The Tin Lizard

Foraging Afoul Of The Law

The New York Times reported yesterday about the growth of -- and efforts to curb -- foraging for food plants (or even fish and turtles!) in New York's Central Park.  It seems the movement has got a bit out of control, as more people have taken to removing things from the park for their dinner.

Admirably noble-savage though it may be, I have to side with city officials on their efforts to crack down.  Foraging in this case has another name:  it's called stealing.  It's called poaching, too.  If you sneak over the fence to your neighbor's yard to grab a watermelon or a few tomatoes from her garden, that's theft.  In a public park, if you pull up watercress, or mushrooms, or net a fish from a pond, that's theft - multiple counts, since the owners in this case are the entire citizenry of New York City.   Add to that charges of vandalism, because the park can be ravaged by such raids, and you see why public officials have good reason to increase enforcement efforts.

Foraging isn't new.  In the midwest, at least, it used to be accepted practice.  My mother had a favorite patch of wild asparagus she used to stop at in the spring.  My father-in-law used to gather watercress from nearby streams.  No one thought much about stopping alongside the road to pluck a few wildflowers.  But times have changed, and we now understand (some of us do, anyway) that there are too many of us gol-durned people in the world to make it possible for everyone to "forage" without destroying our environment. 

Unfortunately for foragers, I suspect there's very little land anywhere anymore where their pursuit would be technically and strictly legal.  Everything is owned by somebody.  There may be spots along country roadsides where no one objects; there may be large plots of private land where an owner might even give permission (especially if the foraging is limited to certain sorts of invasive species or troublesome plants); but by and large, foraging these days depends on taking something that isn't yours.

As an alternative perhaps today's foragers could get the same thrill out of scavenging in garbage cans.  Almost universally, objections are unlikely unless the searcher leaves a mess; a real service is provided, waste is prevented, and the forager gets what he seeks - free food. 

The Chew

Just a couple of days ago I saw a teaser for an upcoming TV show called "The Chew."  It was evident the idea was for four or five people to sit around, chitchat, and offer their opinions about food and cooking.  I have it on good authority (from my pop culture advisor) that this is modeled on an existing show called "The View," in which four or five women sit around and offer their chitchat and views about women's issues.

In television, timing is everything.  Once under way, a trend will be done to death up to - and beyond - the point where viewers are sick of it.   Surely we will soon see shows like these on one or more networks:

• "The Review," where we could tune in on critics taking apart the latest movies, books, music, and plays.
• "The Screw," in which people sit around and talk about -- what else? -- sex.  OK, that should be a popular one.

As executives at the networks grow ever more desperate to clone these successful shows with at least some degree of general appeal, however, they're bound to stretch things too far, and come up with ever more esoteric reality talk shows:

• "The Phew!" where the interlocutors would be people who have had a lot of close calls (where is Evel Knievel when you need him?)
• "The Dew," a forum for still more of those exciting weather discussions.
• "The Googoo," in which babies trade remarks in their own trademark language. This ought to have great appeal as it seems aimed foursquare at the level of the broader television audience.
• "The Poo, Spew, and P.U.," possibly to be broadcast in a time slot right after The Googoo.  (Ditto on the tastes of today's television audience.)

Shrimp: Thereby Hangs A Tail

Years ago, a kid who was a little smaller than others in his grade at school might have been called "shrimp" by his peers.  These days, I suppose, anyone who did so would face expulsion.  People are just so sensitive to minor insults these days.  But it's not just that.  It's really become a much bigger insult than it used to be.  Have you seen a shrimp lately?   Just look what they've done to that interesting looking, colorful creature, which now too often turns out looking like this:

 

 

Pale, its head whacked off, its shell stripped (except for that shell left on the tail, like allowing a concentration camp inmate to keep his underwear for dignity's sake), frozen within an inch of its life and cloaked in a layer of ice.  Surely, anyone would be much insulted to be likened to such an unsightly thing?  It looks a little better when it's cooked, but look, the shell that's left on covers about 1/3 of the shrimp meat:

 

 

Sometime about a decade ago, maybe longer, shrimp began appearing universally in restaurants with the tail section of their shell attached.   I'm pretty sure the trend was driven by our increased reliance on imported frozen shrimp, and by restaurant suppliers, who find it convenient to deliver them this way.  From the commercial point of view, this may make sense:  that tail section is hard to remove without removing the meat inside it; the shrimp looks a little forlorn without its point; and I suppose that little bit of tail shell adds to the net weight of the package.  

For consumers, the advantages are less clear.  Probably the most common way of serving shrimp is at buffets and cocktail parties, boiled, their flavor masked with a sauce, and eaten with the fingers.  Some say the tail provides a "handle" for this purpose.  But to me, it's a wasteful nuisance.  So there you are, ready to nibble your shrimp.  The shrimp tail can be just crunched up and swallowed, but I'm going on the assumption that most people don't enjoy doing that.  And the shell covers not just the little tailfins, but the entire, perfectly edible, last section of the shrimp, making it accessible only by dint of great gnawing and gnashing.   Of course many people, I suppose, ignore that and aren't concerned about the waste involved. 

OK, you've eaten your shrimp and either jettisoned the tail section or not -- now what do you do with that shell?  Plates are nice when they're provided but often, they're not.  In the days when shrimp didn't have their tails you used your fingers, or plucked them up with a toothpick.  Fingers can be wiped and a toothpick dropped in a pocket, but who wants to drop a shrimp tail, or a dozen of them, in a pocket?

Beyond the cocktail-sauce circuit, shrimp turn up in a variety of cooked dishes in restaurants.  Batter-fried at a fast-food joint?  Same problems as above, though you are more likely to have a plate or cardboard tray to drop them in.  Even worse:  shrimp with their tails still hanging right in there, grilled, or served with grits and dolloped with a sauce, or even plunked into a bouillabaisse or a soup (as I encountered last night) where you're given only a large spoon to eat them with. 

These kinds of preparations, requiring the diner to resort to fingers, or to splash around in his broth with clumsy instruments, to me reflect a thoughtless and inconsiderate chef.   Restaurants ought to think harder about serving their customers, rather than the Sysco production-line managers.  In most cases, those tails ought to be removed in the kitchen.   

One final word about so-called fine dining establishments:  Shrimp with tail shell bring the whole tone of the place down a notch, because they scream "frozen shrimp!"  Famous chefs, get thee to a seafood market, shell them in your own kitchen (including the tails).  And if by chance you're serving them just grilled, then it's fair to give us the whole shrimp -- head, tail, shell and all. 

Big Oil, Little Taxes

If I write often in criticism of the advertising sponsored by the "people of America's gas and oil companies," -- and I do! -- it's because they're so annoying.  In just a couple of hours of television, you can easily see these ads, whose message basically is "don't tax us," five or six times.  After a brief lull last year during the big Gulf oil spill, the "people's" mighty voice is back, more insistent than ever.  Beyond the frequency, though, it's gross to see so much money being spent on such a self-serving and self-ish message.

Now, why do you suppose the big fossil-purveying companies are so worried about taxes?  After all, we all know any tax increase will just be passed along to us as consumers.  So what's the big deal?  Is it because they are genuinely worried that you and I will have to pay more for gas?  Believe that if you want to, but ...

No, I think it's pretty obvious, really.  They're scared to death that increasing oil prices will lead to the same outcome that rising gasoline prices always produces:  People find ways to get by with less, and consider other options, like riding the bus, making fewer trips, or... alternative sources of energy!   And there you have it.  If people come anywhere near paying the real price of oil and gas, without the subsidies that now exist, there's a good chance that Big Oil's stranglehold on the energy market could be broken, and that popular opinion could shift away from fossil fuels.

After all, no one is really talking about new taxes on oil.  They're talking about taking away tax subsidies that already exist.  Businessmen like to talk about how subsidies distort market forces, except when it's their market.   This reality also lays bare another claim these same companies are making now in new anti-Obama ads (brought to you by your supreme court).  They say that if no "new taxes" are levied(which no one is doing), the oil industry would create 500,000 new jobs.  Cool!  Yet if no new taxes are levied, that means we're exactly in the situation we have now; which in turn means, we ought to be seeing those new jobs already, at least a few hundred thousand of them.  Where are they?

As we look for ways to reduce unnecessary government spending, we see a situation in which we subsidize oil and gas; then we subsidize other nascent forms of energy so that they can compete.  If all subsidies are stripped away, we save money, and the various forms of energy compete on a level playing field. 

  

Moochy Of Chincoteague

The famous wild horses of Assateague Island, Virginia represent a majestic and well-meaning effort on the part of man to preserve a bit of wildness against human population pressures.  But the horses are getting into a bind.  Like bears at Yellowstone, these critters have come to like human food, and are becoming aggressive with the human visitors to obtain it.   (At least the horses have good taste:  I like potato chips and marshmallows myself.  But that diet isn't as healthy for horses as it is for people.)

The problem, of course, is not the horses but the people.  Who might have been the first idiot who offered them a bit of their picnic food?  Tourists never learn.  On the other hand, from what I can see of the description of the problem in this article, the authorities who manage the park ought to have seen the problem and done something about it long ago.   They're now getting around to trying more serious ways to separate people and horses.  But I suspect the only thing that's going to work is to make the park like some of the safari parks in Africa:  Nobody goes in except in a van, in a group, with a guide.  If there must be picnic areas, they must be fenced off and inaccessible by the horses.  

How Do I Love Thee

A self-identified "English teacher" has written to the Washington Post with a curious complaint about a recent column by George Will, as follows below.  I quote in full, but without the writer's name, because I think the writer ought to be embarrassed:

In George F. Will’s June 23 column, “McCain, caped crusader,” he quoted Sen. Lindsey Graham as saying “Congress should sort of shut up” on Libya. Will’s reference to Graham’s statement was “This ukase might make more sense. . .” This word exemplifies the pedantic prose of George Will. I doubt many of The Post’s readers understood this word. I didn’t. As a former English teacher, I have a fairly good vocabulary, having studied Latin for four years in high school. I looked up “ukase.” Synonyms are bull, as in Papal bull, decree, diktat (Russian), fiat, ruling and edict, among others. Later in the same piece, but not as laughable, Will used the word “risible.”  I noticed in Will’s June 25 column, “A Texan’s ‘exceptionalism,’ ” there was not a pedantic word to be found. I hope he realized, without being told, how ridiculous his stilted language can be.

This letter amazed me on two counts.   First, the writer doesn't say at what grade level she taught English, but I can't imagine an English teacher would not know these two words ("ukase" and "risible"), both of which I'm fairly sure have been familiar to me since somewhere along about high school, or university freshman at the latest.    

Second, I'm bowled over that any English teacher would suggest writers purposely restrict (limit?) the vocabulary they deploy (use?).  Isn't it good for people to be exposed to something that may challenge them a bit, or expose them to a new word?  Should every word printed in a newspaper strive for the reading level of (say) a high school freshman?  If not, what level would be appropriate as a lowest common denominator? 

Now, perhaps the writer wanted only to say that good expository writing should be simple, clear, and declarative.  That's a good point.  It certainly applies to the instruction manual for your refrigerator, to the instructions for your taxes (good luck with that!), and perhaps even to basic reportage in the newspaper.  But there's a level where we get beyond that.  Reading for opinion (like Will's op-ed), reading for nuance (such as an analysis of a complex social issue), and reading for fun (an essay or a work or literature) are very much in this second category.  So, contrary to the English teacher's assertion, I'm sure that many, if not most, of the Post's readers who read Will at all did understand his language.  A good writer knows his audience. 

The title phrase of this post is so famous that almost all of us with a modicum (little bit?) of liberal-arts education would automatically follow it with, "Let me count the ways."  Most of us might also identify it as the work of Elizabeth Barrett Browning, but fewer might know it as "Sonnets from the Portuguese No. 43."   No matter.  The poem is all about love, of course, but its form depends on stating the same things in different words.  To do that, we need synonyms. 

Our letter-writer above offered a number of synonyms for "ukase" (some of which I think are likely to be just as unintelligible to some readers), but that hardly rules out the use of ukase.  A grammarian-instigated edict against "ukase" would be a "bull" in more ways than one.