Art vs. Food

Person: Deb
Location: Perth, Australia
Food: Chocolate bar

The artist at rest.

Deb makes art, prints to be exact. She came to stay with me on her way to a printmaking residency in Canada she’d won an award to attend. She’d flown more than halfway around the globe for the opportunity. And now, here she was, on my couch, readying herself for the next phase of her career.

Find Your Way - by Deb Taylor

As I recall, she ate little. Food a kind of afterthought. Her attention was elsewhere. To home, where her son was, and the future, where she would soon be able to create without limits.

Tracking and retracking by Deb Taylor

We shared few words, yet something passed between us. An awareness of the other’s presence. The knowing of silence within an enclosed space. Sometimes those who speak the least leave the deepest impression.

Untitled-1

She sent me a link to her artwork recently. Her prints are rich with color and texture. The quiet beauty suggesting, perhaps like her, a wild current beneath a still surface.

Untitled (River 2)

She didn’t bring a recipe, rather a small box of Australian candy bars. They were made of dark chocolate with a cherry interior and covered in coconut. Lamington cakes morphed into alternate form. They were lovely.

For the artist, food is a secondary concern. So long as there’s money for paint and brushes, all is right with the world.

And perhaps, for some, art trumps food as a necessity. The body knowing and the mind sensing the stronger impulse. To create. At any cost. Wherever it takes you. Even if it’s across the globe. To a stranger’s couch.  Being fed never was the point.

Earth

To see more of Deb Taylor’s work, visit her website.


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Christmas in July

With New York City (and much of the U.S.A.) in the middle of a brutal heat wave, we need a little Christmas. Right this very minute! We need a little Christmas now!

And so to help alleviate the heat, the Couchsurfing Cook was inspired to write a song.
It’s sung to the tune of Mel Torme and Bob Wells’ heartwarming 1946 classic, “The Christmas Song” and is sure to put a smile on your otherwise red-cheeked (from the humidity) face.

Now I can’t promise that this song will prevent sweat from dripping down your brow and into your mouth as you stand broiling on a rush-hour subway platform, but perhaps humming it while lying in bed at 3 a.m. with a window fan blowing furiously at your naked body while you curse the used air conditioner you bought last summer on Craigslist (because a couchsurfer broke your new one) that’s so weak you wonder if it’s even worth the electric bill**, will make you feel at least a few degrees cooler.

**This is happening to the CS Cook right now!

With apologies to Mel Torme, the CS Cook presents “The Christmas in July Song”:

Piglets roasting on an open fire.

Piglets roasting on an open fire.

Sausage stinking up your clothes.

Sausage stinking up your clothes.

Ice cream cones, being sold from a truck.

Ice cream cones being sold from a truck.

That song will stop, with any luck.

Everybody knows cannoli and some funnel cake,

Everybody knows cannoli and some funnel cake.

help to make your clothes fit tight.

Help to make your clothes fit tight.

Hyper kids, with their mouths stuffed with sweets,

Hyper kids with their mouths stuffed with sweets.

will find it hard to sleep tonight.

They know more food is on its way.
Like cotton candy spun around as if hairsprayed.

Like cotton candy spun around as if hairsprayed.

And every parent there is gonna cry,
when they learn corn costs five bucks to buy.

When told an ear of corn's five bucks to buy.

And so I’m offering this lemonade.

And so I'm offering this lemonade.

To locals and to tourists too.
Although you’ve been warned many times, many ways,
New York’s summer’ll make you brew.

Stay cool everyone!

Watermelons in red and green Christmas colors.

And for the strangest version of “The Christmas Song” you’re likely to see, click here.

What remains

Envelope

What lies inside?

I found the small, brown envelope, no bigger than a matchbook, buried in the recesses of a sock drawer in my father’s bedroom bureau. The drawer, itself divided into six wooden corridors, each held neatly folded pairs of, respectively, dress or athletic socks. The envelope, along with two others identical to the first, lay in this inauspicious corner for over 40 years, my father its sole protector. Why he’d kept the envelope for so long reflected either his forgetfulness or tenderness, both explanations were plausible. Unfortunately, he was no longer there to resolve the mystery; he’d died within days of my discovering them.

teeth

My first teeth.

He could have easily thrown away the envelope containing my first childhood teeth once I’d graduated college or married or had children of my own. Surely there were other mementos of my youth for him to treasure as he aged – photographs, grade school reports cards, yearbooks, and such. That he saved my teeth could certainly have been an afterthought. And yet, there in his sock drawer, a place he surely accessed daily, it would have been difficult if not impossible to ignore their presence entirely. What memories, I wondered, might he have conjured on the odd occasion when his hand, fumbling for something so quotidian, accidentally happened upon the miniscule package? Did he keep my teeth in close proximity for the express purpose of reminding himself of a more innocent time, before my turbulent adolescence and adult diaspora turned my relationship with him into something far more distant?

Discovering the envelope reminded me of the childhood ritual of placing one’s first, lost teeth beneath a pillow hoping a fairy will bestow a gift of money upon the bearer the next morning, as reward for having endured this first painful act of maturation. What was the origin of this ritual, I wondered? Was it practiced the world over? Or is the Tooth Fairyjust another commercialized, and distinctly American, superhero?

Our teeth are used to eat of course, and the act of eating our first food, absorbing something more substantive than mother’s milk, serves as an important sign of our potential survival past the first still vulnerable years of life. Is the loss of teeth an equally powerful premonition of our eventual death? What would our earliest ancestors have thought of this mysterious transformation from strength to weakness at still so tender an age? Could it be that, just as food and animal sacrifices were given to the gods to assure a good harvest or as plea that winter’s bleak darkness be transformed into spring’s renewal, that the loss of a child’s teeth necessitated prayers in hopes that the youth would survive her own early seasons? When a new tooth then emerged, (pushing forth with the same urgency as the mother during childbirth or the plant bursting through frozen ground), what relief there must have been for the adults, a vindication of prayer, or at least the continuation of life’s progress.

I took the envelope containing my teeth gingerly out of the drawer and distributed the two remaining ones to my brothers. But what would I do with a set of my own childhood teeth? What purpose did they serve now that my father was gone? Or would they, like him, need to be similarly set free, along with his shoes and clothes and socks, the accessories of a life no longer requiring objects to confirm its existence.

dad

Dad and me and my brother.

__________________

* I wrote about my last trip to visit my father when he became ill here. He died on June 27, 2011. He was 79 years old and was surrounded by his family in the last few days of his life.

__________________

Click here to learn the true origin of the Tooth Fairy myth.

Can’t We All Just Eat in Peace?

This past Monday was July 4th. So Liz, Ben, Petter (from Sweden, ergo the spelling), and I decided to celebrate the all-American holiday by taking a road trip (by bike, of course, being the eco-friendly Brooklynites and Scandinavians that we are) to explore our neighbor to the north. No, not Canada. A much more foreign place: Queens.

Where the heck is it??

Upon crossing the border, through the scary transition zone known as The Evergreens Cemetery (the final resting place of Bill “Bojangles” Robinson, Lester Young, Isaac Asimov, and Walt Kelly of Pogo fame, among others), we encountered a native of this unfamiliar land, a lovely man selling fruit and sundry products.

Welcome Brooklyn strangers!

Wanting to appear natural in our newly adopted country, we decided to expand our oh-so-sophisticated Brooklyn tastebuds by trying foods we’d never had before, including:

Tiger Tonic

Good fer what ails ye.

Tamarind and Cassava Bread

Two new discoveries.

and Aloe Vera juice, una bebida inteligente (an intelligent drink).

Green is good.

But what surprised us most was a fruit we’d never encountered on the shelves of our local Trader Joe’s called quenepa or honeyberry. According to our new friend, you peel, pop, and suck the green darlings to savor their sweet-ish, gelatinous interior (but avoid the big pit!). All we could say as we peddled off was, “Viva la Queens!”

So happy, he's leaving Sweden.

From there we wended our way through the pine-filled woods of Forest Park, the unexpected mansions of Kew Gardens, and the iconic World’s Fair landmarks in Corona Park and Flushing Meadows.

And it was there (before getting on the subway because we were bone tired at this point), that we saw what makes America truly great: families celebrating July 4th. Among them:

Afghanis

Chicken kebabs on skewers.

Pakistanis

Grilled steak and chicken tikka.

and Mexicans and El Salvadorans.

Elotes on the grill.

That’s right, all the people who supposedly hate us or are here to undermine our way of life, happily honoring American independence in our public parks.

Makes ya’ think, don’t it?

Perhaps the world would be a better place if we could all just, as my mother might say, eat in peace.

And "You Go, Queens!"

With special thanks to Petter Bertilsson for providing the camera and taking many of the photos for this issue!

Is That All There Is?

Person: My father
Location: A Chicago suburb
Recipe: None. Just buy Boost and Ensure..or a dark chocolate bar.

My Childhood Bedroom

My childhood bedroom.

I couchsurfed in my childhood bedroom recently. They say you can’t go home again but, in fact, you can, it’s just that the bed will be a hell of a lot smaller and more uncomfortable than when you were a kid, and lying on it may make you instantly regress to being a teenager, something which your couchsurfing host, in this case my mother, may not necessarily appreciate.

The reason I was couchsurfing in suburban Chicago was because I had to fly home on short notice to see my 78-year-old father, who’d caught pneumonia and been rushed to a nearby hospital. By the time I arrived, he was being kept alive by a ventilator dangling from his mouth.

When I entered the Intensive Care Unit, I wasn’t prepared for what hit me. My father, who’d always been thin, (and who for years I’d credited with bestowing upon me his genetic predisposition to eat whatever I wanted without gaining weight) had transformed from thin to frail and from frail to skeletally gaunt.

Mom and dad at the beach circa 1970.  Thanks for the skinny genes!

Mom and dad at the beach circa 1970. Thanks for the skinny genes, dad.

He lay in bed, his body propped up by pillows, unable to move his mouth, his nourishment, what little he could tolerate, delivered by long, thin needles dangling from his threadbare veins.

Yet rather than consuming, it was my father who appeared swallowed up by the phalanx of machines and wires that surrounded him, including a feeding bottle that dripped cream-colored liquid in dull, metronomic precision.

Feeding Solution

Feeding from the bottle.

The sight of the bottle reminded me of another time my father had been forced to adhere to a liquid diet. I was a teenager, and he’d just undergone extensive jaw surgery to correct a problem with his ill-formed teeth. Yet after the surgery, rather than return to full functioning, he spent months with his jaw wired shut waiting to heal, doomed to an entirely pureed diet that he sucked through a straw with his then-metallic teeth. To this day, I’ve never seen a more angry or irritable person than my father during that period, nor a more relived one when the wires were removed and he was permitted, slowly, to eat whole food again.

Back in my father’s hospital room, I stared at the bottle of liquid nutrients keeping him alive and wondered to what lengths I’d go when or if my time came. It’s not that I live to eat, but would I want to keep going if that most basic of pleasures was taken from me?

Then I thought of older people who find food too salty or can no longer tolerate spicy dishes. I imagined the 5 p.m. dinner rush in the restaurants of Miami Beach and the bland mush of nursing home food. Were these the culinary insults God hurled at the elderly? The slow, interminable deterioration of all forms of pleasure such that, once we reach our final resting place, the dirt that awaits us tastes like manna from heaven?

And then I remembered my paternal grandfather, a man who lived to be 97 and ate nothing but dark chocolate in his waning days, and who for years began each morning with orange juice spiked with whiskey.

My grandfather, Max.  The man who outlived four wives.

My grandfather, Max. The man always had the last laugh.

Maybe there was hope that growing old didn’t have to be a slow plod toward infantilization. And maybe the secret to living to a ripe, old age was to doggedly eat what one wanted, medical studies and God be damned!

The good news is that my dad has beaten the pneumonia, for now, although he needed a tracheotomy to replace the ventilator, and still can’t breathe entirely on his own. This means, eventually, he’ll need to enter rehab to learn to eat again.

For his sake, I hope it’s not as bad as when he had his jaw wired shut.

Food During Wartime

Location: Sperwan Ghar, Kandahar province, Afghanistan
Person: Mitch
Recipe: Water

I’m not sure why I agreed to let Mitch couchsurf with me. He was a little younger than my preferred age and, based on what he’d written, his cooking skills seemed questionable, despite having a mom who worked in the restaurant business. Mostly I was interested in the fact that he was Canadian, and since I’d planned to go maple syruping soon, thought that hosting a guy from Montreal around the same time might make for a funny post.

I hadn’t realized he was in the army and that he’d done two tours in Afghanistan. I was fascinated and asked him to tell me about his experience there.

He did. ___________________________________________________________________________________

From emails sent to Mitch’s friends and family back home:

where do I begin. Saturday December 8th my section wakes up at 01:30 we get all our gear on. frag vest, tactical vest, helmet, kneepads, rifle, night vision goggles, rucksack with jacket, 24 hour rations, 5 liters of water, ranger blanket, beef jerky, vise grip attached to 30feet of string, 8 electric detonators, 4 non electric detonators with time fuse, one wall breaching charge consisting of 6 blocks of c-4, 2 x one block c-4 charges, gunshot residue test kit and other various small pieces of kit. altogether it all probly weighed approximately 80-90lbs of kit.

our task was to go in 2-3 man teams of Breachers and be attached to a section of British royal Gurka regiment infantry soldiers. the Gurkas are actually Nepalese soldiers that join the British army to get good wages and British citizenship. every year approximately 30000 people from Nepal apply but they only take 250. these guys walk around with like 100+ lbs rucksacks for weeks at a time. so basically there some of the toughest troops in the world.

we stepped off the line of departure around 03:30 (we were supposed to leave at 03:00 but the Afghan national army always take their time getting ready. it was pretty cold probably around 1 degree. our objective was approximately 3-4 kilometers and we were going to take one of the most direct routes possible which meant thru grape and marijuana fields over walls and thru little villages. it was a brutally hard walk in the dark over very uneven terrain.

as sun rose we had to stop for about 15 minutes to wait for the ANA to do there morning prayers we stopped about 300 meters from our first objective.

when we arrived at the first of our objectives it was around 07:00 and we started hearing small arms and machine gun fire in the distance and then massive thumping sounds followed by the scream of an artillery shell flying overhead down range to its target. the battle had begun in the south with the Canadian Van-doo company.

as the Gurkas and ANA started searching we got the word we needed to breach some doors. the first lock we got to was too big to use the shotgun on plus it was a steel door(high risk of ricochet). we discussed it and decided to use a 1/4 block of c-4, I think it was a bit too much cause it bent the door in half fucked it up good style. then we started breaching the rest of the doors with the shotgun. one of the buildings we blew the locks off of was a medical facility which sucked but we reimburse people for the damage.

In one of the compounds they found some Constantina wire (razor wire) and on the other side of the compound the other engineer team found a pressure plate connected to Det cable, some empty jugs and what looks to be homemade explosives. we completed the search of the compound and area by around 11:00.

As we moved to our second objective the gunfire and explosions from artillery and close air support started sounding closer and closer. during one of our crossings of a wadi (water stream) it was pretty muddy on the opposite side of the bank and Kayla was slipping and sliding trying to get up the top so I figured I should just try and jump to the other side over the muddy bank. Well the second I hit the other side all the weight and momentum slammed my ass face first into the dirt which hurt quite exceptionally.

around 13:00 we reached police substation Hajji which was built by my troop earlier in the tour and is in the heart of the worst Taliban area in Kandahar province. It took them 8 hours under enemy contact to reach before they even got started construction. this place gets attacked by the Taliban on average twice a day. we call it the wild west because there have been a lot of running gun battles in that area one of the reasons for this operation.

We took lunch on the outside of the compound with the infantry in the towers doing over watch. at this point we got an opportunity to talk with the Gurkas who are quite funny and friendly guys. they told us about their trip to Wainwright in 2004 to do a training exercise and they thought it was the coldest place on earth, the funny thing is they were there in the spring. they all got a week of leave to do whatever they wanted and did some adventure tours everything from skydiving to river rafting. they really enjoyed the strip clubs and bars and all had a very high opinion of Canada. one of them it was their first exercise since joining the Gurkas and said he paid pretty badly.

Gurkas

after relaxing after lunch, we were waiting for the word to continue advancing. on our path to our last objective which was the market area we had to pass over some trip flares (trip wire attached to a flare) we were all told not to set it off so the Gurkas and us all took care to step over it but once the ANA started to pass it one of them set it off. the ANA are pretty interesting guys they will fight like bastards but a lot of them are clueless with a lot of things they like to smoke pot before they go on operation.

as we were walking we encountered a pot farmer who was telling us he hates the Taliban and stuff because they come to his home and take whatever they want. he was hoping that we would bring more security to the area. as we were walking thru the fields we started to hear a lot of machine gun fire probably no farther than 300 meters from our position. we got into location and over the net came word that there was 5 Taliban seen in the area with rocket propelled grenades.

the Gurkas set up a fire base which also had a sniper and there mortar team. at this point bullets were flying all over the place and the firebase let loose on the Taliban at this point I was laying against a wall and fell asleep for about 5 minutes or so I think I was pretty exhausted I was awoken by an A-10 thunderbolt flying overhead and raining hell down on the Taliban’s position followed by a lot of rounds from the tankers.

during all this the Gurkas caught a man in the area that was identified as Taliban. they brought him over to the ANA soldiers and the man was visibly shaking. the Gurka officer requested that we go over and do a gunshot residue test on him. the results were negative but it doesn’t test to show if he has shot a rocket. so the ANA detained him we went back to our positions in the line and waited for further orders. during the time we went to go sit down the ANA started whacking the guy with a tree branch and pulling his beard and stuff until one of the Gurkas went over to them and told them to cut it out. later on I was talking to that Gurka and he told me they would probably have killed the guy if we were not there.

after the fighting died down we got the go to clear the rest of the market. we showed the Gurkas how to use the shotgun and let them breach a few doors. the guy doing it was having a lot of fun but then the shotgun jammed so we took over again and between Kayla me and the chief we went thru about 30 shells and a half block of c-4 to get thru the market.

over the net we got word that one of the tanks had shot to close to a group of friendly soldiers lightly injuring a Canadian and two afghan soldiers. at this point it came down that we were finished advancing, and we were to re-muster and make our way back to the fob we were to leave at last light.

at this point I was really, really tired I had only taken my back pack off maybe 3 or 4 times thru the whole day and my whole body was really feeling it. while marching out we linked up with the rest of the Gurka company and our engineers. the walk out was somewhere around 4 kilometers but I was running low on water (at this point I had drank about 5 liters of water and was sweating quite heavily). the Gurkas gave me two more bottles of water and we were on our way.

at about 18:30 our company came across some a group of young Afghan males. my Det got called up to go do the explosive residue test and gunshot residue test on them. we tested one of them and the interpreter told us that they had just come back from there evening prayer at the mosque, the tests came up negative, so at that point we let them go and were back on our way. moving at night with approximately 250 people in a line is not as easy as it look in pitch black darkness we had to stop every 10 minutes to make sure everyone was still in the line not to mention everyone was getting really tired.

by the time we seen the silhouette of Sperwan Ghar I had completely ran out of water but knew we were close so I just said fuck it and kept moving. well let me tell you that was probably the longest hour of my life all I could taste was the dust that the line was kicking up as they walked towards the mountain. I was praying to god that we didn’t come into contact because I was so physically exhausted. as we got to the road and started to walk thru the front gate and pass the guard tower I have never felt more relief in my life. I moved as fast as I still could towards our living quarters. I was dropping my gear once I was within 15 feet of the door got to the fridge and grabbed the first drink I seen and consumed it quite furiously.

In all we walked for approximately 18 hours while breaching and clearing buildings with a full load of kit. it was the most physically and mentally demanding day of my life. I don’t think I will ever forget this day and just thought I would write this note so you all would have a better idea of what I’m doing over here. I have to get going to bed it’s like 11:00 and I have another long ass day tomorrow.

Sperwan Ghar, Kandahar province
Afghanistan

___________________________________________________________________________________

This has been a hard month for me physically and mentally. Our troop was tasked to build a strongpoint in the middle of really bad Taliban country, I can’t say where or exactly what or why because of operational security. anyways we left for the strongpoint’s location at about 0200 on January 4th. it was a long trip on a route that is quite rough but we never travel so a lot safer.

At approximately 0500 it started to rain which it hasn’t done much since I been here, maybe 2 days since I arrived here October first. We were to dismount and walk to the site where they wanted the strongpoint built, criss-crossing thru farmers fields in about a foot of mud we arrived at our destination just at first light around 0630.

The site was along one of the main road arteries for movement of the population, and cuts right thru Taliban country. the road is so littered with IEDs no one travels this road without a lot of engineers to clear it of mines and IEDs. Probably the last time it was traveled down this far was when the last rotation from Gagetown was here last year.

we formed an all around defense with the vehicles and waited for word to start building at this time it was raining quite hard and the ground was absolute shit mud everywhere, it looked more like Wainwright then Afghanistan. while we were waiting on the final go ahead to build we went and did some patrols with the infantry searching for weapons and explosives. we didn’t find much and the population of the village did not seem to threatening to us so those went smoothly as a patrol does.

on the January sixth we were given the go ahead to start building which was going to be a lot more difficult due to the muddy terrain. as we assembled the observation points and the Hesco bastion walls the time passed really fast but because of the shitty ground the nights were quite uncomfortable on the night of the sixth it started snowing and it was an absolutely freezing wet cold. when we finished construction we moved our troop into the two sea cans that the observation posts were constructed on. that didn’t last long though because the sea cans got repossessed by the infantry officers. It only took us two days to build the strongpoint but we had a lot of help from the infantry.

on the night of the 8th we had to move from sea cans just outside the walls of the strong point, we got the badger to flatten some ground for us for us to put our tarps between our two vehicles. the badger parked next to us but about 3 meters from our tent. at around 0750 I went out and took a piss behind the badger walked back into the tent and laid on my cot about 3 minutes later an large scream flash and massive explosion happened right beside our tent filling it with dust. I jumped from my bed put on my Frag vest and helmet grabbed my bag with my clothes and jumped into our T-LAV. at this point we checked for everyone was ok then I looked up and noticed that the tarp on the top of the badger that the badger crew sleep under was all fucked up.

I exclaimed something like “OH FUCK THE BADGER!” jumped up and ran to see if anyone was on top of it that’s when is seen the sleeping bag of one of the crew I grabbed it and felt a hot piece of shrapnel on top of it and then I grabbed his foot (I’m not going to say his name because some of you might know him but you probably already know about it if you do know him.) my master corporal jumped on top and told me to go call a medic. I yelled at the top of my lungs “MEDIC, MEDIC!!) at this point the two Tactical combat casualty course (TCCC) qualified guys from my section Sap. Clark and Cpl Rochon grabbed there TCCC medic pouches and jumped on top of the vehicle. I then seen a warrant officer and a guy with a medic bag running towards our location and I grabbed the medic and brought him the badger at this time Sap. Pittman and another TCCC guy were on top giving first aid. he was breathing on his own but he had a massive wound to his face and was missing part of his jaw. the crew of the badgers sleep on stretchers so he was already on one when they took him off the top of the vehicle and got him to the medical tent to await an air medi-vac. afterward our whole section got into our tracked light armored video (T-LAV) and no one really said anything to anyone everyone’s face was grim and sad and the mood was very sullen.

when we finally returned to one of our forward operating bases for a much needed shower and hot meal. we were all terribly dirty and didn’t have much in the way of clean cloths. I went and used the internet for a bit and sent a few messages letting people know I was still kicking it. went in the mess and made myself a soup and an improvised grilled cheese sandwich using some stale bread and some cheeze whiz not exactly like home but better than nothing.

we departed back for the strongpoint the next morning at first light with some warm food in our bellies and a good shower we were ready to take on anything. our convoy was large and was big enough to supply 3 police sub stations and the strongpoint we had just built. at approximately 1000 hours the 3rd vehicle in the order of march exploded with one of the largest IEDs I have seen yet. our driver immediately dropped our ramp and my section ran to the scene to secure the location. sapper Clark and myself were instructed to jump on the vehicles and treat the wounded. I had a sick feeling in my stomach before Clark opened the door praying that the guys inside would be ok. to my relief they all escaped with minor injuries, but the vehicle was a mobility kill which means that it couldn’t drive on its own power.

it was decided that we would spend the night at the closest checkpoint and continue on in the morning. this time though we would have more soldiers dismounted to visually check the route our section was picked and we got on our way. its kind of hard to explain the feeling of walking on a road that you know is most likely mined or booby trapped but it’s a little unnerving to say the least. you feel exposed and basically at the mercy of the bomb makers and hope they skipped a step and made a dud that won’t function or that we find the bomb before it has a chance to hurt anyone.

well we missed one and next thing we know a vehicle about a kilometer behind us exploded, as one of the people checking the road I felt absolutely terrible because we missed something and someone could be dead because of that, but once again the vehicle that the soldiers were traveling in survived the blast but was once again a mobility kill. I have to hand it to those Germans they build sturdy tanks it barely had a scratch.

when we finally got the strongpoint everyone was a little shaken up but moral was high. we stayed for a few nights at the strong point and then the orders came down to use the exact same road that had claimed two of our vehicles in the two previous days and that we were to be extremely vigilant in our searching for IEDs. the day started off slow and we had to stop for about an hour and a half because one of the vehicles got stuck and when they went to pull it out they didn’t hook up the lift points or used to much power and ripped the front end off the vehicle so we had to wait for them to put it on a flatbed truck for transport to a mechanic. the day was extremely cold sitting around waiting, then it started to snow and seeing that it had been raining for the better part of 10 days there was huge puddles on the road. my feet were soaking wet and really uncomfortable but the rest of me was dry because of the awesome gortex rain suit we were issued here.

we were about 700 meters away from our second checkpoint when an explosion happened about 60 meters behind me this time they hit another large vehicle and again no serious injuries at this point we were all like what the fuck is going on we made it to our checkpoint and were told to halt for the day. all the dismounted guys from my section jumped in the back of our T-LAV and got the driver to crank the heat and we started to dry off our socks and gloves as best we could. all of a sudden people started jumping in the vehicles and getting ready to leave in the same direction we had just came I was totally confused then we got word that another vehicle had hit an IED and that the rest of the convoy had to turn around and head back the way they came. this was getting to be too much I had just walked down this road twice and seen fuck all it was very frustrating. the worst part of it all is that one of the people in my section was in the convoy that had to turn around and all her kit was on our truck so she was stuck out at the strong point with nothing no toiletries, no sleeping bag, no change of clothes and worst of all she isn’t with us and we were still going to push towards the FOB.

Waking up the next morning I realized we were not getting in a rush to move anywhere and we were told we could sleep late because there was no timings for the day. I laid in my sleeping bag and watch as it snowed outside our tent.

when I finally got the courage up to brave the cold and get out of my warm sleeping bag it must have been like 1000 hours January 17th we started to work on our tent and we went and got some firewood and a guy in my section went across the street and bought a barrel off the locals to use as a burn barrel to heat up our tent we made some air holes and cut a hole in the top. We then dug a hole about a foot and a half in the ground and put the barrel in it got the wood and started it up. Everyone took off their wet boots and put it beside the barrel to try and dry them up and it was mighty hot so it started to work quite quickly. So quickly in fact it melted a plastic on the side of my master corporals boot where the lace holes are it was pretty funny.

around 1400 word came down that we were to move on a route that was most likely IED’ed but the plan was a lot different from our normal course of action and it was on a different route I can’t say the details but as we were pushing away from the checkpoint we didn’t even go a kilometer before we found an IED. because we were pressed for time they blew it in place rather quickly and we moved on. when they figured it was safe we mounted our vehicles and pushed towards the FOBs. we made it back without incident but I felt just terrible knowing that Kayla was all alone out at the strongpoint with some people that she doesn’t know with no kit and we were destined to be

eating hot dinner and having a shower I felt so bad I couldn’t stop thinking about it. she’s a tough gal but she was really looking forward to having a shower and cleaning her cloths and stuff. I decided that I would do all her laundry and clean all her kit so when she does get back here she can just relax without having to do any work I know she’s going to be in a bad mood I would feel like shit to be in her position.

anyways shit happens and I got to go eat some supper.

Recipe: Water

Ingredients: Your imagination

1. Imagine that you are without a sink and faucet and have no spigots neatly labelled hot and cold.

2. Pretend you have to fetch water from a well that is miles from your home.

3. Visualize walking that distance as a daily activity and the time it takes to travel those miles in all kinds of weather, sometimes with shoes whose soles are worn so that you can feel the earth beneath your feet.

4. Picture that, as you walk, you need to pay close attention to landmines, gunfire, and dangerous people lurking in shadows who could harm you.

5. Feel what it’s like to finally arrive at the well and begin hauling up water from the earth’s depths.

6. Hear the sound the water makes sloshing in the bucket, as you lift it towards the sky.

7. Notice how your arms feel as you pull hard on the now-heavy rope.

8. Begin to carry the water back home, walking as slowly and carefully as you can so as not to spill a drop.

9. Upon arriving safely at home, take a metal cup and dip it into the bucket to fill it with water.

10. Quench your thirst, and taste water, as if for the first time.

How the Slow Sex Movement was Born

Do you know where your porn comes from?

It began innocently enough: four women of a certain age meet on a Saturday in New York City to talk, eat, and see art. Yet by day’s end, we were innocent no more, and I’d conceived of a new movement: Slow Sex.

We started at M. Wells, the hip, newish restaurant in Long Island City, famous for Montreal cuisine. The place was packed, placing us within pheromone distance of a bevy of boys, all leaning Canadian in plaid shirts, black, square glasses, and baggy jeans.

Big chicks dig plaid.

The boys didn’t appeal to our sense of smell, but the food got our juices flowing (the meat being the thing at M. Wells). Sadly though, the venison jerky salad was so dry it needed K-Y jelly, and the fish soup, (the one thing you want to smell fishy), creamy in all the wrong places.

The fish soup at M. Wells. Creamy, yes, but where's the fish?

Thankfully, the desserts – coconut cream and maple pies – brought us the satisfaction we’d been craving.

Look how big it is!

From there we headed to the art museum P.S.1, where we walked smack dab into real sex, as opposed to the faux food-induced variety, in the photography of Laura Nakadate, whose looks suggested she never ate, and whose artwork gave the impression she preferred sex with herself, leading us to wonder: Do women even need men to get off, or is pleasuring yourself with dessert good enough?

Laurel Nakadate gets off on herself.

A few hours later – famished and parched from all the sex – we decided to get our fill at Jimmy’s No. 43, a Slow Food joint in the East Village, where our friend Rich served as chef.

We hadn’t expected that a place known for hand-crafted beers and organic, locally sourced food would lead us to dishing on sex again, but this time it was Rich who was all hot and bothered.

“Did you see the recent New York magazine article about how Internet porn is ravishing men’s sex lives?” he asked, handing us plates of roasted sweet potatoes with thyme he’d slaved over all day in the kitchen.

“I mean, you can find anything out there. Big-breasted women with fake boobs. Flat-chested hipster chicks who look like teenage girls. It’s all there, easy to access, and free. Which means, guys can’t get it up with their girlfriends any more,” he cried. We were enraptured, though whether by the implications of what Rich was saying or the braised kale with Heritage Farm bacon he handed us next, we weren’t sure.

So good you can eat it.

I surveyed the room, now thick with men, all of whom looked eerily similar to those at M. Wells: black, square glasses, plaid shirts, baggy jeans, all sporting thick beards one hoped would go the way of the once-fashionable female bush.

That’s when it hit me. If it was true that guys who got off on Internet porn were the same ones who could a) tell extra virgin from virgin (olive oil) with their eyes closed (and hands tied behind their backs?); b) would no sooner wrap their mouths around a hormone-injected hamburger than listen to Justin Bieber; and c) would give their last dollar to buy a dozen, free-range eggs rather than be caught fixing an omelet with the corner bodega variety, then all we needed to get them interested in their girlfriends again was convince them that pleasuring themselves online was equivalent to eating a McDonald’s Happy Meal!

I suggested this to Rich after pleasuring myself with his sticky toffee pudding.

Rich's sticky toffee pudding a.k.a. food porn.

“I’m not advocating a return to a boring sexual diet,” I argued, Ronnybrook whipped cream still glistening on my lips. “On the contrary. My point is to show gastronomically sophisticated men that sex with locally grown women (rather than ones shipped from overseas, whose origins are unknown), who aren’t picked while still underripe, nor filled with chemicals like silicone, are as worthwhile procuring as a perfectly marbled slab of Niman Ranch bacon for the superior mouth feel both offer. Heck, maybe we can even get men to see that older, heirloom women – while not always perfect looking outside – taste better than mass-produced younger varieties that just look fresh on the shelf.”

I continued, my excitement mounting. “And for guys who, for ethical reasons, only eat organic, free range, and Fair Trade food, we label porn so that, at least if they’re going to consume it, they can feel better knowing the women they’re watching are cage-free!”

Extra virgin. It's worth paying for.

Rich wasn’t so sure, nor were my girlfriends. But I contend that if New York magazine is right – that easy access to fast-food sex dulls men’s taste buds for the good stuff – it’s time to borrow a page from the Slow Food movement’s little black playbook. Maybe then, asking men to forego cheaply produced porn will feel less like a moralistic burden and more like a message they can wrap their legs around.

In fact, I’ve come up with a slogan to start the campaign:

“My milk’s free of bovine growth hormone, and my girlfriend’s breasts are too.”

That's right guys. They're all natural.


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For a fabulous meal made with organic, locally grown food (all prepared by a chef we love), visit Jimmy’s No. 43, 43 East 7th Street, NYC, 212.982.3006.

Read a review of Laurel Nakadate’s show from female friend #1 and art critic/editor extraordinaire, Carol Diehl.

Buy paintings by female friend #2, Julie Wolf, and crafts and antiques by female friend #3 Liz Asch.

Learn “What’s Organic About Organic?” by bringing this new documentary to your home town.

Want organic milk and humanely raised meat produced by farmers not agribusinesses? Support Ronnybrook Farm and Niman Ranch.