Some of my deepest, grumpiest regrets involve a failure to plant garlic in the fall for harvest the following July. What, I ask you, even is July without waiting for just the right conditions for harvest, then giving up and just getting out there because there’s really no such thing as “just the right conditions” and it’s just hot af out there? What’s more fun than scrolling through harvest photos of Julys past, researching exactly how last year’s curing structure was constructed? Who would I be if I wasn’t consulting this book repeatedly just after the Fourth of July, sweating over whether the crop had cured enough? [A more organized gardener would write this shit down, but I am what I am and I’m good with it.]
Anyway, Mother Nature and I both got our shit reasonably together at the same time in this bananapants summer of 2022 and I got the garlic harvested with just a few garden fork casualties.
[intended video not available, dang it]
Analysis: Some of the bulbs are fairly hefty, but the majority of them are smaller than usual, victims of drought and an absurdly hot June. Regardless, I’m grateful. Jim’s recent spelunking in our garage recovered a wire shelving unit, to which he added casters and voila—I have my first-ever mobile curing rack.
It’s been hot and humid and the garlic refuses to cure completely, but I reckon a few more days will do it. Once it’s ready, the stalks are cut and composted and the bulbs are separated into two categories: FOR KITCHEN and FOR GARDEN. Each type gets diverted to their own paper bag with holes cut into the sides (can’t find the hole punch) and they’re hidden in the darkest, coolest corner of the basement until the time comes to start using them for their purposes, which for the KITCHEN garlic is immediately, and is often in pesto.
Here’s the only pesto recipe I use, adapted from Ken Haedrich’s Feeding the Healthy Vegetarian Family. I double it even though my kids don’t live at home anymore.
2 1/2 C packed fresh basil leaves
2-3 peeled garlic cloves
⅔ C olive oil
¼ C pine nuts
⅛ t salt
¾ C freshly grated parmesan cheese
Put everything but the cheese in a food processor. Spoon into a bowl and stir in cheese. Use on pasta, potatoes, corn, fresh tomatoes, eggs, smear it on a fresh baguette, etc.
SIDEBAR: Right now I have a decent basil crop, but the cherry tomato plants I rescued from the compost are producing mealy, gross-tasting fruit (Meyer Produce is crushing the cherry tomato game this summer, thank Maude). Plenty of creatures and flowers and noxious weeds are growing back there, though. There be hummingbirds and baby bunnies and bumblebees and bindweed. I’m contemplating a fall garden, but am not sure I can commit, even though it feels critical to plant something, because Winter is Coming.
From the Department of Friends Doing Cool Shit*: I have an abiding interest in a forthcoming book called You’re With Stupid and a docuseries called Women Who Rock, which is out now on Epix.
I’ll start with the latter: Not that I needed any encouragement to be incredibly proud of its director, Jessica Hopper, for her work or anything, but goddamn - one of her conditions for directing this series was to include Kira Roessler? Anyway. Jessica’s work is inspiring and evocative, and I know where she’s coming from, as we’ve known each other since the early 90s. I also know where she’s at: She teases out these incredible stories from Kira and Pat Benatar and Susanna Hoffs and Chaka Khan and so many others, AND she ice-dyes and gardens and parents and partners and has a most enviable thrifting luck/sensibility? What CAN’T she do?? I'm not sure I’m ready to watch yet, but when I am, I’ll be watching all at once. And by myself.
You’re With Stupid: kranky, Chicago, and the Reinvention of Indie Music, written by my friend, former neighbor, and former colleague Bruce Adams is a whole ‘nother (though somewhat related) ballgame. I’m still reading, but I can attest that the first third of the book is a very particular strain of LBK catnip. It somehow set me down into my former workplace and scene early 1990s Chicago and presented me with a Red Apple Buffet-style spread (IYKYK) of nostalgia and memories and details (which seemed inconsequential at the time) that’s gonna take some time to digest; I haven’t lived in Chicago since 1996 (26 years, OMG), but I crammed a lot into the 5 years I was there**, and it remains a huge influence on me—it’s only a couple hours up the road, and Cody (my eldest) was born in Lakeview and currently lives in Pilsen. Friends still live there, too, making music, making art, living their lives in what remains one of my favorite cities ever. I mean, I freakin’ fell in love with my husband, Jim, in Chicago.
Anyway. Bruce’s prose efficiently wrings out important and nutsy-boltsy specifics that will trigger strong memories in those who were there, enrapture readers who bought the records in lieu of being there, and perhaps encourage the spawn of Those Who Came Before to bring back, aurally if not in person, artists like Labradford and Bowery Electric and Jessamine. Here’s the thing: Even if you’ve never heard of kranky, chances are excellent you’ve heard music by a past or present kranky artist... or have seen a particular kranky sticker in the wild. Almost 30 years on, I thrill in noting how kranky’s smartass AND smartypants beginnings laid such strong, no-nonsense groundwork for a genre (and label) that continues to bring us what they want, when we need it.
The housing market, at least for those buying and selling single-family residences, remains relatively brisk in C-U despite a bit of a slowdown (I’ve heard) over this time last year.
People are on the move. This is a college town, and moving has always been part of the scenery, but recent evidence of moves feels kind of… harsh? I dunno. Perhaps it’s me being deeply affected, for some reason, by stuff literally kicked to the curb or crammed unceremoniously into plastic garbage cans while an empty house looks sullenly on.
It’s how it's always been, though. Throwing belongings into a Hefty bag to get out of the dorms on time; leaving a couch in a Chicago apartment because the move was caused by a breakup and neither party felt like dealing with it (True story—we also couldn't figure out how to get it out anyway); broken toys, well-loved and many of them thrifted, waiting at the curb, not good enough to be taken along or even for donation.
I can’t imagine what it might be like to move out of a house I’ve lived in with 2-4 other people over 17 years… and our house is small by US standards. [Like, you might come over and wonder to yourself, like my nephew did once, why our house is so small.] Anyway, Jim’s recent garage project + my planned RDWWs (Rainy Day Weekend Weedings) will provide huge returns in terms of space, despite the relative lack of room we’ve had to accumulate a bunch of crap. But as “we” trend away from ownership, I consider my own thoughts on the concept. I feel most strongly about owning books, which can be read pretty much regardless of whatever else might be going on. But… what else? Will anyone else want any of my shit, or will it end up in a landfill or bobbing around in the ocean somewhere or…?
LOTSA (LISA’S OPEN TABS, SAVED AGGRESSIVELY):
“Recovering what you loved about your creative calling”… mm, yes
Was sad to read this about Bill Laswell
Made some cilantro-lime dressing this week to fancy up some cabbage
My cousin, Ben Kator, is crushing it with his artwork lately
Good at starting, but terrible at ending? Enter: ENDINEERING
I find For All Mankind, despite a difficult couple of seasons, v compelling viewing
Brenna Quinlan should have her own Schoolhouse Rock-style video series about sustainability and consumer culture
In this house, WE LOVE JENS LEKMAN (thanks, Cody)
*Reminder that there are folks among you—and possibly YOU are this person— creating really cool shit, taking risks, saying yes, struggling, doing their best, failing often, serving the muse, and redefining success
**Could be a fun, if painful, memoir
This is so damn good Lisa. Thank you
Possibly the most amazing thing about the wire metal shelf on wheels that became a garlic drying rack is that we somehow had an EMPTY wire metal shelf on wheels available!?