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Thursday, June 28, 2007

 

Griffey's Slight Return

Sunday June 24: Mariners v. Reds. Somehow the matchup I'm most interested in seeing takes the longest to arrive. Interleague play drags on for years, and finally Cincinnati plays in Seattle, with Ken Griffey Jr. in tow.

Odds were good that Griffey, the best and most congenial of the Seattle superstars of the late-'90s (Randy Johnson and Alex Rodriquez his more sullen counterparts), would be on the DL by late June, or at the minimum, filling the DH spot by Game 3 of the series. Nonetheless, the boy and I hit Seattle with right field seats, six rows from the rail.

Pre-game autograph session (or "autos" in the common parlance) a success: J.J. Putz signed the boy's baseball card, and Morrow inked the cap (meaning, I guess, that I have to get a new Seattle cap). Massive Team Store visit a moderate success. Garlic Fries, a pass (they smelled great in the second inning, but avoiding the heartburn at the seventh inning stretch was well worth it).

Griffey smiled, joked, messed around, patted a kid on the back as he ran past. Hit two homeruns, and as I heard a half-dozen people remark, that and the Seattle win made for a perfect game (M's pitcher Batista, who served up the pair of solo dingers, might beg to differ). As much fun as Ichiro is to watch, having Griffey messing around in right field (with a couple of nice plays and a trap-door-sized divot kicked up along the way) is a preferable view to Ichiro's stretching (though which of the two manages to stay off the DL?).

Good game, good game. Post-game interview full of hints about the future, and Griffey's assertion that he always assumed he'd return to where he started. Really? Not everyone was convinced. Norm "The Sheriff" Charlton, who knows his way around a Reds uniform, questioned this in the post-game commentary.

Total cost for the one-day junket? Suffice to say we're watching Portland Beavers games from here until the playoffs.

The playoffs? Wow. It is after midnight, isn't it.

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Wednesday, June 27, 2007

 

We love you blue


First blueberry of the season, at least on this homestead. Much riper than the low-hanging (and green) fruit that a certain two-year-old later ate.

Reminds me of two separate pitches to two certain publications, about the blueberry boom. Both wrinkled their noses, passed, and then later ran articles on the blueberry boom. Ah, the bitter taste of sour, er, green berries.

Seriously though, this was the FIRST ONE of the season. (The hushed whisper of wow echoes around the world.)

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Wednesday, June 20, 2007

 

Cherrry Season


The sweet taste of Bings. Dusted with the essence of a gravel lot. Under the watchful eye of Oney.

Photo taken in beautiful Elsie, Oregon.

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Sunday, June 10, 2007

 

Matthew Stadler Profile

My profile on Matthew Stadler, man behind Back Room, founder of Clear Cut Press, author, etc., ran in today's Oregonian. It's a piece that I spent a lot of time on, and one that at 1,500 or so words, left a lot on the cutting-room floor. Thanks to those who took time to speak with me, even if you didn't appear in print.

The article can be viewed here>>
http://www.oregonlive.com/oregonian/stories/index.ssf?/base/entertainment/1181163316186660.xml&coll=7

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The Lady Is a Champ


Rags to Riches, a three-year-old filly, won yesterday's Belmont Stakes to become the first female to win the race since 1905, and the first to win any leg of the Triple Crown since Winning Colors captured the 1988 Kentucky Derby.

The Belmont, run in New York, the last jewel in that crown, tends to lose some luster in these non-Triple Crown contender years. With the Derby winner Street Sense beaten two weeks later in the Preakness and a no-show in the Belmont, the storyline reads a little warmed over: Can Curlin come back from a Preakness victory to win the Belmont? Do we care? Will we even hear from him again after this year?

With Rags to Riches win, Todd Pletcher broke his string of 28 Triple Crown losses (although second pays pretty well), and the jockey John Velazquez snapped his own 0-20 in the series. (Video here.)

But what was truly noteworthy about yesterday's race was the broadcast of it on ABC/ESPN. In the half-hour I watched leading up to posttime, and then the seemingly interminable post-race coverage, I saw an abysmal effort. Of note:
Sound? The host team cut away to an interviewer down in the paddock (I think) before the race, and then watched with millions of others as, what? Who knows. There was no sound for, I don't know, maybe an entire minute? CUT AWAY.
After the race, they compensated by broadcasting TWO SIMULTANEOUS interviews (but only showing one). Again, they did this through the entire piece.
This was not the NBC team, and it showed. No outrider interviews leading up to post. The camera work was terrible (can we get a shot in the backstretch mid race that doesn't include the ambulance in the frame? No? Really?) and the commentary worse.
Also, are those really the words to "New York, New York"? Sounded like the singer flubbed. For the Derby, roses. The Belmont, carnations.

Of course, the usual contractual obligations: presentation of the trophy with WAY too many people on stage (and camera...who are all those women in hats?), the New York racing commissioner, and so forth were boredom as usual. The race to capture as many female-oriented slogans to drive home the fact that a filly one was annoying. And the post-race analysis, terrible.

I don't love Tom Hammond, and I don't need to see Bob Costas to be convinced that an event is classy. But the difference between this race and the Kentucky Derby (or the Preakness or the Breeders Cup this fall) was significant. The ratings will be terrible, but the network is competing with golf and infomercials during that dead Saturday p.m. slot anyway. Evidently the New York Racing Association broke up the three-race deal that previously aired on NBC; when Visa pulled out as a major sponsor, it left the series television coverage in flux.

Still, we saw a great race. Slow, but big finish, with five of the seven horses still legitimate contenders coming into the far turn. It's a pity that the broadcast itself was such a nag.

Will we ever again see something like this?

Lots of coverage, including a nice (albeit familiar) piece in Newsday: "For one day, Belmont has 'the feel'"

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Wednesday, June 06, 2007

 

Oprah Finds Cormac Surprising, Weird

For those of us fortunate enough to around a television set at 4 in the afternoon, Tuesday was that rare moment: an interview with Cormac McCarthy as tie-in to Oprah's surprising pick of The Road as her last book club pick.

The famously reticent writer has, if rumor and hearsay can be trusted, given only two interviews since anyone cared enough to request one. spoke with Oprah from this weird New Mexico think-tank that he hangs out at.

It was curious to see someone so completely out of step with the publicity machine go on to Oprah and swat at her softball questions. McCarthy, hand stuck to his face, delivered brief, halting, reluctant responses, displaying a disregard for audience (thousands? millions? so what?). She lead him with "remember whens" like "remember when you lived in a shack with no electricity, and had no toothpaste?"

Oh, Cormac replied, that's right, but then a free sample showed up in the mailbox, and, well, his whole career has been like that. He got evicted from a $40/month flop in New Orleans because he was too broke, but I don't recall a satisfying conclusion to that story.

Viewers also learned from Oprah that she had interviewed a LOT of authors. She made that point twice. She also struggled to comprehend his lack of interest in sales, and she tiptoed around his personal life, though mentioned his three wives.

Oprah's site has some interesting material on it, but requires registration, which I have been too lazy to do. However, if you are considering her next pick, Jeffrey Eugenides' Middlesex (announced that same show), might be worth registering. You can join the 14 of us who have yet to read this. Great beach read, she insisted. Nothing like taking a well-read book to the beach. Personally, I like to take an entire year's worth of Atlantic Monthly back-issues.

Also on that day's Oprah: Michael Moore, and her faux-embarrassment at being on two of the 20 Vanity Fair covers for their forthcoming issue on Africa.

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Tuesday, June 05, 2007

 

The Hoods Are Back

Heading down to the Saturday Farmers' Market in Hollywood (NE Portland), with new, bigger family in tow, I pass Beaumont-Wilshire resident F.F. and stop to talk. It's 9 a.m., but she's already been down the hill to the market, which opens at 8.

"I was freaked out about the strawberries," she confessed. Freaked out that they might run out. Ridiculous? Yes, but not on F.F.'s part. These are the Hoods, Oregon strawberries in full season right now, sweeter and more fragile than their leathernecked southern California cousins. These berries weren't made for shipping...they start to dissolve right in your hands.

As we neared the market, one person after another came trundling out, carrying flats and half-flats of these little red devils.

So we plunked down $13 for the half-flat...six pints (prices that I saw ranged from $12.50-$15, and with pints running between $2.50 and $3 or $3.50).

They didn't look like anything special. Lots of dirt, a range in color from almost pink to almost purple, lots of shapes, some grown together. And invariably some already past prime.

I bought some horchata from a microentrepreneur. It needed a little ice. I found some.

Too many people couldn't resist eating the berries as they walked, subjecting me to something as uncomfortable as nails being filed: the image of someone biting into a large strawberry, all the way up to their gums. Bleh.

At home, washed them and went out to check our own berries (we've since eaten the three ripest). Soon, we will have our own berries. And, if this year's garden comes through, our own white beets, bibb lettuce, and fennel among other things that will probably either rot or get forgotten until mid-September.

The berries? The hype may be overripe, but the flavor is pretty sweet.

Serve with: Angel Food Cake, from a box, and Chocolate Ice Cream, from a box.

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Gordon "Shut It!" Ramsay Returns


The biggest disappointment of last night's season debut for the FOX network's "Hell's Kitchen" was the discovery that this was Season 3. It stands to follow, then, that last season was...Season 2?

So I missed an entire run?

"Hell's Kitchen," the reality show in which a dozen would-be chef's compete for the adoration (and restaurant) of Chef Gordon Ramsay, was hands-down the best reason to watch television last summer. And that includes Basic Cable (take THAT! WGN! Hallmark Channel! E!!).

The format: twelve goofs caught in a cross between "The Apprentice" and "America's Next Top Model," with men and women divided into the Blue (bleu?) and Red teams. They compete to prepare and deliver dinner service to cheeseballs in LA that get to ham it up for the camera. "We ordered over an hour ago and don't want any more bread!" one table complained.

Not sure what the oddsmakers make of this season's crew, but few appear to have any real cooking chops. Early sentimental favorite for me: Julia, 28, Short-Order Cook, roundly dismissed by the others with, "She cooks at the Waffle House."

You ever eat at the Waffle House? If you had, you wouldn't say something stupid like that. Instead, you'd say, "God DAMN, get Tiffany, 27, Kitchen Manager, off that station and let this girl fry them quail eggs!"

And then the producers would cut that part out to make it look like Julia STILL didn't have a friend in the world. Hey, that's life in the real (TV) world.

What's the appeal of the show, anyway? Well, swearing, for one (it works for HBO). Lots of bleeping, blurring, and things that are "ucking" this and "ucking" that (nice glottal stop at work there). But also, it's action packed, and the tasks seem more gerund than the jackassery that Trump puts his apprenticii through (though by the end of the season we know who could best organize a car wash...it's always the cheerleaders, isn't it?). And I think it's safe to say that this batch has been selected for something besides looks...or talent...geographic distribution maybe?

The real question: how long before Ramsay calls some befuddled greaseburner "Donkey!"? Not long.

Two literary-related notes:
Bill Buford's excellent April 2, 2007, New Yorker article ("The Taming of the Chef") on Ramsay shows that the act is either real or at least consistent. (Worth reading online here...although most Salvage Heart readers probably still have the April 2 New Yorker piled at the foot of the bed as they doggedly make their way through back issues...is it March yet?)

Ramsay's goal was to land three stars in the Guide Michelin for his new New York restaurant, Gordon Ramsay at The London. A native of Glasgow, his own cooking (rarely reflected in "Hell's Kitchen") celebrates English cuisine, "for two centuries the most mocked cuisine in the world," writes Buford.

Ramsay came to cooking after discovering Marco Pierre White (or a photo of him). And it just so happens that White has a new book out this May, The Devil in the Kitchen: Sex, Pain, Madness and the Making of a Great Chef. The relevance of White, according to Buford, is that it gave Ramsay something no other top British chefs had had: a Brit as a mentor rather than a Frenchman.

But back to the business at hand. Melissa, 28, Line Cook? Wow, if she was a skillet she could fry both sides of the egg at the same time...told Tiffany to her face that she wouldn't get kicked out, then put her up as a weak link. Tiffany, I think you're alone now...there' doesn't seem to be anyone around.

*************
Hell's Kitchen, FOX, Mondays at 9pm (check local listings)

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