food


30
Sep 26

Coins from long ago and far away

My visit home last weekend led to seeing some old family treasures that, until recently, no one knew existed. A few notes, a newspaper clipping, some old photos, my grandparents’ high school diplomas and the like. All of this was stuffed into an old chocolate sampler box, neatly and carefully arranged in such a way that you could tell my grandmother had spend time with this. It would all only go back in the box in one particular way. The order of things almost as much a mystery as the contents. The box had been underneath this or that and was stumbled upon largely by accident, I’m told. You have to look through everything.

It’s funny, I have, for as long as I remember, wanted to discover something historically important. In my mind it, whatever it is, will be in a forgotten closet, tucked inside a box, under a blanket in an attic. It’ll be boring, the circumstance far outweighed by the relevance. I have always had this idea, I suppose. It has never occurred to me that what I’ve been imagining would be 75-year-old bits of paper that just fill in bits of the family story. It doesn’t need to be anything bigger than that, really. It had just never crossed my mind that that’s what it would be. It’s the thrill of finding the thing that is, well, thrilling.

Anyway, this was my mother’s discovery and she of course enjoyed seeing the old note cards that had verses her father used in his sermons. She enjoyed the little notes and of course the photos. But there was also a little felt pouch in that box, and inside that felt pouch there were some coins. We all liked that. I already showed you six mid-20th century Canadian pennies, but there were other coins, as well. Here they are now.

Canada made 8.6 million of these nickels. They are made of nickel. These may be worth six cents. They may be worth about 14 bucks.

But the ding above King George VI surely lowers the value here. The side with the bust of the king was designed by Thomas Humphrey Paget, an English designer and modeller. You can see his initials just below the king’s neck. He’d designed some sterling with King Edward’s likeness, but aside from a few test pieces it never made it into public hands before his abdication. He did other coins, too. including King Fasal II, of Iraq, and a Queen Elizabeth II for a commemorative Isle of Man issue in 1965. And though he died more than 50 years ago some of his work remains in circulation. He produced a likeness of the Duke of Edinburgh in 1970 that was used for a 2017 commemorative five pound coin.

The other side, the fun side, was designed by G. E. Kruger-Gray, who we learned about recently.

Small and inconsequential thing that it is, we’ve no idea why we have it. Someone brought back a Canadian nickel from somewhere and it’s been in this little bag inside a box for years and years.

That’s the case for this 1943 Newfoundland penny, as well. Now a Canadian province, of course, Newfoundland got self-government within the British Commonwealth in 1907. They held that until 1949, when they finally joined Canada. Lingering war and Depression effects helped motivate the move. Around the time this coin was struck about 322,000 people lived in Newfoundland and Labrador. The government commissioned 1.2 million of these pennies that year.

The side with the bust of George was designed by Percy Metcalfe, an artist and sculptor. He also designed a war memorial, and some important early 20th century pottery. He designed rupees for colonial India, the first coins for the Irish Free State in 1928. This crowned image of George figures into some civilian and military awards, and the flag of Malta. Metcalfe also designed the Great Seal of the Realm, and coins for Australia, Fiji, New Zealand, Iraq, Egypt, and more. It’s a full resume for a guy who spent part of the 1930s drawing car mascots. Some of his work was freshened up a bit and put on Euros in 2010.

The reverse side shows a pitcher plant in bloom. This was designed by Walter J. Newman. Born in London in 1909 to the son of a signmaker, he joined the British mint in 1927. He submitted this design to Newfoundland in 1938. He became the chief engraver of the Royal Mint in 1961, which was a chair apparently left vacant for more than a century prior. He worked on some important British medals, retiring in 1973. He died in 2001.

And this is a 1942 5 centesimi, an Italian nickel. The eagle is holding a fasces, from the Latin word fascis, meaning bundle. It is a bundle of wooden rods and, just seen here on the right, an axe. The fasces a symbol that pre-dates even the Romans, going back to the Etruscan civilization. It has generally been an image of the king’s power to punish his power, and later, a magistrate’s power and jurisdiction. The axe is an ancient Greek symbol. And if you’re wondering about the word fasces, yep. That’s the origin of the party name. Mussolini used the symbol, though 1942 was his last full year in national power.

Below the fasces is the crowned Shield of Savoy. It’s worn a bit on this coin, but the shield divides value at sides. The XX on the right is date in the fascist era. Below all of that is the name G Romagnoli. Giuseppe Romagnoli the engraver and medallist who made this thing. During his career in coin he also made currency for Albania and Somalia. He died in Rome in 1966.

On the other side of the coin is the rather worn likeness of Victor Emmanuel III, who ruled as king for the first 46 years of the 20th century. It was under his reign that Italy also colonized Libya, and annexed Trento and Trieste, completing the national unity of Italy. There was also the little problem with the growing Italian fascist movement.

The economy was weak, the people angry, and the voices stirring them up were virulent. (Stop me if you’ve heard this before.) After the National Fascist Party marched to Rome, the king appointed Mussolini as prime minister in 1922, and accepted the additional crowns of the Emperor of Ethiopia and the King of Albania in the 1930s. Italy got into World War II in 1940, and the king sacked Mussolini in 1943 when the Allies fought their way into Sicily, before signing an armistice in September of that year. He fled to a town in the boot heel of Italy after that. After the war he abdicated the throne to his son and soon went into exile in Egypt, where he died in 1947. In 2017, his remains were returned to rest in Italy. The Italians wanted nothing to do with monarcy. His son, Umberto II was the last king, serving for 34 days. He spent the rest of his life in exile in Portugal. Until 2002 no male descendant of the family was allowed on Italian soil.

And here’s the last one, a tax token issued by the state, starting in 1935. This one feels like a penny, but that wasn’t universal. Some of these tokens (not coins) were made of cardboard, metal, and other materials. A mill was equal to 1/10 cent.

This one seems to be made in 1937 or 1938. (The design varied pretty rapidly on these, which helps with identification.) They still use the unit as a property tax instrument, of course, but it’s just figured into your bill these days. This, which was worth half a penny, could be used to pay fractional taxes on smaller purchases. People would buy these separately and use them to pay a merchant the listed price and the amount of these that they needed for the price.

It was demonetized in 1948. They aren’t worth anything, really. You can pick them up by the handful in coin collector shops, apparently. I’ve never seen one before. I might need to try to pick some up sometime.

And that’s how it starts, I bet.

Except that’s how it ends. This is the end of the coins that were in a red velvet pouch in a small chocolate sampler box in the bottom of a stack of things in my grandparents house, a memory box found by chance and filled with family history.

In my organizational communication in sport class this evening we talked about storytelling. It seems a natural progression from branding, since we’re thinking of this from an organizational point of view. And after we’d talked about a couple of different styles of things, and a few different ways we might categorize people, I broke them into their franchise groups.

Each franchise had to analyze the players on their NFL fantasy types and organize them into the typologies we’d discussed earlier. At the end of class I had them present one of their players. I walked through all of the groups helping them figure it out, crystallize their thinking, questioning their choices and supporting their decisions. The premise was that Monday Night Football was coming to town and the show wanted the franchise’s help in figuring out who to feature in a pregame package. Each franchise had to pitch one guy, and explain why he’d be the right choice.

There are seven of these groups in the class. When everyone was ready, they each had to tell the room which one of the seven players would make for the best package. As the franchises discussed their choices I wrote down the names and details. And then came the nervy part. I’d just asked them to be their franchises and now I was asking them to imagine themselves as MNF producers. Let’s decide which of these seven suggestions would make for the best TV feature, and the winning pitch gets a few extra points.

But what if they don’t play along? (They always do.) I started reading the players names, asking for votes. But no one voted. First one player name, then two, and three. And I began to get nervous. By the time I named the fifth and six player maybe two hands had been raised for votes. When I said the seventh, final name, it was nearly unanimous. They’d played along after all. And, for what it was worth, I think they picked the right person for a feature story. Maybe that means I explained everything well during the lecture.

Next week we’ll start talking about fans.

This evening we tried a Mexican restaurant that’s right off campus. My lovely bride had a presentation to make and then a meeting and I had class and who wants to make food when you can walk one block and get what turned out to be some outstanding tacos al pastor? That was the first time we’d been to that place. I imagine we’ll go back.

I wonder if they can make change in old coins.


17
Sep 26

Onions, anyone?

I woke up, I read the news. I did some work. I had an early lunch. I got ready to go to work. I sighed at all of the things I need to do. This, I thought to myself today, is where I wrestle this week into control. And also tomorrow. Also, let’s not think about all of the things I should do around the house. It’s that time of the semester already.

And so we hopped in the car.

On campus I had a chat with a colleague around the copy machine. The water cooler is just around the corner, but that seemed a little too on-the-nose. I sent a thank you note to another colleague. I replied to roughly half a dozen student emails. I took care of a small task upon which I was overdue by an egregious 13 hours. I finished my notes for class. Right on time, too. As I scribbled out the outline of the last things I wanted to say today — I use a very small notebook and 75 minutes usually works out to about three pages of outline-stye notes. Today, comparing thoughts to my prepared slide deck, I turned it into four pages and offered a little silent prayer that the class would have a conversation with me.

They did! We sat in that super hot room, which is now baking at about 82 degrees, a remarkable improvement from a few sessions ago when I sweated completely through a sport coat while sitting still.

Today we talked about the social part of our techno-social lives. How the technology influences the culture and vice versa. I successfully resisted the urge to make any Star Trek references. We talked about how technology changes our expectations of things. I stumbled upon a great question … who have you talked to already today that is out-of-state, and how did you communicate with them. People dropped all sorts of states, one student talked to a relative in Jamaica. I had deliberately sent notes to people in a variety of places already this morning, just so I could make my point if they did not. But they did!

They’re becoming a class of talkers and that’s going to make all the difference.

Anyway, the first half hour flew by and then the second half hour did a slow crawl and then accelerated unexpectedly. It’s a 75 minute class and I think we wrapped up at 74 today. Just as I hoped and hoped as I planned.

They have to read a great paper for class next week and I hope a few of them like it. It can inspire great conversations, and in our techno-social lives that’s going to be key. Three students stood around and talked about that with me after class for a few minutes.

Also one student whipped out an iPod on cue, as if she knew where the class was going. She later told me she had a cassette tape Walkman that she’d discovered in her mom’s old things. And that she and her roommate go buy records. People are full of wonderful surprises.

After class I picked up my lovely bride and we drove home. We took part in the relative new ritual of sitting outside to read on Thursday evenings, because we know how to party. At about 6 p.m. she had to go inside for a meeting, and I stayed out for a bit longer to catch up on all of the ink that has been spilled today. This plane flew over head.

I didn’t look it up on the flight tracker app, because sometimes the mystery is better. This plane is on the usual route for airlines going to Europe, though, and I wonder where all of those people will wake up in the morning. I wonder if it is somewhere fun. I wonder if anyone looked out the windows and glanced down at the little places they are flying over and leaving behind to go somewhere fun. Let’s say Venice. Why not?

I went inside. Got cleaned up. Sat down at my computer to check the work email one last time, and do a few quick work related things that were on my mind. Set a fantasy team, checked the address of a meeting I have tomorrow. Attempted, once more, to wrestle this week into control. Succeeded, for half a second, in not thinking about the things I should be doing around here. Utterly failed at ignoring the work required of me next week or the week after. Then I recited the usual ritual: after that, there will be less today, and it will be easier.

Dear reader, this is a lie we tell ourselves every week. And already, my calendar is piling up into mid-October.

I was called down to dinner. We had barbecue chicken baked potatoes. We had barbecue chicken baked potatoes because my lovely bride had picked up some scallions. She doesn’t care about them, but I think scallions are a wonderful addition to most any plate.

Also, I do not have a good grasp of scallion-to-plate ratios. There’s a whole bag in the crisper. I retrieved it, found the good knife, pulled some onions out of the bag, considered what was in my hand, put some back, and started cutting. This was what I wound up with.

Note to self: four scallions is a lot of scallions.

They’re presented here for maximum comedic effect, but no matter how I pile and photograph them, that’s a lot of scallions. I was able to move things while cutting and eating so it didn’t seem like I was having a potato with my scallion plate. But there was a bite or two, right at the end, where it seemed no better than just pulling a handful right of the ground and eating it in your garden.

If you grow scallions I may come by and do just that. Not tonight. I’m good for tonight. But in the future.


12
Jun 26

Flying fuel, or staying fuel

Today’s adventure, before tonight’s attempt to escape Cape Town, was to take a cooking class, Cooking With Love. We went back to Bo-Kaap, which we visited a few days ago. This wonderful woman named Faldela brings you into one of those colorful buildings, her family home. The three of us met a family of three and we got a lovely mid-day experience full of jokes and recipes, the medical remedies of turmeric and we made some amazing dishes. The best, lightest naan you’ve ever experienced is the stuff you made at the direction of a master chef.

We also had a curry, some samosas and a few other things. Ginger, fennel, tamarind and the sights and smells that come with them made for a wonderful lunch. All of it coming from the local fusion of Cape Malay cuisine. In this place African traditions have blended for centuries with the foods that Malaysian, Indonesian, and Indian slaves.

I have, for years, tried to figure out the exact words to flesh out my idea, but I would love to take part in classes or restaurant concepts which give you both food and the menu’s foodways, which is to say how the food and its cultural and traditional and historical origins come to us. This wasn’t that, but it was close enough to make me want to look harder for more experiences like that. Also, it was outrageously delicious.

Faldela cracked jokes on all of us — I became Kenny Rogers for the afternoon, and resisted the urge to sing any of his songs — and told us about her family and got everyone to talk about ours. The other people were a mother visiting with her two young adult children. One was in college and the other in graduate school, if I understood them right. Faldela brought out a stack of books, and these, she said, were her gifts to her children, her legacy. These were the names and messages of all of the people she has brought into her home to share the secrets of these delicious meals, and would you like to sign them.

Would I like to sign them. Would I like to fill up a page or two on my own?

She emailed us the recipes. I hope we make some of these things soon. Even if we get something wrong, we’ll just have to keep trying.

And that’s what we’re doing with a plane tonight. For the third time, we’ll catch a ride over to the airport, take part in the pre-flight process, maybe get on a plane, and maybe fly back to the United States. Is the third time the charm?


8
Jun 26

Eating all the fishes

Slow day today, here in Cape Town. The weather wasn’t the most cooperative, but that’s OK. Winter is trying to roll in here, and the weather has been charming throughout the trip. Seldom do we take a trip, in fact, where the weather doesn’t accommodate the day’s plans. We got rained on one day in Switzerland a few years ago. Two years ago we had some weather happen some diving in Mexico. It’s just going to happen that you get a day that invites you to stay inside.

This is what we did.

We attended a bit more conference. My lovely bride had a meeting at the conference. I sat and read, which was delightful. The rains came in. We went to the spa and got massages. They were quite nice. Not as good as my last one, but also I didn’t feel beaten up after this one, either. There are always trade offs in the muscle moving game. Also, I think I’m getting a bit better at learning to relax somewhere closer to the beginning of a massage than the end. Progress!

We went to dinner at a place everyone who has been to Cape Town told us about, Codfather, in Camps Bay. They say they have an extravagant menu. They do. Their website asks, “Why eat when you can feast?” and, friends, this is the sort of gastronomical rhetoric to which we can all abide.

This is how it works. You make a reservation. You rent an Uber. The Uber drives us over a small mountain pass and into the appropriate place. He tells you to enjoy your dinner. You go inside and upstairs. It’s crowded and every space is filled with tables and chairs and people. It is loud. The few places that aren’t filled with guests are packed full of employees. There is a great hustle to the place, which we haven’t seen a lot of lately and it’s really quite off-putting.

We were stuffed into a little corner besides some guys all pretending for one another that they’d been in special forces. (One of them might have been in the artillery. He yelled loud enough.) The staff comes to tell you what dinner is like. Every table gets the same sides. You can order your drinks at the table, but you must go up to the counter to order your fish. There are a handful of guys standing there, waiting for you. They’re going to guide you through the selection. They tell you about everything they have available.

They tell you about the waters were the fish were caught, local and farther away. They tell you how the waters were there this afternoon, when your dinner was hoisted from the sea. They tell you about the personality of the mother of the man who brought the fish to the shore.

You go through all of the cases like this. It takes several minutes, because they have an extravagant menu. And if you aren’t perfectly attuned to the guy, or if you are somehow distracted by the din of the place, you’ll miss something important, like what was playing on the radio in the truck that brought this food to the store. Once you’ve gone through all of the cases you tell the guy what you want. He repeats this to a man behind the counters. And he’s smiling in an overly friendly way. It’s loud enough that some things need to be repeated, and this new guy is smiling all the way. And then you get to pick the particular pieces you want, and that man is now smiling like a maniac.

We ordered what seemed like enough food, and then got what seemed like a little bit more. Something about the entire process makes you forget yourself, your inhibitions, your idea about what’s right for two people, and the entire notion of what anything costs, because you have no idea.

But food here is either reasonable or entirely inexpensive. And tonight’s meal, which turned out to be both a lot of food and precisely the right amount, somehow, was inexpensive. Also, it was delicious. Go to the Codfather. I’d go again.

After dinner we walked down the hill and around the corner because it was time for …

Caught an Uber back to the hotel to address our things. Tomorrow is our last day here, but we still have a lot to do.


5
Jun 26

ICA presentation

Today was a conference day. My lovely bride once again had research accepted at the International Communication Association’s annual conference. My job was to sit and nod sagely, and also to take some photographs. I took some photographs. Her paper was on … well … the title slide does some explaining.

She used a screengrab from a BNL video. She was very proud of the idea. It was funny. I’m not sure how many people caught the reference. To be fair to all parties, that’s pretty niche, and the crowd was also a bunch of specialty scholars. The overlap might have been just three or four people.

It was another fine paper, and a good presentation. A few years back she won a top paper award at this conference. She’s a big deal.

And the conference is, too. Global affair. Security at the doors looking at badges, for some reason. I like going to conference sessions, but I can’t imagine anyone wanting to sneak their way in. I’d sneak my way in but, again, pretty niche.

We had dinner tonight at a fancy steakhouse. It was pick-your-cut kind of fancy. But the prices were in-line with an American meal. If they said this was the best steak in town, I’d believe them. I also think every other place does a great steak, because there’s an incredibly passionate meat grilling culture here. Bo-Vine in the City is surely one of the touchstones of the commercial part of the food culture. We’d definitely go back, and certainly recommend it to others.