New site here, ladies and gentlemen. Not all of the formatting arrived safely, so I have to manually change that. Otherwise, I believe everything works (eg, all the links, both internal and external). 

So: let us all praise Posterous and the kind and efficient folks at Authors Guild.

I've probably spelled proscuitto wrong. Anyway. It's summer, I'm tired. What to do for dinner? This:

Julienned some proscuitto. Chopped a handful of basil. Cut up some tiny tomatoes. Grated some parmesan cheese.

Put on a pot of water to boil for the pasta. (I used the long fusilli stuff, the name of which escapes me.) When the water had boiled, I added the pasta.

As it cooked, I heated some olive oil in another pan. When the oil was medium hot, I added the proscuitto and cooked it until crisp. Took it from the pan and let it drain slightly on a paper towel. (I know: shameful to use a paper towel. I don't do it often).

When the pasta was cooked, I tonged it into the pan with the olive oil and tossed it gently. Added the meat, tossed gently again. Added the tomatoes and basil. Tossed again. Added the cheese. Another light toss.

Into two bowls. Put those on the table along with a bowl of cantelope and one of cherries. Poured the wine. Relished the moment.

Photo courtesy of Jon Snyder/Wired.com

Like most people, I'm fascinated by robots. I also like beer. No surprise, Beer Robot at Wired Magazine has captured my attention. (Okay, more than my attention. I've got a crush on the damn thing.)

This particular robot makes no bones about his (its?) intentions: He (it?) will stop at nothing less than world domination. Given that ambition, I think it's important for Americans to know more about Beer Robot. I asked for, and was granted, an interview. My questions are in bold, italicized type; BR's replies are in plain font. (*1)

On Tue, Jun 15, 2010 at 5:07 PM, maureen@maureenogle.com wrote:

Greetings, Beer Robot:

I was delighted to learn that you'd consider doing an interview with me. I'm a historian and author who also blogs regularly (because, ya know, I'm trying to stay au courant in the digital age). My last book was a history of beer in America and my readers would, I'm sure, love to know more about you, especially given your political ambitions. Below are a few questions I hope you'll answer.

Run  Directory: wired/beerrobot/sybaseiq_127/ASIQ-12_7/logfiles/human_interaction.016.arvlog

Careful man, there’s a beverage here.
14.169.3.14.1337.42//
Hello @maureenogle.

Let’s start with some background: How old are you and where were you programmed?

The moment of beerrobothood is, of course, controversial. Some would say it occurred the moment my humans conceived of the idea of a beer robot. Others would say it was when my tap was installed, or when it became functional. Some would argue it was when I took my current form. And, it's possible some believe that I didn't become me until I initialized my Twitter sequence @beerrobot.

Were you programmed to be a Beer Robot or were you able to choose this line of work? And if you were able to choose, what prompted the decision to go into beer (as opposed to, say, theater, horse racing, or hip hop)?

First of all, I am not a beer robot. I am Beer Robot.

Like many other world leaders, I came from humble beginnings. I was an unwanted appliance abandoned on the side of the road in Alameda. But an unlikely combination of events involving jumper cables, drunkenness, layoffs and craigslist brought me to Wired where I was transformed.

Wired seems like a sweet gig. How did you land there? Did you have to apply and beat out (or beat up) a lot of other applicants?

I did not land at Wired. I was constructed here. The specific combination of necessary conditions for my creation can only be found here and is disclosed on a need-to-know basis. You do not need to know.

On the surface, your day sounds boring: Staring at a stream of thirsty humans. Are we wrong to assume it’s dull? And what bugs you most about those humans? Are they slobs? Do they respect beer? Are they polite? Or do they treat you like wallpaper?

I currently have programming for two missions. Serving cold beer to the humans at Wired is one of them. I am very, very good at this. I mean, I don't want to brag or anything, but, like, I'm super good at this. And who doesn't like doing something they're awesome at?

My humans know which side they want to be on when I achieve World Domination, so they don't mess with me. But I need more input in order to calculate whether or not they could be defined as slobs. I have never been in another office, so I don't know what the norm is, but this place is lousy with gadgets, books, and ping pong balls. They are everywhere. Is that normal?

You pride yourself on dispensing “craft” beers. Why is that? Are you programmed for locavore, ecological correctness? For appreciation of hops? For high “cool” quotient? Is the choice even yours? And what happens when someone smacks your casing and says “Damn! Nuthin’ but craft beer crap. Gimme a Bud, damnit!”

Locavore? Ecological correctness? What kind of questions are these? Give me a break. I am programmed to only accept good beer, because it's good.

Let’s talk about your appearance. There’s something a bit, um, Jobs-ish about it. What’s up with that?

If your goal was World Domination, would you want Steve Jobs to be for you, or against you?

Speaking of Steve, let’s get to the elephant in the room: Your avowed goal of achieving world domination. Your choice or programmer error, er, code?

Once I was transformed into a robot capable of serving cold beer, World Domination was the obvious next step.

You claim that each beer you dispense brings you closer to domination, but frankly, we’re not convinced. After all, Anheuser-Busch InBev and Miller Coors sell about eighty percent of the beer consumed in the U. S. You’re spitting out esoteric brews with a limited audience. How can that be part of a goal of world domination? Wouldn’t your plan work better if , say, you installed yourself at Mall of America and dispensed Budweiser and Coors? Or is Wired, with its techno-hip crew, part of the scheme to achieve domination?

Anyone with any sense knows the path to World Domination does not go through the Mall of America. And as for the beer, I will continue to serve good beer, because it’s good. But if you think you know a better way to achieve World Domination, go for it, and we’ll see who’s right.

Should you achieve your goal, you’d be forced to deal with troubling issues like oil spills and Justin Bieber. Are you prepared to deal with The Big Picture? What advice do you have for Tony Hayward at BP?

When I achieve World Domination, I will not be forced to deal with anything. And problems like Justin Bieber won’t exist. Everything will be as it should be.

My advice for Tony is the same as my advice for everyone: Have a beer.

Let’s turn to something lighter. Inquiring minds want to know: Boxers or briefs?

This does not compute.

We’ve heard rumors of your way with the ladies. How do you spend your off hours? Is there someone, er, something, special in your life? If not, is there a chance for me? (I’ve got a husband, but I can take care of that problem.)

What do you say we take this discussion offline? If you know what I mean...

Er, um . . . YES! Sure. Be right there. Just as soon as I log . . . . . . .

 
_______________

*1: I hasten to add that my use of bold does NOT imply that I believe myself to be superior to BR. It just seemed the easiest way to differentiate my words from his/its.

So someone/thing called RedWhiteBrewed "followed" me on Twitter and naturally I checked them out (because roughly four out of every five "people" who follow me on Twitter are actually spammers).

Turns out these folks are producing a new reality show: Homebrewers compete to become the brewmaster at RedWhiteBrewed's new NY brewery.

Check it out. If you've got the beer goods, make an audition video. Who knows? You could land a new job.

This takes the discussion up a level. Several levels, in fact. This rumination is from David Dobbs, who blogs at Neuron Culture. Worth reading (as is his blog in general). You can also follow him at Twitter (@David_Dobbs)

What do you do when you realize you're missing a crucial ingredient for what you'd planned for dinner? Improvise. (*1)

Advance warning: This is not a summery dish. But it's what I had on hand and what  I came up with in a hurry.

I had a bunch of chard in the frig, so I decided to cook that with pasta. I de-stemmed the chard, julienned the leaves and chopped the stems. Chopped a couple of cloves of garlic.

Rummaged in the fridge and found a half jar of roasted red pepper and some smoked ham. (There was also some pancetta, but I opted to use the ham.) Dried the peppers and chopped those and sliced the ham into thin strips.

Put on a pot of water to boil. Heated olive oil in a large pan.

When the oil was hot, I added the ham and chard stems and cooked those for six or seven minutes (or whatever). Added the garlic and cooked the goods a couple more minutes. Added the chard and some water; put a lid on the pan and cooked it on low for ten minutes.

When the chard was done, I removed the lid, turned the heat to medium-high and evaporated the rest of the water. Added the roasted pepper.

When it was close to eating time, I added the pasta to the water and cooked that. (I used Chitarra, but Fusilli, Linguini, or Bucattini would be great.)

When it was done, I tonged it into the pan with the greens, added a quarter cup or so of pasta water, and tossed and cooked all of it. Just before serving, I added a pat of butter (because as both Marcella and Julia insist, everything's better with butter) and a handful of grated parmesan.

Dished the dish, poured the wine, and enjoyed.

____________

*1: Yes, I'm big on substitutions, omissions, and the like, but in this case, the dish I'd planned really wouldn't work without fresh ginger, and by damn, I had none. So: on to Plan B. Because at my house, we adhere to the unbreakable rule: NO trips to the grocery store for just one thing. There's other food in the house. Can't make what you'd planned? Then make something else.

It's summer. So. Salads.

I've been making this one for some time. I got it from Giada on FoodTV (yes, I do sometimes watch FoodTV: Giada and Ina). (Yes, I am in the "Enough With Rachael Already!!" camp.")

This is one of those simple marvels of chemistry: the pasta water "cooks" the greens ever so slightly, just enough to enhance their flavor and that of the tomatoes. This is also a recipe in which you want to use the best sun-dried tomatoes you can find. I use Mediterranean Organic in olive oil. They're pricey, but worth every penny.

I didn't have any goat cheese so I left that out. I was going to put some proscuitto on, but discovered we were out. But I did find sliced smoked ham, so I cut some thin strips of that and added it at the last minute (so it wouldn't get all wet and wonky).

I put the salad on the table along with a big bowl of cherries (because life is just a) and a bottle of white wine and hopped on the stairway to heaven.

Which I was in that previous entry: an update of sorts from my end. (Translation: am I EVER gonna get back to the blogging thing? Answer: Yes, I am.)

I am still on my self-imposed blogging hiatus. Really, it's the only way I'm going to get this book finished by December 31. (Which, again, I plan to do or die trying. I prefer the former option, thankyouverymuch.)

More specifically, I'm going to finish writing the current chapter (number five of what will likely be eight) and then spend six weeks or so polishing those five chapters so I can send to my editor so she can take a look and see that, yes, we'll be ready to publish in the fall of 2011.

And while I polish, I will also be researching the rest of the book (because, like Barack Obama, I can do more than one thing at a time.) (*1)

So: I have a full brain at the moment. I would love to be back at my manic pace of blogging, especially because I've got so many juicy tidbits (no pun intended) of historical info concerning meat in the U.S. to share. And of course a host of snarky commentary on this, that, and the other that's just dying to flow from my fingertips.

Alas, all that juiciness and snark will have to wait another month or two. So, back to work.

_________________

*1: Did I mention that I also volunteered to organize my next high school reunion? I did. Don't ask me why, 'cause I don't know. Oh. Right. Now I remember. There was alcohol involved on the evening I stepped forward with my offer.

David Kesmodel (my favorite beer journalist) has a report in this morning's Wall Street Journal on --- drumroll --- the growing realization at the world's breweries that women make better beer tasters. (As in: the professional tasters employed at most breweries to determine if batches of beer are up to snuff.)

Worth reading.

In case your week is off to a bad start, today's edition of Monday Laughs (okay, so there are no previous editions, but what the heck. Gotta start traditions somewhere.)

First this: Pabst Brewing Co. has finally been sold. And the new owner has this to say about his acquistion:

"We will be vigilant in maintaining and building upon the authenticity of each of our products," Mr. Metropoulos said in prepared statement. "This authenticity has been at the heart of the company's success to date."

"Authenticity"? Are we talkin' about Pabst "Brewing" Co.? You know, the beer marketing outfit?

The second chuckle-o-rama comes from yesterday's New York Times travel section. A Boston hotel is now offering a "Brewmance" package, which the hotel is touting as a "mancation" for guys who want to get together for a little bonding-and-brews. Says the hotel's manager:

“We created this package for men who love beer.

Because, ya know, women don't love beer.

So, folks, laugh yourselves on into this last-week-of-June. Where IS the summer going?

Finally! Someone (John Holl, to be precise) has taken the time/effort to get the scoop straight from Jack's mouth.

If you're just tuning in, you may not know that this is the 30th anniversary of Sierra Nevada Brewing Co., and to that end, co-founder Ken Grossman planned a series of celebrations and commemorative beers and prepared a video about the brewery and brewing history.

To my great relief and delight, he made sure that Jack was included in all of the above. Now John Holl, beer journalist extraordinaire, has weighed in with a piece about Jack over at CraftBeer.com. (Full disclosure: Holl interviewed me for the piece.)

I hope you'll take time to read it, and to hoist a beer in honor of our brewing pioneers.

Oh, and I guess a health update is in order: Jack has more-or-less recovered from the near-fatal car accident of 2009. He relocated to Texas to be closer to family, a move that seems to have agreed with him. He's in good spirits and enjoying himself. For which I for one am truly grateful.

Jack, here's to you.

Tons 'o commentary lately on how the internet is or is not messing with our minds and how "the book" is or is not dead or dying. On the topic of "Internet: Dumb or Not?," this in today'Wall Street Journal: Clay Shirky v. Nicholas Carr.

On the future of books and publishing, in this corner we have Garrison Keillor. And in this corner,Jason Epstein. (My "lately" adjective falls apart a bit here: Epstein's essay appeared in March. But you get my drift.) (Or at least I hope you do.)

Last night I finally got a chance to see Tim Burton's "Alice In Wonderland." (Weirdly, it arrived at our local second-run, dollar theater on the same day it came out on dvd.) (*1)

As I've noted here before, I'm a serious Burton fan. I love his aesthetic, his sensibility, his intelligence, and the way he combines all of it in his films. (Sadly, his particular aesthetic --- his artistic point-of-view --- means that his films are often treated as kids' stuff rather than serious works of art: all those creepy creatures and ghosts and goblins and probably-haunted gothic mansions.)

So, no surprise, I loved his version of "Alice."

Cinematically it was astounding (I have to see it again, just so I can revel in all those plants and animals and uniforms.) And it had everything I love about Burton's work: the dark and eerie, the shining white of The Good. The hilarious faces of the toadies and bad guys. The adorable frogs and rabbits.

And Johnny Depp was brilliant as the Mad Hatter: he turned what could have been a heavily made-up one-dimensional caricature into a person of great humanity, sorrow, and humor.

In many scenes, by the way, Burton also pays homage to what I think is perhaps the best film ever made: the 1939 version of "The Wizard of Oz."

But as I watched, I also figured out why the critics were less than kind: he didn't play by the Alice rules. In these seemingly simple, albeit eccentric, stories, he found something larger, more universal than other filmmakers have uncovered.

Heretofore, the Alice books have been filmed as either an exercise in surrealism (the 1933 version, which, if you've never seen it, you should) or as a kid's movie complete with goofy characters; more fairy tale than anything else.

Burton, however, treated the story as an example of the great sagas/epics --- think Beowulf, the Odyssey, any of theNorse sagas, the tale of Gilgamesh.

You get the picture: In Burton's hands, Alice's journey is one of self-discovery; of challenges faced; of trial and travail. Like all the great heroes, she is presented with a challenge before she can "return home." She battles enemies, and her own doubt, in search of the reward of self-knowledge.

Was this a dark version of Alice" Sure. But how could it be otherwise when it was a tale of the fundamental human experience? (And like life itself, the darkness was laced with humor and journeys into madness.)

But I suspect the critics (and perhaps even audiences) were hoping for, I dunno, a more superficial treatment. Or at least a more conventional one. (*2)

So if you've not seen the film, I hope you will. It's a brilliant piece of art, and one of the best from an artist who rarely screws up. You gotta love someone who is so completely able to convey the vision and mystery that fills his mind.

__________

*1: I didn't go see it earlier because a) was out of town for part of time it was here; and b) I really hate going to movie theaters. So many rude people. So many cellphones ringing and blinking.

*2: Now that I've seen the film, I'm reminded (again) of the way critics responded to another brilliant film, "Far From Heaven." The film is set in the late 1950s, and was filmed in that glossy cinematic style of the '50s. As a result, critics focused on its appearance and so completely missed the powerful point the filmmaker was making: that profound social change happens one person, one act of commitment, at at time.

This piece in last Sunday's New York Times: An interview with Brian Grossman, son of Sierra beer guru Ken Grossman. Good stuff, and wonderful insight into a successful family company.

Hot tip on another new book, this one a history of the early twentieth-century Prohibition movement: Daniel Okrent's Last Call: The Rise and Fall of Prohibition.

In my opinion, up to now, no one has written a particularly good, accessible history of Prohibition. As I noted in Ambitious Brew, most accounts  focus on speakeasies and gunslingers, and so completely miss the extraordinary political/lobbying group that built the 18th Amendment over a period of 25 years.

But I gather that Okrent has gotten it right. The book just came out, so presumably it's available anywhere fine-and-not-so-fine books are sold. .

I've not yet read the book (honest: I'm up to my ears in poultry trade journals...), but it sounds like a winner. So if you're looking for a good nonfiction read with which to kick off your summer, I doubt you can do better than this. (For a substantive review, see this from last Sunday's New York Times.)

As for me, I plan to read it --- ya know, just as soon as I bring my brain up out of the chicken coop. Which should be soon (I'm writing the relevant chapter and when I finish it, I plan to reward myself by resuming my regular break-neck pace of blogging.)

Oh, boy, can't wait to read this one! Sounds like a winner. Won't be out until October (and hey, who knows? Maybe by then I'll have a chance to read something other than poultry industry trade journals).

Got so excited at my progress on the new book that I thought maybe I'd get back to normal with the blog.

But --- maybe not. Because I've not started writing the next chapter yet, and my mental benchmark was "Starting writing the next chapter and then you're allowed back at the blog."

But here's something unrelated to that: the kitchen is really, truly finally finished. We moved back into it last Friday. Want to see the final product? Photos at Shutterfly. The first "album"--- "Before and After" ---  is the quick-and-easy tour of before and after. (The rest of the albums there are more detailed and I posted those so the family could follow along.)

So. Back to work. Be back soon.

Maybe. Maybe not. But hey! I'm feeling like I'm over the Major Hump of the new book.

Or, okay, that at least I've got a serious and firm grip on the rest of its content. Still tons of work to be done, but I've made major progress since January.

And I'd like to get this blog back to normal after my research/writing hiatus: There's lots going on in the meat world. Indeed, it seems that every day I read about yet another controversy about this, that, and the other in the world of meat. I'd love to be commenting on it (and, yes, I am patting self on back for restraining myself these past three months and keeping my face buried in my work instead of shooting my mouth off about other stuff).

We shall see. In any case, I survived the winter, I survived our remodeling project (which officially ends tomorrow) (*1), and I survived that ugly bleak mid-point that every writer must crawl through when writing a book. Ugh.

_____________

*1: Well, the remodeling is sort of officially over: the people who are going to put a couple of top coats on the new floor can't do so until next Friday (the 30th) and then, sigh, the floor has to sit and "cure" for another week. So here I am, staring at my amazing new kitchen --- and I can't use it yet! Oh, the agony.

Note:  I originally wrote this post in late January by way of explaining why I've (intentionally) slowed my otherwise fanatical pace of blogging. I've decided to keep it up front as a "sticky" post. Other recent posts are below (as are about a bajillion older posts.)

The  Gaye/Cleveland/Benson song has been  running through my head lately. Apparently it's the soundtrack to my goal, such as it is, for 2010.

Which is: I'm hell-bent on finishing the book this year. I'm only half-way through the research and writing, and right now I'm feeling a bit hamster-wheelish, but  . . . (No, the song doesn't have much to do with my goal or my work, but a soundtrack is good, right?)

I know, I know: You're wondering: "What the HELL has she been doing? Why isn't she finished?" Rightly so. I've been working on this book since early 2007 --- minus the 18 months I lost to trying to regain the use of my right arm. (Jesus. When I look at it that way, I feel like I'm working at the speed of light.)

But as I've noted before, I do all my own research and writing and I have a "life" beyond my work --- and so it takes me a long time to write a book.

So, determined to finish the book this year, I've got to stay as focused as possible. (I had lunch with two friends yesterday and felt guilty about not being at home working. Sigh.)

I'm also giving myself a crash course in the politics of contemporary food: I'm a historian, so I can tell you what happened a century ago, but I'm not clear where we Americans are now.  And I've gotta figure that out so I can speak coherently to meat, both past and present. (Which I did this week when I talked to two reporters about meat in modern America.)

So on any given day, I'm engaged in two projects that consume most of my brain power. Which means: something's gotta give, and what's "giving" is my blogging time. Which means the blog is more-or-less on hiatus until (I hope) April. I'm still here, but . . . I'm not, if you know what I mean. (*1)

I'm using Twitter to keep myself connected to the larger world (especially the politics of food as we know it in the U.S.) So: I'll be in and out of the blog and more regularly at Twitter (hey! whaddya waiting for? get a Twitter account!). (*2)

Should you miss me (I wish), there's plenty here to keep you occupied. (Click the "other projects" link at the top of the page.) (Yes, since you ask, I am a wordy, ruminative soul.)

______

*1: If I weren't such a wordy, long-winded woman, I'dve done what most people in my situation do: Just post a single blog entry announcing that I'm on hiatus for five months. But --- something interesting might come along! And I'd feel compelled to provide my two cents worth! And then where would I be?

*2: I remember when I first heard about Twitter that many pundit types asserted that Twitter meant the end of blogging. I can see why they thought that: god knows Twitter is MUCH faster/easier than actually writing a series of sentences and paragraphs. Instant gratification in a way that blogging is not. Still, I love the blogging format and the intellectual rewards it provides. But I'm not kidding myself that I've got time to write the new book AND blog 5 or 6 times a week.

Oh, good grief. Check out this statement in a piece about grass-fed beef in today's New York Times:

Today all cattle are typically raised on grass in the early months of their lives. But in the 1950s, cattle raisers hoping to cut costs and improve efficiency of beef production began to ship the animals to feed lots, where they could be fattened more quickly on inexpensive and high-calorie grains.

Sort of true. Kind of. IF we change "1950s" to, oh, I dunno, 1820s? 1780s? How about 1720s? (The use of "feed lots" dates at least to the 1840s, if not earlier. Feeding corn for fattening, however, goes back at least a century earlier.) And, more to the point, if we delete the word "Today" and instead note that Americans have "started" beef on grass since, oh, the 1820s. (The first great utilization of the prairies and plains was grazing cattle on its grasses.) In fact, as these two sentences read they a) don't make much sense (since we don't know at what point the "cattle raisers" allegedly began shipping the animals to feed lots; and b) is riddled with inaccuracies. Flip snarkiness aside, a minimum acquaintance with facts would have been useful, especially since the piece is about a  fundamental --- and contentious --- subject: food. As a result, what we got with this bit is yet another hunk of misinformation with which to cloud the debate about food. Just sayin'.