Welcome back, winter

Hello, fluffy white stuff. I think I remember you. Perfect excuse for an early release from work, a nice walk into town and an evening with nachos and the new Dr. Who. Thanks to any of you who sent us your spare flakes.

How front range residents experience December

For friends and family on the east coast and others experiencing this thing called "winter."

Some go for bike rides while others take walks.

Some rotate on the living room carpet as the sun passes by.

Others put down the library book and give in to the pull of the nap.

Others (not me) go out running in shorts and t-shirts. Keep in mind that the air temperature is actually 48 here. There are just some nice basking spots.

Those outside of the front range, keep thinking warm thoughts. Spring is just around the corner, right? Frankly, I'd take a few feet of snow if it would guarantee no wildfires till summer. Anyone want to trade a week of eastern Colorado la nina for a blizzard?

Moroccan feast

While Colorado has its share of great restaurants, one thing it's lacking is a good, casual Moroccan place. If you're up for a five-course event, Mataam Fez is down in Denver and their apple b'stella can't be beat, but I long for the hole in the wall that is Amanouz Cafe back east. A giant, hand-written menu, French night on Thursdays and quick service guarantee I'll stop in any time I'm in town. I always get the same thing, couscous with vegetables, and I always leave wondering what could possibly make up those incredible flavors. It looks like a pile of chunky vegetables in a watery sauce, but I could never pick out the ingredients and sometimes didn't even recognize the vegetables.

I'm pretty determined when I want something (see sock miracle below), and I just wanted to have this food at home. After much googling and trial and error, I think I found my answers. I took great liberties with the recipe (ok, shortcuts) because I lack an authentic couscoussiere and the patience to cook dried beans or grate tomatoes in December, but I did make my own harissa and prepared some ras-el-hanout for future use.

Now I don't feel so bad about not being able to name what I was tasting. I can't say why, but, for me, this is heaven.

Couscous with vegetables, adapted from Gourmet magazine, courtesy of epicurious.com
(warning: this makes a small vat)

• can of chick peas
  
• can of fine dice tomatoes, drained
  
• 1/3 cup extra-virgin olive oil
• 2 medium onions, coarsely chopped
• 1 teaspoon black pepper
• 2 teaspoons ground ginger
• 1 tablespoon salt
• 1 tablespoon tomato paste
• 6 cups water
• 1 teaspoon ground ras-el-hanout
• 3/4 pound carrots, peeled and halved crosswise, then halved lengthwise
• 2 medium turnips, peeled and cut into 1 1/2-inch-wide wedges
• 2 medium zucchini, trimmed, halved crosswise, then halved lengthwise
• 1/2 medium green cabbage, cut into 6 wedges
• 3/4 pound butternut squash, peeled, seeded, and cut into 2-inch pieces
• 1/2 teaspoon fiery harissa plus additional for serving
• couscous
  

(You can make your own ras-el-hanout ahead of time or buy it at a good spice shop. I had a ton of dried chilies from the garden, so the harissa was a great way to use some up.)

Put oil, tomato, onions, pepper, ginger, salt, tomato paste in a really big pot and cook over moderate heat, stirring frequently, until onions are softened, about 10 minutes. Add water and ras-el-hanout and bring broth to a simmer. Add carrots and turnips and simmer for ten minutes.

Add zucchini, cabbage, and butternut squash to broth and cook, covered, until vegetables are almost tender, then add chickpeas.

Some time in the middle of the simmering, make up at least three cups of cooked couscous. I'm sure you know how to make couscous.

Spoon vegetables over fluffed couscous. Drink sweetened mint tea afterwards and pretend you're in Marrakech.

A solstice miracle

About a month ago, one of my socks went missing. As usual, it wasn't an old sock that had a few holes, but one of my warmest, newest socks. I do not accept the idea of something being "lost" very easily, so I revisited the laundromat a few times, combed through my closet and even called my dad to see if he hadn't packed it up in a suitcase after his visit. I hung the lonely, remaining sock in plain view in the closet, maybe in hopes of using it as a beacon to get the other one home. This morning I was putting on a pair of pants that I'm not particularly fond of, and out pops the prodigal sock from the left pant leg.

I can only assume this is a sign of an auspicious beginning to the new year. The full jar of Nutella that I found on my desk at work today didn't hurt either. You've got to take your good omens where you find them. Happy solstice, everybody, and enjoy the light!

Some days a bike ride is not a bike ride

Some days it's a bird-watching tour. This afternoon, I found a pair of red tailed hawks squabbling with an eagle over prairie dog town ownership, a similar set out at Sawhill Ponds and a kestrel on nearly every corner. One day I'll have a camera with a lens long enough to keep me from scaring off every bird I see. In the meantime, I've got lots of shots of retreating blurs in the blue sky.

Who needs an alarm clock when you have a kookaburra? A brief introduction to birds in Australia

(Note: when I thought it worthwhile, I've linked bird names to sound files. It'll bounce you off this page, but you can always come back)

No one really mentions the birds in Australia before you go there. They'll tell you about the kangaroos, the koalas and the handful of things that can kill you. Locals don't really hear them. When you ask, "What's making that sound?", they just shrug. I was overwhelmed by them. From the minute you walk into the airport parking lot, they're overhead. Flocks of screeching cockatoos roost on the street lights. Flashes of red and green reel past the highway. Galahs wander through public parks.

This just-a-few-cousins-away-from-a-dinosaur is considered a pest in downtown Sydney. I think I nearly hit the brakes on the bike when we rode past the first one in the botanic gardens. In my mind, an ibis is a small, fragile thing. Not so the Australian White Ibis.

The sounds of the local ravens who sat in the yard made me poke my head out the front door to make sure some child wasn't being beaten. I eventually learned to sigh along with them. Bob the dog was harassed by mynas on most of his walks. Some birds just looked like they partied too much the night before.

Leaving the city and camping in the bush brought out a host of other characters. Like most birds, the locals on the sunshine coast are most vocal at dawn and dusk, and dawn comes pretty early in the springtime. The whip birds were the showoffs. Didn't sound like birds at all. The kookaburras had me stumped at first because I mistook them for monkey sound effects, but I certainly knew who they were by the last morning's wake up call. I don't think I've ever threatened a bird with physical violence before.

I never really saw many of the birds who greeted us each morning because they were well-hidden at the tops of the trees. Clancy, here at the Raptor Domain on Kangaroo Island, will be the representative kookaburra. Glenn thought he saw a cassowary by the river at our first campsite, but it turned out to be a bush chook (turkey), and we saw plenty of those later on, including one who regularly invaded an outdoor cafe for its sugar packets and leftover milkshakes.

Australia's home to all manner of fowl, from birds of prey, like this barn owl who drew a bit of blood when it sat on my knee...

to fairy penguins...

Sorry for the lack of actual penguin photo. These guys come and go in the darkness, and while I was able to view some with a red lens torch, flash photography around the rookery is considered rude. Hearing the little penguins, however, is open to all. Loud, little buggers some nights.

Kangaroo Island had a wide variety of birds for me to stalk, including this superb fairy wren who did not want his picture taken, but would happily sit a few feet away whenever I put the camera down.

Other people have had far better luck, light and cameras. The red wattlebird was a little more cooperative, dangling on the bottlebrush and showing off his good side even in the gloomy weather.

I did encounter a few birds with less pleasant aspects as well. Glenn warned me well in advance of possible maggie attacks. Magpies at home are large, slightly majestic loudmouths who denude the cherry trees and torture small mammals. In Australia, maggies have less tail, a pretty little song, and a tendency to fly at cyclists' heads during mating season. We watched some youtube videos and I laughed at the riders with zip ties sticking out of their helmets. Seriously, if a bird wants your head, a little bit of plastic's not going to stop him. The sign at the last campsite was also amusing.

Dismount? Right. I was swooped that same morning, without warning, and the last thing I thought of doing was getting off the bike. No harm done, though, and it got me into the habit of looking up for that lone bird in the tree. I spotted one on a hike while he was still at least fifty yards off and he got me coming and going. Bike helmets should be recommended head gear for everyone at this time of year.

Lady Musgrave Island, made entirely of coral, is home to a vast flock of noddies who roost in the pisonia trees for a few weeks every year. The whole island has an overpowering scent of bird poo and you've got to be careful looking up into the trees. I can say from experience that fresh bird poo on a sandaled foot is hot.

Interestingly, while the pisonia provides the noddies with nesting material, lots of noddies also become needed pisonia fertilizer when they get bogged down with the trees' sticky seeds. Life can be funny that way.

My last bird encounter was with the pelicans at their "dinner time." Why feeding fish guts to a bunch of pushy seabirds is considered entertainment is beyond me, but when you pay for the full-day bus tour, you follow the herd. Just don't listen when the dude with the fish keeps telling you to sit closer or you will be that weirdo on the bus that smells like fish guts all the way home.

Being home now, in the dead of winter, the mornings are quiet. No feathered alarm clocks, no shocking primary colors in the trees. I miss them.

No more stealth bike

In an effort to avoid being squashed by every third car on the way home at night, I've picked up some reflective tape from the hardware store and am liberally applying it to the commuter.


It's not exactly artistic, but I think it will make me more noticable. Except, of course, to the wanker who refused to scrape the frost off his rear window this morning. Or use his turn signal before abruptly pulling right to park. Wanker.

Good intentions

I really was going to ride to the farmers' market in Longmont today, but have concluded that I have insufficient knee layers and finger warmers for a 30 degree, mostly cloudy, humid morning. Too much like New England for me. Cheers to those with more motivation and better circulatory systems!

Urban Arts and Crafts (no tea cozies here)

I ventured south to Denver this weekend to check out Holiday Handmade, a craft fair for the hipster crowd. While I was glad to see that the DIY movement is still alive and well in spite of any economic woes, I was even more impressed with the building the fair was held in.

The Sherman Events Center is a former Shriner Temple built in 1909 and, while it may not look like much from the street, it's remarkably well cared-for inside.

The woodworking detail is exquisite.


Just an elevator.


Those Shriners may drive funny, little cars, but they sure knew their Moorish Revival architecture, too. There's something comforting about all that wood and tile.

I came out with a raven print (now in the queue with all my other wall art that lacks a proper frame), some snacks and a few gifty things. Owls, birds and octopi seem to be the hot design themes this year, but when are they not? Best of all, right out the front door was one of the now-ubiquitous Denver food trucks. Nothing like a hot biscuit on a cool winter's day.

Holiday excess

The last week was spent visiting with my dad, eating out, watching movies and tv, and generally avoiding much physical activity while the weather turned bitter. I think I'll be digging the road bike out for the weekend just to get the blood flowing again. We did, however, make it up to the mountains where the snow's been hiding and I even got my dad onto a chairlift for the first time. Very odd to be up there with nothing strapped to my feet.