Another American Adventure: icicle beards, street musicians, dried fish, this and that

Sunday, January 15, 2012

icicle beards, street musicians, dried fish, this and that

Watching the snow ...

Bright, sunny and 9 degrees (but it didn't feel cold).

icicle beard ...

a closer look ...

at the "strip" in PGH ...

Street musicians ...

The sign says "do not rip the fish"!! I surely wouldn't rip it with that "guard" standing by ...

This is the dried fish - "Baccala" - that they sell in the Italian Market on the strip. I've found out that you have to soak it and then beat it into a pulp. Not sure what to do after that ... [UPDATE: Here is a recipe for Christmas Eve Baccala. Maybe I'll try it next Christmas.]

Xmas tree still up, ice skater go around and around. John said he would rent skates for me ... my experience with ice skating is pretty bleak ...

No comments:

Post a Comment

"In those first days, people said, a squirrel could run the long length of Pennsylvania without ever touching the ground. In those first days, the woods were white oak and chestnut, hickory, maple, sycamore, walnut, wild ash, wild plum, and white pine. The pine grew on the ridgetops where the mountains' lumpy spines stuck up and their skin was thinnest.

"The wilderness was uncanny, unknown. Benjamin Franklin had already invented his stove in Philadelphia by 1753, and Thomas Jefferson was a schoolboy in Virginia; French soldiers had been living in forts along Lake Erie for two generations. But west of the Alleghenies in western Pennsylvania, there was not even a settlement, not even a cabin. No Indians lived there, or even near there.

"Wild grapevines tangled the treetops and shut out the sun. Few songbirds lived in the deep woods. Bright Carolina parakeets - red, green, and yellow - nested in the dark forest. There were ravens then, too. Woodpeckers rattled the big trees' trunks, ruffed grouse whirred their tail feathers in the fall, and every long once in a while a nervous gang of empty-headed turkeys came hustling and kicking through the leaves - but no one heard any of this, no one at all."

Annie Dillard, An American Childhood.