Voted Off the Island

Just Kill Me Now

Don't come over.  Stay away.  Let me sit in my own poop.  I am not a happy camper.  I am getting ready to move and in high throw out mode or should I say high THROW UP mode.  I am buried under piles of stuff, crap, detritus and rubble from my bourgeois bohemian life and it isn't pretty. Just kill me now. Or better yet, make me feel even more miserable and guilty. Put me in front of a panel of Third World garbage pickers -- did you hear that NPR story on Saturday morning about families in Cairo who do this for a living?  Let them sift through my trash bags and declare me the Adolf Eichmann of consumption, the Imelda Marcos of kitchen gadgetry.  Let someone benefit from my profligate way of life.

It's bad.  It's bad.  Just imagine if our family had NOT moved roughly every 5-7 years and had NOT skimmed the top layer of STUFF in our lives. I'm not a packrat.  I just LIKE dishes and linens and napkins and salt cellars and candlesticks and cachepots and early American pattern glass, and books. I LIKE to clip interesting articles that I never read again. And my son still LIKES Calvin and Hobbs and stray computer parts and Legos and old tokens from the NY subway system, and Magic cards and other dust bunny gathering stuff.

Margo comes over, looks around and pretty much sizes up the situation.  She cracks the whip.  Silver rattle from Tiffany, now so tarnished you cannot even read the name of the child for whom it was purchased (not by me). THROW IT OUT!  Perfectly useful 3-ring binders in the office, stacks of virgin index cards, boxes of Raisin Bran with a use-by date of 2006. OUT!  A dozen serviceable beach towels stacked neatly in the laundry room. Perfectly good bars of soap. GOODBYE!

I hear you clucking, "why doesn't she donate her stuff?"  Well, course I am donating stuff. I am giving my children's books to needy schools.  Oh, puleeez, I have called the Furniture Bank and the Kidney Foundation, and blah blah blah.  WHO HAS TIME FOR THIS?!?!?!? I want it gone, ALL GONE I SAY!

And now excuse me while I pour a glass of wine and go watch HGTV.

Lotsa Matzah

Only 2 more days to go!!!

10 Things to do with Leftover Matzah Farfel

1. Organic kitty litter
2. Garden mulch
3. Add water, make a facial
4. Ecological packing material
5. Resurface the driveway
6. Donate to Kindergarten for papier mache projects
7. Use in lieu of oatmeal bath for kids with chicken pox
8. Throw at weddings
9. Growing medium for strep test
10.Revenge on geese for leaving goose poop on your lawn

Or Make Matzah Brei (fried matzah fritatta)
Nina's Lox and Cream Cheese Matzah Brei (dairy)
serves 6

6 oz. smoked salmon or leftover cold poached salmon (just don't use canned)
3 oz. cream cheese (goat cheese and feta cheese are also good)
5 eggs
2-3 scallions, minced
4-5 matzahs crumbled
3 Tb sweet butter
salt and pepper to taste

Soak crumbled matzas in warm water for at least 5 minutes, squeeze dry and set aside.
Beat eggs and season with salt and pepper to taste.
Add in:
Chopped scallions
Smoked salmon or leftover salmon, chopped into smaller bits
Cream cheese (goat or feta cheese)  mashed into smaller bits
Crumbled matzah

Prepare like an omelet or fritatta in a well seasoned pan, using melted butter liberally. 
Allow eggs to set and if runny, lift occasionally to let liquid egg roll under the omelet.
Flip the omelet and finish cooking on the other side, or even easier... finish in a 350 oven until top is brown.
Cut into 6 sections and serve warm.

My Boy Sam

Today's post is my son Sam's farewell column in the student newspaper the G.W. Hatchet.   He graduates May 17th.

Sam Salkin: It's all in the family: finding the folks that matter

by Sam Salkin
Hatchet Columnist                       

Media Credit: Ryder Haske Sam Salkin, behind the counter at GW Deli, has been involved with The Hatchet since his freshman year.

A laundry list of thank you's and inside jokes have often been considered the norm when it comes time for Hatcheteers to say goodbye. Other people take time to wax philosophical and put it all out on the line for you. I think that my attempt might fall somewhere in the middle. But more than anything else, what I really want to talk about is family.

I think for a lot of people the attraction of going to college is little more than an escape from your family. Sure, some people do get homesick and call home a lot, but the biggest part about growing up in college is making the decisions that, more often than not, would have been made by your family before you first stepped foot in Foggy Bottom. From dumb minutiae like what to have for dinner to bigger, more expensive questions such as, where am I going on vacation, the family is quickly erased from the equation and make brief appearances at times like Thanksgiving and between semesters.

For me, this scenario really played itself out well until I went home for Thanksgiving my sophomore year. My parents picked one of their only forays into my real life to tell me they were getting divorced. The entire family equation was completely turned upside down. This kind of sucked for me. A lot. It didn't turn me into a hermit or make me start drinking more, but it wasn't exactly my first choice of how my college storyline would play out.

What I realize now, looking back, more than anything else during my time at GW, I have sought out (probably subconsciously) family. I didn't find MILFs in Bethesda or grandma's at St. Mary's Court to cook me food. But believe it or not, the real secret to GW is that it is comprised of many, many families. Some are bigger, some are smaller and you might have to look hard for them, but trust me, they exist. So, let me tell you, in no particular order, about my families.

I was on Colonial Cabinet this past summer. You might read that and think "what a tool" or something along those lines. Think whatever you want. I had the privilege of spending the summer with a group of dedicated, energetic and interesting people. How could I ever regret that? To my Cabinet family: I'm sorry if I didn't get as excited about khaki shorts and polos than some of us did. I'm sorry if I was taking things too seriously or not seriously enough. It's not that I didn't care. Trust me, I did. It's just that pneumonia can take a lot out of you.

More than anyone else in college, the person I am most grateful to is some idiot sorority girl who asked me to sign a petition for her to run for the Student Association my sophomore year. In her feeble attempt to make small talk with my friends and me, she asked if we were involved in Greek-letter life (we aren't), I impulsively said yes. Of course the next question is, what fraternity do we belong to? The next three words that came out of my mouth changed college forever. I replied, "Salkin, Salkin, Salkin." She said she hadn't heard of it and moved on, but my friends and I continued to crack up as we realized we had given birth to a fraternity based on nothing. Tri-Salk was no attempt to use lines from "Old School" about a fake fraternity, nor were we like a group of friends like everyone knew in high school that called themselves something (omg, the slutty six!).

Instead, we had created a name for ourselves that didn't take itself too seriously or really mean anything other than what it was, a joke. I have been blessed with an unrivaled group of friends in college. These are the kind of guys that on a Thursday night with nothing to do, will drive to West Virginia to go to a third rate casino. For my 19th birthday, they baked me a cake that said, "Fuck You Sam." The "k" was backwards. We set up a listserv through GW that only had one rule: If you're going to say something, you have to say something messed up about eachother's parents. Everyone has their group of friends in college, but I'm convinced that we have got to be the best one out there. You guys know who you are and know how much I love you.

At one point during my freshman year, I ran into my acquaintance Ben Solomon who was a measly Hatchet photographer at the time, and I told him that some day, he and I would run the paper. Well, it didn't exactly work out that way, but it worked out. From day one, I was always pretty convinced that I was going to be an editor of some kind, it just took longer than I expected. I was passed over a few times and yet it never deterred me. I wanted to be a part of this family so badly and I had to find my own way in. That is why getting the opportunity to start my own section from scratch this year was one of the greatest opportunities of my life. At the start of the year, I knew next to nothing about editing audio and video. I might know a little more today. I know I'm leaving my baby of a section in the hands of two capable parents.

Still, The Hatchet has been so much more than articles and videos. I met the girl who was the best secret I've ever kept and is now one of the best friends I've ever had. I've had the pleasure to deal with Jake Sherman, who is constantly and simultaneously both the biggest asshole and single warmest person I've ever met. Eric Roper will be fine so long as he finally gives up on those Christopher Walken impressions. Brendan Polmer showed me how to funnel a beer freshman year and got me into a ton of shows for free. Still, nothing compares to the parallel parking job he did one night up on U Street. Joanna and Tim are more interested in my personal life than anyone I've ever met, and yet that never really felt that weird to me. These people, and everyone who I didn't mention, know how much they meant to me. They're family, through and through.

So those are my families. Not too glamorous or special, but they're families. How could I ever forget to mention all of my fellow "Geographriends" from the geography department, especially professor Joe Dymond who showed me how great geography really is and warned me that I'd have to get used to explaining that I didn't study state capitals. Hell, even Joe and the folks at GW Deli are family to me. You just need to look around and find these people. They're there. You just need to make them yours.

And to my family family. You know, the family that was here before I got to GW and will be here after long after. Things are different now, no doubt. It's okay. You were the ones who taught me how to be there for someone and to love. What can I say? Because of you Mom, Dad and Gabe, I'm a family man.

Sam Salkin was The Hatchet's multimedia editor and has written for several of the paper's sections. He started writing for The Hatchet in Sept. 2004.

Quinoa (KeenWah) for Passover

Ladies and gentlemen, I am utterly brisketed out.  In the past 48 hours I've eaten way too much beef, way too much chicken and too much heavy duty matzoh based food. Because we can't eat foods with leaven on Passover, instead we end up with food that is leaden.

So today I'm taking a light, fluffy quinoa salad for lunch on a bed of greens. It's wheat-free, gluten-free and full of protein and good amino acids. And it's delicious.

If you are yearning for something healthy and light, go immediately to your local Whole Foods now and get some quinoa.  I just made a Passover quinoa "tabouli" that's really wonderful.  Many rabbis permit quinoa (KEEN-wah) to be eaten during Passover. As the week rolls along and you are dying for something grainy and toothsome, it's a wonderful option. From Gourmet Magazine:

How did quinoa, most often associated with the health-food aisle, begin its rise from obscurity to Passover-kitchen staple?

“People were desperate for something filling that was approved,” said Rabbi Zvi Goldberg of the Orthodox kosher-certifying agency Star-K. In 1999, a consumer contacted Star-K’s Rabbi Shmuel Heinemann, and asked him to investigate whether quinoa—which was first imported to this country in the 1980s—would pass muster on Passover, when any leavened wheat product (such as bread and pasta) and anything containing even a trace of corn, beans, or rice are forbidden by Jewish law. Heinemann discovered that quinoa—which hails originally from the Andes mountains but is now grown in the United States—is actually a member of the beet family. It is gluten-free and incredibly healthy, loaded with fiber, protein, and essential amino acids. Because quinoa is not a grain and had no religious precedent, Heinemann knew he was onto something.

So tests were undertaken to see if quinoa would rise under ideal conditions; instead, it decayed. This sealed the deal, and Star-K issued a statement in support of this “new” Passover food. (Like most things Jewish, there is controversy; not all rabbis agree with R’ Heinemann.) For real sticklers, kosher-for-Passover-certified quinoa can be found at Trader Joe’s and under the Ancient Harvest brand.

Here's my recipe.  I used 1/2 red and 1/2 white quinoa, just for color.  Use whatever quinoa you can find, it doesn't matter.

Passover Quinoa Salad

1 cup quinoa
salt to taste
1/2 cup olive oil
3 scallions minced
1/2 cup chopped roasted almonds
juice of 1 lemon + zest
1/2 cup chopped parsley or cilantro (your choice)

Sprinkle quinoa into boiling water.  When most of the water has evaporated, take the pot off the flame. Put cooked quinoa into a large bowl and "fluff" it.  Add 1/2 cup olive oil, salt to taste, almonds, chopped parsley and lemon juice.  Stir.  Serve warm, or chill overnight.

Other yummy add-ins (pick one...)
2 chopped tomatoes
1/2 cup dried craisins
chopped pitted olives

 

It's A Done Deal!

After endless dickering back and forth, the craven yuppies have backed off on the $5,800 in "adjustments" and are stealing buying my house, even though (HORROR OF HORRORS) an animal got into my red clay dirt basement (cat, racoon, who knows) and left its business on the dirt floor, even though my gutters need cleaning, even though the commodes wobble (I never felt a thing), and a whole host of other truly ridiculous stuff. 

We are done, (thanks Drew!) and I will have to be out of here by May 30th.  That will be a challenge, but I will call in every favor I have and get my girlfriends and guyfriends to help me pack and edit and throw out.

I will be gracious and even leave them some goodies they might want or need when they move in ... extra kitchen backsplash tiles, extra glass door knobs (circa 1929) and the dining room chandelier... because I really am a lovely and generous person.

As for me and G, Drew my broker did a little negotiating for me (luv him) and we are moving up the block to a sweet little 1928 Bungalow, owned by another nice yuppie couple with a 5 month old baby who live 3 doors away.  I do not believe they are the craven variety :-)

Click here to see inside photos.  Isn't the kitchen cute?  There's a screened porch on the side and a nice deck out back with a hot tub.  I have no idea how one maintains a hot tub, but I am challenging G to be the hot tub guy if he's interested in playing with pool chemicals.  I'm excited about the two car garage in the back which will make it possible NOT to have a storage unit. 

Mostly I'm relieved.  And as soon as I finish this post I'll go back to throwing out and sorting stuff for moving, giving away, synagogue tag sale, etc.  I just threw out two boxes of note cards with my old married name.  I'm getting ready to toss my wedding dress as well . . . it was a silk cocktail dress by the late Mollie Parnis.  This is my kind of Passover cleaning.

Passover Desserts You'd Actually Want to Eat

I'm sending y'all over to Smitten Kitchen today where Deb has posted 17 elegant and eminently eatable Passover desserts you should have in your repertoire.

The matza flour based confections and mile high kosher cakes and mixes that KLP (kosher for passover) purveyors trot out -- and overcharge for -- on this holiday are not for me.  The one in the photo is from Schicks, a big kosher bakery in Brooklyn.

On Passover we are commanded to eat matzah, the poor bread, the  bread of affliction.  It's nice to do the best we can to bring delight and deliciousness to the table, but it's not kosher, in my opinion, to create ersatz leaven on Pesach. Deb's recipes all treat the challenge of Passover baking with respect and sophistication.

Happy baking and a zissen (sweet) Pesach.  I'll have some recipes up over the next few days too.

I Heart H&R Block

Seriously, I've just had the NICEST experience at H&R Block doing my 2007 taxes.

Last Tuesday I blew hysterically into Block's midtown office, off Ponce, with not quite a shopping bag of paper, but close. This being yet another annus horribilus, and me being a total math phobe who trembles at the word audit, I knew I needed help. I didn't get my act together this year.  No doubt there would be tricky post-divorce issues, but no way was I going to use my old cowboy accountant up in New York (let's call him "Kenny") who's done my taxes since my advertising days and who kept on doing 'em for me and Mex.

See Kenny, like Mex, is off the Nina bus. He also hit 50 and dumped his wife of 20+ years. So I have unceremoniously dumped Kenny after 30.  I don't have "people" in Atlanta unless you count my divorce lawyer and the very wonderful forensic accountant who ran the numbers on the day of my mediation (by the way, feel free to contact me if you ever need someone terrific for that) but she doesn't do tax filing.

I have selected electricians, exterminators and plumbers out of the yellow pages, but picking an accountant out of the phonebook?  I dunno, it just didn't feel good. But holy crap, it was already April 8th and I was too embarrassed to ask a friend for a referral.  Anyway, what kind of accountant would take me seriously a week before the filing deadline except the Yellow Pages kind...or the H&R Block kind.  I needed backup, I needed someone who could add subtract and multiply.  I needed People.

Lemme tell you, at Block, I got great people.

First I got the lovely, unflappable Gina, who sat down and calmly got me rolling.  We were doing fine until we came to something funky -- the tiny royalties check for a book I wrote edited with Mex. So she brought in reinforcements in the form of Jennifer, a 10 year Block veteran who told me I was NOT the most disorganized person she'd seen, not by a mile, and who guided me through the rest of the return.  Jennifer sweetly instructed Gina to sit down and watch how to do the royalties thing.  Then we came to some questions about mortgage deductions, and right on the spot Jennifer called WaMu for me and got all the annual payment figures.  She deftly punched in all the numbers and ran my return two ways to see what would happen if we did "A" versus "B" . In the end,  she left me with little list of things to document and I made a follow-up appointment for Monday, April 14th.

Between Gina and Jennifer, I was out in 40 minutes.  And I was looking at quite a nice refund.

Cut to Wednesday morning. I got a call at work from an H&R Block representative who wanted to know all about my H&R Block experience.  I told her it was delightful and that it actually exceeded my expectations. I told her it wasn't even over yet ... I was going back to finish the day before filing deadline.

Yesterday I sat down with Jennifer and completed my return.  I used my coupon and got $20 off...nice. I had the return electronically filed, and walked out with everything in a neat and tidy envelope.

Hey, I got People.

My 15 Seconds

I got my 15 seconds of fame on Saturday.  My name appeared in the lede on a New York Times story about how the economy is affecting people's travel plans for the summer.  My Atlanta journalist buddy Rachel Pomerance contributed reporting to the story, and whoever put the piece together decided to lead with me. 

Sure It’s Frustrating and Expensive, but Travelers Just Have to Travel

By SUSAN STELLIN

Published: April 12, 2008

Nina Rubin, who is in public relations in Atlanta, is going back to the Berkshires this summer but is hoping to save money on her plane ticket by flying into a smaller airport. Sandy Clark, stuck in Chicago when American Airlines canceled her flight, is still planning to fly to Providence, R.I., for her vacation.

Here's the ironic part. I'm so broke I probably won't even be able to afford to go to the Berkshires this summer. And as I told Rachel when she interviewed me, in the Berkshires I never stay in a hotel -- I rent an apartment or a cottage and eat most of my meals at home when I'm there.  As the Queen of Picnics (my other title is Queen of Parallel Parking...but that's another post) I really do have a certain genius for putting together a terrific al fresco meal on the fly, to be enjoyed on the lawn at Tanglewood.  Yes, I'll probably fly into White Plains or Newburgh if I go.  And I'll rent the cheapest car possible.  And I won't eat out much.  But none of these "economies" can dilute my fun.  When you know a place well and love it and have good friends to hang with, it's not about consuming, it's all about the exhale. 

OMIGOD. . .We Are Covered in Sperm!

With Atlanta's pollen count officially above 3,000 today -- 3,243, to be precise --  we are awash in male gametes, a.k.a. pollen.  Not to get all scientific on you, but pollen really is the "sperm" of the plant world.

The pollen grain is the structure used to transport the male gamete (i.e. male DNA) to the female part of a flower. Pollen must be strong to protect the male gametes on their journey. The outer wall of the pollen grain, called the exine, is composed of a very unusual substance called sporopollenin which is very tough. The inner layer is made of cellulose and is similar in construction to an ordinary plant cell wall. Pollen grains are microscopic- usually about 15 to 100 microns - and just a pinch of pollen powder contains  thousands and thousands of grains.

Atlanta pollen counts have been known to go above 5,000, making us one of the top 10 pollen towns in the nation.  The green "snow" that falls on cars, coats our decks, and makes us cough and choke is mainly pine pollen.  But oak, pine, sweet gum, sycamore and birch pollen add to the mix and create a dangerous situation for people with asthma. Counts as low as 50 can trigger allergy symptoms in some folks. I believe my blog buddy Margalit would be on oxygen if she lived here. Thankfully, she's in Boston.

Right now it's so bad you can practically measure the pollen in inches, not just in particulates

Holding My Breath

House inspection is set for Friday.  Pray, light candles, count the rosary, do whatever you do to get my house into the final lap towards a sale.  I cannot take the next step -- rent or buy -- until this deal is done. I won't even discuss the many interesting options that await us, or the MASSIVE, STAGGERING, and AEROBIC job of downsizing that will ensue over the next 30 days, during which time I hope to work off 5 pounds at the very least!

Just send good energy, OK?