Sorry, everyone, you’re going to get the week’s worth of blog postings in the next two days. I just never got around to posting.
Tuesday, March 4
I had very good intentions of making some traditional Fat Tuesday sorts of food for tonight, but I became distracted and didn’t get around to it. I don’t have the little tiny Jesus to bake into a Louisiana style King Cake and chicken-and-waffles seemed like more effort than I wanted to expend. Worse, I couldn’t make the traditional doughnut thingy that Pennsylvania and Maryland Germans use, because I forgot to make the dough last night.
There was also some contention as to the name of the things. Everyone up in the Lehigh Valley calls them “fastnachts” or some variation thereof; the name means “fasting night” and reflects the Ash Wednesday fast. Which seems a little weird, because the doughnut thingys are consumed before the fast as a sort of last hurrah. In Western Maryland the confections are called “kinklings.”
All I can say is: you try typing “kinkling” into Google and see what comes up. There are no fastnacht-ish recipes, but there are a hell of a lot of bondage sites. I finally relented and entered “fastnacht” instead and was rewarded with a slew of good recipes, two even written in Pennsylvania Dutch, which I actually understand. It’s like German written by a Bulgarian three-year old and spoken by an Australian citizen of Swedish birth. All the same, I forgot to make the dough ahead of time, and it has to sit overnight, and as of Wednesday morning you can’t eat kinklings (the food, damn it, get your mind out of the dungeon!) or the universe will tip on its axis.
After one trip to the Carnival in New Orleans, it’s hard to sit down to dinner this one day out of the year, with or without kinklings (the food, blast ye, the food!) and realize that this is all you’re going to do. No imbibing of exotically potent Hurricanes, no flashing for beads. If there’s one defining moment of the Mardi Gras in New Orleans, it must be that it is the unique combination of time and place in which perfectly respectable people will show very intimate parts of their bodies to absolutely anyone for the dubious reward of a string of plastic beads worth approximately three cents.
Oh well. At least I have a few strings of three-cent beads, even if I’m without... um, fastnachten.
Wednesday, March 5
I was awake uncommonly early this morning to go to Mass, Ash Wednesday being one of the few non-Sunday holy days that I annually manage to observe. What had promised to be a nice day turned into a spectacular day, an unseasonably delightful 57 degrees. People were walking around campus and surrounding North Baltimore in shorts and T-shirts, with happy dazed faces.
Apparently, last night in Fells Point a few people decided to wear even less and got arrested for their trouble. A few chicks at Bohager’s (the in spot if you’re 21, cute, dumb and drunk) flashed à la New Orleans and the place got raided.
Did someone turn the clock to 1933 when I wasn’t looking? Ordinarily, I’d like the flashback, but this time I just don’t see anything wrong with... the flashing. You can see a lot more than boobs at strip joints all over town, and I find it very hard to believe that any of the Bohager’s crowd was offended — with the possibility of a few women who were too modest or too modestly endowed to join the fun. And, given the general inebriation at that place, I doubt that modesty was much of a factor for anyone.
I’m primarily disturbed by the Police Department’s sense of importance. Vast sections of the city don’t know that last night was Mardi Gras; their culture long ago slid into such a tomb of poverty and drugs that Mardi Gras and its meanings, both sacred and secular, are void. Crime is still very much an issue whether it’s Mardi Gras or not. Domestic violence and turf warfare take place without the help of plastic beads and innocent victims are caught in crossfire much more menacing than wasted college students.
I hope that the police just wanted to get a free eyeful. It’s more comforting than to think that they found a few bare breasts an actual threat to the quality of life in the city.
Tuesday, March 4
I had very good intentions of making some traditional Fat Tuesday sorts of food for tonight, but I became distracted and didn’t get around to it. I don’t have the little tiny Jesus to bake into a Louisiana style King Cake and chicken-and-waffles seemed like more effort than I wanted to expend. Worse, I couldn’t make the traditional doughnut thingy that Pennsylvania and Maryland Germans use, because I forgot to make the dough last night.
There was also some contention as to the name of the things. Everyone up in the Lehigh Valley calls them “fastnachts” or some variation thereof; the name means “fasting night” and reflects the Ash Wednesday fast. Which seems a little weird, because the doughnut thingys are consumed before the fast as a sort of last hurrah. In Western Maryland the confections are called “kinklings.”
All I can say is: you try typing “kinkling” into Google and see what comes up. There are no fastnacht-ish recipes, but there are a hell of a lot of bondage sites. I finally relented and entered “fastnacht” instead and was rewarded with a slew of good recipes, two even written in Pennsylvania Dutch, which I actually understand. It’s like German written by a Bulgarian three-year old and spoken by an Australian citizen of Swedish birth. All the same, I forgot to make the dough ahead of time, and it has to sit overnight, and as of Wednesday morning you can’t eat kinklings (the food, damn it, get your mind out of the dungeon!) or the universe will tip on its axis.
After one trip to the Carnival in New Orleans, it’s hard to sit down to dinner this one day out of the year, with or without kinklings (the food, blast ye, the food!) and realize that this is all you’re going to do. No imbibing of exotically potent Hurricanes, no flashing for beads. If there’s one defining moment of the Mardi Gras in New Orleans, it must be that it is the unique combination of time and place in which perfectly respectable people will show very intimate parts of their bodies to absolutely anyone for the dubious reward of a string of plastic beads worth approximately three cents.
Oh well. At least I have a few strings of three-cent beads, even if I’m without... um, fastnachten.
Wednesday, March 5
I was awake uncommonly early this morning to go to Mass, Ash Wednesday being one of the few non-Sunday holy days that I annually manage to observe. What had promised to be a nice day turned into a spectacular day, an unseasonably delightful 57 degrees. People were walking around campus and surrounding North Baltimore in shorts and T-shirts, with happy dazed faces.
Apparently, last night in Fells Point a few people decided to wear even less and got arrested for their trouble. A few chicks at Bohager’s (the in spot if you’re 21, cute, dumb and drunk) flashed à la New Orleans and the place got raided.
Did someone turn the clock to 1933 when I wasn’t looking? Ordinarily, I’d like the flashback, but this time I just don’t see anything wrong with... the flashing. You can see a lot more than boobs at strip joints all over town, and I find it very hard to believe that any of the Bohager’s crowd was offended — with the possibility of a few women who were too modest or too modestly endowed to join the fun. And, given the general inebriation at that place, I doubt that modesty was much of a factor for anyone.
I’m primarily disturbed by the Police Department’s sense of importance. Vast sections of the city don’t know that last night was Mardi Gras; their culture long ago slid into such a tomb of poverty and drugs that Mardi Gras and its meanings, both sacred and secular, are void. Crime is still very much an issue whether it’s Mardi Gras or not. Domestic violence and turf warfare take place without the help of plastic beads and innocent victims are caught in crossfire much more menacing than wasted college students.
I hope that the police just wanted to get a free eyeful. It’s more comforting than to think that they found a few bare breasts an actual threat to the quality of life in the city.
posted by Daniel | 5:05 PM
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