Grape juice and ginger ale

Real grape juice mixed half-and-half with Canada Dry ginger ale ranks in my top 5 favourite soft drinks. I'm enjoying some now as I blog. Others in the top 5 include Orangina, exotic root beers, President's Choice Peach White Grape juice, and chocolate milk. I recommend PC White Grape & Peach juice because it is not loaded with refined sugar and it is not mixed with apple juice; one cup also provides 100% of your DV of Vitamin C. Most of the 100% real juice blends use apple juice as the base, because it is cheap and flavours can layer on top of it without being lost in the mix. Apple juice is so acidic, however, that I have to avoid drinking it most of the time: I am a sensitive flower. That adorable pot-bellied Orangina bottle fills me with joy when I see it; how attached I am to a simple container of juice.

Searching for this image, I came across the Orangina.com website, and they have recipes for not-soft drinks on there -- what a brilliant idea; this one sounds delicious. I may have to buy some Orangina and try some of these cocktails. If anyone is ever wondering what to get me for a present (not that I'm hinting here, or, maybe I am), consumables are the way to go (I have a very tiny house), and I adore small-batch or non-Canadian root beers. I rarely make it to the US by car, but when I do, I always stop at a grocery store on the way back and pick up at least 4 different kinds of root beer. Back to the grape juice and ginger ale: that was a drink my mother always made for parties or any number of guests, even one. I don't make it very often because I like it to remain a special treat, and when I do imbibe many pleasant childhood memories are brought into focus. Almost everyone who tries that mix loves it. If you've gotta drink soft, might as well be special.
Short blog tonight, kinda tired; just wanted to share a favourite sipper and recommend a couple products: Orangina and PC Peach, definitely the way to go.

In progress

Couldn't sleep, so blogging.
My teenage heart writes poems.


"Too much"


Twice that day I looked at you with scorn.
Once, secretly,
at the back of your head
across a crowded room
when I heard the squeak and crackle of your polite laugh.


The second, with forethought,
to your face
across the dinner table
when you winced about the day you'd had.


My full-frontal assault had no effect.
"Honey, do you have indigestion?" you asked.
My scorn-face melted into bemusement -- 
Feeling the muscles in my face relax,
I reclaimed my usual mask
of calm, demure contentment.


--Alice

For a Middle English word from the twelfth century, "scorn" gets a lot of play on the internet: with 1 million hits on Google Images, it's the name of metal bands, super-villains, and a wrestler; and it's mentioned in innumerable blog titles. It's a great word to use in a poem, and it's fun to say out loud ... "scorn." This pic shows what could very well be my next karaoke shirt.

Breakfast tostadas

I neglected to get groceries (yet) this weekend, but sometimes it's amazing what a desperate cook can throw together from the bits and bobs left in the refrigerator and the canned-foods cupboard. And thank goodness for the microwave. Thanks to a friend supplying us with authentic Mexican tortillas, I had those in the fridge, awaiting their purpose in this galaxy. 
I fried the small tortillas in oil on both sides, then put them on a plate lined with paper towel. The rest was put together from the veggie drawer and my yearning to make this the Summer of the Tostada. My D. gave it a thumbs-up review, and we both polished off three, so this recipe was definitely a winner.
Breakfast Tostadas
Normally, two tostadas per person will likely be enough, especially if you heap on the veggies, like I did. Preheat oven to 425F.
Then, sauteed some veggies with cumin and a splash of hot sauce: a bit of red pepper, a bit of mushroom, a shallot chopped, added some canned corn kernels, and pieces of cooked potato (that's where the microwave came in; I cooked the potato while I was cutting up the veggies for the saute).
Next, swiped out the pan and scrambled some eggs (three eggs, with about 2 Tblsp of water and 1 tsp mixed herbs; was out of milk or cream because of lack of groceries).
Put the fried tortillas on a baking sheet, spread with some jarred salsa, topped with heap of veggies, followed by some scrambled eggs, then a few shreds of cheese.
Popped that into the oven for 10 minutes; turned on the broiler for 4 or 5 minutes (watching them the whole time they're under the broiler). Was delicious and nutritious and quite pretty too. They sort of looked like these pictured, but without the lettuce on top (I really need to get a camera if I'm going to keep blogging about food).

Those fried tortillas made the best tostadas I've ever had (even better than the ones I had in Mexico), so THANKS to my thoughtful friends for giving us those from the Mex-I-Can restaurant downtown.
Here's a link to a similar recipe, in case mine isn't that easy to follow (leave the salt out, though: it isn't really needed).

Music review

Now, 'members, I had a couple beers with my pizza for supper ... so, typing may not be perfect, and thoughts may be a little scrambled, 'cause I am a lightweight with alcohol.
Wanted to review some music herein, blues, which I've newly rediscovered thanks to a Folk Music Club gathering last night at the Pheasant Plucker in Hamilton, and grubby boys's music, such as Cage the Elephant and Hedley, who actually aren't grubby but they're boys.
I've always preferred male voices singing over female, unless the female happens to be very low contraltos such as tracy chapman or karen carpenter (who was also a kick-ass drummer apparently). And if I have to watch the videos, they better be grubby youngish men; what is that? Why do I like those grubby boys and their crazy music? See In One Ear by CtE:

Eminently danceable, often a fun story, silly lyrics, singable choruses, oh yeah, that's why I like 'em. I give Cage the Elephant's studio album and videos an A, for all the reasons just mentioned (I heard they're a little too crazy on stage, though); I especially enjoy their song and their video "Ain't No Rest for the Wicked." I give Hedley an A- because they aren't grubby enough, but I think they're hilarious, especially their Cha-Ching with it's biting satire of reality tv:




Everybody SING!
And now to the blues, which I have liked for about 20 years, but I have this weird tendency to NOT buy any CDs. If I buy one album a year, it's a big deal. Yet I have very eclectic tastes in music, a little classical, a little pop, a little hard rock, a little rap, a little electronica, a little 80s, but now will be mucho BLUES after reinvigorating my interest last night. I had never heard live blues guitar/singing until last night, and it was a revelation, so wonderful, so fun; that Bo Basiuk was into the music with passion and verve and his music just filled me up inside. I tried to find an example of his talent on the internets-thingie, but came up blank. Instead, here's some classic blues guitar and singin' from Robert Johnson, the original and the master, whom Eric Clapton seems to think is a guitar god, which will hopefully win you over to the blues:


A+ for guitarin' singin' blues; I've listened to blues piano, and definitely prefer the guitar version. That's my ramble for tonight about music ... now off to sing a little living-room karaoke; they need to make a theme version of BLUES for the Xbox 'raoke game -- I would BUY IT tomorrow!

Ataraxia is my (mid-)life (crisis)

One of my favourite movies is Lucky Number Slevin (2006), and if you haven't seen it yet, treat yourself by renting the DVD or downloading it or streaming it or whatever format works best for you: it's a blast of action and thought-provoking dialogue and gorgeous Josh Harnett, and twisty plot bits, and did I mention crazy action and Lucy Liu and Bruce Willis and, more and more and more. A special scene is when Slevin (Harnett) mentions that he has "ataraxia" as though it's a medical condition that afflicts him. I adore learning new words when watching Hollywood films (seems like an impossibility to expand my vocabulary when watching the celluloid trash, right?), and I really like it when the writer uses the word in such a way that makes me think about that new word and the impact it could have on my own life. I know, weird, right? Well, "ataraxia" is one of those words that hit me right between the eyes; as Slevin says, "It's a condition characterized by freedom from worry or any other pre-occupation really." Now, anyone who knows me understands the irony of that word having an impact in my life: I must be the worst worry-wart on Earth on my bad days, and almost every day I have an episode of the "crazies" as a friend calls them, where I worry needlessly and fretfully about something that is probably irrelevant. [That same friend came up with the perfect use of parentheses for the title of this blog entry -- THANKS!]
In philosophy (yes, I know that link is to Wikipedia, but it seems like a pretty decent and short entry) "ataraxia" means different things to different types of philosophers. Maybe I should become an Epicurean, since they advocated avoiding politics and vexatious people in the search for the state of non-worry known as ataraxia, and, since I entered my middle years, I am all about avoiding politics and vexatious people.
Back to the way Slevin talks about this condition, as though it is a disorder, a state of being that most people would call an affliction that needs treatment, or correction. Who could possibly function well in this 21st-century world while in a state of non-worry, a tranquility of mind that could reach the level of yogi-ness but in a person going about their normal average North American lifestyle. I want ataraxia to be my life, after 40 years of worry, worry, worry, which got me nowhere and only gave me too many moments of psychological agony. Now, when I think about achieving this state of being, it almost makes me worry that I cannot possibly achieve something like that unless I go live in a cave, away from all the modern crazy speedy lifestyle choices that we make every day, and that worry turns the search for ataraxia into my mid-life crisis, hence the title for this blog. I think now, in this year, this fascinating and enriching 2010, that if I can actually have moments within each day where I experience even briefly "a state of freedom from disturbance of mind" that I will have achieved what I am seeking, even if it's just for that moment. Ah, that last bit made me feel better, wait, I'm having one of those moments
...
...
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I see after searching a bit on the great wonder that is the internet that "ataraxia" resonates with other people too. Here's a funny comic that defines the term well: http://ataraxiatheatre.com/2008/06/05/what-is-ataraxia/
I think that the modern philosopher Bobby McFerrin sums it up best: "Don't worry, be happy now."

Eating on the Mountain

Hamilton is split into two distinct parts by the Niagara Escarpment, a long, jagged wall of rock that the UN officially declared to be a UNESCO World Biosphere Reserve in 1990. Filled with mini-waterfalls, trail systems, falling rocks, and vineyards, the escarpment is a wonderful place. The picture below shows a similar view of what I see of the escarpment from my house.

Everyone who lives in Hamilton knows these details, and they also know that the suburban/bedroom-community/upper-level of Hamilton city that exists on top of the escarpment, known as Hamilton Mountain (hence the capital in "Mountain" in this blog title) appears rather like an urban wasteland to some people visiting that area for the first time. If all they see is Upper James or Upper Wentworth, with the teeming cars, the strip malls, and the fast-food chains (including Hooters), then this area fails to provide an inviting vibe for most people to revisit. I had this impression when I first moved to the city about 15 years ago, and rarely visited the Mountain, except when I needed Walmart's or Zellers' low prices, or Fabricland's selection, or discounted shoes. Then, luckily, I discovered, with the help of the local Spectator restaurant critic (John Kernaghan) that many Mountain restaurants were unique and worth the trip to the often dusty and usually treeless main streets of the Mountain.
A friend told me that ratings things is a fun blog entry, so I will now rate 3 Hamilton Mountain restaurants that I find excel at their particular type of food.
This weekend, I introduced some friends to Licks, a burger joint that's a regional success story (and, I recently discovered, now has a location in Dubai, of all places). A Hamilton experience is simply incomplete without a visit to Licks, in the central Mountain area, where the burgers actually do look like the ad-pic on their website (inserted here).

And they even make a vegetarian burger, which has won awards. As a burger joint, I rate this three stars out of three, for giant patties, a slice of grilled pineapple as a topping option, and some of the best ice cream anywhere (flavours include bananarama with real banana puree and chocolate with real cocoa).
Address: 1441 Upper James St
Once you're addicted to their special sauce, you can buy it in bottles in local grocery stores.
For an overstuffed pizza experience, nothing bests Chicago Style Pizza Shack. Takeout is the best option here, and it's worth the drive to the East Mountain. They have a dining room, but it's tiny and reservations are a must. If you can't agree on which type of pizza to order, even ordering two SMALL pizzas will have you eating it for days, which is definitely not a problem and very economical, but I just wanted to emphasize how much food you get for the price you pay there. I give them three stars out of three too, for introducing me to the glory that is stuffed pizza, for maintaining a family business for all those years, and for providing good value for the money.
Address: 534 Upper Sherman
They also make traditional Italian pasta dishes, and they do have a local delivery area. Mmmmm, just thinking about the last time we ate there makes me want to go again TOMORROW!
Another three stars out of three place in my restaurant experience is a little hole in a strip mall on the west end of the Hamilton Mountain, called Lemon Grass. The interior is fine, and this is another place that is a must for reservations because of the small size, but here's the outside, nondescript (see pic below).

Address: 1300 Garth St., Unit #1
The parking lot is often full, many people eating here every night we've ever visited. We usually get takeout because it's just that busy. If you do eat in, the service is efficient and quick, even when packed.

They deserve three stars because of the many vegetarian selections on their menu, the freshness of their ingredients and their cooking methods, and their restraint with the oil (which often overwhelms so much food inspired by Eastern cultures when it is served in Western restaurants), and their care to present the food in an eye-appealing way too; the plates really do usually look like this pic from their website.
Their curry chicken is simply divine, with just the right amount of chicken and not too much heat. I tell everyone I know about this place, and I have tried quite a few other Thai restaurants, but Lemon Grass always comes out on top for me.
I'm making myself hungry, now, so I'll end this entry. If you are going to one of these places in the next little while, phone us, and we'll tag along!