Race Cars and Washing Machines

My grandfather died last December, a month short of his 82nd birthday.  He grew up during the Depression and lied about his age so he could enlist in the Navy early.  He worked three jobs to support his family - he would leave the house on Friday morning and worked straight through to Sunday.  

He was a designer of things - vending machines, industrial brushes.  Parts of the Apollo 11 lunar module.  The lines of his drawings were straight and dark and clean, and his handwriting looked to have been typeset.  

He could make himself an extremely disagreeable person, particularly in his declining years, but he could also be kind and generous.  My favorite memory of him is of the time he helped me build my Pinewood Derby cars.  This annual ritual of forming a slippery-fast racer from a plain block of wood brought us as close as we would probably ever be.  Our car never won, but it didn't matter.

Lately I've been channeling my grandfather.

At work, I've started keeping a stack of blank paper at my desk and making drawings of what I'm working on.  I've started using a pencil instead of a pen, and I've started writing like him, though not quite as neatly.

This week, the kids wanted to make washing machines.  I have no idea where this idea came from, but I'd promised to help them, so today, despite a smallish hangover, a leanover really, we made washing machines out of plastic jugs, a couple of cheap pens and a few kebab skewers.  

I hope the kids remember that.

Last Day of Summer

Remember how it felt when school started in the fall?  The late summer sun turning the leaves prematurely golden, the shadows lengthening early in the evening.  The crickets chirping in the cool night air.  A new pencil case, a crisp white shirt.  New school shoes just out of their box and slightly too big.  The whole world seemed to hold its breath in anticipation of that first day of school.

And then the day finally cam and you realized - this sucks.

Today was the last day of summer holiday for the kids.  While their friends and relatives in the States are enjoying their long holiday weekend, celebrating whatever it is that Labor Day is supposed to commemorate, our kids will be sweating in their starchy new clothes, nursing the blisters from their new shoes and misplacing their new pencil cases.  

Michael starts Year 1, and Caroline Year 3.  These are both big steps.  I remember starting first grade.  I was frightened of my first grade teacher, Sister Bernadette.  She yelled a lot and once made Kara Sincavage stand in the trash can.  She had a red-faced tantrum when she tripped over Jeanne Rowlands, who'd leaned over to stuck her head in the bottom of the desk to look for something.  I remember the Phonics book from first grade, and that 'W' was sometimes a vowel back then.  

I also remember third grade.  We had bathrooms in the classroom in elementary school and I locked myself in one.  They had to call the janitor to get the lock undone.  This of course all transpired in a classroom full of my peers, all of whom thought it was about the funniest thing that had ever happened to them.  I don't really remember much else about third grade, but I'm sure something must've happened during the year.  Last I heard, my third grade teacher, Miss Chaya, was still teaching third grade, and looked much the same as she did thirty years ago when I was in school.

I spent twelve years in the same school, from first grade through twelfth.  I still have a few friends from that time.  They have children now, too, and they have new school shoes.  

And so it goes.

Party's Over

They warned me about this, the people who came here before me.  They told me that eventually, everyone leaves London.  I never believed them.  I do now.  

Two sets of close friends are leaving.  That comprises a fairly large percentage of those we feel comfortable phoning up on the weekend and inviting to an impromptu.  OK, so we don't have all that many close friends, but we're just poor foreigners.  London is really an Ellis Island: the people here are generally in transit to somewhere else: New York, Australia, Kent.  As a result, there is little constancy, and even less attachment.  It's very Zen.  Or at least it should be.

Today we had a little party to bid good luck and adieu to those who are leaving.  The combination of the end of summer sun-slant, this afternoon's grey clouds, and a largeish amount of Champagne conspired to make it a somewhat bittersweet but still enjoyable afternoon. 

If you've watched the fizz vanish from a glass of Champagne, you already know what an apt metaphor this is for the nature of the acquaintances one makes here.  People are constantly coming and going.  Some you like, most you don't.  But there's a decidedly un-fizzy quality to a few of the acquaintances, and the people here today were very much not fizzy.  I can't help but believe that at least a few of the friendships we've made here won't vanish like a Champagne froth.

Whether or not you're fortunate enough to have friends who've just returned from Champagne with a carload of booze, you will no doubt enjoy today's recipe.  This is very much a Fall dish, best served with falling leaves and departing birds.  Or departing leaves and falling birds.

End of the World as We Know It Potato Salad

Regular readers will note the similarity between this and my Totally Edible Brussels Sprouts.  This is no accident.  Bacon makes almost anything better.

500g Streaky Bacon

1 Red onion

2 lb new potatoes, washed and quartered

2 shallots

1Tbs olive oil

1 Cup apple cider vinegar

2Tbs wholegrain mustard

Salt and Pepper

Boil the potatoes for 12 minutes and drain well.  Meanwhile, dice the shallots and peel and quarter the onion. Slice the onion into 1/4in pieces.

Heat the oil over medium heat in a large heavy skillet.  Cube the bacon and drop into the oil.  Stir constantly until it stops steaming.  Reduce heat to medium low and continue cooking until the bacon is brown but not hard.

Remove the bacon from the pan using a slotted spoon, reserving the bacon fat in the pan.  Raise the heat to medium.  Add a little more oil if needed and when the oil is fairly hot, drop the sliced onion into the pan.  Stir constantly, breaking the onion into individual pieces and shaking the pan occasionally to spread out the onion.  When the onion has started to cook, reduce the heat to low and add the shallots.  Continue stirring and shaking until the onions and shallots have turned very soft.  Remove the onions and shallots with a slotted spoon, reserving the oil in the pan.

Increase heat to high and when the oil is just starting to smoke, add the vinegar and open a window.  Stir the brown bits from the pan into the vinegar and add the onion, shallot and bacon and mustard.  Let this heat a bit and add the potatoes, turning to coat with the mixture.  Season to taste with salt and pepper.

Serve warm.  You can reheat the potatoes in the pan if needed.