all the cool kids are doing it

I finished The Omnivore's Dilemma over a week ago, and ever since then have been so freaked out/confused by food, I must comfort myself by eating lots of it.

One of the most disappointing things I learned from this book was not about the production of beef in this country (horrifying, but other than the incident with That Burger, I really don't eat beef) or the fact that corn is in everything (the diabolical, political aspect is disturbing, but other than that incident where I opened my cupboard, I don't eat many processed foods), but about "industrial organic" (the GAZILLIONS of dollars I spent at Whole Foods when we lived in DC was not necessarily money well spent!).

Now that I'm in Vermont I have lots of local options for eggs and butter and, during the two summer months, vegetables, but one thing I didn't know how to replace was canned tomatoes (apparently Muir Glen, whose fire-roasted tomatoes are a central ingredient in one of my favorite soups, is owned by General Mills), which I eat a lot of in the winter.

When I mentioned this in front of my native Oklahoman, ham-loaf-makin', cussin' mother-in-law, she said, "Well, why don't we can our own?" And why not, really? Er, because it seems sort of messy. And also, botulism? But my concerns were put to rest, and we're planning a canning session at the end of the summer.

Which I thought made us old fashioned, but it turns out that, like knitting and sewing and all that other crafty crap I can't do, canning is making a comeback. My mother-in-law is so HIP. Which anyone who's met her already knew.

land shark

Last night we all went to Delmonicos, an old T.Daddy bar where the six of us were the only gringos and people literally came up and asked us what we were doing there. Answer: Drinking $2 Coronas and running the pool table. By which I mean, the British photographer and I played two games of pool, each of which lasted nearly 45 minutes, because she and I are so bad and our opponents were so drunk.

When I was about nineteen I actually managed to become mediocre at pool, under the grumpy tutelage of this badass bass player for a hardcore band who became so disgusted with the lame, flirty pool my old roommate and I played, she started bringing us to Walt's Game Room in Winooski for lessons. Any pool skills I developed were probably born out of fear that the badass bass player would beat me up if I didn't get it together, and once I stopped playing regularly, I immediately reverted to my previous level of suckatude. But I decided last night that I either need to get better at pool or stop playing entirely.

So I've made the obvious choice and am going to devote the rest of my time here in T-D.A.D. to developing my game. At 8:30 a.m. you will find me not at my desk (who am I kidding; I am never at my desk by 8:30), but at Delmonicos practicing my soon-to-be-killer bank shot. When I go on the national circuit (or whatever it's called), I'm going to use my winnings to take Chris on a Princess Line cruise.