Archive for the ‘Language and food’ Category

J.R. Ross and his cowboy poetry

May 17, 2025

In memoriam John Robert Ross (May 7, 1938 to May 13, 2025). The news of Haj’s death came in my morning e-mail on Wednesday 5/14, right next to a Bizarro cartoon with a cowboy joke / restaurant joke, turning on an absurd pun on ranch dressing that Haj (who was a walking library of jokes) would have appreciated, and so with a synchronicity that Haj would have delighted in.

J.R. Ross was an outsized figure in linguistics, whose ideas (beginning with his 1967 MIT dissertation, Constraints on Variables in Syntax) altered the field. Haj Ross was a literally outsized person physically, a large, blocky man (he really did play football for Yale as an undergraduate) with a big presence. And Haj, no surname needed, had an outsized personality — endlessly imaginative, enormously funny, astonishingly empathetic and gentle, “big and sparkly” (me on Facebook), with “an amazing facility for the intricacies of English” (John Beavers on FB) and “an innocent sense of wonder about language, poetry, and the world” (Susan Fischer on FB). And resolutely counter-cultural (often barefooted, and rarely standing on ceremony), also attuned to all the Zen-inflected frequencies on your radio dial.

He was a good friend of mine, and an inspiration to me, from 1963 on. So this posting is hard to write. I will collect myself and pick out some facts, some assortment of outrageous anecdotes, a small selection of his poetry and artwork, and even (since, like Haj, I’m hopelessly a linguist) a note about a neglected feature of his work on syntax that I think is important in the intellectual history of the field. I will do all that in another posting, I hope tomorrow.

Today I’ll start the way Haj often started his public presentations. With a joke, that Bizarro cartoon (remember the cartoon?). From which a Google AI Overview search then led me, goofily, into a strange dusty canyon of verse, Jim Ross’s self-published Pull Up a Chair: Cowboy Poetry. Truly, Haj would have loved that.

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The week of fiery hot

May 16, 2025

My soups tend to go on and on, getting altered with each new day. Soup of the evening, endless soup.
— AMZ on 8/14/24, in “Los pozoles, como el sexo”

The week begins on Monday 5/12, with a delivery order of  magic chili prawns from the Amazing Wok on Laurel St., in San Carlos. That was Day 1:


mcp from the Amazing Wok menu: shrimp plus an assortment of incendiary peppers, bright red and dark red and deep green, in chunks, right at the top end of bearability; my lips burned just short of real pain, tears streamed from my eyes, it was wonderful

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Sol is secretly queer

May 5, 2025

🇲🇽 It’s Cinco de Mayo today, but this posting has precious little Mexican content; don’t let that keep you from your celebrations, whatever they are.

I had intentions to cook up a homey Mexican pozole  (any occasion is a good one for pozole, in my book, and I always have a can of white hominy in the cupboard, just in case I want to assemble the materials for one), but the main fresh ingredient I had on hand was an big order of Chinese (mung) bean sprouts, so I chopped them up; added a can of lentils (another household staple), with their liquid; splashed in a dose of sriracha sauce; thickened the broth with a container of hummus (ground up chickpeas); and produced a rich, spicy, and crunchy  Chinese / Middle Eastern / Southeast Asian three-legume soup, heated in the microwave. It was fabulous. I might do it again, on purpose this time.

But this posting is a reaction to a card I got from Kathryn Burlingham in Portland OR roughly a month ago — I move sloth-like through my social responsibilities —  about (among other things) the toll of the closet for queer people. Trying to write out and then mail a physical card is, however, gravely difficult for me, while typing at my computer’s keyboard is merely somewhat painful, so this is my response to KB, which turns not so much on the closet — coming out, accepting myself, was heart-breakingly difficult for me, but I spent almost no time in the closet — but on the actual card that KB sent me, the Jahna Vashti greeting card (“vibrantly printed in [yes!] Portland OR on a sturdy, uncoated card stock”) “Brother Sun”:

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“… and a shallow nonstick skillet”

April 19, 2025

[4/25 disclaimer. In the constant upheavals of my life and the world around me, I’m now just picking random stuff to post about, from the 60 or 70 items in my ever-expanding queue — whatever catches my fancy at the moment. Don’t try to make sense of it as a whole.]

“… and a shallow nonstick skillet”: Wayno’s title for today’s Bizarro egg-related cartoon:


(#1) Humpty Dumpty has fallen and can’t get up; it’s omelet time in Wonderland (if you’re puzzled by the odd symbols in the cartoon — Wayno says there are 4 in this strip — see this Page)

Ordinary chicken eggs are currently going for $12 a dozen at my local Safeway, so HD would be worth a small fortune.

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Put a red apple in that mouth

March 22, 2025

… and call it Cochon de lait rôti. Put a mouth on that green apple and call it Le fils de l’homme. Mash them together in a nightmare and you get today’s Bizarro strip, a Wayno Psychiatrist cartoon that’s a re-play of an earlier Bizarro, but with the dream figure of William Tell’s son (with an apple on his head) replaced by a roasted wild boar (with an apple in its mouth):


(#1) Surrealist René Magritte’s Son of Man on the therapist’s couch (if you’re puzzled by the odd symbols in the cartoon — Wayno says there are 5 in this strip — see this Page)

Two things here: apples in the mouths of roasted pigs (as in the patient’s nightmare); and the previous Bizarro strip (from 2022), with the same patient and the same therapist (a caricature of the artist Magritte), positioned differently in the strip, and suffering from dramatically different nightmares.

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Morning name: barramundi

March 18, 2025

Awakening at 3:51 am (to a performance of Richard Strauss’s comic opera Intermezzo, which has nothing to do with any of what follows, beyond evoking operatic singing), what was in my head was the word barramundi (pronounced boldly, with a big tongue-trilled R in it, so that it was simultaneously ponderous and ridiculous). I immediately recalled why the name of an Asian / Oceanic fish was calling to me: a recent Facebook posting by an American who was startled to find the fish on sale in a supermarket near them.

So: the fish, in the water and on the table. Then the name: metrically, a double trochee, of the back-accented type (Barbarina, ` ˘ ´ ˘  ) rather than the front-accented type (manicurist, ´ ˘ ` ˘ ) — which led me to operatic singing, not Strauss’s Intermezzo, but the marvels of Verdi’s Rigoletto, in particular the duet Si vendetta, whose title is, well, yes, a back-accented double trochee.

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Fortuitous soup

March 16, 2025

This is a third Kharkiv Opera posting, about a pleasant, playful, joyous event staged in the face of terrible times. Previously on this blog:

on 3/9, “The dandelion caper”, about the enjoyment of the plants and flowers around us

on 3/11, “Music of the night, about the enjoyment of music

Today, it’s about the enjoyment of food, in particular a 2/17 soup* I contrived from things I happened to have in the house — leftovers from a Chinese food delivery; some leftover crunchy salad greens; rice sticks (maifun), which are staple household supplies in my kitchen cupboard; beef broth in a carton, ditto; and some fine chili power that I got as a gift a while back.  The result was fabulous, and there was enough for three meals. Amazing Wok duet mushroom beef, Taylor Farms Mediterranean crunch salad, Dynasty rice vermicelli, and Penzey’s medium hot chili powder: I salute you.

[*The mills of the mammoth grind exceedingly slowly.]

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Bari soup

March 16, 2025

Elsewhere, in my queues for posting, there’s one in the Kharkiv Opera series on a fortuitous soup, a delicious invention I will probably never have the ingredients for again. Today I write about a soup made from leftovers, but one I have every time I order the base dish, Bari pasta from the restaurant Crepevine in Mountain View CA.

As I was making the soup yesterday, it occurred to me to wonder about the name of the dish (the dish is fettuccine with a fresh salmon, spinach and Parmesan cream sauce — to which I have shrimp and salmon fillets added). I was aware that Bari was a city in Italy, but had no idea whether it had any connection with fettuccine or with salmon and spinach cream sauce; for all I knew, the name was chosen purely for its sound — it sounds crisp and Euro-trendy — or because someone at the restaurant had family from the city Bari (restaurants and their dishes are often named that way) or in honor of someone named Bari (that happens too), or specifically in honor of someone from Bari whose signature dish this was.

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Slices of pi(e)

March 15, 2025

π 🥧 π 🥧 π 🥧 for yesterday (mammoths lumber along majestically, and they are often regrettably late for appointments), 3/14, which was Pi Day in my country, and for some years now, also — delicious pun — Pie Day in many places (so inviting a cascade of formulaic word play: pie in the sky, a piece of the pie, easy as pie, even pie chart)

I’ll jump right into things with a charming and heartfelt Facebook message yesterday from my old friend Paula Stout, who many years ago lived in Palo Alto, but has since moved to the great American Southwest — on a ranch outside Greenville TX, east of Dallas-Fort Worth:

Happy Ecstatic Friday on Pi Day (3.14)

We were in town today, where every store treated the day as a celebration. They were giving away apple pies, chicken pot pies, [pizza pies,] and even eskimo pies. With big smiles, balloons and jubilation.

And it struck me that we are seeing history unfold.

1988 was the first “Pi Day” for a marketing campaign in SF, iirc. Before that, only we geeks and friends of the wonderful Kevin McHargue (who was born on this day) partied it up

And now, here we are. A national holiday of pies!

As David Mamet, renowned playwright, once noted, “We must have a pie. Stress cannot exist in the presence of a pie.”

There’s enough stress brewing in the world, y’all, let us pray he is right and there is pie enough to combat it.

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Things fall apart

March 10, 2025

I had a plan for the day; its centerpiece was to be taking a shower, an elaborate, difficult, and often painful operation that takes about an hour from preparation to putting things away afterwards. But I wanted to get clean for two medical appointments on Wednesday. But I was about to run out of a large number of staples and so needed to refresh the supply, plus a sandwich for lunch today. So the plan was to put in a grocery order early in the day, take delivery around 8 or so, and then have time to take a shower before lunch. I had two postings already set up to be polished in the afternoon. A good day lay ahead.

But, oh my friends, it was not to be.

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