Prairie Edible

Two days spent in the kitchen, cooking up a landscape worth eating. The menu was as follows:

-Patch work Corn Bread base, in various varieties and colors:
*plain
*Sweet potato
*Spinach
*pesto
*cocoa
-Cubed Tofu, marinated in chillies and garlic,
-Triangular Tofu in Turmeric, tamari and Beet.
-Assorted Vegetable cubes (supplied by Barbara)
-Steamed kale with butter and lemon
-Mashed sweet potatos
-Buttery mashed potatos (supplied by Hilary)
-Curried cinnamon lentils
-Mushroom white wine gravy
sides of:
lime and pepper cucumber spears
-bean sprouts
-toasted sesame seeds
-pumpkin seeds
-thinly cut Nori (supplied by Janelle)

Badges

Prairie Badges An evening spent listening to art interviews and sewing patches for dinner guests.  Each guest will be receiving a small package upon arrival at the dinner on Saturday.  The package will contain these patches,  a specific title/role, and a list of actions/interactions to be instigated at one point during the event. Their titles will loosely determine the role that each individual will play in the construction of the Edible Prairie city.  I am currently in the process of establishing what these prompts/interactions will be.  I want urge the instigation of certain conversations and interactions between people, without forcing any sort of social agenda on the gathering.    More to come when I figure it out.

The Real April 7th

Saskatchewan is flat.  Really really flat.  So flat, that when a cyclone starts, it keeps going, and wipes out most everything in its flat path.  Much like in 1912, when north america’s most severe Tornado hit Regina.  It killed 28 and left thousands homeless.  All this I learn today, at the Regina Plains Museum, from some nice middle aged ladies over a cup of tea. The museum is in one room that looks like it might have been an office space before it was a museum.  There is a wheat field made of glass, and a collection of salt and pepper shakers, some made from light bulbs, others, otherwise. I think I will be visiting this place again.

I spent the morning at the University, scanning and typing out invitations for some Edible antics planned for this Saturday evening. Ten invited people will be aiding in the construction and consumption of a prairie landscape.  (but dont tell them, its a secret.)

Here is a sample invitation:

Message for immediate delivery to Barbara Meneley.
Dear Ms Meneley:
This message requests your presence at the Bartleman Apartments, this Saturday, April the 10th, 2010 at 6 pm.
Unit twenty one, on the third floor of the Bartleman apartment building is, as you may know, the current place of residence of one human occupant, Ms. Rachelle Viader Knowles and one feline,  Mr. Ralphie the cat.  On Saturday april the 10th, unit 21 of the Bartleman, will be conducting an experiment in ritual collaborative ingestion.  Events will be instigated and supervised by an expert in the field, Ms. Amber Phelps Bondaroff, who has traveled from the Eastern region of the Realm of Reject, in the province of Quebec, to conduct this highly anticipated affair.
Your presence and expertise are greatly desired at this function.

Please respond with confirmation of your presence with the following material:

-Cubes.  Small and edible (approx 1 cm square)  In any variety of vegetarian materials.
-One dinner plate.
Thank you, and we look forward to hearing from you.

-Amber Phelps Bondaroff
and the Realm of Reject

Regina

Montreal: Wake up; 3 am.  Catch 5:30 flight to the prairies.

Mikey drives me to the airport in his duct-taped station wagon, with the flaming eagle on the hood.  The red tape we covered the rust surrounding the back window  with a couple of weeks ago has come off. “Damn, we’re bad mechanics.” He checks to make sure the bumper is still tied on, and we’re off, over slick spring streets.

There’s a mix, equal parts of:

-Misty morning calm
-residual Saturday night debauchery.

The airport is otherwise.

Easter weekend.  Everyone and their dog is getting confused at the self check out.

Realizing my similitude to the general flying public, I in-correctly remove baggage tag from its waxy backing, and adhere it to my bag as a  sticky mess.

<<You are not going to make this flight,>> the man at the check in counter tells me.  I have heard this before, and I choose not to believe him.

Hesitation, and a pleading look of desperation urge him to ask his supervisor.  And im running to the over sized luggage desk with a bag that probably meets the mark, filled with a type writer, fun fur and a sizeable glow in the dark crystal pinata.  I can hear the jelly beans rolling around inside of their paper-mache host.

I dont believe in time.  I mentioned on the ride over.

I make the flight, with enough time for a bathroom break.

I spend the flight: dozing off against the window; reading an article in french about a man who saved a little girls life by not pumping his breaks on ice for some inexplicable reason after she ran out in front of the bus he was driving; realizing that the western genre is racist to Asian people as well as native Americans and hoping that the Asian man sitting next to me knows that I know this while I’m watching Hop Along Cassidy; seeing for myself how incredibly terrible in every aspect the whole Twilight phenomena is instead of just taking everyone else’s word for it, while agian, hoping the man sitting next to me knows that I know this; and writing a much longer winded version of this blog post on paper.

Touch down, Saskatchewan.  I am greeted by Rachelle and vast expanses of prairie sky.

Investigations