Breakfast: One scrambled egg, some of last night’s leftover oven-roasted potatoes with garlic, one tablespoon of salsa, all wrapped in a tortilla. The black-coffee portion of the meal is still in progress, but I hereby pronounce this breakfast an unqualified success.
Protein at every meal is my goal for the spring. Lately I’ve been corresponding with an urban farmer who lives a couple miles from me, on the other side of Mack Avenue (i.e., Detroit) and keeps a flock of ducks. She sells fresh duck eggs whenever you feel like stopping by, for 50 cents apiece. My bravery in all things culinary wavers a bit here. My reading tells me they taste the same as the chicken variety, with more nutrients; is this true? I never ate eggs until I was in college, when a boyfriend who had been a grill chef at Perkins introduced me to western omelets. I think I’ve been a trouper since then, but there are two kinds of people in the world — those whose breakfasts run to fruit-yogurt-juice and those who are eggs-meat-potatoes, and I’m in the first camp. Eggs are for lunch.
I’m going to get some duck eggs, although mostly I just want to see her flock. There are so many urban farmers in Detroit now it’s no longer a novelty, but I love animals and I love ducks. Jim at Sweet Juniper has friends deeper in the city who keep goats and chickens, and there’s a high school for girls who have children — do we even bother to call them unwed mothers anymore? — that has at least one horse, along with a garden plot that earns them real money. Parts of the city look like rural Mississippi during the Depression, only with curbs. Crazy town.
Speaking of protein, the Free Press has gone so Gannett of late that I’ve practically stopped reading it, but this story caught my eye today — about scientific research on underwater rock formations in Lake Huron, concentrating on a now-submerged land bridge that arcs across the lake between Alpena, Michigan and Amberley, Ontario. Scientists suspect the formations were man-made, and served as Ice Age caribou hunting blinds. Imagine what it took to bring down a caribou with the tools of the era. Alley Oop, you have my respect.
Meanwhile, the graphic with the story has a big boo-boo in it, describing the land bridge as 10 feet wide. No. Ten miles. Details, details.
Years ago I read a story about some ancient human remains found in the Pacific Northwest — Something Man — that are unmistakably Caucasian in nature, challenging the belief that Indians were the first to migrate into North America across the Bering land bridge. The remains were being fought over, with Indians wanting to reclaim them for reburial, and the scientific community, which wants to study them more and maybe recast some theories. The story broke down the sides into approximate camps, with the most troublesome being, essentially, Indian religious fundamentalists, who didn’t want the corpse studied at all, because their version of history is the only one they accept — that they’ve always been there, that they were the first ones there, and the rest of you just shut up. The piece included the comments of a prominent Native American mocking the whole idea of the Bering land bridge, finding it a little too conveeeenient, this idea that the ocean was once dry in a particular place. I guess he’s an Indian fundamentalist, but for my money, I’d rather imagine that land bridge arcing across the lake with its caribou blinds, and the desperate search for protein and nutrition that only required me to consult my refrigerator this morning.
Change the names, it’s all the same — lunatic known for his bullhorn protests at something called the Southern Decadence Festival is busted jerking off in a public park.
More $P sockpuppetry. This just gets funnier by the day.
The best picture on the Internet, via the WashPost’s Style Tumblr. Related (to protein and Internet pictures, which brings us full circle): Al Qaeda attacks America with photo of piglet wearing boots. Via the Onion News Network, natch.
I’m off, all.