I took a couple of pics of my preprandial Manhattan yesterday with the TT Artisans 18mm f/6.3 UFO Lens. There’s nothing milky or cloudy about the drink (see the second pic), but again, the weirdness of this lens enchants me.
Author: Alex Nonnemacher
Six Colors on the MacBook Air
Took this pic at work of the Air with Michael Caputo’s six-color sticker affixed. Looks great.
‘57 Chevy
Saw this whip on the commute home today. Shared with dad and Aaron. I was driving Aaron’s Mini, as I do, twice a week, as he’s off at college.
Fall Pics with the TT Artisans 18mm f/6.3 UFO Lens
The Sunday Call
When I was a kid, every Sunday at 9 pm, my paternal grandfather, “Gramps” to me, would call our house. The 9 pm time was, by his explanation, when the long distance rates dropped. He would call from a rotary phone in his kitchen, which did not have a long enough cord to afford him or my grandmother to sit down while talking. He did eventually get a cordless phone. He was famously cheap about some things, but extravagant about others.
We continued the call through college, and then into my young adulthood and the earliest years of my marriage and fatherhood. In the waning months of his life, Rhonda and I took to calling him on Sunday nights instead, and we would chat until he would nod off during the call. “Take care,” he’d always sign off.
After we dropped Aaron off at college, the idea popped into my head: we should resume the tradition. Sure, we text during the week; I send him pictures of cars I see and other things around which our interests coalesce. We have the family chat and then our sidebar conversations.
But that’s not the same thing.
So we have that reserved space, that time when we chat after dinner, not worried about long-distance rates, using FaceTime over WiFi. The sound is amazing. I have to sneak off to the apartment upstairs or another room because it’s a three-way call between me, Aaron, and Rhonda, and our audio echos if we’re within earshot of each other. A three-way call with middle-aged parents seems cringey in its way, the stuff of a commercial or sitcom. I’m pleasantly surprised, however, at how long we all chat, often for an hour. Proximity has its charms, of course, but the distance inspires us to soak up the shared digital presence.
It’s a new spin on an old tradition. Sometimes the old ways are the best ways.
Sunday Serial: Underbrush Gum, Michael Caputo’s Six-Color Apple Stickers, and the Shacket
Now this is some fall weather we’re having! Rhonda and I were happy to get to Bellview after a couple of weeks away. It was packed but we found an iron table near the arbor and packed own provisions. The live music featured a drummer I know personally, and the singer/guitarist is Aaron’s former history teacher.
It’s spritzes while the ribeyes soak in the sous vide tank for a spell.
I have some research to do for our next journey up to see Aaron in a couple of weeks. I also decided to try to fix the leaky toilet in the apartment upstairs, but I can’t get the nuts spun onto the bolts that hold the tank on to shake loose. I hit them with some liquid wrench, so here’s hoping. If that doesn’t work, it’s time for delicate grinder wheel surgery.
Dipping into these kinds of projects always cause me some anxiety: I’ve fixed my share of household problems, but you’re only as good as the last thing you fixed. It’s like a domestic booby trap: one of these days, you’re gonna bite of more than you can chew. I guess it’s all in how you look at things.
Underbrush Gum
I’m generally immune to the bespoke infomercial reels on social media selling products, with one, and now two, exceptions: William Painter sunglasses, and Underbrush Gum. With William Painter, they had a comedian name James Schrader star in breezy, smart commercials for their brand, and they were engaging in the way that the Dollar Shave Club’s ad campaign was. I ended up ordering a pair of the Williams Painters, and I still rock them to this day. I have two pair, in fact.
Underbrush’s commercial is more serious, but I was sucked in by the hand-cut gum and the claim that it can reverse decay. I’m not sure if that’s true, but I wanted to try the gum.
One person who tried a piece said, “I don’t think I’d chew that again,” and Rhonda said it smelled like bug spray on my breath. I’ve enjoyed it, though, and I’m happy with how long both the flavor and texture last chew after chew.
Michael Caputo’s Six-Color Apple Stickers
I saw these on Reddit I think, and it scratched an itch I’ve been carrying for a while now. I’ve always loved the six-color apple logo, as a Mac user since 1993, and an Apple II users since I was a little kid. Only the Studio and phone were spared the sticker treatment.
The Shacket
Whilst trawling Marshalls for things to wear, I found “The Shacket,” which is basically a flannel shirt designed to be worn with an undershirt, and cut straight at the waist, to be worn untucked. It’s a portmanteau of shirt and jacket, which I appreciate in the vein of the spork, and which has generally been reserved to ladies fashion (a la the skort).
I really like the cheap-o shackets I got, and have been looking for the right weather to wear them: we’re not so formal as we used to be at work, and to be frank, I’ve ignored the dress code in favor of my own sense of what looks good. The line between what looks good vs what’s appropriate is fine, to be sure, but I reserve the right to make my own decisions, because I can. I don’t dress like a slob, and serially strive to look composed even when casual.
Anyway, I was thinking about wearing one of the Marshall’s shackets last week, but I never did. I made up for it today, though.
Zimmerli Art Museum at Rutgers University
On Saturday of this year’s parents weekend at Rutgers, we picked up Aaron at his dorm and walked around the College Ave campus, stopping in at Zimmerli Art Museum, and then explored New Brunswick a bit. Zimmerli is a smallish museum, made of tan brick that reminds me oh-so-much of the architecture in South Jersey.
Featured Holdings
Immediately to the left of the entrance was a gallery of Zimmerli’s featured holdings.
This piece played with the notion of famous historical figures whose most defining features–their faces–were obscured.
The Stoning of St. Stephen, by Jo El Lopez, plays upon the idea of “stoning,” in an irreverent way. The gallery label noted that Lopez grew up in a strict, fundamentalist household, and how he uses cannabis to moderate the trauma of his upbringing. It shares such linearity with the portraits of saints that kid might see in Catholic Church or school.
Indigenous Identities: Here, Now & Always
From the website:
Featuring 103 works made within the last fifty years by both well-established artists and recent MFA graduates, the exhibition crosses several generations and examines themes with historic and continuing relevance to Indigenous communities in the United States including stolen lands, genocide, lost languages and cultures, and invisibility. A celebration of Indigenous survivance, resistance, and community, the exhibition provides a provocative and visually stunning view of contemporary art.
The works on display varied from protest and expressions of rage to playful and reflective.
A Statement on Art and Resistance
Topographies of Dissent presents a selection of works by Armenian artists from the Norton and Nancy Dodge Collection of Nonconformist Art from the Soviet Union, revealing the paradoxes of Armenian history in the Soviet era through the art of its time. Divided into five sections—National Landscape: Land, Identity, Dream; Facets of “Formalism”; Abstraction; The 3rd Floor Group: Pop Art, Hyperrealism, and Neo-Dada; and Dystopias of the Evil Empire, the exhibition reflects the unprecedentedly liberal culture which blurred the boundaries of “official” and “unofficial” art.
I remarked to Aaron that I “hated” oil paintings when we were looking at some exhibits from the permanent collection; they hailed from the 1700s, and had that dark, gloopy look I usually walk right by. Some of the works in this collection, though, cured me of my aversion: they were tight, clean, punctuated by sharp lines and contrast.
New Brunswick
We didn’t linger terribly long at Zimmerli; there will be time for another visit for sure. I’m upset I missed the photography exhibit, An Eye for Photographs: Gifts from Anne and Arthur Goldstein.
We walked up towards the Barnes and Noble to look for a t-shirt, but were put off by the prices. I needed some coffee, and Rhonda some hydration, so we ended up at Efe’s for a drink.
We found this quirky shop selling all manner of vintage stuff. They had a cool game room with Marvel wallpaper.
The Two Cameras
I took my camera bag so I could shoot with both the OM Systems E-M10 Mark IV and my older Olympus E-PL5. I kept the Lumix 20mm f/1.7 on the E-M10, and the whacky TT Artisans 18mm f/6.3 lens on the E-PL5. Knowing the TT Artisans took interesting pictures when there’s plenty of light, I thought it might be fun to try to grab some indoor shots where there was a stark contrast between dark and light zones.
Here are two pics I took from inside Zimmerli, looking up from the ground floor to the skylight:
You can certainly see some differences, but I was impressed by how much detail the TT Artisans picked up, and how similar the images are.
The next two pics show renderings of stained glass, which compelled me to shoot them, as they were in a dark hallway only illuminated by ceiling lights, but because they were strongly backlit, I thought they would make a nice study in contrast between the two lenses.
Here’s the TT Artisans:
And the Panasonic:
The Lumix lens grabbed way more detail for sure, but the ultra-cheap TT Artisans did a great job rendering the image because of the light.
I was inspired partly by this shot I took the day before at Working Dog Winery, where I snuck this pic of a bottle of their unoaked chardonnay while we were sitting on the patio.
There’s nothing terribly compelling about this image, and Friday’s waning sun under the roof of the porch didn’t leave as much room for pics as I’d hoped with the TT Artisans. But I was gassed when I saw the contrast between the lighted side of the bottle and the shaded size that opposed it. It captures neatly the amount of light that the f/6.3 needs… but also some creative potential for future shoots.
Some of the other pics I posted above were taken with TT Artisans, most notably the Marvel wallpaper, the coffee shop sign, and Aaron atop the stairs.
Dinner at the Frog and the Peach in New Brunswick
For our big Parents Weekend visit at Rutgers, I made a reservation at Le Malt Lounge for Saturday night. I fully expected this to be the marquee meal of our trip. For Friday’s adventure, though, I texted Aaron to ask him if he wanted to go anywhere special. He didn’t express a strong opinion, but reiterated his interest in the Frog and the Peach, so I made a rez.
It was more expensive than Le Malt Lounge, and decidedly better–casting no shade on Le Malt, but there it is. It’s in a newer development that put me in mind of the Naval Yard in Baltimore: cultivated, consciously developed, and oddly quiet for such a busy city. There’s nothing kitschy, accretive, or quirky about the neighborhood, Hiram Square, in the same way that a McMansion development often appears, and like the Navy Yard, it bears its share of social scrutiny.
Rhonda and I each ordered the Black Manhattan, which added Averna to the classic cocktail. I’m often suspicious of substitutions or additions like this, but the herbal, licorice flavors paired superbly with the drink. It had an inky blackness I appreciated in both the title and the presentation.
For apps, Aaron tried the bone marrow, which didn’t surprise me. I expected a couple of cross-cut shins, with a spoon to scoop out the marrow. Instead, the bones were cut longitudinally, such that the marrow (and the mushroom stuffing) was easily accessible. I can’t say that I preferred it with the stuffing to straight gelatinous and umami-rich marrow, but it was still good. It came with bread for serving.
I had the oysters, which were billed as from nearby Fishers Island. They were briny and delicious, up there with Sweet Amalia oysters in my opinion. I don’t need mignonette with oysters when they’re good. The muddy Delaware Bay ones we often get in South Jersey require a flavor boost, but not these.
Rhonda had the the pumpkin ricotta gnocchi as an appetizer. These were fantastic, with only a hint of pumpkin (and not the cloying “pumpkin spice” version of things that assault the senses around this season). They were clearly hand cut, varying wildly from pillow to pillow in shape. They were firm for ricotta dumplings. The garlic mushroom broth and escarole added great flavor and texture. I adored my bite. Sadly, I neglected to take a picture.
Aaron and Rhonda both ordered the duck breast; they had steak on the menu, but it was eye-wateringly expensive (as was Le Malt, to be fair). This was an excellent preparation, cooked perfectly, and the baby turnips, almond spatzle, spicy duck sausage, dried cranberries, and a balsamic fig puree, which, composed, added a ton of flavor and textural contrast.
I have an fulsome appreciation for the humble monkfish since my college days, when I swore off meat but ordered (and prepared) fish as often as I could. The tightly wrapped loins evoked the over-worn comparison to lobster tails, but I can’t crow about that: their lightness was emboldened by the prosciutto, which imparted a nice salty crust to the delicate fish. The shaved squash offered a ribbony pasta texture and chew without adding unwanted carbs, and the lemon in the sauce was nicely balanced with a touch of fat. Monkfish and a glass of Sancerre… perfect any night.
Sunday Serial: Rutgers Parents Weekend Edition
Rhonda and I rolled up to New Brunswick to steal Aaron from his fraternity “learning” this weekend during Parents Weekend. We stayed over two nights in place of our usual trip to Rehoboth Beach, DE, in November, which we’ve been doing for years, punctuated by mandatory quarantine during COVID.
Back in my day, this would have been called “homecoming,” but I guess Parents Weekend fits the bill more, as you can’t assume it’s for alumni only. Aaron reported that the football game tickets were sold out, which was fine with me; we don’t watch football normally.
Friday October 17th
Rhonda and I took a long and languid drive up Route 206, which is an old connector for travelers between South Jersey and Trenton (and parts north). I traveled it many many times from multiple back seats in my youth to visit family: my mom hails from Trenton, and my dad, Milford, by way of the Bronx. Our family, writ large, lived in a band from Trenton to Milford, with frequent visits to Flemington. It’s for this reason that I’ve never considered myself a native of these parts.
Friday’s plan was Stokelan Estates Winery, picking up Aaron, grabbing dinner, and then checking in at the hotel.
Stokelan Estates Winery
I’ve been keen to get here since we found the place on one of our trips to central Jersey, but the only time we stopped before, it was closed. I read good things about their rosé, of which they have two for sale: the Myra 2023 and the 2024. We tried the 2023; it’s billed as lighter than the 2023, but the Chambourcin grape fetched my fancy. (The 2024 is made with Merlot.) I’m happy to report that we stopped on the way home, as well, and tried both the 2024 Myra as well as their unoaked Catspaw Chardonnay.
The 2023, which we tried on Friday, is a nice dry rosé, crisp but with a very berry nose. We ordered the pumpkin goat cheese with bread and the no-utensils required charcuterie board (a phrase I’m loathe to utter unironically). On Friday, en route to Rutgers, we sat outside in the crisp fall weather, noshing and sipping.
Frog and the Peach
Aaron had a fraternity event Friday, but we had time for dinner out before his obligation, and we took the chance to try the Frog and the Peach. Aaron noted a couple of weeks ago that they had bone marrow on the menu, which I take as a declaration of seriousness.
Rhonda and I had the Black Manhattan, which had Averna as an ingredient. It was inky black and delicious. We all enjoyed our dinners; Rhonda and Aaron both had the duck breast, while I went for the prosciutto-wrapped monkfish. Rhonda and I split a dessert, dropped Aaron off for the fraternity event, and headed back to the room for a reprise of My Big Fat Greek Weeding while I downloaded my cameras’ pics to my iPad.
Saturday
I am a traveler who plans his days around meals. Dinner would feature Le Malt Lounge, which I expected would be the show-stopper night out on this trip. We planned to hoof around Rutgers, hit a mall for some shopping (we’re eighties kids, me and Rhonda), and then dinner. Perhaps most adorably, I mentioned to Aaron that our room featured a sofa sleeper, and he remarked that he could stay over. I readily agreed, and he still wanted to do so as we wrapped up dinner. We were so happy to have him join us.
New Brunswick
We picked up Aaron just before noon and strolled (marched? Have you seen me walk?) to the Zimmerli Art Museum for a tour. I took a bunch of pics with both cameras, fodder for a future post.
We then walked up into town, checking the spirit wear at both the Barnes and Noble and Scarlet Fever. Downtown was jammed with parents just like us. We grabbed some drinks at Efes, where Aaron previously tried his first Turkish coffee, and wandered around a bit before having Indian buffet for lunch.
We lit out for the Menlo Park Mall thereafter, and raided the Old Navy there. We ogled the iPhone Air at the Apple Store, and Aaron and I fell in love with the AirPods Max on display, which I think will certainly be on Aaron’s Christmas list. I loved the sound but don’t think I’d use them. But Aaron? He’ll plug right into them.
We had dinner at Le Malt Lounge, which was not at all what I expected it to be, but the food was excellent, and the service pretty good. I had some deviled eggs and a pork chop, both of which were great. Aaron had the pork chop as well, but his was drier than mine. The wine was much more affordable than the Frog and the Peach, and the Manhattan, while more traditional, was excellent. We skipped desert and rolled back to the room after–all three of us.
Sunday
Sunday of course featured checkout, and another teary farewell, but we had a divey bagel experience on the way back to Aaron’s dorm from the hotel. We got Aaron back to the dorm, helped him carry some necessities and new clothes back up to the room, and said our goodbyes
Rhonda and I hit Stokelan again on the ride home, and then it was a long wait for grocery pickup at ShopRite, featuring yours truly going full Karen and asking to speak to the manager. Nice reintroduction to reality; talk about Sunday Scaries.
At Stokelan, we tried the 2024 Myra, which remains crisp and dry, with a tart fruit bite. I’d lean towards the 2024 if someone pressed me for a recommendation. We also tried the Catspaw Chardonnay, which is an unoaked version of the varietal. It’s got a salty minerality that I really loved, but a touch of richness that I’d look for in an oaked Chardonnay. Really good.
We tried the Tuscan vineyard platter this afternoon, which has a trio of spreads, some salami, olives, and pita. Rhonda detected some cumin in the hummus, which I’ll have to add to my recipe.
While wining and dining at Stokelan, we agreed to cancel our November Philly overnight (an excuse to eat at Monks Café) and head back up to New Brunswick. I have an Ethiopian recommendation from a colleague, and of course, it’s a chance to try something else at Stokelan.
And best of all? We get to visit Aaron again, before the holidays.
I have more pics and will write up some more granular posts this week if time permits. Thanks as always for stopping by.
Thursday is the New Friday
I was in Friday fettle today at work, as Rhonda and I are off to visit Aaron for Rutgers Parents Weekend tomorrow. We plan to stop at Stokelan Winery on the way up. I made a couple of dinner reservations: The Frog and the Peach and Le Malt Lounge. I’m not sure what we’ll end up doing otherwise but it’s going to be a nice visit no matter what.
We nipped out with Joey and Sorayah for dinner at Cilantro, tableside guacamole and all. Rhonda and I split a bottle of Autumn Lake winery’s Alberino, which I read about at Uncorked. It was excellent. We all had ice cream after.
One thing I’ve been thinking about writing up is a post on making sure you put some joy in your to-do list app. For me, that’s OmniFocus: I’ve been storing wishlists of books, apps, clothes, and household items in projects that I keep on hold. And one that’s strictly for nerd endeavors. Tonight, I made a packing list for the weekend.
More on the Why of Blogging
I’ve contributed my fair share of posts about why (bother) blogging at all, and while I resist the solipsistic urge to overly consider myself, I am serially drawn to make some sense of it. Here are some recent posts to consider.
David Johnson:
That is me and blogging. I enjoy writing. It moves me, flexes a creative urge within me, one that I cannot leave alone or ignore – a wish to explain, describe, explore through the written word. I enjoy it for its own sake, for my sake. I am very happy if someone loves what I write or share, and I will keep writing even if the next piece is not seen.
For the Love of Writing…of Blogging
Sylvia:
Then one morning, I wrote something in my journal, I think, or for a blog post that has stuck with me ever since: I blog for an audience of one: me.
This realisation keeps me writing, keeps me sharing what I write.
Sebastian:
My latest blogging adventure has been going on since 2024 and I am still looking for my blogging style. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with that. I treat it as my path. A path that leads through my thoughts, which sometimes follow a straight path and sometimes bumpy roads. However, regardless of whether I feel like writing down a one-sentence thought or a multi-paragraph reflection, I am guided by something that Leslie Lampart beautifully put into words: “If you’re thinking without writing, you only think you’re thinking”. So I’m writing because I’m thinking.
I’m writing because I’m thinking
Joan Didion:
In many ways writing is the act of saying I, of imposing oneself upon other people, of saying listen to me, see it my way, change your mind. It’s an aggressive, even a hostile act. You can disguise its qualifiers and tentative subjunctives, with ellipses and evasions — with the whole manner of intimating rather than claiming, of alluding rather than stating — but there’s no getting around the fact that setting words on paper is the tactic of a secret bully, an invasion, an imposition of the writer’s sensibility on the reader’s most private space.
There’s probably no one irreducible reason why; for me, it’s thinking, it’s a creative urge, it’s purpose without material value, it’s work without economic propulsion, it’s maybe even a phenomenological _sine qua non._Maybe a Buddhist attachment, in a negative sense: attachment to identity or narrative, a desire for permanence . It’s the text equivalent of my photos collection, the left-brain accounting of my wanderings on this pebble. I can’t apologize for scrolling through either my photos or my posts for a myriad of reasons.
Do we hope to capture these moments… these ephemera… to avoid forgetting them? In the hopes that we’ll see them again one day and remember them fondly? To think that we are, somehow, casting the shadow of our mortality just a bit longer than its natural demarcation?
Yes. Yes we do.
Sunday Serial: Backroads IPA, Gerard Bertrand Gris Blanc, and Tron 4K Remaster
It feels like fall out there! Finally! I pulled some flannel out of the closet upstairs and swapped out my short-sleeve polos and shorts. It’s a good day to be inside, with all this rain and wind.
We met Teri for some snackies and wine at Bellview for one of the last soirees of the season Friday after work. Next weekend Rhonda and I will be in New Brunswick visiting Aaron at Rutgers for Parents Weekend. I’ll have plenty to share for sure. Tripsy is all loaded up with ideas and a reservation for Le Malt Lounge on Saturday. We’re planning on stopping at Stokelan Estate Winery on ride up.
Buena Connection’s The Backroads
Rhonda and I rolled up to Hammonton yesterday to restock our salami stash; they have these big unmarked salami that are identifiable as spicy or mild only by a rubber band. They are always excellent and will last you a while unless your salami lust is boundless.
We stopped off for a pint at the Buena Connection Brewery, which I’ve featured a few times here. I tried their Backroads IPA, which they describe thusly:
Pours like a pale yellow, almost straw-like color with a light-moderate haze. notes of fresh squeezed orange juice with a medley of citrus and tropical aromatics
It’s their take on the juicy, hazy style of IPA that has found favor among hopheads in the last few years. It was excellent. I was tempted by their Photon (kölsch) and Western Sky (West Coast IPA), and of course the Oktoberfest. I was really happy with my selection. A former classmate of Rhonda’s pours pints there and we love to chew the fat with him while we have a few sips. I actually cycled with him once, back when I first started riding with the group that would become Paramount Cycling Club.
Gerard Bertrand Gris Blanc
After the salami run, we stopped at Rocco’s Town House for an early dinner (are we that old now?) and it was once again excellent. We asked for a bottle of White Horse Winery’s rosé, but they were out. The waitress suggested this gris blanc, it was perfect: crisp, but with a touch of tart fruit on the palate.
I had scallops for dinner, and we shared their steamed mussels first. All really really good.
Tron 4K
I was a wee pup of seven years when Disney’s Tron debuted in theaters. It was the kind of special effects-heavy kid-friendly sci fi flick that us kids dug right into, including the five-points-of-aritculation Tomy toy line. Tron:Ares just came out in theaters, and while I don’t think I’ll see it there, I will as soon as it comes out on Disney+. I thought it would be fun to watch the original, which I’ve done many times over the years. I cued it up the other night and started watching, and the first thought I had was, “wow, the special effects really hold up.”
Rhonda remarked that it must have been touched up, and she was right:
The original Tron has been digitally scanned and meticulously restored by The Walt Disney Film Restoration team, which corrected the new digital master for dirt, warping and other source imperfections. Resulting, Disney claims, in “pristine image quality.” The Restoration Team’s work was all undertaken under the supervision of director Steven Lisberger, too, to ensure that the remaster remains true to the original artistic intent.
I’ve encouraged the boys over the years to enjoy Tron, as I did with DC and Marvel comics, Star Wars, and lots of other plastic pursuits. Diamond Select released a three-pack of Tron figures that borrowed the Tomy line’s colored translucent plastic, but with updated articulation and detail compared to the original line. I ordered it for the boys back then and Aaron was kind enough to let me display the Kevin Flynn figure on my desk.
There’s a lot to ponder on rewatching Tron: the nominal hero, Tron, overshadowed in plot and on screen by an impossibly young Jeff Bridges; the anthropomorphized “programs” that live in the Grid; and questions of identity and free will.
Two Sleeps
I find myself, sometimes, awake around 3 am, and after a trip to the loo, I’m not feeling tired and I toss and turn for a bit. My habit is to avoid looking at my watch when I get up so I don’t worry about falling back to sleep.
After a while, if I can’t sleep, I’ve taken to dragging my ass out of bed and hitting the routine: rowing, kettlebells, meditation. But I seized upon the idea of hitting the sofa in the apartment upstairs for a nap after. It’s not as restorative as sleeping through the night and getting up at 5:15 to start the day, but it’s better than missing all that sleep.
I didn’t invent it, though. There’s evidence that bifurcated sleep patterns are nothing new.
“Artificial illumination became more prevalent, and more powerful – first there was gas lighting, which was introduced for the first time ever in London,” says Ekirch, “and then, of course, electric lighting toward the end of the century. And in addition to altering people’s circadian rhythms. artificial illumination also naturally allowed people to stay up later.”
Pressure Cooker Risotto
One of the central challenges (perhaps the challenge) of cooking at home is remembering dishes. You can easily get in a rut, or at the very least forget about some popular and easy dishes.
To this end, I refer to AnyList to see what was on the meal plan recently, but the problem with ruts is they can stretch out interminably. That means a lot of scrolling in AnyList.
Rhonda and I realized I hadn’t made this pressure cooker risotto, which everyone likes. I grilled some chicken last night to save for tonight to have with the risotto, in part to purge our memories of the terrible risotto we had at last Wednesday’s Wine Down Wednesday. Theirs was firm, loafy, with some uninspired chicken sliced up in there. Not so mine.
We went hard on the mushrooms.
More Fun with the TT Artisans UFO Lens
I took the E-PL5 with the TT Artisans 18mm f/6.3 lens with me to the winery yesterday and took some pics. It’s strange that I’m so drawn to taking that one with me instead of the E-M10 Mark IV with the Panasonic Lumix f/1.7, but I like wondering what I’m going to get. I toss a lot of the shots I take with this lens.
We learned that the rosé supply is running short, which is terrifying. I’m hoping they’ll offer it on tap again in December when the new supply hits, but I’m doubting it.
I figured the winery on a sunny Saturday would be a great time to take some pics with this lens, as its thirst for light is strong. I like how the trees around us darkened the foreground.
I was enchanted by the guy in the background: he rolled in, got a bottle of red, light a cigar, and dipped into a book. He was flying solo.
When you find yourself lost in thought: begin again.