High Tech, Low Tech, and On-line Afflictions

I live in Los Angeles where you can get pretty much anything you want, except for one thing I covet: Chesapeake Bay steamed crabs. I grew up in Baltimore and I miss the crab feasts of my youth.  So, every year my thoughtful husband has a bushel Fed-x’ed out to Santa Monica in either May, June, July or August (because crabs are good only in months lacking an “r” ). And we invite nostalgic ex-pats and brave newcomers into our West Coast yard to indulge in the pagan ritual that is so cherished back in Maryland, officially The Land of Pleasant Living. 

However, if things continue the way they’re going, unfortunately even those still dwelling in the Land of Pleasant Living will be left with a raving craving. Last year, Maryland had the lowest blue crab harvest since 1945. There are only about 120 million crabs in the bay and apparently that may not be enough for a sustainable population. Overfishing, pollution, and yes, global warming are the causes.  There seems no end to George W. Bush’s pillage. So it is all the more fitting and important that I sing in praise of the joyful, toothsome oceanic bacchanalias of my childhood.

Around 6 years ago, our family took a trip to France. Our friends have a house in Ramtuelle, a Medieval city built in a circle overlooking the sparkling Mediterranean. Honest, it does sparkle. We frolicked on Pamelonne Beach, made famous by the production company filming And God Created Woman with Brigitte Bardot and we ate at Club Cinquante Cinque (55). 

You know how you often hear “oh, the restaurant’s right on the beach”? Well, Club Cinquante Cinque (55), really, really IS right on the beach. Sitting around a large table in the canvas-shaded patio of this beautiful place, we had no idea how hard it was to get a reservation. Our girls, aged 12 and 7, adapted to the lifestyle like seasoned European travelers.  The kids ate everything that came to the table. Fried smelt were eaten like potato chips…that is, until the real thing came along (one of the restaurant’s specialties). Lena and Hannah devoured catch of the day and seasonal vegetables such as artichokes without the usual suspicion, wrinkled noses and coaxing. Score! After 2 weeks in Ramatuelle, we went off to Paris. 

I can’t imagine being separated from my iPhone for even a day. Its intuitive features have become essential to my life.  But, now, with the application “Big Oven” I feel like my favorite room in the house, a kitchen, has been added to my screen. This is the BEST app that iTunes has to offer.  Of course, that is only my opinion.

Big Oven is a FREE app for iPhone users only, don’t ask me why it’s free but it is.

How about a little tour? Big Oven says they have 160,000 recipes and in another place on the site there are 170,000, who knows?  We all know how recipes collect and reproduce. (Unlike Al Gore, you’ll never get to the end!) My favorite feature is a random recipe that comes up and if it doesn’t interest you, you shake your iPhone and another one loads. Heck, I could do that all day and probably for years and never see the same recipe twice. Random recipes like Green Goodess Dressing.  Shake it again and up pops a recipe for Almond-stuffed pork chops and then a quick shake and now a recipe for Peanut Butter Cookies.  How very cool!

Tons of events, corporate sponsors, dedicated fans, traffic, people descending from all parts of the country and world, and lots of bright lights. Super Bowl?  No, it's a political convention. I'm on my way to Denver for the DNC convention, and it feels like I'm going to a Super Bowl weekend.

I've been to Super Bowl a few times and the weeks leading up to it are always spent figuring out which events to go to, how to snag a hotel room, securing a rental car in a scarce market, and coordinating with friends and acquaintances who are going to be in the event city.  This week has been no different and I'm amazed at how similar the lead-up to the two events has felt.

Former veterans of their craft are everywhere, talking heads will abound, and the real bigwigs are determined by who can get tickets to which events and parties. Sounds like Super Bowl to me.