sounds incredible. Please, do tell.

you, because you are most unique. Where else can you find such fantastic writing, beautiful artwork, food to die for, and honest humor. Besides, you expressed interest in knowing more about these meme things.

and......you, cuz' you're a dude. I'm not sure you check your comments much, and surfers, how do I say this lightly, tend to "forget" things for one reason or another, but I'd like to know some more, because your stuff is super creative and inspired. And I thought that I'd rib callipygia a bit by tagging you, as I found out about you through her.


freya/paul, this way too long a rant of mine is all your fault, so as a trade for giving up the source of my name, I'm gonna tag you guys back, because in my eyes you cheated a bit. If Paul is a full-fledged, badge wearin' kind, then we (the monkey and I, and she can only type her name, so you can't do this back) want five more. I know he responded for both of you, kind of, but if you're going that route we want ten overall. No hard feelings, really, me being punky to you guys is a sign of affection, cause, I love your blog. Thanks!

Catch y'all later......





ps: WATKT, oh yeah, the name. So, the little one was about one, and I was going for a bike ride with a buddy and some of his friends. When folks were being introduced, his biking friend asks what I do for work, and my pal blurts out: "D-man? Oh, he's a monkey wrangler like you." Neil is one hilarious guy, and I love him dearly, so thanks for that title. As for the sourdough part, I was researching what to name my blog and thought about the sourdough that was consuming my life and threatening to die on me if I didn't start paying closer attention to it. I searched around for blog names with sourdough and there wasn't much really. I thought about how my folks were both born in San Francisco and how I have literally grown up on sourdough. Add the usage of sourdough as a name for a prospector/miner (I'm a geologist remember) and the name was born. I was looking for something unique for a domain name and I guess my logic worked. There.

nyah, nyah, na, nyah nyah, you're it........ again.

californio dreamin'

This post plays with a new concept of sorts, so if you are just looking for a recipe, then skip on down a ways and scratch your head while wondering why..........or pretend like you are transported back in time...........(like in the movies, you know, where you exercise "willing suspension of disbelief" all the time)

Feb. 16th, 1863.
Dear Uncle Garner,

It is late Friday here in Monterey. I would love to be home again, enjoying whatever fills your hearth air, and it is this memory that I bring to mind as I write. California remains somewhat exotic for me, and I am still not used to the local fare (even after 13 years!). I will freely admit that unlike home, here in the spring (mis-named winter locally) we have fresh items: onions, garlic and cabbage that look splendid; cheese of many kinds; crabs are still easy to pull from the depths; and ample supply of salt beef and pork are to be had. We are not want for sustenance by any means. Despite these bounties here, I am now and then forced to be somewhat wreckless with my dining preparations. Occasionally, out of need yes, more so out of ignorance truthfully.

I offer as anecdote, an experience involving a bizarre new item: an "alligator pear" or "aguacate," as I have heard, that found it's way into my home a few days ago, after sailing from a port near the City of Angels. Angelic or not, I am not at all acquainted with this leathery looking green pear, and quite to my suprise, in using it as prescribed by it's giftor, created an uproar in our home at supper by placing it atop soup! Afterward, the men stood about frantically smoking their pipes and swilled copious amounts of some local "brandy" while arguing whether this newly presented item was fruit or vegetable, and what therefore would be the proper course for this "pear" to be a part of. If only they knew what was in the soup, their conversations might be of a different matter entirely!

(this is still in the works, so let's stop there for today and fast forward:)

I've been wanting to explore the theme of cooking within a particular time and place in history (and ideally the associated available food), where I pretend I have landed there and am forced to make do. (Miraculously, my current state of experience remains intact. I love fantasies.) This is another horizon to the theme contained here, and it might be important to keep this in mind while you read on. Call it justification for the ingredients about to be used. Call it writing a story around some recipe made up on the spot. Call it using what's in the house, in this season and time, while wanting to participate in some Soup's On! fun. Call it birthing a new idea and trying it out. In public (ouch!). Call it pulling out the stops, and rolling it all into one. Thank you Alanna!

I wanted to play along in the soupy fun and was daydreaming in the realm of possibilities for this post when I tripped over the idea. Literally. We have pumpkins on our doorstep that date to Halloween, a gift grown by grandpa that have lived sporadically in the house since that time. About a month ago they were moved outside. They have collected sediment beneath them with the tiny bit of rain we have had, but are free of rot and look like they were just picked. Several times, while not paying attention going out our door, I have stubbed my toe on one or another, and immediately berated myself about not doing something with them. After the last trip, I thought: Ha! One of you is becoming soup!

I've always wanted to try cooking a soup inside of a pumpkin, so from the start I was intending on making this happen. Due to the antiquity of the pumpkin, I started thinking about other old items we have around that might be used. We have some old stock in the freezer, that's good. We have potatoes and cheese. That's good too. Hey, all these things are old! Yeah, I'll do an OLD SOUP post!

Wait! What am I thinking? Focus D. Okay, put the stock in the pumpkin, add some ingredients, maybe use that salted beef......wait a second. Is it possible that all of the items I am contemplating would have been around for some long-ago relative to use.......Wait, what about this avocado that I wanted to incorporate, and needs to be eaten? I've seen folks put these as garnish on soups. Dowf! How long ago did these become a foodstuff here in sunny California? Hmmm, you don't say, really.......

With the fantasy in mind, the monkey and I forged ahead and brought our victim into the house to be gutted. We removed the top, scooped out the seeds and persimmon, and started to prep our other ingredients. (Kidding about that persimmon! See this post for more background on this overly used item.) With pumpkin prepped, we filled it with our frozen crab stock (using the logic, lots of crabs back then, probably had some stock of sorts or easily could have) and put it in the oven. Where to go from here.....

My sis had bought some "beef bacon" for us to try. Considering it was a heavily salted meat item that was likely rather popular before refrigeration, I assumed that this would have been common back then, and besides, I needed some fat to fry the onions in. I grated a little cheese (olive oil and brine rubbed, I thought this might be reminiscent of earlier days), got out a few potatoes and onions, and sat my Hass down for a little rest. For those sticklers out there, yes, the Hass wasn't "developed" until the 1930's, and to be authentic, this should probably be something more like a Fuerte, but come on, keep playing along please.)

The pumpkin was baking, filled with crab stock, fried salted beef and onions, grated cheese and diced potatoes. It needed more body, and we had leftover cabbage. I don't know about early cabbage usage in CA, but I do know that it would grow easily, and at the very least different species were likely being farmed in family plots by members of the local Asian community at the time. I thinly sliced about a third of a head of cabbage and stirred it into the soup.

Baking together in the oven, it was starting to smell intriguing at least. After a good hour at least, the pumpkin was browning nicely and the contents looked great! I ladled some out into a cup, and it was good. I wanted to stop right there, and write something else for this post, but struggling with honesty, forced myself to go on. Besides, the pumpkin was balanced within a ceramic dish (but unsupported on its bottom) and beginning to cave in with each moment. I removed it from the oven, pureed the contents, scraped the flesh from the gourd, blended that too, and prepared the avocado for the top. I had some garlic quark in the fridge and thought: shucks, I have no fresh crema for authenticities sake, but this will defiantely taste good. (Remember, first time trying this theme out, so my allowances are a bit loose here.)

It was like orange velvet. Only with meat bits, and a crabby disposition. The cream component tied it all together though, and I just couldn't help but frying up some sourdough bread crumbs to serve on top. It was definately different. Inspired though? Uh, sure. Tasty? Yeah, but you might have to like the ingredients to start with. Should I do it again? I'll leave that to the bloggers out there who stumble upon this one. Who I pray, will get to this point in this long and complicated post not asking: "What was this guy thinking?" only to read on and find themselves staring at a recipe in disbelief.

californio pumpkin soup:

1 big, old pumpkin
1 quart crab stock
3 russet potatoes
3 large spring onions
2 thick slabs "beef bacon"
3 ounces finely grated Old World Portuguese cheese
1/3 savoy cabbage

garnish:
1 avocado
seasoned sourdough bread crumbs
creme fraiche (sounds better huh?), but you can use sour cream or quark for the same result
oregano sprig

Cut off top of pumpkin and scoop out the seeds and loose innards. Place stock into pumpkin and put into the oven. (I took the lid off until the liquid was hot, as it seemed that initially it kept the inside from effectively heating by acting as the top to a cooler on a blistering hot day.) Do this in some sort of secondary containment if attempting for the first time, as I did and still managed to make a huge mess. While the pot is browning and the stock is heating, fry your bacon. If using beef, you will need some oil too. I used a local olive oil and when the bacon was beginning to brown, I threw in the chopped onions including most of the greens. When the bacon is done, chop it into smaller pieces, adding it and the onions to the steaming broth in the gourd. Dice the potatoes and some finely sliced cabbage. Add some finely grated cheese. Carefully stir all of the ingredients while trying not to poke a hole in the side of the now possibly slumping/deforming pot. Place the lid back on and attempt to cook for an hour or so more. When it has been over an hour, or impending scalding hot liquid doom is imminent, transfer the contents of the pumpkin to either a blender or a large pot and puree by some means. Scrape the now very tender flesh from the steaming pumpkin and add to the puree. With all of the cooked items incorporated, serve garnished with slices of avocado, some creamy dollop of sorts, and something else fun, like herbed breadcrumbs from the last bread you overbaked. Think: It is not 1863, and try to enjoy. And serve with a nice high-alcohol beer. Preferably prepared in an authentic fashion of course.

Thanks for listening!

For those stopping by for the first time:
Thanks for coming on the ride. Please check for all of your personal belongings before disembarking the vehicle and have a lovely day. And please, stop by the monkey ranch in the future. It's really not this weird all the time. (Who am I kidding?)

On second thought, maybe I should have started playing with this new theme in a time and place where sourdough, used with whole wheat and rye were popular breads. Yeah....maybe that would have been a bit easier considering this picture represents what else had been happening in my house as I have attempted to write up this post. See, I'll be playing in the snow with monkeys this weekend, and I hear bread keeps you warm. When dipped in hot soup that is. So today, in preparation for the cold I baked some bagels, pretzels, and a baguette while starting the new habit of documenting sourdough adventures in my new "book of loaves."

A monkey wranglers work in the kitchen, is never completely done........

north oakland home scene of double cancercide

Tuesday morning, Oakland CA.
-Sourdoughpress Intl.-

The remains of at least two individuals were discovered today outside a home in North Oakland, victims of an apparent double cancercide. A grisley scene horrified area locals, challenging them to stay focused and go about their typical morning routine, in what they believed would be another great day in this quiet neighborhood. "I was just going out the door to work, when I noticed a peculiar smell," reported the neighbor closest to the scene, where the remains of the victims were found amongst the refuse of a local family, leading some to question the motives involved in the incident.

The victims are believed to be members of a Northern California gang from the other side of the "Gate" known by some as the Magisters, and are yet to be fully identified. Preliminary sources came up with a few leads including the nick-names "Left-E" and ironically enough "Din-ner." According to one Magister youth, he remembered "seeing them all the time, and then gone" from the typical hangout, at some point late last week. DNA analysis will confirm the identities of those who found themselves part of a horrendous chain of events carried out by an area local and suspected Sapien.

A rash of recent cancercide has hit this area of North Oakland, as it seems to each year as it draws to a close. As detective Hardcastle of the Oakland DFG pointed out this past October: "We're coming up on our toughest season for tensions between the Magisters and the Sapiens, partly because of longstanding, family taste." He went on to add "and if there is a glut when the coming season opens, watch out, things could really heat up for this ancient rivalry."

After the remains were discovered, detectives scanned the neighborhood, concentrating around a local "market," where it is believed the victims had spent their last few days prior to their cancernapping, around 11:15 Monday morning. Hard as it may be to believe, members of the Sapiens have a facility in this quiet neighborhood that reportedly houses captured Magister members before they disappear, the victims of demand for their flesh. A blog posted shortly after the news came out had a few things to add to the case. Anonymous sources reported: "We were just chillin' in the tank, where we all hang out. It was as typical a morning as you could imagine around here. Sure, a few of us had disappeared already, but there was no sense of panic or anything" as coming from an eyewitness at the scene of the cancernapping, who also wished to remain anonymous. "It happens all the time at this joint. It's what Hapuku is known for really." (Hapuku translates as: one-way to death, in the local magister dialect.) Another eyewitness added "If you end up here, after being hauled off the ocean bottom, and you already spent a night confined to a cage to make matters worse, it seems nice just hangin' with your pinchin' buddies, but the truth is, we all get taken away from the party soorner or later. I guess it was just their time."

Evidence at the "market" pointed toward a ghastly end for the individuals involved. The suspect was reported to have been with a smaller accomplice, both of them with audible gurgling sounds emanating from their stomachs when they nabbed the victims, making a getaway and leaving two crumpled green pieces of paper on the counter. Employees remembered the bearded fellow, who seemed nice enough, but kept looking down seemingly occupied with something under the counter. It is also reported that he smiled a little too big when he approached the "tank" where the victims were last seen. It is believed that the suspect handed a plastic bag containing the two victims to his younger accomplice (now undersotod to be a female around three years old), as her smaller stature would remain mostly hidden from view by the market's coolers, boxes and tanks.

For detectives on the scene, the remains in the trash outside the home were only the beginning. Upon first entering the home in question, everything appeared normal. But a quick glance inside of this urban refrigerator revealed evidence that could only point to murder. The victim's disarticulated legs were found amongst fresh parsley with lemon juice, olive oil, and garlic. The suspects had obviously tried to stop the spread of aromas that are associated with such carnage. It was a sight that could get a persons stomach going. Detectives combed the home and immediate environs for further clues to what went wrong for the gang members involved.

"Typically what we see in cases like these is a suspect (in this case a Sapien member) who appears normal to his neighbors and friends, but harbors a deep seated lust for the flesh of young individuals" reports Lieutenant Carapace with the Farallon chapter of the DFG (Department of Fish and Gastronomy). "They usually take their victims alive, back to their home, where a boiling pot of water awaits. The victims are usually dispatched quickly, as in some circles it is believed that this lends toward a fresher taste. Fact of the matter is: a gruesome death ensues. Gastronomic-minded plans often await the bodies, followed by a quick clean-up of the evidence. Often times, the only clue we have is a lingering smell of what some decribe as the sea." He made further note that if the evidence is not found within a week of the murder, that the bodies will have to be looked for elsewhere. "It seems that the murderers have an entrenched system of disposal that they readily use. Truthfully, less than three percent of such murders are ever reported, however 90 percent of that is from the evidence left outside the home and witnessed by neighbors olfactory senses" he lamented.

Thanks to modern forensics, evidence at the scene paints a detailed picture of just what happened to the victims after their murder. It appears that the family who rents the home is host to a repeat offender. This suspect may have worked in conjunction with the smaller individual, possibly an off-spring, but from clues left behind, he obviously was experienced at dispatching his victims and likely did the killing alone. Magister sources believe this case to be the work of a notorious serial killer and have dubbed him the "Merciless Monkey Wrangler" as he is always with a younger "monkey" (slang for little Sapien) and has been known to rip their fellows apart while still alive.

"One thing's for sure" said Carapace, "this guy cooked up the victims into several dishes. It is a learned behavior that some suspects employ to spread the evidence of the killing, rendering it harder to find as the days go by. I didn't need the artists recreation of the ensuing meal involved. I could tell by the smell, this guy was a regular quiche lover!"


Forensic scientists with experience in such cases believe that portions of the victims became a chilled bowl of remains in a simple vinaigrette, and yes a quiche, that included leeks, chevre and leg-meat from only one of the deceased, leaving a chilling detail yet to be answered. Another odd clue was that a bowl consisting of steamed carrots was likely involved, probably evidence of the "killer's guilty conscience screaming out that the meal could have been made without the deaths of the victims," reported an analyst working on the case for the Farallon DFG.

"If I had to sum this case up in one word, it would be pre-meditated" said Carapace. "I beg all of our kind, if you're out having a good time scavenging, and you run into a bunch of your pals loitering around a cage, don't join them. I repeat, don't join them, go the other way, search for a clam or something, I mean come on, use your claws for what they were designed; go tear something out of a shell! Please! Don't become another victim of a different species' food choices."

"I tell you what," Carapace was overheard saying as he left the scene of the murders "if this guy ever finds himself at the bottom of the ocean, in OUR neighborhood, well, let's just say that I couldn't guarantee his safety........if you know what I mean."