This past weekend was the National Alpaca Ranch Tour Fiesta and Bake Sale weekend…

Okay, it was really just the local ranch tour event put on by the Alpaca Gold Association but it was part of a larger, national sort of thing. At any rate, friend Marge (she who “inherited” two llamas when she bought her new house) wanted to investigate alpaca housing options and I went along for the ride (and fiber purchasing opportunities).

From the thirteen local alpaca ranches participating in the ranch tour event, we made a short list of three ranches to visit. Criteria for making the short list included geographical proximity to one another (in other words, we weren’t going to drive to hell and gone) and the availability of “products” (i.e., YARN!).

Our first stop was at  A Star Alpacas. Really, they should be called “Five Star” or something as it was like the Ritz-Carlton of alpaca accommodation. Perhaps it had had a previous life as a horse ranch … the alpacas were housed in lovely stables with an “Alpaca Motel” sign on the side. Not too practical for Marge’s needs but the fiber shop was great…lots and lots of alpaca and alpaca blend yarns in beautiful colours. People were also on hand giving spinning demonstrations:

Next up was the Opus Two ranch. Marge is signed up for an introductory alpaca husbandry course here later in the fall so it gave her a chance to meet the rancher, Joan, and to have a bit of a chat with her.

As for the rest of us, we got to learn some stuff about alpacas (like they each have unique hairstyles and they rarely need haircuts!) and, of course, oooh and aaah over their cuteness.

Check out his ‘do!

Like all the ranches we visited, Opus Two has guard llamas:

(The big white one is the llama.)

Alpaca housing at Opus Two consists of two-sided shelters oriented to block “weather”. Another fiber shop, where I was talked into buying the Spawn a knitted beret but no yarn purchases for me.

No pictures from the third ranch visited, Fairwinds, but it was here that we got tons of information on alpacas and their needs. These ranchers were fantastic (even though we showed up with less than ten minutes to spare in the “open house” hours) and willing to share all sorts of tidbits with Marge.

They had a small selection of yarn, all in natural colours, and I picked out two skeins for a pair of mittens. Alas, they weren’t set up to take cards, I didn’t bring my purse (and therefore no cheque book), and between the Spawn and the Spouse, I wasn’t able to rustle up the necessary amount of cash.

I did however take some information on the Alpaca Holiday Boutique and I will have that yarn some day!

Alton Brown once said that pork wasn’t suitable for making broth as it was too “porky”. (Or something like that.)

I say, there ain’t no such thing as “too porky” and a pork-based broth can be heaven. Besides being the perfect starting point for Korean-style soups or ramen, I reckoned pork broth had to be a good addition to pork stew. (It makes sense, right?)

Yesterday I decided to try making a pork stew that did not include chiles, tomatillos, or hominy in the ingredients list. (In case it wasn’t obvious, my normal repertoire of pork stews is made up of: New Mexico-style green chile, chile verde, and posole.)

I wanted a stew that was all about porky goodness and so, with the help of some pork broth and a bunch of onions, I came up with this:

Pork braised in pork broth. Thickened with a roux made of bacon fat and flour. Caramelised yellow onions and sliced green onions for additional flavours. Served atop grits cakes fried in bacon fat.

There’s no such thing as “too porky”.

I’ve known for some months that Paolo Nutini would be playing at Oakland’s Fox Theater this month; the Spawn made sure of that! She is a huge fan and has been for several years. Two years ago, her first “grown-up” adventure involved travelling to San Francisco with a friend on the train to see Paolo perform at the Warfield and then staying overnight in a hotel. (It probably wasn’t as much as an adventure for Lucy, her friend, as she was visiting from Germany at the time…alone.)

Those months of “Squeeeee! Paolo’s coming!” prepared me for the inevitable request for ticket money, gas money, spending money, blah blah. (<sarcasm>Thank you, Uncle Sam, for withholding our work permits, thus denying me the opportunity to teach my child fiscal responsibility by having her pay for her own adventures.</sarcasm>) Kathleen searched high and low for a companion for the event but ran into two problems:

1. not many of her friends knew who Paolo Nutini was, and
2. of those who did know and love him, they had to work!

And so I found myself in the odd position of either denying the Spawn her heart’s desire (and thus thoroughly crushing her spirit) or accompanying her to the concert. Normally, I wouldn’t be averse to the whole spirit crushing thing but, as I don’t mind Paolo myself, I thought I’d be the hero (read: Mum the Martyr) and go with her to the event. Never let it be said that I’d pass up an opportunity to squirrel away a little capital in the Emotional Blackmail Bank.

Last week, my thoughts were filled with complaints about the upcoming trip to Oakland.

I’ll have to stand all night in front of the speakers and then I’ll have no hearing left. My hearing might never come back; I’d be deaf. Forever. I asked Kathleen if I should take some earplugs with me. The look on her face said it all…”if you put earplugs in and people see it and then know that we’re together, you’re walking home.”

My feet would be sore from standing all night. What if my Achilles tendons started to act up? I’d never walk again!

I’d be the oldest person there! I’d be trapped all night, deaf, with sore feet, standing in a sea of screaming groupie girls and UNABLE TO WALK AWAY.

Saturday afternoon finally arrived and, despite my internal whinging, I put on a brave face and Kathleen and I headed off to Oakland. We took our time getting there, stopping for a bite in Fairfield and then for gas and cash in Cordelia. Kathleen was getting more and more excited as we drove on and the drive from the Carquinez Bridge to Oakland was spent singing along, loudly, happily, and badly, with Arctic Monkeys.

Finally, we were in Oakland! And there was the theatre!

At this point, I started to perk up. Why?

Well, first of all, it was cold enough in Oakland that I could actually wear my newly-knitted Zetor scarf/shawl and, more importantly, the woman ahead of us in the line had a good 15 years on me. I wouldn’t be the oldest one there!

At this point, I was feeling somewhat better about life in general and kept eyeing the marquee:

“The ride in hadn’t been so bad. Maybe we should come back on Wednesday for the Arctic Monkeys’ show…”

Things continued to improve as we entered the theatre. After zooming to a spot in front of the stage, Kathleen looked at me and said “I’d be okay with sitting at one of those tables.”

Just behind the railing enclosing the orchestra pit stood tall bar tables with tall bar stools. Except that, unlike most bar stools, these ones were padded. And had backs.

THANK YOU, GOD! I CAN SIT DOWN.

The theatre itself was beautiful and, as it began to fill, I noticed the oddest thing: the average age of the concertgoers seemed to be in the mid-30s. There were even people who were visibly older than I am. I might actually enjoy the evening!

Paolo’s opening act, Anya Marina, came on and, although I didn’t get too excited over her music (a little too Rickie Lee Jones for me) she was really really funny. Especially when she asked the groupie girls waving the Brazilian flag at the very front of the pit if it were true that all Brazilians liked anal sex. (Yeah, I confess to feeling a little schadenfreude at the expense of the SYTs. I’m middle-aged and that’s allowed now, right?)

Soon enough, it was time for the man-boy himself:

I have recently found myself thinking that Paolo was going all Ernest Hemingway on us; after seeing any and all of his performances on TV or YouTube, I couldn’t help but think he was becoming a caricature of an old blues singer. You know, performing with an “I seen troubles” sort of aura…and I couldn’t help but snort at it. I mean, the lad’s what? 22? 23? How many troubles could he have seen?

I’ve got to say though, after seeing him live, he really does pull it off. His performance didn’t strike me as being affected in any manner and I found myself singing along, screaming when the moment called for it, and generally having a damn good time.

It was truly an unexpected pleasure.

The concert ended right around 10:30 with Last Request. Kathleen and I sang along and tried our best to carry the chorus but, without the rest of the lumps singing with us, Paolo was forced to sing the whole thing. (Don’t these people from Oakland know anything? Second chorus of Last Request is ALWAYS audience participation time! Don’t just stand there…sing, dammit!)

The drive home was long and tiring and Kathleen’s eyes were getting sore from the headlights. As we got closer to our home exit, Kathleen asked me to find something on her iPod to help her stay alert. First up, Mardy Bum…that got us to the exit but we still needed something for the last 5 miles. I knew it had to be something guaranteed to perk her up, a catchy tune, maybe with a bit of humour in it. I found it quickly: The Fray, covering Shakira’s Hips Don’t Lie. (For those who aren’t familiar with it, this is where the Ewan MacGregor reference comes into play. Go listen.)

All in all, I had a wonderful, wonderful evening.

Along with the unexpected pleasures of not feeling out of place, finding a comfortable chair with a great view, listening to some truly fabulous music, I had the not-so-unexpected-but-always-thrilling pleasure of seeing my child very, very happy:

1. I know no languages that use the Cyrillic alphabet. Stop trying to leave blog comments using it.

2. My dogs are quite happy performing their ablutions out of doors. Neither they, nor I, are interested in an “Indoor Dog Potty”.

3. Further to Item 1, I am not interested in meeting beautiful Russian women. Well, unless they knit, race their whippets, or have something else in common with me. Then maybe we could get together for coffee…

4. I didn’t care for Billy Mays in life, let alone after death. Stop sending me emails about his products.

5. A heads up for the University of Phoenix … I already have a university degree. I don’t really want another (at least not one that you offer!).

6. As a Canadian, I firmly believe that universal access to health care is an integral part of the social contract. Stop trying to sell me insurance; I think private primary insurance is vile and obscene and therefore, I am probably not your target market.

This past weekend was partially spent trying to save the flavours of summer.

It started with a trip to the farmers’ market on Saturday morning where I purchased (among other things) several pounds of Roma tomatoes and a variety of chiles, including jalapenos, habaneros, serranos, and sweet gypsies.

The plan for the tomatoes was to oven-roast them and then freeze them. I did this for the first time last year and, believe me, using them for a meal in the dead of winter is like serving summer for dinner.

To roast them, the tomatoes were first cut in half lengthwise and put in a glass baking dish. A few garlic cloves were smashed, peeled, and tucked in around the tomatoes then almost 500 ml of olive oil was poured over all.

After roasting in a medium-hot oven (375 F) for one hour, the pans were removed and the tomatoes were put on cooling racks to cool¹ and to drain. Once cool, they were put in the freezer until a miserable winter day…

While all that was going on, I also fired up the smoker and smoked about a dozen chiles. Some of the larger ones were still relatively fleshy after a day in their smoky sauna so they’ve been frozen too.

The sweet gypsy peppers were stuffed with a chicken/ricotta mixture, bathed in a homemade tomato sauce, and then covered with grated mozzarella cheese. After a wee bit in the oven, dinner was served:

Mmmmm…cheeeeeeese!

My next project will be roasting corn for freezing. I’m already dreaming about the roasted corn chowder I’ll be eating this winter…

Even though there was local racing this weekend, Rogie is in no shape to be running his little doggy heart out:

As you can see, he’s a wee bit on the chubby side these days…

¹ Yes, I have a keen sense of the obvious. Believe me, it’s a gift.

Inspired by the BBC History Magazine’s Dave Musgrove and his list of “Ten Things To Do In … September“, I decided I’d come up with my own list of things to do. Not quite as extensive as Dave’s but you won’t have to travel to the UK to complete any of the items:

1. Sail on the Alma

The National Parks Service is offering sailing tours of San Francisco Bay on board the scow schooner Alma. During the latter half of the 19th century, scow schooners were used as freight vehicles along the Sacramento/San Joaquin River delta and every summer, the NPS offers cruises of the Bay on Alma.

More information

2. Take a train ride at the California State Railroad Museum

Every weekend April through September, steam-powered excursion trains depart on-the-hour from the Central Pacific Railroad Freight Depot in Old Sacramento.

More information

3. Visit the Lace Museum in Sunnyvale

The Lace Museum is a non-profit organization incorporated in 1981. It is one of two museums devoted solely to lace in the western part of the United States and showcases an extensive collection of lace and lace tools.

More information

4. Check out the State Indian Museum

Everyone knows about Sutter’s Fort, located in downtown Sacramento, but who knew there was also a State Indian Museum? Not me, that’s for sure!

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5. Emigrant Trail Museum…get out before the snow falls!

The Emigrant Trail Museum is part of the Donner Memorial State Park. From their website:

Visitors are welcome year-round at the Emigrant Trail Museum and at the Pioneer Monument, built to commemorate those who emigrated to California from the east in the mid-1800’s.  Included in the museum are displays and information about one of the earliest pioneer wagon trains, the Donner Party, forced by circumstances to camp at the east end of Donner Lake in the winter of 1846-47, resulting in human suffering and loss of life.

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