Chinese gooseberries

We got a half-pint of something called "kiwi berries" in our biweekly produce delivery today. (We use New Roots Organics, which aggregates from organic farms, finding what I think is a nice balance between patronizing locally and providing variety.) Usually the sheet they include describes anything unusual in the mix, so I wonder if I might be behind the curve on this one. The first Google hit is a company that claims to have been the first to start using the name kiwi berry as opposed to baby kiwi or hardy kiwi.

http://www.kiwiberry.com/kiwi%20berries%20css.htm

Kiwi fruit themselves were called Chinese gooseberries when they first came to the United States, and became kiwi fruit (after the bird of New Zealand) for marketing reasons. So it's funy to me that their little brethren have a branding kerfluffle to deal with as well.

I had two cavities filled this morning, so my mouth hasn't de-numbed enough to risk biting into one until just now. They're pretty good! A lot like a true kiwi, without the mess of the peel, although the fuzzless skin is a little rough and tasteless. Also, the firmness and flavor varies a lot from berry to berry. I tend to prefer (as with other fruits) the slightly firmer, tarter ones. I could see slicing these in half to add a little zany-ness to a salad, since E doesn't like nuts (my former favorite) as a topper.

In other news, a state application for federal funds that I worked on was not successful, I just found out today. I think the project had some problems, but it's a bummer, because it was for a type of service that's badly needed in Washington. Of course, it's badly needed elsewhere, too, so I'm interested to see who won, and how well they use the money.

My second year of grad school starts tomorrow, and I'm reading John Rawls on social justice. I skipped that course at Harvard, where it was very popular, and is about to go multimedia: http://athome.harvard.edu/programs/jmr/
I'm pretty sure I'm still not interested in political philosophy, and I'm hoping UW makes it more case-based, addressing specific real-world dilemmas rather than hypothetical rationalization.

Sour Cream Coffee Cake

My cousin K is allergic to dairy, so E picked up some sour cream substitute before K and her husband came over for brunch this weekend. But it turns out that its main ingredient was coconut, which K is also allergic to. So we improvised with soy milk, and I found this recipe online (adapted slightly) as a way to use some of the faux sour cream. It's delicious, and the house smells like baking.

Cake:
1 c. sour cream
1 t. baking soda
1/2 c. butter, softened
1 c. sugar
2 eggs, beaten
1 t. vanilla
1 3/4 c. flour
2 t. baking powder

Topping:
1/2 c. brown sugar
2 t. cinnamon

Preheat oven to 350.

Grease and flour an 8 x 8 pan. Combine sour cream and baking soda in a bowl, mix to blend. Set aside (it will double in bulk). Cream butter and sugar. Add eggs and vanilla, mix well. Combine flour and baking powder in a bowl. Alternately mix in portions of the flour mixture and the sour cream mixture to the batter, ending with flour.

Spread half of the batter in the pan. Sprinkle with half of the topping mixture. Cover with remaining batter. Sprinkle with the rest of the topping mixture.

Bake for 25 minutes.

Late September, Woodland Park

When I'm the one to walk the dog in the afternoon, I always like to take her around the little path along the fence that rings the zoo, where we can catch a glimpse of the elephants. I'm not sure why. We never get much of a view, and it is generally the same – a bit of massive ear, or shoulder, or rear. And I am not thrilled about the theory of zoos with their too-small enclosures, exposed by design. Can the elephants be happy? But I like to see them anyway. It's reassuring, maybe, and always feels a little like I'm getting away with something: free elephants! Today they were out of sight.

It's nice to get back to the park after a few days away – although I realize as I write this that it's been longer than that: I haven't taken L for her afternoon constitutional since before our week-long East Coast romp. Can that be? What was I doing on Friday, I wonder?

On the other side of the city (Capitol Hill): http://www.flickr.com/photos/knoopie/3963019765/

E's parents asked when they were here the week before that whether the leaves change in Seattle, in the fall. I couldn't remember what that looks like here, or what the timing is like, although this will be our third. It seems incredible how quickly it has gone; another year and I will have been here as long as I was in New York, which is as long as I've been anywhere uninterrupted. (Cambridge/Somerville has a claim on 5 years, but split into three chunks, not counting summers away.)

So today I tried to notice: there are yellowed and dry brown leaves scattered all across the sidewalks and the grass. Most of the trees just look brushed with yellow – one tall one aflame with red all down one side – not yet consumed with that color. Not just the pines and needled shrubs, but many of the other trees are still fully green. It hasn't been raining. But the cool air and the wind feel like fall. I feel ready for orange piles of pumpkins at the store and the smell of fires.

db in Volunteer Park: http://www.flickr.com/photos/wesbran/3961264931/in/photostream/

It's impossible to resist the change of seasons as a metaphor for aging. Yesterday I went to the Decibel Festival event in the park, on my own, because E doesn't like thumpy electronic music and I don't seem to know or meet anyone else who does anymore. The time when I went dancing every week, sometimes multiple times, is two moves and the better part of a decade behind me in San Francisco. I still love it so much – it's the simplest, most fail-safe way I know to find bliss, outside of a pill – but going out to late night DJs just isn't a good fit with my life anymore. I need to sleep a lot, and it's a real effort to stay up. In Seattle you have to be a morning person to maximize your exposure to the sun through the long dark winters. It was sad not to have people to share this annual event with, although I felt the same good feeling just moving by myself, with a handful and then several handfuls of other dancers down in front of the small stage. It was a warm afternoon, the perfect setting.