The Lemon Cure

Brother Dez skyped me from his London kitchen the other day. He said to tune in to the Iggy Pop radio hour on BBC Radio 6. It was an all Bowie show. As I was pulling it up I got to thinking about David Bowie and Iggy Pop, who arguable wrote the greatist lyric in the history of rock and roll, “I wanna be your dog.” Still relevant today in these friendliest of dog times. Then, a long buried Bowie lyric from his album, Life on Mars, came into my head, “ ’cause Lennon’s on sale again,” but which I first misheard as “There’s lemons on sale again.” Got me thinking.

Iggy went through some fast times in his youth. Take at look at his face. Those wizened lines tell a tale, like lizard tracks in the sand. He lived hard, he got sick — but he cured and got the gig with Radio 6. I believe he sticks to one glass of Bordeaux Supérieor a day these days. He recently posed for a life drawing class at the Brooklyn Museum. Does laps in his pool most mornings in his house. Calls in the show from there. Continue reading “The Lemon Cure”

Oat Cakes

                     An ode to my oats of allegiance

January is the month for broken bargains. We make deals with ourselves and our spouses and break them before the month’s out. Broken promises smashed to smithereens to sugar, booze and caffeine.

3 cups of rolled oats…

Like the self flagellating catholic penitentes of old New Mexico, we pull out the annual willow whips and beat each other into frenzied, fasting, caffeine starved, teetotaling, sugar-free versions of ourselves. We swear, we pledge, we tear at our hair. Continue reading “Oat Cakes”

A Winter’s Salad

 

                                        A Colorful Crunch

 

raw fennel, watermelon radish, scallion…

Everybody loves a salad but fresh green leaves are dependably not fresh nor very green in these parts this time of year.

for the vinaigrette— a small amount of mustard and minced or grated garlic…

Farmers markets are gone. The plains silent between storms. Red Tailed Hawks search and swoop at the slightest movement and come up empty beaked. They long for the crunch of winter’s delicacy, but the mice have retreated and nothing grows. Coyotes curl in their dens. Prairie dogs huddle in burrows beneath frozen crusts of snow.

Continue reading “A Winter’s Salad”