I haven’t done a recipe for some time so here is an easy one for the roasted bell peppers with garlic.
Sweet bell peppers are delicious and good for you, but most of the time they are not cheap. You can usually find them at the grocery store in three colors – yellow, red and orange (green is not sweet and doesn’t work in this recipe) but they almost never cost lest than $1 a piece. That’s why I usually buy them at the City Market where they are sold anywhere from 2 to 4 for a dollar. Today I got 8 peppers for 2 bucks. Pick the peppers that are not wrinkled without discolorations and soft spots. There is a reason why they are cheap so make sure to inspect them before paying. Anyone knows that a soft and wrinkly pepper is no good.
Wash your peppers and remove soft spots. Place in a 375F oven on a foil-lined sheet.
After a few minutes roasting pepper aroma will fill your house. Every 10-15 minutes turn peppers 1/4 turn. You will notice the pepper skin starting to look burned in places. Don’t worry, skin peels off anyway and that’s the way it’s supposed to look like.
The peppers will eventually lose their shape and will turn brown on all sides. Some amount of liquid is normal. 45-50 minutes should be plenty, after that the peppers may start drying out.
Let the peppers cool down, then remove the skin, seeds and separate peppers into medium-sized strips and pieces. Occasional seed or a piece of skin is perfectly normal.
Discard the rest.
In the meantime, peel some garlic and round up some oil, vinegar and salt. Do not use olive oil or fancy vinegar, olive oil solidifies in the fridge; any corn or vegetable oil will do. The amount of garlic, salt and vinegar depends on you. I did go slightly overboard with garlic but you can’t ever have too much.
Press the garlic and mix with oil, salt and vinegar. You should have about 4-8 tablespoons of the mixture. Just mix it wit peppers and adjust to taste. Store in the fridge. Warning: If there is any chance of you making out (with a person), this will definitely ruin it, unless your partner eats the peppers too. Not recommended for work lunches or when you are around other people and pets.
I previously discussed my feelings on the subject but I was happy to discover that I am not the only one pondering these questions. A short documentary by a young Soviet-born Jewish-Canadian offers a perspective I can identify with, a point of view from a person who came in contact with a different type of Jewish culture and now wonders if her own Jewishness is somehow not up to par. Since I arrived here at the age of 22 with established worldviews and my own understanding of what it means to be Jewish, I haven’t been subjected to the situations described by the people interviewed in the documentary, but I definitely recognized my own thoughts when she interviewed her Mom (although I do speak better English). I wonder if my daughter feels that way when she deals with her friends who have more active Jewish community and religious lives.
Before the video I’d like to offer a quote from an article on the subject:
A little worm asks his father:
-Daddy, why do some worms get to live in apples and oranges and we live in a pile of shit?
-Because it’s our Motherland, son… Old Soviet Joke
When I was boarding a plane to Los Angeles last Wednesday I knew all about my destination.
It was full of aging hippies…
…who wear Birkenstocks year round…
…overrun with crime (I am pretty proud of this shot right in front of the Grauman’s Chinese Theatre)…
…chronic diseases…
…about to be washed out by a tsunami…
…infested with illegal tax preparers…
…where fat people are discriminated against while being taunted with snacks…
…and skinny people are being put on a pedestal.
But somewhere during my five days in LA, my American dream got kicked in the groin. For years I was arguing with my friends on both coasts that I live in a better place, full of parking and almost devoid of traffic, safe and with good schools, reasonable and affordable, while still having a chance to see recent Broadway shows and dine at ethnic restaurants. After every trip I returned home complaining about the crowding, overpriced real estate and horrible traffic everywhere I went, feeling good about the rush hour slowdown on the highway we refer to as “traffic” and my relatively minuscule mortgage payment.
LA made me realize how badly I was mistaken. My friends were right, I live in a Podunk town, in a boring provincial backwater where the foodies are taking turns revisiting the same 10 restaurants and 3 markets; where the same 6 women (and probably men) are at the top of all dating sites (albeit under different handles); where finding a date with at least two degrees of separation from your previous one is almost impossible; where any chain restaurant opening is an event worthy of TV news coverage and traffic congestion; where the only bragging rights are “at least we are not Tulsa or Omaha”. Indeed we are not.
At the same time there are wonderful magical places where it’s almost always warm and sunny but you can look up in the mountains and see the snow; where at any given time more women are dressed in heels and bikinis than the whole statistical female population of the KC Metro Area; where the people are always in a sunny mood and free of depression or PMS and are happily smiling even while being arrested; where the 52-week donut project would take 52 years and still will not be able to eat a donut at every one of them; where the restaurants from all over the world are open even in the areas that are not scary without bars on the windows; where the oranges and lemons grow in people’s backyards instead of the allergy-inducing trees that are planted here for some mystical reasons; where the produce is not an imitation food sold here; where fat people are magically drawn outside to ride bikes or walk or run so even their over-consumption of donuts or cakes from a Cuban bakery around the corner is not detrimental to their health; where driving up and down the mountain roads makes one feel like James Bond; where you “can take a nothing day and suddenly make it all seem worthwhile”.
So I told my daughter to pick a college in California, the only place where my American dream can make another run for it.
Maybe I can take a ride on the “Possibility bus”…
…or just mount my Focus on top of a school bus…
…I can trow down my magical money blanket on the sand…
…or pour my lifetime savings into a yacht…
…just so I can see this…
…or this…
…and this…
…and I will wait as long as I have to.
httpvh://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D4J0HD_82hw
P.S. I don’t need to know why it’s so great to live here and why it sucks in California. Trust me – I know. And learn about hyperbole.
Instead, you’ll get this song from another guy from my neck of the woods. I didn’t work in a sweatshop but in my early years here I did my share of pizza delivery and washing dishes.
