samedi, janvier 19, 2008

girl, you'll be a woman soon(er)

Puberty is arriving ever younger in American females -- 8 is no longer considered abnormal. Preservatives, pesticides, hormones such Bovine Growth Hormone (rBGH) in milk and other hormones in meat, plastics, cosmetics with phthalates, all of these should make us suspicious. (And, no, I don't feel like I'm a tinfoil hat-wearing conspiracy freak for asking questions.)

But the typical American attitude is to assume that corporations and government are acting in our best interest, instead of pushing for answers. It's negligent not to investigate the environmental factors. Shifting the charts to define the change as "normal" sweeps this under the rug. Why are we burying our collective heads in the sand?
Girl, you'll be a woman sooner than expected
By Susan Brink, Los Angeles Times Staff Writer
January 21, 2008
AT 8 or 9 years old, the typical American schoolgirl is perfecting her cursive handwriting style. She's picking out nouns, verbs, adjectives and adverbs in sentences, memorizing multiplication tables and learning to read a thermometer.

She's a little girl with a lot to learn.

And yet, in increasing numbers, when girls this age run across the playground in T-shirts, there is undeniable evidence that their bodies are blossoming. The first visible sign of puberty, breast budding, is arriving ever earlier in American girls.

Some parents and activists suspect environmental chemicals. Most pediatricians and endocrinologists say that, though they have suspicions about the environment, the only scientific evidence points to the obesity epidemic. What's clear, however, is that the elements of female maturity increasingly are spacing themselves out over months, even years -- and no one quite knows why.

While early menstruation is a known risk factor for breast cancer, no one knows what earlier breast development means for the future of girls' health. "We're not backing up all events in puberty," says Sandra Streingraber, biologist and visiting scholar at Ithaca College. "We're backing up the starting point." She has examined the research on female puberty and compiled a summary in an August 2007 report called "The Falling Age of Puberty in U.S. Girls." The report was financed by the Breast Cancer Fund, an advocacy group interested in exploring environmental causes of that disease.

Earlier breast development is now so typical that the Lawson Wilkins Pediatric Endocrine Society urged changing the definition of "normal" development. Until 10 years ago, breast development at age 8 was considered an abnormal event that should be investigated by an endocrinologist. Then a landmark study in the April 1997 journal Pediatrics written by Marcia Herman-Giddens, adjunct professor at the School of Public Health at the University of North Carolina, Chapel Hill, found that among 17,000 girls in North Carolina, almost half of African Americans and 15% of whites had begun breast development by age 8. Two years later, the society suggested changing what it considered medically normal.

The new "8" -- the medically suggested definition for abnormally early breast development -- is, the society says, 7 for white girls and 6 for African American girls.

Through the ages
Puberty involves three stages: breast development, pubic hair growth and, finally, menstruation. Because the final event is typically the most memorable for women, it has been the one most scientifically documented in studies based on self-reported memories. The first 100 years that medical records were kept on the age of onset of menstruation saw continuous drops. Between about 1850 and 1950 in Europe, the average age of a girl's first period dropped from about 17 to about 13. (The U.S. doesn't have good data earlier than the 20th century, though trends were probably similar, says Steingraber, who prepared the August 2007 report after examining hundreds of studies on potential dietary, lifestyle and environmental causes of early puberty.)

Much of that decline probably has to do with better nutrition and public health improvements that reduced the spread of infectious diseases. "Better diet, closed sewer systems, deep burial of the dead," Steingraber says. "By the beginning of the 20th century, those things were in place."

Adequate food and good health signal the brain that it's safe to reproduce, according to theories of evolutionary biology. "We're healthier and we weigh more," says Dr. Francine Kaufman, head of the center for diabetes and endocrinology at Childrens Hospital. "In some ways, puberty is a luxury."

With the brain picking up these signals, the hormonal parade can begin, first with the release from the hypothalamus of gonadotropin-releasing hormone, which sends other hormones from the pituitary gland through the bloodstream to the ovaries. The ovaries gear up production of a form of estrogen called estradiol, which initiates breast development -- the first step in puberty.

A second signaling pathway stimulates the adrenal gland to begin androgen production, which results in pubic hair. The final stage of puberty is the beginning of monthly periods.

But the first two events are happening significantly earlier in the lives of today's girls than they did in the lives of their mothers and grandmothers. The age of first menstruation has dropped too, at a rate of about one month per decade for the last 30 years, according to a January 2003 study in Pediatrics. Today, the U.S. average for first period is 12.5 for white girls, 12.06 for black girls and 12.09 for Latinas.

The gap between the first appearance of breast buds and menstruation grew wider by as much as a year and a half between the 1960s and the 1990s, according to research published in the October 2006 journal Current Opinion in Obstetrics and Gynecology. The time from breast buds to bleeding, according to Herman-Giddens, is now close to three years.

In short, that finely tuned biological process may have reached a tipping point. Since the 1960s, Herman-Giddens says, the decline in the age of maturity has crossed the line from positive reasons, such as better diet, to negative ones, such as eating too much, exercising too little and the vast unknowns of chemical pollution.

The lack of adequate explanation has some experts worried. "Over the course of a few decades, the childhoods of U.S. girls have been significantly shortened," Steingraber says.

Redefining 'average'
The new average age of puberty, some fear, may be like the new average weight -- typical, but terrible.

"My fear," Herman-Giddens says, "is that medical groups could take the data and say 'This is normal. We don't have to worry about it.' My feeling is that it is not normal. It's a response to an abnormal environment."

Dr. Paul Kaplowitz, chief of endocrinology at Children's National Medical Center in Washington, D.C., and lead author of a special article Oct. 4, 1999, in the journal Pediatrics suggesting a redefinition of early puberty, isn't so sure. Too many girls are being labeled abnormal, he contends.

"Maybe we shouldn't be worrying so much about those girls," he says. "The chance of finding a serious condition in a 7-year-old with pubic hair is very, very small."

There have always been rare cases of extremely early puberty, called precocious puberty. One report, going back to 1834 in Butler County, Ky., was of a baby girl whose hips and breasts began to grow soon after she was born. By the age of 1, she was menstruating and at age 10, she gave birth to a 7-pound baby. Such extreme cases today would be examined and treated.

But the beginnings of breasts, and the first pubic hair, at ages 8, 7 or even 6 for African Americans falls at the low end of today's new normal range.

With statisticians proving that "average" is younger than recently thought, environmental activists are asking whether hormones in food, pesticides in produce or phthalates in plastics and cosmetics could be contributing to breast buds in third-graders. Social scientists have lifestyle suspicions. Does the stress of fatherless households, or the stimulating effects of sexually suggestive television shows, have anything to do with earlier signs of puberty? The suspicions remain difficult to prove.

Despite the reassurance of pediatric endocrinologists that younger development is normal, a lot of parents are still nervous, Kaplowitz says.

"If somebody calls in and says, 'I've got an 8-year-old with breast buds,' there's nothing I need to do," he says. "I discourage referrals. But they show up anyway."

Kaplowitz examined evidence for all suspected environmental and lifestyle factors in his book, "Early Puberty in Girls: The Essential Guide to Coping With This Common Problem."

"The explanation for which there's the most evidence is that it's related to the trend in increasing obesity," he says. "There are other factors, such as if your mother matured early. Sometimes we simply don't know. But overall, the biggest single factor is the trend toward obesity." Fatty tissue is a source of estrogen, so chubbier girls are exposed to more estrogen.

"With environmental influences, there has been a lot of speculation, but little hard data. I'm not suggesting there's no connection, but it's very hard to say there's a proven connection. I think it's environmental mainly in the sense that overeating and lack of exercise is environmental," Kaplowitz says. "I've tried to take the view that we shouldn't be alarmed about this."

Herman-Giddens is not so convinced, but concedes that evidence for environmental causes is close to impossible to obtain. "I myself am shocked sometimes to see very thin girls, 8 and 9 years old, with breast development," she says. "But with all the estrogen-like elements in the environment, it's virtually impossible to study. There's no place to find an unexposed population."

The biggest concern, she says, is that earlier puberty means longer lifetime exposure to estrogen, and early puberty, along with late menopause, is known to increase the risk of breast cancer.

But to design a study in which some girls are deliberately exposed to higher doses of such chemicals would be unethical, she says. Some animal studies provide cause for concern about endocrine-disrupting chemicals, but little hard evidence for humans. And a handful of industrial accidents have provided some data. In 1973, for example, estrogenic chemicals were inadvertently mixed in cattle feed in a Michigan community. The daughters of pregnant and nursing women who ate meat and dairy products from the cows were studied and were found to have begun their periods up to a year earlier than girls not exposed to the chemical, according to a 2000 study in the journal Epidemiology.

Time for a talk
What's clear is that physical appearance is getting ahead of other aspects of girls' maturity. They might be perceived as far older than they are, even when they're still rummaging through their mothers' closets to clomp around in oversized high heels.

"My daughter started developing breasts maybe around age 8," says Rhonda Sykes of Inglewood. "She was still into her doll phase and dressing up to play." So Sykes began having frank mother-daughter conversations about curves and changing bodies a bit earlier than she expected.

"Whatever they look like, they know nothing," says Diana Zuckerman, president of the National Research Center for Women and Families. "Eight- and 9-year olds are learning to make change for a dollar. These are children who are learning the most fundamental facts in school. Imagine trying to teach that child the fundamentals of sex. They're not even playing Monopoly yet. They're still playing Candyland."

The medical community calls earlier puberty normal, the trend goes hand in hand with the obesity epidemic, and science has not yet pinpointed the reasons. And yet, when girls who are still children in the minds of their parents start developing breasts, many of their mothers remember that it happened later in their own lives -- and wonder why.

Theorists and advocates continue to search for definitive evidence, and little girls continue to look like young women at earlier ages. "My biologist brain says, 'There's not a lot you can conclude from the [environmental] evidence,' " Steingraber says. "But I've got a 9-year-old girl. And as a mother, I say, 'They've introduced all these chemicals into the environment, and they have no idea what it's doing. What are they, nuts?' I want data demonstrating safety, not data demonstrating ignorance."
Via Dana

the silent debate (with harry shearer)

Everybody thinks they’ve heard the Presidential candidates say nothing in the debates. But now, for the first time ever, a debate in which the point is to present them saying nothing. Literally.

vendredi, janvier 18, 2008

tagging our history

Information architecture 101 says that you ask the target audience what it calls things, in an effort to make them easier to find. That's the awesome power behind folksonomy. Now, the Library of Congress and Flickr are teaming up to categorize lots of vintage images. Awesome!

Flickr brings tagging to vintage images
By Daniel Terdiman
Staff Writer, CNET News.com
Published: January 17, 2008, 1:34 PM PST
Scores of gorgeous historic photos--from shots of early 20th century baseball players to 1940s-era images of horse-drawn carts and factory workers--showed up on Flickr this week, and the public is busy tagging them in an effort to bring new context to the collection.

The labeling is part of a pilot project by the U.S. Library of Congress, which is making 3,115 of its archival photos available for public tagging in an attempt to bring a sort of "wisdom of the crowds" intelligence to the photos' metadata.

The project kicked off Wednesday in conjunction with the launch of a Flickr initiative dubbed "The Commons." That effort aims to open peoples' eyes to the "hidden treasures in the huge Library of Congress collection" and to show people how their "input of a tag or two can make the collection even richer."

For now, the library is making two distinct groupings available on the popular photo-sharing site: "1930s-40s in Color" and "News in the 1910s." The former is filled with images of World War II-era industrial scenes and military personnel posing in full-dress uniform. The latter contains equally stunning shots of random ball players, barns, yacht clubs, and more.

The Commons is Flickr's attempt to showcase and add context to the archives of public-facing institutions--first the Library of Congress and later potentially others, such as museums or other civic entities.

"I'm interested in whether this can establish the usefulness of the folksonomic approach, in combination with the expertise and curatorial skills that these institutions hold," said George Oates, program manager for The Commons at Flickr. "I don't know what the future looks like, but I do know that there's a lot of interest in the museum industry about this...approach."

For now, though, The Commons is going to focus exclusively on the library's archives. One notable aspect of the project is the addition of a new Flickr copyright category in which the photos are said to have "no known copyright restrictions."

It might be tempting to read that designation as equating to "public domain," but that's not the case, say those driving the initiative at the Library of Congress.

"It's always incumbent on a user of any work to do their own due diligence" about copyright, said Matt Raymond, a public-affairs officer at the library. (The public can visit the library's Prints and Photographs Web page for an FAQ on the specifics of copyright issues pertaining to the images in The Commons project, as well as to any of the millions of other images in the library's archives.)

It may eventually be possible for the general public to submit photos to The Commons project, Oates suggested, but for now, Flickr will limit participation to public or civic institutions.

As a result, the public will have to continue using the previously existing copyright designations Flickr offers, such as "some rights reserved," "all rights reserved" and assorted licenses available under Creative Commons.

Regardless of the copyright issues involved, the library and Flickr are pushing these initiatives because of what they see as a unique opportunity to bring to bear the knowledge of the photo-sharing site's millions of users. The images, which previously had very little metadata attached, will now be searchable by the countless tags being added.

In addition, said Raymond, the project is giving the library a chance to experiment with the latest interactive technologies.

"We're moving as aggressively as a government agency can to recognize the growing importance of Web 2.0," Raymond said. "This was a very low-cost opportunity to observe the tagging behavior and evaluate the quality we could get, and get our feet wet in a Web 2.0 community."

Already, just a day after the project debut, some individual photos have received more than 50 tags. Some might think so many tags for an individual photo could water down the usefulness of the metadata, but those involved in the project disagree.

"That's where the long tail comes in," Oates said. "If you compare a photo with 3 tags with one with 26, you've increased" searchability by orders of magnitude.

The Library of Congress initiative shares characteristics of projects like SETI@home and Amazon.com's Mechanical Turk, both of which harness the power of the masses to look for solutions.

Those projects, which both task individuals with contributing their time or computer processing power for the larger good, are in some ways the definition of what Wired magazine contributing editor Jeff Howe calls "crowdsourcing."

"The cost of five minutes of a user's time is so marginal, it's almost a why-not," said Howe, author of the forthcoming Crowdsourcing: How the power of the crowd is driving the future of business. "Are they asking for a day of my time? No way, I've got kids. Are they asking for a few minutes? (Then no problem)."

One might think the public would be willing to help the Library of Congress because the institution's mission to archive and collect public knowledge and information is benign. But Howe suggested that there would be those who would want to get involved no matter what the agency was.

"If it was the (National Security Agency) asking if I'd want to classify spy photos," Howe said, "even then, you'd get the wannabe spooks" to help.

That's exactly what Flickr and the Library of Congress are counting on as their side-by-side projects get off the ground.

Some observers view the projects as an admirable way of mixing public and private expertise.

"Except for my general nervousness about putting this stuff into a privately held, for-profit organization," blogger David Weinberger wrote Wednesday, "I think this is quite cool. It has the advantage of putting the data where the people already are. As a footnote to the posting says, it takes a photo of a grain elevator as an example 'because it helps illustrate that there are active Flickr user groups for even such diverse subjects as grain elevators.'"

Michelle Springer, project manager of digital initiatives at the Library of Congress, said the agency doesn't mind that its partner is a company that can leverage its participation for potential profit.

"The library's interest is in working with virtually any partner that will help us achieve our mission," Springer said, "and the key thing we keep in mind is that we avoid exclusive arrangements. So if other people wanted to work with us and do similar things, it's not unprecedented for us to do that."

She added that she hopes that the library's experience with the project might spur other government agencies and public institutions to follow its lead.
But for now, the library is just getting used to the fact that the public seems to have responded to its project with very open arms and with an unexpected amount of participation.
"We didn't have a sense of what all we would learn," Raymond said. "And by going through the exercise, we will reach undiscovered territory and uncharted countries."

jeudi, janvier 17, 2008

mob cheese

I love cheese. I love bufala mozarella. So the idea that Italy's export is under threat because of a problem that the mafia is exacerbating is molto malo.
Disease risk to mozzarella output
By Christian Fraser
BBC News, Rome

The production of one of Italy's best known exports, mozzarella, is under threat from an infection spreading through herds of water buffalo.

The Italian government has set up an emergency commission to try and stop the spread of the disease, which affects milk production.

The plains of Campania, around Naples, are home to large buffalo herds.

As much as 30% of the herd who live in the shadow of Mount Vesuvius are reported to be infected.

The area is the exalted home of mozzarella di bufala: not only an essential part of the Italian diet, but one of Italy's most important exports.

But the Neapolitan farmers who make this famous milky cheese are facing a crisis.

In the next two months, the Italian government will start the slaughter of 32,000 buffalo, infected with Brucellosis - a contagious bacterial disease that in livestock leads to abortion, infertility and reduced milk production.

It can be transmitted through food to humans, causing severe intermittent fever - though the milk which produces the cheese is perfectly safe when it is pasteurised.

Mafia 'threat'


Brucellosis has been present in the herd for 10 years.

But the Italian papers say the local vets who are supposed to test and put down infected animals have been intimidated by the local mafia - the Camorra - who also control some of the farms.

Consequently, it is reported, the disease has been allowed to spread to almost 30% of the herd.

Caserta, one of two key mozzarella-producing areas, is the worst affected.

In the coming weeks, armed police will accompany government vets to help with the cull.

They say every infected animal destroyed will be burnt - and it is estimated the cost to the Italian government will be 66m euros ($97m; £49m).

dimanche, janvier 13, 2008

broccoli with two-cheese sauce

We made this as a side dish last night and loved it. (To be fair, we used regular Gruyere, because it was what we had, so it probably wasn't as "light" as the recipe below.)
1 cup fat-free milk
1/2 cup sliced onion
2 garlic cloves, crushed
Dash of ground nutmeg
2 tablespoons all-purpose flour
1/3 cup (about 1 1/2 ounces) grated fresh Parmigiano-Reggiano cheese (we used 1/2 cup)
1/3 cup (about 1 1/2 ounces) shredded reduced-fat Jarlsberg cheese (we used 1/2 cup Gruyere)
1/4 teaspoon salt
Dash of ground red pepper
6 cups broccoli spears

Combine first 4 ingredients in a small, heavy saucepan over medium heat. Heat to 180° or until tiny bubbles form around edge (do not boil). Remove from heat; let stand 15 minutes. Strain milk mixture through a sieve into a bowl, reserving milk. (We simply removed the onion and garlic and skipped the straining and wiping the pan.) Discard solids. Wipe pan clean with paper towels; add strained milk and flour to pan, stirring with a whisk. Return pan to medium heat; cook 2 minutes or until thick, stirring constantly with a whisk. Remove from heat. Add cheeses, salt, and pepper, stirring with a whisk until smooth. Keep warm.

Cook broccoli in boiling water 3 minutes or until crisp-tender; drain. Top with cheese sauce; serve immediately.

Serves 8. (serving size: 3/4 cup broccoli and about 2 1/2 tablespoons sauce)

CALORIES 67(30% from fat); FAT 2.2g (sat 1.3g,mono 0.6g,poly 0.2g); PROTEIN 6.4g; CHOLESTEROL 6mg; CALCIUM 175mg; SODIUM 215mg; FIBER 1.8g; IRON 0.6mg; CARBOHYDRATE 6.4g

Via Cooking Light, January 2008

mardi, janvier 08, 2008

forget tupperware, modern women hold taser parties

Forget Tupperware, modern women hold Taser parties
Posted on Tue, Jan. 08, 2008
By CHRIS KAHN, Associated Press
GILBERT, Ariz. --
Before she lets them shoot her little pink stun gun, Dana Shafman ushers her new friends to the living room sofa for a serious chat about the fears she believes they all share.

''The worst nightmare for me is, while I'm sleeping, someone coming in my home,'' Shafman says, drawing a few solemn nods from the women. Shafman, 34, of Phoenix, says she knows how they feel. She says she used to stash knives under her pillow for protection.

Welcome, she says, to the Taser party.

On the coffee table, Shafman spreads out Taser's C2 ''personal protector'' weapons that the company is marketing to the public. It doesn't take long before the women are lined up in the hallway, whooping as they take turns blasting a metallic target.

''C'mon!'' she says. ``Give it a shot.''

Shafman isn't an employee for Scottsdale, Ariz.-based Taser International. She's an independent entrepreneur who's been selling Tasers the way her mother's generation sold plastic food storage containers.

As a single woman who lives alone, Shafman says she's the perfect pitchwoman for Taser as it makes a renewed push to sell weapons to families.

The company agrees. Taser officials like Shafman's homespun sales tactics so much that they will have a living room set at the International Consumer Electronics Show in Las Vegas. Shafman will host a Taser party for buyers and dealers.

The company launched the Taser C2, which shoots two electrically charged darts with the same shocking power as the police version, last year. It previously came in four colors -- silver, black, blue and pink. The company said Monday that it would also make the guns available in leopard print, ''fashion'' pink, and ''red-hot'' red.

Another product, the Taser MPH (Music Player Holster) will hold 1 gigabyte of music, enough to allow wearers to listen to a variety of songs while carrying a stun gun on their hip.

Taser doesn't expect its dealers to start imitating Shafman. But spokesman Steve Tuttle says company officials think people can learn from her approach.

''When I talk about Taser, I come across as a salesman,'' Tuttle says. ``When you see her it comes across as very real.''

Shafman, a freelance construction consultant, says she always had a natural interest in self-defense products.

She tried moonlighting as a door-to-door Taser saleswoman. But years of negative press about Taser made it tough.

A lot of people, especially women, need time to get comfortable with a unique product like Taser before they'll consider buying one, Shafman says.

So the Taser party was born.

Shafman says she's sold about 30 guns per month at $349.99 since her first Taser party in October. She doesn't get a commission from Taser. Instead, she gets a discounted dealer rate for units and keeps the difference.

Shafman says many of her women customers love that the C2 is small enough to fit in their purses, and that it comes in a variety of colors. When it comes to choosing weapons, she says, a lot of women want them in pink.

looking for a first


Via TIME

lundi, janvier 07, 2008

the rain floods gutters

As I got into the car this morning, it was still pouring rain, and the lyrics to "Sometimes" by James began. By the time I got to work, I'd belted out the words to "Laid" and other faves. And I'd nearly forgotten that it was a rainy Monday.

James is one the bands I most wish I'd seen in college. I'm not sure that they're even still performing, but I need to see Tim Booth perform before I die.
Fun factoid via Wikipedia:
A somewhat dubious honour that can be attributed to James is that many of their support acts went on to find great success of their own, eclipsing that of James themselves. In 1988 they were supported by The Stone Roses and the Happy Mondays (James went on to support the Happy Mondays only two years later). Nirvana was the support act for a show in 1991 - only a month later, Nevermind reached number one in the Billboard Album Charts. For their 1993 tour, Radiohead was the support.

After James' hiatus, the trend continued. Third Eye Blind supported in 1997; The Corrs and Stereophonics in 1998; Supergrass and Doves in 1999. In 2000 they were supported by Coldplay - a month later their breakthrough single "Yellow" was released, a month after that their debut album Parachutes went to #1 in the UK album chart.

The support for their 2007 UK tour was The Twang, already the subject of considerable media coverage.
"Laid"

"Say Something"

"Sometimes"

"She's a Star"

dimanche, janvier 06, 2008

ugli, yes; uniq(ue), perhaps

I learned about a new fruit this weekend. (To be fair, it's new to me, not new in general.) It's called the ugli fruit AKA uniq.
An ugli fruit is a citrus fruit created by hybridizing a grapefruit (or pomelo according to some sources) and a tangerine. Its species is Citrus reticulata x Citrus paradisi.

Native to Jamaica, the fruit was first bred in Brown's Town in 1914. It got its name from the unsightly appearance of its rough, wrinkled, greenish-yellow skin, wrapped loosely around the orange pulpy citrus inside. An ugli fruit is slightly smaller than a grapefruit and has fewer seeds. It tends towards the sweet side of the tangerine rather than the bitter side of its grapefruit lineage, with a fragrant skin. The fruit is seasonal from December to April. It is distributed in the USA, UK and Europe between November and April, and is on occasion available from July to September.

Americans pronounce the name "ugly," but in Jamaica, where it is grown, its name is pronounced /ˈhu.ɡli/.
While googling, I also stumbled on this.
Via Demotivators

samedi, janvier 05, 2008

quotable

Can I get an "amen"?!

"The very purpose of a Bill of Rights was to withdraw certain subjects from the vicissitudes of political controversy, to place them beyond the reach of majorities and official and to establish them as legal principles to be applied by the courts.

One's right to life, liberty, and property, to free speech, a free press, freedom of worship and assembly, and other fundamental rights may not be submitted to vote; they depend on the outcome of no elections."

-Justice Robert H. Jackson, 1943 West Virginia v. Barnette. In his majority opinion, Jackson (and the Court) held that a state could not force a Jehovah's Witness child to salute the American flag -- even during wartime.

mercredi, janvier 02, 2008

the invisible ingredient

Physics + food = fun. This article's a good reminder (and taught me several things I didn't already know) about getting the best results when cooking.
The Curious Cook: The Invisible Ingredient in Every Kitchen
By HAROLD McGEE
January 2, 2008
OF all the ingredients in the kitchen, the most common is also the most mysterious.

It’s hard to measure and hard to control. It’s not a material like water or flour, to be added by the cup. In fact, it’s invisible.

It’s heat.

Every cook relies every day on the power of heat to transform food, but heat doesn’t always work in the way we might guess. And what we don’t know about it can end up burning us.

We waste huge amounts of gas or electricity, not to mention money and time, trying to get heat to do things it can’t do. Aiming to cook a roast or steak until it’s pink at the center, we routinely overcook the rest of it. Instead of a gentle simmer, we boil our stews and braises until they are tough and dry. Even if we do everything else right, we can undermine our best cooking if we let food cool on the way to the table — all because most of us don’t understand heat.

Heat is energy. It’s everywhere and it is always on the move, flowing out as it flows in. It roils the chemical innards of things, exciting their molecules to vibrate and crash into each other. When we add a lot of heat energy to foods, it agitates those innards enough to mix them up, destroy structures and create new ones. In doing so it transforms both texture and flavor.

There are, however, uncountable ways to misapply heat. In most cooking, we transfer energy from a heat source, something very hot and energetic, to relatively cold and inert foods. Our usual heat sources, gas flames and glowing coals and electrical elements, have temperatures well above 1,000 degrees Fahrenheit. Boiling water is around 212 degrees.

Cooks typically heat food to somewhere between 120 degrees (for fish and meats that we want to keep moist) and 400 degrees (for dry, crisp, flavorful brown crusts on breads, pastries, potatoes, or on fish and meats).

At the bottom of that range, a difference of just 5 or 10 degrees can mean the difference between juicy meat and dry, between a well-balanced cup of coffee or tea and a bitter, over-extracted one. And as every cook learns early on, it’s all too easy to burn the outside of a hamburger or a potato before the center is warm.

That’s the basic challenge: We’re often aiming a fire hose of heat at targets that can only absorb a slow trickle, and that will be ruined if they absorb a drop too much. Are you ever annoyed by pots that take forever to heat up, or frustrated by waiting for dry foods to soften? A kitchen that becomes hot enough to be a sauna? Big jumps in the utility bill when you do a lot of cooking? The problem, as you will notice if you pay more attention to your kitchen’s thermal landscape, even in terms of what you can feel, is how much heat escapes without ever getting into the food.

Among the major culprits here are inefficient appliances. According to the United States Department of Energy, a gas burner delivers only 35 to 40 percent of its heat energy to the pan; a standard electrical element conveys about 70 percent. Anyone thinking about kitchen renovation should know that induction cooktops, which generate heat directly within the pan itself, are around 90 percent efficient. They can out-cook big-B.T.U. gas burners, work faster, don’t heat up the whole kitchen, and are becoming more common in restaurant kitchens.

Maximizing the transfer of heat from burner to pot produces better food. In deep frying, the faster the burner can bring the oil temperature back up after the food is added, the quicker the food cooks and the less oil it absorbs. In boiling green vegetables, a fast recovery time means better retention of vibrant color and vitamins.

No matter how efficient an appliance is, the cook can help simply by covering pots and pans with their lids. Some of the heat that enters through the bottom of the pot exits through the top, but a lid prevents much of it from escaping into the air. This is especially true when you’re bringing a pot of water to the boil. With the lid on, it will start bubbling in as little as half the time. Turning water into steam takes a lot of energy, and every molecule that flies away from the water surface takes all that energy with it into the air. Prevent its escape, and the energy stays with the pot to heat the rest of the water.

Once a liquid starts to boil and is turning to steam throughout the pot — the bubbles of a boil are bubbles of water vapor — nearly all the energy from the burner is going into steam production. The temperature of the water itself remains steady at the boiling point, no matter how high the flame is underneath it. So turn the burner down. A gentle boil is just as hot as a furious one.

Cooking doesn’t get much more straightforward than boiling and steaming vegetables, grains, and the like. But sometimes it takes forever, which either delays dinner or results in crunchy beans and diners suffering for it later. And you can’t speed the process by raising the heat.

In fact it’s easy to save loads of time and energy and potential discomfort with grains, dry beans and lentils, and even pasta. But it requires a little thinking ahead. It turns out that the most time-consuming part of the process is not the movement of boiling heat to the center of each small bean or noodle, which takes only a few minutes, but the movement of moisture, which can take hours. Grains and dry legumes therefore cook much faster if they have been soaked. However heretical it may sound to soak dried pasta, doing so can cut its cooking time by two-thirds — and eliminates the problem of dry noodles getting stuck to each other as they slide into the pot.

The trickiest foods to heat just right are meats and fish. The problem is that we want to heat the center of the piece to 130 or 140 degrees, but we often want a browned, tasty crust on the surface, and that requires 400 degrees.

It takes time for heat to move inward from the surface to the center, so the default method is to fry or grill or broil and hope that the browning time equals the heat-through time. Even if that math works out, the area between the center and surface will then range in temperature between 130 and 400 degrees. The meat will be overcooked everywhere but right at the center.

The solution is to cook with more than one level of heat. Start with very cold meat and very high heat to get the surface browned as quickly as possible with minimal cooking inside; then switch to very low heat to cook the interior gently and evenly, leaving it moist and tender.

On the grill, this means having high- and low-heat zones and moving the food from one to the other. On the stove top or in the oven, start at 450 or 500 degrees, and then turn the heat down to around 250, ideally taking the food out until the pan or oven temperature has fallen significantly.

Another solution is to cook the food perfectly with low heat, let it cool some, and then flavor its surface with a brief blast of intense heat from a hot pan or even a gas torch. More and more restaurants are adopting this method, especially those that practice sous-vide cooking, in which food is sealed in a plastic bag, placed in a precisely controlled water bath and heated through at exactly the temperature that gives the desired doneness.

All these are two-step processes, but the same principle works for three steps or more. Rotisserie cooking alternates high and low heat many times: as the meat turns on the spit, each area of the surface is briefly exposed to high browning heat, then given time for that dose of energy to dissipate, part of it into the meat but part back out into the cool air. So the meat interior cooks through at a more moderate temperature. Similarly, steaks and chops cook more evenly on high grill heat — and faster as well — if you become a human rotisserie and turn them not once or twice but as often as you can stand to, even dozens of times, every 15 or 30 seconds.

Tough cuts of meat require longer cooking to dissolve their connective tissue, and stewing or slow braising in a low oven is a simple and popular method of doing so. But many recipes don’t give the best results, simply because they don’t take into account the vast difference between cooking with the lid on and off. Even in an oven set as low as 225 or 250 degrees, if the pot is covered, the contents will reach the boil, and the meat will overcook and dry out.

Leave the lid ajar or off, and evaporation of the cooking liquid cools the pot and moderates the meat temperature, keeping it closer to 160 to 180 degrees. This is hot enough to soften the connective tissue in a few hours without also driving out most of the meat’s moisture.

The challenge of heat management doesn’t end when you’ve cooked something to perfection. How often have you found that the dish that was perfect in the kitchen seems to have lost something by the time you sit down and take the first bite? That something certainly includes heat.

Heat knocks molecules at the surface of food into the air where we can sniff them, so it increases the aroma. Inside the food, agitated molecules make sauces more fluid and hot meat more tender. And the sensation of a food’s warmth is satisfying in itself. The moment hot food is put on a plate, its heat energy begins to flow out into the cooler surroundings. Aromas fade, sauces thicken, fats congeal.

So when you transfer heat’s handiwork from the kitchen to the table, take along some extra. Warm the plates to prolong the pleasure. And encourage everyone to sit down and eat it while it’s hot.

who needs lanes?

This story reminded me of Leo's cousin Javier in Uruguay. Last February, I gave the poor guy a complex by asking him about the rules of the road.

We were in Montevideo, and Javier was carting us around the city in his Citroen. We invariably returned to the Rambla, the multi-lane riverfront road that connects beaches and other cities along the Rio de la Plata. I noticed that all the cars would stop neatly in their designated lanes at red lights. As soon as the light became green, the Uruguayan drivers appeared to completely ignore the lane markings, with most driving such that the lines ran down the exact center of the automobile. To my American eyes, it was chaotic and unsafe. But from the air, traffic must have looked like a living organism, constantly arranging and rearranging as vehicles merged, jostled for space, and eventually left the road.

However, the pattern was so consistent that after a few days I asked about it. Javier laughed, characterized traffic as an ola (ocean wave), with groups speeding along or slowing as light after light became green or red as we approached. The more I think about it, the more apt Javier's word choice becomes: an ola is liquid in motion, a stream constantly ebbing and flowing, with very little that separates the mass and its force.

I suspect Javier wanted to reassure me, however. He starting driving in his lane (between the lines), becoming a danger to himself, his passengers, and the other motorists. After a few drivers shook their fists at him and shouted all manner of compliments about his mother, he resumed his place in the organic traffic pattern, with our car all over the road, one more vehicle in flux and constant motion.

As his passenger, I was grateful that he decided that it was easier (and safer) to go along to get along. And I marvelled at how everyone around him adjusted slightly based on the needs of those around them. In a sense, that was another snapshot that illustrates yet again how much of the world is cognizant of the society around it and interacting and changing accordingly, while we as Americans are individuals with physical space buffering us (ostensibly, for our own safety and that of others), such that we change and interact less with others when reaching our destination.
Modern Love: Our Joy Knows No Bounds, or Lanes
December 30, 2007
By ELLEN GRAF
MY Chinese friend Yuzhi invited herself over for a serious talk. Her English is poor, and she struggled to convey her message, but she was concerned: she had noticed I was lonely.

Her brother in China, Zhong-Hua, was lonely, too. Maybe he and I would like each other? She offered to send me to China to find out. “But if you don’t like him, is O.K.,” she said. Her vocabulary exhausted, she drew a huge breath and said, “O.K., all done.”

I was both stunned by her offer and strangely open to it. At 46, I had been burned to ash by divorce and had crawled back toward life, sometimes on hands and knees. The common wisdom is that people, in seeking love, risk losing themselves, but I did not fear this loss. And I thought that not choosing for myself might work better than choosing. I didn’t wonder about what my perfect person would be like. I was way beyond that kind of amusement.

Four months later, I found myself in the Beijing airport amid a surge of people politely pushing, shuffling and nudging past one another. This was unlike an American crowd, where you feel harried, even accosted. There, I sailed comfortably through a sea of introverts.

I saw one solid figure standing absolutely still. A multitude pressed and swayed around him. He held red roses, and beads of moisture clung to his resolute jaw. He wore an expression of contained expectancy. The temperature was 99 degrees.

I immediately felt calm in his presence. Our courtship had already occurred in the form of our shared anticipation, though we hadn’t communicated, hadn’t even exchanged pictures. But his being open to me, sight unseen, meant a lot. We had tried so hard in previous marriages, only to fail. So I traveled to him with an eager heart, and he welcomed me with the same.

During our three weeks together, the absence of spoken words let things be themselves. I felt the air tingling and warm with a companionship sheltered from discourse.

At our first dinner he placed each delicacy on my plate and watched without making eye contact or smiling. Of the locusts and sea slug he gave me just a little, and nodded once encouragingly to say, “Try.” He saw I loved shrimp and piled more onto the plate. Out of necessity, the first phrase I learned in Chinese was “I am full.”

When he asked, “Do you want marry?” I said yes. I was surprised, actually, that he could say the words; he must have practiced and practiced. Later we had a simple ceremony, and I returned to the United States to wait 18 months for him to be granted a visa. During this time we communicated as best we could by phone and letters. His voice was balm to my nerves, and the monthly rice-paper letters were always from “the brootom” of his heart.

In return, translating with a dictionary, I sometimes wrote characters that had been out of popular use in China for centuries. When I asked after his father, it probably sounded something like, “I prithee, how fareth the honorable ancestor?”

He had to devote many hours over several days to write one short letter in English, so I told him to write in Chinese and I would find someone to translate. In one letter he wrote:

“In my imagination I see your slim figure buffeted by icy gusts of wind, and I want to cross the street and stand next to you. I long to shield you from the cold. But I am across the world, not across the street. We must both be patient. I will come and be with you forever.”

Finally the day arrived when I was waiting at the Albany airport for him. It was winter. As soon as I took him into my house, he deftly made himself at home. At the wood stove he removed his business pants and stood there in his baggy quilted long underwear. “Very comfortable,” he said, one of the few phrases he knew at the time.

After our meal, he rummaged in the bathroom until he found the mop, bucket and Murphy Oil Soap. He proceeded to scrub in silence all the floors, upstairs and down. Then he went out on the snowy porch in his black business shoes and long underwear, looked up at the starry sky and had a smoke.

As is common in China, there were no random smiles, no effort at small talk, no hand squeezing or gentle pats. My husband would no sooner pat my hand or kiss my cheek than pat his own hand or kiss his image in the mirror. I had to feel the air to know if everything was O.K. or not. I decided it was O.K. and went to bed, leaving him in the snow. When he came to bed he held me as if I were something long lost and precious that might not live until morning.

The first task was to find him work. A friend kindly hired Zhong-Hua to help on a painting job. Great, I thought. But back home he had been a businessman, and I didn’t know that many post-Mao urban Chinese have complicated feelings of shame about performing paid manual labor. He gamely went along, but it was a disaster that ended with the friend pressing $200 into his hand and saying he didn’t need a helper the next day.

I also didn’t know that as a child, Zhong-Hua had endured hard labor far more grueling than house painting. He had worked side by side with village farmers, standing bare-legged in icy water for hours, scooping out silt for fertilizer. His parents, ravaged by poverty and famine, often did little more for him than count his head as he safely returned at night. For his first 19 years, my husband endured such hardship and deprivation that by adulthood he had cultivated an internal equilibrium that was not easily upset.

I had long sought a peace unaffected by the weather outside.

Soon another friend gave him a job at his natural foods store. Zhong-Hua had no driver’s license, so the owner went miles out of his way to pick him up and take him home at night. But how long would that last? I needed to teach him how to drive. In China he had driven a motorcycle, but not a car. How different could it be?

First of all, the center line had no significance to him. And I had to instruct him that the car on the main road has the right of way and a red light means “stop.”

Accelerating through an intersection, he said, “I don’t think so.”

“Yes, that’s the law!”

“In China, who can go, just go. Is O.K. Big road, small road, left turn, right turn — this doesn’t matter. Also, people drive any side of road. Which side open, which side drive.”

“What if another car is coming?”

“No problem. Just not hit other car is O.K.”

“Watch out! That guy is passing you on the right. You should be in the slow lane. Stay in your lane!”

I was gasping and holding on to the ceiling, my feet braced against the dash. He said I must ride in the back because I was making him nervous and this was “very danger.” He pulled over and I got out, took a few deep breaths and repositioned myself rigidly in the back seat, pressing my mouth shut except to yelp: “Stay in your lane! Do you know what a lane is?”

I wasn’t in the habit of drinking alcohol, but for several weeks, upon each safe return, I sedated myself with Chinese wine, the kind that numbs your lips for a full hour.

Barren winter trees allowed our elderly neighbors, Dave and Flippy, to keep a watchful eye on events at our place, and often Dave would telephone to offer assistance: “Hey, I wasn’t doing anything and wondered if you want me to bring my tractor up. I can pull that car out of the ditch easy. No sense you two hurting yourselves.”

One night, returning home through a blackness laden with spring snowflakes, my husband pulled up to the kitchen door to drop me off. I was so grateful. All that practice was paying off.

He reappeared in the doorway minutes later. “Sorry!” he said, and started quaking in silent laughter, looking down and shaking his head.

“Sorry?”

“Yes! Very sorry. You see!” He pulled me out to the garage. I looked in where the car should be, but nothing was there. Then I lifted my eyes and saw the taillights going west through a gaping hole in the garage. I ran around to the back and beheld the front of the car hanging in midair over the stone embankment.

The AAA tow truck came and pulled the car back into the garage, no questions asked. We patched together the garage wall. The next time it happened, a week later, the same AAA driver arrived. “I know what to do, ma’am,” he said.

DURING that first year we used our full allotment of AAA service calls while Zhong-Hua advanced from mistakenly pouring transmission fluid into the crankcase to being able to install alternators, timing belts, electrical components and an automatic transmission. His method of repair generally requires two days of sitting in front of the problem, thinking and smoking Old Golds, before he touches anything.

But his driving troubles persist. The police trail him. Motorists shake fists at him. He can’t remember the rule about not turning left from the right lane and recently put us in the path of a Lincoln zooming up fast. Tires screamed, and Zhong-Hua was looking into quivering jowls of the red-faced driver, who jabbed at him with a meaty forefinger, then stuck his face out the window and sputtered, “You almost killed us!”

“Yes.”

“I said you almost killed us, buddy. Do you hear?”

“Yes, yes.”

“What do you have to say when I say you almost killed us?”

“Thank you very much!”

“I’m yelling at you. Why do you say thank you?”

“I don’t know. I just think thank you.”

“O.K., you’re welcome,” the guy said, before warily proceeding.

Zhong-Hua waved and thanked him again.

And so it goes. Sometimes I remember our car grinding in slow motion off the gravel shoulder and totaling itself benignly against a rotten tree stump. I see us climbing out of the tilting wreckage, distraught but unhurt, and wonder if we were gently nudged off the road and thus saved from some other horrible highway fate by the gold cupid pin my husband bought at a garage sale and wears on his jacket for good luck.

Somebody must be looking out for us. A few years ago, my life was roadworthy but lonely — it cried out for an intervention. Now every day feels like a wild car ride with Zhong-Hua: lurching and unpredictable, but rich with humor, determination and devotion.

I don’t question it. Like my husband, I just think “thank you.”

Ellen Graf lives in upstate New York.

défense de fumer, s.v.p.

25 years ago, Catherine Deneuve and Serge Gainsbourg sang a song saying 'god smokes Cuban cigars.' Now ... god, Serge, and Catherine (and everyone else) get to do it outdoors, because the French have officially banned smoking in public places.

The best part for me: I will actually be able to taste my food in French restaurants. Comment dit-on "yee haw!"?
Will the smoking ban in France mean the end of café society?
By Jon Frosch
Tuesday, December 18, 2007
PARIS: Every day after work for the past 15 years, Luz Sarfati has made her way to a café down the block for a glass of white wine and a cigarette. It is, for her, one of life's most pleasurable routines.

But as of Jan. 1, Sarfati will have to find a new way to unwind. Less than one year after France imposed a nationwide ban on smoking in most public places (including hospitals, schools and offices), it will extend the ban to bars, restaurants, hotels, nightclubs - and the most cherished of all spaces: the café.

Though smoking in outdoor seating areas will still be allowed, the option doesn't appeal to everyone. "I don't know what I'll do," said Sarfati, who is 65. "Probably drink quickly and then go home to smoke."

While many smokers find the ban in cafés unthinkable, polls show that 66 percent of the usually feisty French support the law and those who don't have mustered little resistance. Coming on the heels of Starbucks and Sarkozy, smoke-free Parisian cafés are perhaps the latest indication of a country slowly shedding its traditional skin - albeit not without anguish.

"All my customers smoke, all my employees smoke. What are we going to do?" wondered Olivier Colombe, 43, owner of Parisian cafés Le Panier and Le Faitout.

For Colombe, the new ban poses practical problems, too. Without cigarettes to occupy them, he explained, smokers won't be so willing to wait a long while for their food and drinks; cooks and waiters will have to work faster, resulting in the sort of rapid customer turnover that is typically very un-French. "Long dinners with several bottles of wine and lots of discussion are going to be difficult," he said. "The ambience will be totally different."

For more years than anyone can count, Paris's ubiquitous cafés have brimmed with people lingering for hours on end with cigarettes over coffee or drinks; over platters of cheese or bowls of onion soup; over newspapers, novels or textbooks; over gossip, break-ups or political debate. Sartre and de Beauvoir, philosophizing at the Café de Flore with spirals of cigarette smoke floating above their heads, helped create a smoking persona that to some extent still exists.

"Smokers are more passionate," said Véronique Moran, 51, who has smoked for 40 years, and is a regular at Le Cyrano, a café in Paris's bustling Place de Clichy. "We're more sensitive, we think about things and talk about things deeply, we get carried away, we rebel against things."

But today these rebels find themselves more marginalized than romanticized. "The ban on smoking in cafés is the end of a type of person," Moran said. "Now, people think about working more to make more money, being competitive, staying in shape, being good-looking."

It might be far-fetched to imagine smoking becoming obsolete in a country whose iconic figures include the Gitane-smoking singer-poet Serge Gainsbourg. But the ban on café smoking does seem to signal a cultural shift toward a more wholesome, modern and adaptable image.

Ireland and Italy show that countries with longstanding smoking traditions may introduce bans fairly smoothly, as they did in 2004 and 2005. In Germany, where regulations vary locally, Berlin will join France on Jan. 1 in forbidding smoking in its beloved coffee houses, as well as all other enclosed public spaces.

But there are detractors, and in France detractors of the new law say it all but destroys the café's ultimate function in France: to serve as the socioeconomic glue of society.

"In France, the café is the one place where classes mix," Moran said. "Everyone is there, from students to grandmas. Now there won't be all different kinds of people - only thirty-somethings with money."

The sentiment that the smoking ban will limit the diversity and interaction of the café clientele is shared by many. "People say that a café is the thermometer of a country," said Cécile Perez, 54, owner of La Fronde, a bar-tobacco store in the historic Marais district. "In a café, while we smoke, we meet new people, we exchange ideas, we learn, we listen, we talk about everything. If we stop that, what do we have left?"

La Fronde is in many ways a typical Parisian neighborhood café: In the morning, street cleaners in bright green uniforms sip coffee next to slick businessmen on their way to the office; at lunch hour, working-class types rub shoulders with impeccably tousled hipsters at the bar, while couples of all ages rub noses over salads; during the after-work rush, there is a steady soundtrack of clinking glasses intermingled with arpeggios of conversation; the constant, no matter what time of day, is the smoke that drifts through the air in curls and clouds, seemingly unnoticed.

Olivier Seconda, 43, is a regular at the café, and though he doesn't smoke, he finds the imminent ban excessive.

"Our motto in France is: liberty, equality, fraternity," he said. "The café is the place that represents that. You're free to smoke, everyone pays the same price for a beer and different kinds of people converse with one another. This new law is a hindrance to that."

Seconda expects the ban to be felt even more acutely in small villages far from Paris, where the café is often the only means of social interaction. There is already nostalgia for a space that allows people of all walks of life to share something - even if it is sometimes no more than a few words and the smoke wafting between them.

But many people welcome an impending future of cleaner café air. Martin Gaillard, 25, has smoked since high school but said that he and many younger smokers accepted the new law.
"I think my generation is the first to travel abroad extensively, so we've seen places where the ban already exists, and it's not so bad," he said. "We're not all so typically French in this mentality of protesting everything and protecting every right."

Gaillard is not particularly fond of smokeless Starbucks or France's new fitness-friendly president, and he believes that smoking in cafés is a unique part of France's cultural and social heritage. Yet he recognizes that it is above all an insistent public health issue.

The time has come, he thinks, to turn the page. "France has this reputation of never evolving," he said. "Now things are starting to change."


Smoking ban takes effect in France
PARIS: France's most drastic measure to curb smoking went into effect Wednesday with a full ban on lighting up in cafés, restaurants and discos, an enormous change for a country where the cigarette first found its place as a potent lifestyle symbol.

A New Year's Day reprieve allowed revelers their last legal drags in public places before the new law took effect.

"You have to be vigilant. We caught one at the counter this morning," said Maria Boyer at a café in Paris that also sells cigarettes.

"I just ask people to be nice and avoid the fines," she said, noting that café owners who ignore the ban must pay up, too.

Under the measure, those caught lighting up inside face a €63 , or $93, fine, while owners who turn a blind eye to smoking in their establishments face a €135 fine.

Smokey cafes are out as smoking ban goes into force in France. About a quarter of France's 60 million people smoke. The Health Ministry said one in two regular smokers dies of smoking-related illness here, and about 5,000 nonsmokers die each year from secondhand smoke.

Banning smoking everywhere but in private homes and in the streets is the latest measure in a progressive crackdown that began 15 years ago with the start of price hikes on cigarettes and a requirement that public places create nonsmoking areas - the first curb on smoking in cafes.

Last year, a prohibition against smoking in workplaces, schools, airports, train stations, hospitals and other "closed and covered" public places was reinforced. Restaurants and other so-called places of conviviality were given an extra 11 months to apply a full ban. Smoking is now allowed only inside special sealed chambers, costly to install.

Over the years, the French have been weaning themselves off the habit, including by replacing the rich, dark tobacco of Gauloises or Gitanes with lighter smokes.

But the smoky cafes that captured the Paris of yesteryear, symbolizing rebellion, intellectual pursuits and "joie de vivre," persisted - until Wednesday.

Between a predicted drop in sales of cigarettes and possible fines for failing to catch those who defy the ban, Boyer is worried about the health of her cafe.

"This money will be missing from the coffers at the end of the year," she said. "There will be people without jobs."

dimanche, décembre 23, 2007

marbled caramel chocolate slice

I made these for the first time this year at my holiday cookiepalooza. I was able to get some out of the house (with strenuous objections from Leo) and take them to work. They were everyone's favorite cookie in the assortment I brought in.

For the base:
2 1/4 cups plain flour
a scant half cup of caster (superfine) sugar
3/4 cup of unsalted butter, softened.

For the filling:
7 TBSP of unsalted butter, diced
a scant half cup of light muscovado (brown) sugar
2 14oz cans of sweetened condensed milk

For the topping:
3 1/2 oz plain, semisweet chocolate
3 1/2 oz milk chocolate
2 oz white chocolate
  1. Preheat oven to 350F. Line and lightly grease a 13x9 jelly roll pan. Put the flour and caster sugar in a bowl and rub in the butter until the mixture resembles fine breadcrumbs. Work with your hands until the mixture forms a dough.
  2. Put the dough into the prepared pan and press it out with your hand to cover the base. Then, use the back of a tablespoon to smooth it evenly into the pan. Prick all over with a fork and bake for about 20 minutes, or until firm to the touch and very light brown. Set aside and leave in the pan to cool.
  3. To make the filling, put the butter, muscovado sugar, and condensed milk into a pan and heat gently, stirring until the sugar has dissolved. Reduce the heat and simmer the mixture very gently, stirring constantly for about 5-10 minutes until it has thickened and turned slightly darker. Take care that the mixture does not burn on the base of the pan, as this will spoil the flavor. Remove from the heat.
  4. Pour the filling mixture over the cookie base, spread evenly and then leave until cold.
  5. To make the topping, melt each type of chocolate separately in a heatproof bowl set over a pan of hot water. Spoon lines of plain and milk chocolate over the set caramel filling.
  6. Add small spoonfuls of white chocolate. Use a skewer to form a marbled effect on the top.
  7. Let set, then heat a sharp knife in boiling water and cut into bars.

Makes about 24

rosti potatoes with ham and cheese

2 lbs all-purpose potatoes, preferably yukon gold, peeled and quartered
1/4 cup chopped scallions (about 4 green onions)
1/2 tsp salt
1/4 tsp pepper
4 tsp olive oil
2/3 cup finely chopped smoked ham (about 3 oz)
1/2 cup grated extra sharp cheddar cheese (about 2 oz)

  1. Set oven rack at lowest level and preheat to 450F.
  2. In a medium-sized saucepan, cover potatoes with cold water. Cover and bring to a boil. Drain and refresh with cold water. When cool enough to handle, grate by hand or in a food processor. Transfer to a bowl. Add scallions, salt, and pepper. Toss with a fork until mixed.
  3. Brush 3 tsps of oil evenly over the surface of a 10-inch pie plate or cast iron skillet. Spread 1/2 of the potato mixture evenly over the bottom of the pan.
  4. Sprinkle with ham and cheese.
  5. Spread the remaining potato mixture over the top, pressing evenly. Brush the remaining 1 tsp of oil over the surface.
  6. Bake for about 30 minutes or until the underside is golden and the potatoes are tender.

362 calories per serving. 13 grams protein. 11 grams fat. 55 grams carbohydrate. 634 mg sodium. 22 mg cholesterol. Serves 4.

samedi, décembre 22, 2007

how a UNICEF photo makes the west's heart ache

I am thankful each and every day that I was born in the time, place, and class that I was. Each give me choices (freedoms, if you will) that I would not have otherwise. I don't take those for granted and cannot sit in silence when I learn about injustice.

Case in point: it's hard to stomach this child bride and the circumstances that led to her wedding and the inevitable (?) outcome for her life. Call me judgemental if you must. But that won't keep me from being outraged and encouraging others to take action, too.

This sobering image, showing a 40-year-old groom sitting beside his 11-year-old
future bride in Afghanistan, brought Stephanie Sinclair top honors in the annual
Photo of the Year contest sponsored by the United Nations Children's Fund
(UNICEF).

Opinion: How a UNICEF Photo Makes the West's Heart Ache
SPIEGEL ONLINE - December 20, 2007, 05:03 PM
An 11-year-old child bride sits next to her 40-year-old fiance. For UNICEF, this was the Photo of the Year. Dutch writer Leon de Winter laments the perversity of this wedding picture and the frightening relativism of the West.

There are people who will look at this image and be able to continue with business as usual -- without disgust, nausea and rage. We are beholding the fiercest barbarism imaginable. But a carefree cultural relativism -- which this age has donned as its outward manifestation of decadent indifference -- allows many to simply look away. They turn away from the sight of an 11-year-old girl, who is about to be raped by the man sitting next to her.

PHOTO GALLERY: UNICEF PHOTOS OF THE YEAR 2007

The girl was sold by her parents, even if they probably wouldn't use that word. The caption that came with the photo quoted the parents as saying that they "needed the money."

The girl's soon-to-be husband promised to send his 11-year-old bride to school, but the women living there in the village of Damarda in Afghanistan's Ghor province don't believe this fairytale. They predict that the girl will bear children soon. "Our men don't need educated women," they point out.

A dowry was paid for the girl. The dowry is part of the cultural fabric of the clan-based society. As producers of newborns, women are valuable possessions. A woman can bear sons and fighters, who will defend the family and its honor. Men are only charged with protecting them against kidnappers and thieves, and women need only accept the power of the male members of the family -- "for their own benefit."

Love Is a Word from the Decadent West
It is likely that all of the female forebears of the girl in the photograph were likewise sold -- and the girl, no doubt, saw it as her fate. At the same time, she realizes that what is happening to her is not right. She might think it is "natural" for a young girl to be sold, but she also knows that it's neither good nor legitimate for her to spend the rest of her life as this man's slave. It is a type of knowledge that has little to do with experience. Rather, it is knowledge that is rooted in humanity, and in the hopes and dreams of a little girl.

The man in the image is oblivious of his wrongdoing. He's only doing what his forefathers did. Sticking to traditions increases the chances of survival. His seed will create a new person and strengthen the clan. He will impregnate this girl without love and without regret, since love is a word from far-off stories and songs, a word from the decadent West, where people have no comprehension of the harshness of life in the desert and of war without end, which is the essence of life in this part of the world.
What we witness in this photograph is an unadorned view of humanity's collective past, of the horror of our brutal nature. Love, tenderness, beauty, individuality and respect are all phenomena that we have imposed upon our nature. Since time immemorial, this nature has allowed only the strongest to survive. In our Western consciousness, we have suppressed this nature with conviction and success. This image shows a small, everyday moment that wouldn't surprise anyone in the Taliban -- but looks quite different to our eyes.

A Bold Statement in the Era of Political Correctness
Our eyes behold an abomination. Our eyes have learned to see the world from the perspective of a slowly acquired sense for humanity. And although more and more voices tell us that we -- the former colonialists and imperialists -- have lost the right to judge other cultures, we know just as well as this girl that this marriage is wrong.

I believe that there are regressive cultures. In an era of political correctness, this is a tricky statement. But there is no other statement that can be made about this image. We behold a regressive man, who is taking what he has purchased.

Many of us in the West are convinced that our presence in Afghanistan cannot be justified, that our troops should withdraw and that Afghanistan should be left to the Afghans. They ask themselves: Who are we to believe that it is inhumane to sell an 11-year-old girl? Who are we to impose our values so vehemently on the Afghans, on this man and on this girl?

I don't have a clue who we are. But I know that this universe is not only a universe of iPods, Disneylands, CO2 penalties, tax write-offs, and New Year's sales in our department stores. No, I know that this is also a universe of human rights. I know that this universe is deeply shaken -- right down to its core -- by the suffering of this lonely, lonely little girl.
Via Leo

nutters are us

In the US, the leading Republican (and Democratic) candidates are falling all over themselves to demonstrate their values, faith, and religiosity in a country ostensibly founded on the principle of the separation of church and state. And don't even get me started on Mitt Romney and the GOP field and their efforts to prove that they are Christian enough to satisfy the fundies.

Meanwhile, Tony Blair just converted to Catholicism, after leaving office. My favorite part of this story is this quote: "The former prime minister told the BBC this year that he had avoided talking about his religious views while in office for about 10 years for fear of being labeled 'a nutter.'"

Touché, Tony. Touché.
Blair converts to Catholicism
LONDON, England (AP) -- Tony Blair, who often kept his religious views private while serving as Britain's prime minister, has converted to Catholicism, officials said Saturday.

Blair, who had long been a member of the Church of England, converted to the Catholic faith during a Mass held Friday night at a chapel in London, the Catholic Church said.

"It can be confirmed that Tony Blair has been received into full communion with the Catholic Church by Cardinal Cormac Murphy-O'Connor," the head of the church in England and Wales, the church said in a statement.

"I'm very glad to welcome Tony Blair into the Catholic Church," the statement quoted Murphy-O'Connor as saying.

"For a long time he's been a regular worshipper at Mass with his family and in recent months he's been following a program of formation for his reception into full communion. Our prayers are with him, his family and his wife at this joyful moment in their journey of faith together," Murphy-O'Connor said.

There had long been speculation that Blair planned to convert to Catholicism. His wife, Cherie, is Roman Catholic, the couple's children have attended Catholic schools, and Blair had regularly attended Catholic, rather than Anglican, services.

Blair, who is now a Middle East peace envoy, met Pope Benedict XVI at the Vatican in June.

The former prime minister told the BBC this year that he had avoided talking about his religious views while in office for about 10 years for fear of being labeled "a nutter."

In England's last census, 72 percent of people identified themselves as Christian. Many are Anglicans affiliated with the Church of England, which was created by royal proclamation during the 16th century after King Henry VIII -- who married six times -- broke ties with the Roman Catholic Church in a dispute over divorce.

The Church of England has said that less than 10 percent of its members are regular churchgoers.

Britons often are surprised by people who openly and fervently discuss their religious views, and the degree to which faiths such as evangelicalism can influence U.S. politics.

jeudi, décembre 20, 2007

the real story of "gloria"

What comes to mind when I mention the 1980s smash hit "Gloria"? Odds are, if you're Italian, she's the object of a masturbatory fantasy. If you're a Spanish speaker, she's also sexual (but in a non-specific way). If you're American/Australian/someone who speaks English, she's someone with issues. Here's how we reached that conclusion ...

Leo procured some of my favorite Spanish-language Christmas carols (Villancicos) yesterday. They are sung by Parchís, a child supergroup formed in Spain in the late 70s. (Think Menudo or New Kids on the Block -- but male and female, like Kids Incorporated.)

Then, out of nowhere, I sang the refrain "Parchís, chis, chis" from another song (that I don't remember at all) and it got stuck in his head (because he remembers it). We hopped onto YouTube and found several Parchís videos, including one for "Gloria" -- sung in Spanish. I realized that the Parchís version was released in 1979, a few years before Laura Branigan's Grammy-award winning (and career-making) version. Game on -- we had to know if Laura Branigan ripped off her megahit from a bunch of cheesy Spanish kids whose signature look involved monochromatic leisure suits.

That led us to Wikipedia. "Gloria" is by an Italian, Umberto Tozzi, and the original lyrics are racy (we think they're really about masturbation) and nothing like Laura Branigan's version. What puzzles us is why Parchís (kids, really) sang the same sexy song (less masturbatory, and seemingly more directly sexual) and how that got past the censors. Our only explanation was that it was four years post-Franco, during Spain's "let's go completely crazy because we just outlived our fascist dictator" period.

For your viewing pleasure, the videos and the lyrics are posted below.

By the way, Umberto Tozzi remains one of the most popular Italian singers abroad, and in the course of his career has sold more than 45 million records, including the mega-hit "Ti Amo," which Leo also recognized from his childhood. I've included it here in Italian, and in Italian with a studio audience, followed by a duet of "Tu" with Celene in French.

"Gloria," the original, but translated into Spanish. Umberto Tozzi, 1979. (Check out the video's chromakey special effects!)


"Gloria," the original, in the original Italian. Umberto Tozzi, 1979. (A live action performance in front of the Italian video. Bravo, Umberto. Brav-o.)


"Gloria," in Spanish. Parchís, 1979. (You know the lead singer wanted the song to himself and that the kids in the background are dancing in a goofy way to distract everyone from the sexual lyrics.)



"Gloria," in English (cleaned up lyrics). Laura Branigan, 1982. (This time, the song's lyrics have been sanitized, but Laura's choreography is sexy.)


Original lyrics
Italian lyrics
Gloria
manchi tu nell'aria
manchi ad una mano
che lavora piano
manchi a questa bocca
che cibo piu non tocca
e sempre questa storia
che lei la chiamo Gloria.

Gloria sui tuoi fianchi
la mattina nasce il sole
entra odio ed esce amore
dal nome Gloria.

Gloria manchi tu nell'aria
manchi come il sale
mi manchi piu del sole
sciogli questa neve
che soffoca il mio petto
t'aspetto Gloria.

Gloria chiesa di campagna
acqua nel deserto
lascio aperto il cuore
scappa senza far rumore
dal lavore dal tuo letto
dai gradini di un altare
ti aspetto Gloria.

Gloria per chi attende il giorno
e invece di dormire
con la memoria torna
a un tuffo nei papaveri
in una terra libera
per chi respira nebbia
per chi respira rabbia

per me che senza Gloria
con te nuda sul divano
faccio stelle di cartone
pensando a Gloria.

Spanish lyrics
Gloria,
faltas en el aire
falta tu presencia,
cálida inocencia
faltas en mi boca que sin querer te nombra
y escribiré mi historia con la palabra Gloria

Porque aquí a tu lado la mañana se ilumina
la verdad
y la mentira
se llaman Gloria

Gloria,
Faltas en el aire
faltas en el cielo,
quémame en tu fuego
fúndeme la nieve
que congela mi pecho
te espero Gloria

Gloria,
Campo de sonrisas
agua en el desierto,
corazón abierto
aventura de mi mente
de mi mesa y de mi lecho
del jardín de mi presente
te espero Gloria.

Gloria,
por quien espera el día
y mientras todos duermen,
con la memoria inventa
aroma entre los árboles,
en una tierra mágica
por quien respira niebla,
Por quien respira rabia

Te fundes en sus besos,
te desnudas provocando
y hago sombras en el techo,
pensando en Gloria

Gloria,
Faltas en el aire
faltas en el cielo,
quémame en tu fuego
fúndeme en la nieve
que congela mi pecho
te espero Gloria

Gloria,
(Gloria) campo de sonrisas (Gloria)
agua en el desierto
(Gloria) corazón abierto (Gloria)
aventura de mi mente
de mi mesa
y de mi lecho
del jardín de mi presente
te espero Gloria
English lyrics
Gloria,
you're always on the run now
Running after somebody, you gotta get him somehow
I think you've got to slow down before you start to blow it
I think you're headed for a breakdown, so be careful not to show it

You really don't remember, was it something that he said?
Are the voices in your head calling, Gloria?
Gloria, don't you think you're fallin'?
If everybody wants you, why isn't anybody callin'?
You don't have to answer
Leave them hangin' on the line, oh-oh-oh, calling Gloria

Gloria (Gloria), I think they got your number (Gloria)
I think they got the alias (Gloria) that you've been living under (Gloria)
But you really don't remember, was it something that they said?
Are the voices in your head calling, Gloria?

A-ha-ha, a-ha-ha, Gloria, how's it gonna go down?
Will you meet him on the main line, or will you catch him on the rebound?
Will you marry for the money, take a lover in the afternoon?
Feel your innocence slipping away, don't believe it's comin' back soon

And you really don't remember, was it something that he said?
Are the voices in your head calling, Gloria?
Gloria, don't you think you're fallin'?
If everybody wants you, why isn't anybody callin'?
You don't have to answer
Leave them hangin' on the line, oh-oh-oh, calling Gloria
Gloria (Gloria), I think they got your number (Gloria)
I think they got the alias (Gloria) that you've been living under (Gloria)
But you really don't remember, was it something that they said?
Are the voices in your head calling, Gloria?
Translated lyrics
Spanish translation of Italian lyrics
GLORIA,
FALTAS EN EL AIRE
FALTAS EN ESTA MANO
QUE TRABAJA DESPACIO.
FALTAS EN ESTA BOCA
QUE YA NO COME,
POR ESTA HISTORIA,
QUE SE LLAMA GLORIA.

GLORIA A TU LADO,
POR LA MAÑANA NACE EL SOL,
ENTRA ODIO Y SALE AMOR
DEL NOMBRE GLORIA.

GLORIA,
FALTAS EN EL AIRE,
FALTAS COMO LA SAL,
FALTAS MÁS QUE EL SOL.
DERRITE ESTA NIEVE,
QUE SOFOCA MI PECHO,
TE ESPERO GLORIA.

GLORIA,
IGLESIA DE CAMPO,
AGUA EN EL DESIERTO,
EL CORAZÓN ABIERTO.
ESCAPA SIN HACER RUIDO,
DE LA CAMA,
DE LAS ESCALERAS DEL ALTAR,
TE ESPERO GLORIA.

GLORIA,
PARA QUIEN ESPERA EL DÍA,
EN VEZ DE DORMIR,
TENGO LA MENTE OFUSCADA.
SUMERGIRSE EN LAS AMAPOLAS,
EN UNA TIERRA LIBRE,
PARA EL QUE RESPIRA NIEBLA,
PARA EL QUE RESPIRA RABIA.

PARA MI, SIN GLORIA
DESNUDO SOBRE EL DIVÁN,
HAGO ESTRELLAS DE CARTÓN
PENSANDO EN GLORIA.

English translation of Spanish translation
GLORIA,
YOU’RE MISSING IN THE AIR
YOU’RE MISSING IN THIS HAND
THAT WORKS SLOWLY.
YOU’RE MISSING IN THIS MOUTH
THAT NO LONGER EATS,
BECAUSE THIS STORY,
IS CALLED GLORIA.

GLORIA, AT YOUR SIDE,
IN THE MORNING, THE SUN IS BORN
HATE ENTERS AND LOVE LEAVES
IN THE NAME OF GLORIA.

GLORIA,
YOU’RE MISSING IN THE AIR
YOU’RE MISSING LIKE SALT
YOU’RE MISSING MORE THAN THE SUN.
MELT THIS SNOW
THAT SUFFOCATES MY CHEST
I AWAIT YOU GLORIA.

GLORIA,
CHURCH OF THE COUNTRYSIDE,
WATER IN THE DESERT,
THE OPEN HEART.
ESCAPE WITHOUT MAKING NOISE,
FROM THE BED,
FROM THE ALTAR’S STAIRS,
I AWAIT YOU GLORIA.

GLORIA,
FOR WHOM THE DAY WAITS,
INSTEAD OF SLEEPING
I HAVE AN OBFUSCATED MIND.
SUBMERGE YOURSELF IN POPPIES,
IN A FREE LAND,
FOR HIM THAT BREATHES FOG,
FOR HIM THAT BREATHES RAGE.

FOR ME, WITHOUT GLORIA
NAKED ON THE DIVÁN,
I MAKE CARDBOARD STARS
THINKING OF GLORIA.
English translation of original Spanish lyrics
Gloria,
You’re missing in the air
Your presence is missing
Warm innocence
You’re missing in my mouth that without wanting to names you
And I will write my story with the word

Gloria
Because here next to you the morning lights up
the truth and the lie are called Gloria

Gloria,
You’re missing in the air
You’re missing in the sky,
Burn me in your fire
Melt the snow
That freezes my chest
I await you Gloria.

Gloria,
Field of smiles
Water in the desert,
Open heart
Adventure of my mind,
My table, and my bed
Of the garden of my present
I await you Gloria

Gloria,
For whom the day waits
And while everyone sleeps,
With the memory invents
Aroma amongst the trees
In a magical land
For whom fog breathes
For whom rage breathes

You melting in her(?) kisses
You disrobe provocatively
And I make shadows on the ceiling
Thinking of Gloria

Gloria,
You’re missing in the air
You’re missing in the sky,
Burn me in your fire
Melt the snow
That freezes my chest
I await you Gloria.

Gloria,
(Gloria) smiles (Gloria)
Water in the desert
(Gloria) open heart (Gloria)
Adventure of my mind my table
And my bed in my garden this you hope Glory

Gloria, (Gloria)
Field of smiles (Gloria)
Water in the desert, (Gloria)
Open heart (Gloria)
Adventure of my mind,
My table, and my bed
Of the garden of my present
I await you Gloria.

seeking solace

Leo and I finally went to Urban Solace (3823 30th St, San Diego, CA 92104, (619) 295-6464) last week. We heard about the place through Yelp and it got a rave review from City Beat in the "Best of San Diego" issue, so we knew that we had to experience the mac and cheese firsthand.

The place is "American comfort food," but not what you'll get in a greasy spoon or local diner. It's fancier food, in a comfortable (but beautiful) setting.

They don't take reservations, but you can call ahead and they'll add you to their waiting list 30 minutes before you arrive. When we walked in, our table wasn't quite ready, so we hit the bar for some wine and an appetizer.

We opted for Zin and Syrah and the "Pile of Warm Cheese Biscuits with Orange-Honey Butter." It was awesome. Then, we were seated and proceeded to get the "Wisconsin White Cheddar Mac n’ Cheese, Caramelized Bacon, Charred Tomatoes" and the "Char-Grilled Hanger Steak, Homemade Steak Sauce, Caramelized Parsnips, Celery Root Mash" (which has really great julienned sweet potato sticks as a garnish). Both entrees were excellent.

We were pretty full but figured that dessert was also in order. (At that point, we had decided to get our friends gift certificates there as Christmas gifts and had to sample the dessert to know what we were recommending to five different sets of friends. Really.) After an intense negotiation, we settled on the sweet potato and pecan pie with two cups of tea.

Our amazingly tasty meal was very reasonable and the service was excellent -- four glasses of wine, one appetizer, two entrees, one dessert, and two teas came to about $70 (plus tip). We'll be seeking solace again soon.

fun physics

I dig this guy!
At 71, Physics Professor Is a Web Star
By SARA RIMER
Published: December 19, 2007
CAMBRIDGE, Mass. — Walter H. G. Lewin, 71, a physics professor, has long had a cult following at M.I.T. And he has now emerged as an international Internet guru, thanks to the global classroom the institute created to spread knowledge through cyberspace.

Professor Lewin’s videotaped physics lectures, free online on the OpenCourseWare of the Massachusetts Institute of Technology, have won him devotees across the country and beyond who stuff his e-mail in-box with praise.

“Through your inspiring video lectures i have managed to see just how BEAUTIFUL Physics is, both astounding and simple,” a 17-year-old from India e-mailed recently.

Steve Boigon, 62, a florist from San Diego, wrote, “I walk with a new spring in my step and I look at life through physics-colored eyes.”

Professor Lewin delivers his lectures with the panache of Julia Child bringing French cooking to amateurs and the zany theatricality of YouTube’s greatest hits. He is part of a new generation of academic stars who hold forth in cyberspace on their college Web sites and even, without charge, on iTunes U, which went up in May on Apple’s iTunes Store.

In his lectures at ocw.mit.edu, Professor Lewin beats a student with cat fur to demonstrate electrostatics. Wearing shorts, sandals with socks and a pith helmet — nerd safari garb — he fires a cannon loaded with a golf ball at a stuffed monkey wearing a bulletproof vest to demonstrate the trajectories of objects in free fall.

He rides a fire-extinguisher-propelled tricycle across his classroom to show how a rocket lifts off.

He was No. 1 on the most downloaded list at iTunes U for a while, but that lineup constantly evolves. The stars this week included Hubert Dreyfus, a philosophy professor at the University of California, Berkeley, and Leonard Susskind, a professor of quantum mechanics at Stanford.

Last week, Yale put some of its most popular undergraduate courses and professors online free. The list includes Controversies in Astrophysics with Charles Bailyn, Modern Poetry with Langdon Hammer and Introduction to the Old Testament with Christine Hayes.

M.I.T. recently expanded its online classes by opening a site aimed at high school students and teachers. Judging from his fan e-mail, Professor Lewin, who is among those featured on the new site, appeals to students of all ages.

Some of his correspondents compare him to Richard Feynman, the free-spirited, bongo-playing Nobel laureate who popularized physics through his books, lectures and television appearances.

With his wiry grayish-brown hair, his tortoiseshell glasses and his intensity, Professor Lewin is the iconic brilliant scientist. But like Julia Child, he is at once larger than life and totally accessible.

“We have here the mother of all pendulums!” he declares, hoisting his 6-foot-2, 170-pound self on a 30-pound steel ball attached to a pendulum hanging from the ceiling. He swings across the stage, holding himself nearly horizontal as his hair blows in the breeze he created.

The point: that a period of a pendulum is independent of the mass — the steel ball, plus one professor — hanging from it.

“Physics works!” Professor Lewin shouts, as the classroom explodes in cheers.

“Hi, Prof. Lewin!!” a fan who identified himself as a 17-year-old from China wrote. “I love your inspiring lectures and I love MIT!!!”

A fan who said he was a physics teacher from Iraq gushed: “You are now my Scientific Father. In spite of the bad occupation and war against my lovely IRAQ, you made me love USA because you are there and MIT is there.”

Professor Lewin revels in his fan mail and in the idea that he is spreading the love of physics. “Teaching is my life,” he said.

The professor, who is from the Netherlands, said that teaching a required course in introductory physics to M.I.T. students made him realize “that what really counts is to make them love physics, to make them love science.”

He said he spent 25 hours preparing each new lecture, choreographing every detail and stripping out every extra sentence.

“Clarity is the word,” he said.

Fun also matters. In another lecture on pendulums, he stands back against the wall, holding a steel ball at the end of a pendulum just beneath his chin. He has just demonstrated how potential energy turns into kinetic energy by sending the ball flying across the stage, shattering a pane of glass he had bolted to the wall.

Now he will demonstrate the conservation of energy.

“I am such a strong believer in the conservation of energy that I am willing to risk my life for it,” he says. “If I am wrong, then this will be my last lecture.”

He closes his eyes, and releases the ball. It flies back and forth, stopping just short of his chin.

“Physics works!” Professor Lewin shouts. “And I’m still alive!”

Chasing rainbows hooked Mr. Boigon, the San Diego florist. He was vacationing in Hawaii when he noticed the rainbow outside his hotel every afternoon. Why were the colors always in the same order?

When he returned home, Mr. Boigon said in a telephone interview, he Googled rainbows. Within moments, he was whisked to M.I.T. Lecture Hall No. 26-100. Professor Lewin was in front of a few hundred students.

“All of you have looked at rainbows,” he begins. “But very few of you have ever seen one. Seeing is different than looking. Today we are going to see a rainbow.”

For 50 minutes, he bounds across the stage, writing equations on the blackboard and rhapsodizing about the “amazing” and “beautiful” physics of rainbows. He explains how the colors always appear in the same order because of how light refracts and reflects in the water droplets.

For the finale, he creates a rainbow by shining a bright light into a glass sphere containing a single drop of water.

“There it is!” Professor Lewin cries.

“Your life will never be the same,” he tells his students. “Because of your knowledge, you will be able to see way more than just the beauty of the bows that everyone else can see.”

“Professor Lewin was correct,” Mr. Boigon wrote in an e-mail message to a reporter. “He made me SEE ... and it has changed my life for the better!!”

“I had never taken a course in physics, or calculus, or differential equations,” he wrote to Professor Lewin. “Now I have done all that in order to be able to follow your lectures. I knew the name Isaac Newton, but nothing about Newtonian Mechanics. I had heard of the likes of Einstein, Galileo.” But, he added that he “didn’t have a clue on earth as to what they were all about.”

“I walk down the street analyzing the force of a boy on skateboard or the recoil of a carpenter using a nail gun,” he wrote. “Thank you with all my heart.”

mardi, décembre 18, 2007

some christmas faves

Some of my holiday faves, in no particular order... I left the Parchis Spanish-language stuff off, 'cause I can't find "Los Peces en el Rio" on You Tube.

Bono and the boys, back in the day... "Christmas (Baby, Please Come Home)."


Sean and Kirsty, and Matt Dillon with a cameo in "The Fairytale of New York."


Sting, pre-tantric yoga, "Gabriel's Message."


Run D.M.C. "Christmas in Hollis." A staple of my 80s childhood, much to my mother's horror.


Hands-down best Christmas duet ever: Bing and Bowie, "Little Drummer Boy/ Peace on Earth."


Band Aid: "Do They Know It's Christmas?" Bob Geldof and Midge Ure wrote a song and invited all their hottie friends to sing it, and gave the money to charity. (I could listen to Bono and Sting harmonize for days... and that was my favorite part of the video, too.)


Otis Redding sings my favorite version of "White Christmas."


Billy Mack's "Christmas Is All Around" still slays me.


Annie Lennox and the Reverend Al Green: "Put a Little Love in Your Heart," a cheesy song featured from an awesome movie. I watched the video about 1000 times on VH1 that year.


The Waitresses, "Christmas Wrapping."


Wham, "Last Christmas" (also loved by Trevor, my workout buddy and fellow Francophile).


And a funny take-off of "Los Peces en el Rio"