Dip It

Many memories can seem strange to us as we navigate a different environment than just a few months ago. Thoughts of tourist packed travel destinations with nary a mask in sight can catch one's breath now. Photos of holiday gatherings with several generations passing bowls of food around the table can be painfully raw in a wave of nostalgia. Concerts filled with ardent fans packed shoulder to shoulder in an enclosed venue feel strangely distant. Shopping in crowded stores with crowded aisles can feel like swimming in a petri dish. Watching my favorite polka show almost makes me weep as I watch a dance floor filled with smiling twirling elderly folks, social distancing of no concern.  

Perhaps an activity from my past that seems particularly anachronistic now is the classic fondue. My first (and only) fondue pot was a wedding gift my husband and I received in the 70's. This was the heyday of the burgeoning dip and eat fad in our country. The activity had been around for a couple of centuries in various formats, particularly in ski communities where warm goo was needed to keep cold participants happy. For reasons left to marketing and timing, fondue took off after a Swiss exposition at the World's Fair in New York City in 1964. Soon fondue parties were being featured in magazine ads selling cheese or fondue pots or both as a way to spice up the mundane. 

It is hard to do better than melted cheese in my book but my first fondue party featured bubbling oil and cubes of beef. The fondue pot was, of course, harvest gold. Other popular choices of the day were copper and avocado green. The fact that I had never seen or tasted a real avocado made that color all the more exotic back in the day. My sister and her soon to be husband and another couple joined my husband and me in our cold basement apartment for the big party. The space brightened up quickly as we used our tiny little fork wands to stab chunks of meat and jockey for a spot in the cauldron of oil. Having grown up in cattle country, none of us were concerned about the optimal temperature for cooked beef so the timing of the sizzle was quite arbitrary. Sometimes our little cubes were a wee bit crispy, but most often we were content with a quick dip and call it good. 

Our favorite part of the fried meat process happened during the follow-up, the sauces. I do not remember any specific recipes but I know we had fun dipping and analyzing. One particular sauce seemed to rise to the top as a favorite, so much so that my future brother-in-law declared it to be "good enough to eat on a napkin." We were giddy from all the fried meat and his comment made us choke with laughter. For years to come, we used that phrase whenever we were together and enjoying a tasty meal. 

My little fondue pot is long gone and sadly, I have no recollection as to its fate. Most likely I sold it on a rummage sale when its appeal started to fade. I do miss what it represented, though. For me, it was the ultimate in interactive cuisine. It was impossible to fondue without sharing many moments of camaraderie as chunks of food were either won or lost in the game of dipping. 

Fondue is certainly out of the question for now but there is nothing stopping us from enjoying melted cheese, chocolate or sizzling oil. Tap into your inner Gouda and stay inspired until we can unabashedly dip again. 

Neighborhood Noise

I am a card-carrying bird enthusiast. I stop short of calling myself an expert bird watcher, however, as I have so much more to learn. I also do not chase over hill and dale to add new bird sightings to an ongoing list. I am not opposed to such activity, but I am a bit too lazy to immerse myself to that degree, yet. The bulk of my bird watching happens through the windows of my home. I participate in a citizen science program called Project FeederWatch through Cornell University which involves recording backyard bird numbers throughout the winter months. I greatly enjoy having a purpose to my hobby and it forces me to identify the ubiquitous little brown birds. 

Recently, my mid-morning coffee break has been jostled by a clatter of squeaking chatter and whistles. A quick peek out the window reveals a flurry of activity. The leafless trees are filled with robin-sized birds conversing in their bird-like manner. The birds cluster together, at rest and in the air. And they are oh so vocal. 

Upon further investigation, my bird visitors are identified as European Starlings. I am not going to lie, starlings are not my favorite birds. I do not like it when they bully their way to the front of the line on my suet feeders. They have long yellow beaks and are able to pull apart a block of suet with surgical precision. And they are always en masse with all their avian buddies.

Despite my lack of wholehearted love for the starlings, I do enjoy watching their antics in my neighborhood. It is like watching a playground in the sky. The birds dip and dive as they chase each other from tree to tree. They form patterns when they move in rippling groups of roiling black shapes. They seem to have boundless energy and as quickly as they arrive, they can take off for the next neighborhood playground. 

Another bird that likes to hang out in groups at my feeders is the House Sparrow. Like the starling, they seem to enjoy flitting around with their fellow bird mates. They often jockey for the best position on my hanging tube feeder and they squabble back and forth while they enjoy their snacks. They are no less vocal than the starlings and it is easy to know when they have arrived.

Both bird species are classified as introduced species because they are not native to our country. The starlings were brought here by a group of folks that wanted America to have all the birds mentioned by Shakespeare. The House Sparrow was released in America as a way to control the ravages of a certain moth. Both bird species arrived during the 19th century and clearly, both species embraced their adopted home with vigor. It is tempting to blame them for making it more difficult for other native birds to thrive but I remind myself of the truth of the matter. I can enjoy them for their quirky antics and busybody ways or I can let them irritate me. For now, I feel it is best to enjoy my feathered friends and admire their plucky willingness to cohabitate with humans. 

All God's creatures. 

A few of my little brown birds.