The Carrot Purple
Clicking through to Now I Know you learn that carrots were originally purple. In point of fact I just learned that this morning (in bed, obvs) while reading an ode to root vegetables in The New Yorker. I’ve screencapped one of the more interesting passages in which Jane Kramer relates speculations about why 17th-century Dutch horticulturalists decided to make purple carrots orange. She refers to Joel Denker’s paper “The Carrot Purple.” He writes:
Although the purple carrot was enjoyable to munch on, it presented serious cooking problems. The root turned purplish brown in the pot and gave all the other ingredients a similar color.
Market gardeners in Holland came up with a solution. From the long yellow mutants that had grown up among the population of purple carrots, they gradually bred a vivid orange variety. Dutch paintings, botanist O. Banga found, reveal the striking change. During the 15th and 16th centuries artists drew long, yellow and purple carrots. By the 18th century, the orange root was now prominent in their paintings.
The orange carrot had distinct advan- tages. Unlike the purple, it kept its brilliant color during cooking. It was also excellent nourishment, the Dutch felt, for their farm
animals. They attributed the creamy yellow butter made from their Holsteins’ milk to a diet of orange carrots.
In addition to these benefits, the carrot was a patriotic symbol. The new variety honored the Dutch royal family, the House of Orange.
So really, rebranding French fries as Freedom Fries in a (misguided) show of patriotism is child’s play. Why is the all-American meal of meat ‘n potatoes not red, white, and blue?
Get on it, my horti-homies.
Jane and I at one of her high school friend’s brother-in-law’s surprise 30th birthday party on Saturday night. We ate every last one of those cupcakes (true story) and then went home and watched SNL which comes on at the very-reasonable hour of 10:30 in Chicago. Prime time one hour earlier is pretty much the best thing about Central Standard Time. Acceptable bed time! Yes!
Everyone at the party was married. Married married married. With diamond rings, each bigger than the last. I couldn’t take my eyes of those rings. It’s embarrassing, like getting caught checking out someone’s rack.
Nothing like a trip to the Midwest to make you go huh. What do they have figured out that I don’t? (Or is it the other way around?)
Beside those I’ve inherited from my 36-year-old boyfriend, I don’t have many married friends. Next year will change that: two of my best girls are getting married in the spring, bringing it to a grand total of 3 out of 9 in our Tulane crew. But still. That won’t be many compared to Jane, who grew up in Kansas City and is very close to her high school friends and goes to/appears in weddings likes it’s her job.
I grew up in Minnesota but I went to an arts high school. Two of my best high school friends are gay. Others are (former/sorta) artists so no, not married. There are people in my Facebook feed whose names have changed so apparently I do know folks who’ve gotten married. But we’re nothing but Facebook friends and I wasn’t invited to their weddings. I can’t even tell you for certain if their weddings occurred. Is it a self-selecting group that I’ve found myself in? (Called “People who live in New York and pay too much for cheese plates”?)
I’m not sure what the point of this is except I definitely don’t want a diamond ring whenever I do get all Midwest and get engaged. Diamond rings are built to be compared to other diamond rings. There will always be bigger ones.
Count me out.
Another day, another lunch with Jane. “Street-style” dumplings (not pictured: baggy jeans and teeny dumpling-size boombox), Korean BBQ tacos, and hot stone bibimbop at a new Lincoln Park spot, Del Seoul. Yo dawg, I’d hit that again (see, I’m speaking “street”).
11.18.2010, 2 pm. North Clark Street, Chicago.
It’s time to show you pictures of Things I’ve Eaten! Don’t worry, it’s not all that much (photos, that is, not Things I’ve Eaten. Just between you and me, I have been puttin’ it away lately — just not taking many photos. Which is probably best for all involved. Except my pants).
Ok! So this was my first meal in Chicago. Jane met me for lunch at Rick Bayless’ sandwich joint, XOCO. Smoked chicken salad. The pickled cabbage was a nice touch. Smoky smoky goodness. Also did you notice the avocado? Yes sir.
11.16.2010, 12 pm. North Clark Street, Chicago.
Hey Jane … hope you’re not reading this before lights out!
Mwa ha ha ha ha ha HA.
Stewie, a 5-year-old Maine coon from Reno, Nev., has broken the Guinness World Record for the world’s longest domestic cat. The feline measures 48.5 inches from stem to stern. More images here.
by jingies this is cute! jane (sea of shoes) dressed as ‘coco chanel’ for halloween when she was three. i mean, that kid had no chance of not being cool.
In the list of things that did not surprise me one bit today, this is at the top. But of course she dressed as Mme Chanel when the rest of us were bed-sheeted ghosts and pink-nosed mice.
(Source: veronicalovesarchie)
Rare albino alligator…would make a nice handbag. Sorry.
In related news, a woman I work with told me her friend’s mom had a coat made from Maine Coon. She felt bad about it but was comforted because someone told her that Maine Coons are nasty, mean cats. Which couldn’t be further from the truth. They’re actually very chill, friendly, and snugglelicious.
I showed her a photo of Trouble and she said, “That’s exactly what the coat looked like!” (Eek! Please hide him from any would-be Cruellas, Jane.)
PS: Well he does have a Magnificent Tail.
A nasty summer cold has me home for the day but at least I have this little lovebug to keep me company. Now if only he could do spreadsheets….
PS: Not much of a photo buuuuut … welcome to our new study/guest room. I bought the lamp at Target years ago; it used to be brown with a beaded-fringe shade, very boho and frankly cheesy. I recently spray-painted it shiny black and added a shade from Ikea. Now quite chic if I do say so myself. The desk is from West Elm and I LOVE it. I also have this white chair and am waiting for these curtains to come back in stock. Eventually I’ll do some painting and then this room is finito!
(But Jane, it’s ready for you now. :)
Jane forces Trouby Trouby begs Jane to go on walks on his leash. I would LOVE to do the same with Mr. Wilkes. Even better I would love to travel the world with him! What a fine traveling companion he would be.
And we would look just like this (illustration by Krisatomic).
Trouby was home alone when the baddies broke into Jane’s apartment. And when they left, taking his mama’s things with them, did he hide under the bed? Did he run out the back door, never to be seen again?
No.
He marched upstairs and he alerted her neighbor of the break-in. And that is why he was awarded this Badge of Courage. For a cat who is famously afraid of his own tail, he should be an inspiration to us all.
We commend you, good kitty!
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