brick and mortar

Give a mason bricks and mortar and tell him to cover a space and let in light, and the results are astounding. The mason, within his limitations, finds unending possibilities, there is variety and harmony; while the modern architect with all the materials and structural systems available to him produces monotony and dissonance, and that in great abundance.

jamshid kooros

in architecture without architects by bernard rudofsky

also: limitations.

the entire staff

it continues to be my privilege to be acquainted with the entire staff of kat ran press. this week, i paid a too-short visit to its tastefully appointed, digitally warmed offices on myrtle street in cambridge, ma—a visit which demonstrated that while bad taste is ubiquitous, the exception proves the rule. the kat ran checklist you see above, under a copy of dogs are OK, is a catalogue raisonné containing a tough-minded, superb essay on design that does not exist online.

a good time was had by all. or, at least, by me.

bits, pieces

this is important.

How we spend our days is, of course, how we spend our lives. What we do with this hour, and that one, is what we are doing. A schedule defends from chaos and whim. It is a net for catching days. It is a scaffolding on which a worker can stand and labor with both hands at sections of time. A schedule is a mock-up of reason and order—willed, faked, and so brought into being; it is a peace and a haven set into the wreck of time; it is a lifeboat on which you find yourself, decades later, still living.

annie dillard, the writing life.

It is a somewhat shattering moment when we realize that our lives are made up of the particulars of what we do every day.

jim harrison, "cooking your life" in the raw and the cooked.

more dillard here; more harrison here and here.

problem-finding, problem-solving

I think our whole society is much too problem-solving oriented. It is far more interesting to [participate in] ‘problem creation’ … You know, ask yourself an interesting enough question and your attempt to find a tailor-made solution to that question will push you to a place where, pretty soon, you’ll find yourself all by your lonesome — which I think is a more interesting place to be.

chuck close, (in joe fig's inside the painter's studio)

right on; i think of it as problem-finding myself.

behold

this is the official bonbon of the academy of management's organizational behavior division. (milk chocolate with artificially flavored hazelnut filling.)

the nature and art of workmanship

People are beginning to believe you cannot make even toothpicks without ten thousand pounds of capital. We forget the prodigies one man and a kit of tools can do if he likes the work enough.

david pye, the nature and art of workmanship 

intentional ambiguity

Tenses are important:

abstract: This ethnography of nine internationally renowned avant-garde culinary groups in the US and Europe shows that they operate successfully despite having intentionally ambiguous (and hence uncertain and unstable) member roles and group goals. This is in contrast to the sizeable body of research suggesting that individuals and groups need clarity and stability to function effectively. I describe how this intentional ambiguity modifies group and interpersonal processes in these groups, then propose explanations for how these modifications might allow them to adapt to changing resources and environments and enable their members to teach and learn complex things such as house style. I conclude by showing how internal ambiguity supports adaptability and thus helps groups respond to external ambiguity.

TL;DR version: Ambiguity and uncertainty are not always bad. Wisely deployed, they can be beneficial for those in the business of innovation or working in unpredictable and rapidly changing environments. Which is nearly everyone working in a high-end restaurant, a startup, or an R&D group these days.

Just saying.

committee: Christopher Winship (co-chair), Amy Edmondson (co-chair), Jeffrey Polzer.

a rectangle of radiant simplicity

The finished product was a rectangle of radiant simplicity, an unfancy, richly hued blank presence that was the predictable result, Barrett insisted, of selecting proper materials, preparing them in patient, time-honored ways and approaching their manufacture with a spirit of total dedication. “This is pretty much how it was done for 1,800 years,” he remarked. “By hand. One sheet at a time.”

mark levine, on timothy barrett, in the new york times.
[thx ben]

barrett worked at twinrocker paper for a while. the mark of the maker is a short documentary about them, and is worthwhile.

the occasional annual ramble

home for three weeks in january for a wedding in the family, i discovered the beginnings of a coffee culture in singapore, one that gets the coffee right and the space too (here and here). reports from the field suggest that third (or even fourth) wave cafes are proliferating with astounding speed. i also discovered that food in singapore, once effortlessly and inexpensively tasty and full of heart, is now depressingly pricey and mediocre. i stopped in tokyo on the way back to cambridge. i'm glad to have seen japan again before the tsunami and fukushima devastated the country. it remains one of the few places where things are done right. we had a remarkable and understated dinner at tsuru ni tachibana that remains high on my incomplete list of nearly perfect meals (also see these frustrating updates from our field correspondent, who lives close by).

back in frosty massachusetts, i managed to slice my left index finger open while cutting bread. that was fun. some of us caravaned north to madison, NH, to celebrate a birthday with a lot of scotch. after many months, i became a regular at the hi-rise on brattle street (a single shot gibraltar is the drink). i visited lake forest again, to give a talk on telling stories with maps. one day at the hi-rise, club sandwich is born: nerds who meet sporadically for coffee and discussions that provoke nearby customers into fits of anger. mac and i thought briefly about rehabilitating a used rotavap for nefarious but delicious purposes (yet another case of execution failure).

spring came, damply. i went to dc several times to visit a field site. my respect for their operation grows and grows. each visit was the occasion for some informative drinking with the person behind the quite fine selections at ledroit. some long negotiations bore fruit, opening the way to a summer in denmark and the uk. meanwhile, the landlord at 32 chatham st, finally realising the value of his property, raised the rent by 25%. it was a nice apartment—but not that nice. i disposed variously of 50% of my stuff, in preparation for moving.

i moved may 31 and left for copenhagen on june 1. this was not the best idea. but denmark in the summer! what a great place. light in the sky til 10, then 11pm, and people everywhere who know how to enjoy a brief but beautiful season. i went to aarhus for a bit, to the beautiful new restaurant malling & schmidt where i ate a piece of very old beef that made me go to northern sweden (on which, see below), then came back down to copenhagen. at the field site, i encountered generosity, openness, strange architecture, and odd but tasty foods (here, here, here, here, and here). those were some long days, standing in the corner of the kitchen washing dishes while watching people think and cook. the danes know their flaky baked goods and are the best dinner conversationalists i have ever met: dinner with a pair of apple growers lasted 8 hours (they harvest unripe apples to add acidity to their cider, and freeze them until the main crop ripens fully). there was an experimental dessert that opened a new book, and a wine bar with great taste. my last full day in copenhagen, i had a nice surprise, then late in the day the skies poured down on the city a vast amount of rain. this washed away the tents at the roskilde festival and sent people running to their basements to survey their submerged belongings with dismay. 

after denmark, straight on to london. another field site, a very different sort of place, for a week. i have never seen a more completely utilised kitchen. while in london, i also had the opportunity to try several health foods from st john. 

oslo is a tiny city with incredible tap water (cold and ineffably pure-tasting), staggeringly expensive and mysteriously mediocre food, and the world's best snack. we left nearly immediately for fäviken magasinet, nine hours drive north and over the border in sweden. this tiny restaurant, by virtue of its remote location, can create for those who eat there a complete experience of hospitality. the carnivorous should note that lucky diners are sometimes served perfectly roasted pieces of beef raised and slaughtered on the property, then dry-aged in a casing of fat for many months (sometimes as many as seven). this meat is extremely good to eat. magnus nilsson, who runs the kitchen, has been experimenting with ways to grow and preserve meats, fruits, and vegetables so that the abundance of the swedish summer extends throughout the year. the small scale of his restaurant and its location on an enormous and productive property lets him do things which other chefs in the nordic region want to do but cannot. their kitchen garden aims for flavour and the ability to continue to produce the same amount and quality of food indefinitely (as measured by the amount of biomass and nutrient loss in their soils). for these goals they have sacrificed productivity and ease of cultivation. after dinner, which begins at 5pm and ends well past midnight, it is nice to stumble upstairs and fall immediately into bed. the next morning, if you wake up early enough, it is possible to dive (sky-clad, if you desire it) into the nearby lake. this brisk and bracing activity will help you become morally fibrous. a large breakfast appears shortly thereafter featuring, among many, many other things, a thick porridge of mixed grains and seeds (crushed semi-pearled barley, oats, sunflower seeds, flax seeds, and hazelnuts). 

we dropped one of the fellow travelers off in trondheim, then drove down through norway, taking the E6 through the mountains. our destination was oslo by way of oppdal, where we spent the night in a moss-roofed smokehouse temporarily occupied by a geologist. back in oslo, the weather was nice, then it was not. one day, while i was out buying some smash about a mile from the norwegian ministry of petroleum and energy, i noticed that everyone had stopped moving. the bombings in oslo city center, then the shootings on utøya, consumed our attention for hours. the next day, the city was quiet. the norwegian response to this extremist right-wing act was dignified and completely correct: "our answer to violence is more democracy."

it was good to be back in cambridge after two months away but, almost immediately, i left again for a wedding in cleveland. this is not a city to go to in the depths of summer. the schedule was sufficiently condensed that we did not even get to try the fabled and splendid starch-stabilised ice creams made by jeni. but a wedding held in the presence of dinosaurs was more than sufficient compensation. 

back in cambridge, a friend from home came to visit and we installed 30 linear feet of industrial shelving in the apartment to accommodate our large and growing collection of cooking equipment and supplies. i discovered that the hi-rise on brattle street was to close forever. this made many of us unhappy. then, in mid-august, we left town again for charlottesville. driving there from dc, grapefruit proved vital for public safety. we entered the city as black clouds gathered overhead, and got to our rooms just in time for lightning to brighten the sky and tremendous gusts of wind and waves of hailstones to blow through. the lights went out across the street, and then went out in the building. gravel from driveways littered the darkened streets as we drove downtown in search of dinner. only bizou was open, but this old favourite from a decade ago was exactly right. the hot, moist air left behind by the storm had dissipated slightly after dinner but the smell of ozone remained. after this tempestuous opening, the weather became benign and conducive to morning coffee, walking about, and long dinners. a nice time was had by all, with some exceptions.

i flew from dc to sfo for a wedding in pescadero. this was great (as you can see). san francisco is ever the same: hills, beautiful weather, wondrous produce, happy people, great coffee (also see here), in-n-out, krispy kreme, and many dogs. but, you ask, where is the moral fibre? this is a good question. then some very last minute negotiations saw me abandoning my ticket from sfo to boston and flying instead to copenhagen again, for planting thoughts, a symposium about the future of food. the one thing you don't expect on arriving in copenhagen, but which is marvelous, is an indian dinner. behind the scenes, the organization of this first mad symposium was fraught. the morning of the first day, an enormous thunderstorm nearly brought down the symposium's circus tent and left the field completely saturated. locals came wearing waders and rainboots. i spent the week squelching around, never completely dry. but meeting lots of interesting people. symposium details here.

back to cambridge in september. i sat down to digest hundreds of pages of fieldnotes from the summer and write a dissertation prospectus. it would not be inappropriate to describe these two processes as "slow," or even "meandering." in october, the new hi-rise on wendell street finally opened to general rejoicing. by intent, its ceiling looks like the scrubbed pine floor of a swedish farmhouse.

the fall was brilliant: warm and dry. a good growing season in the northeast, so the markets overflowed (the apples were particularly good this year, if difficult to identify). it was not perfect weather for making kimchi, but the process seemed to work anyway. late in the season, various individuals converged on stockbridge, MA; some of us made a return visit to nudel, in lenox. we hope this will be an annual event.

now, we are in the depths of winter, but fall hasn't really left us. other than several hours of wet slush during a visit from some detroit food entrepreneurs and a few isolated flakes on christmas morning, we have had no snow. this winter has been unseasonably warm, in contrast with last winter which was brutal and involved many days of wintry mix and glassy frozen sidewalks. to celebrate, i freed myself from the tyranny of AT&T and apple.

the days are short but they've begun to lengthen again. in the late afternoons, it is nice to lie on the floor under the skylight and doze off in the sunshine while pretending to read an Important Scholarly Paper. the river flowing right outside my window remains ice-free. and today, on the first day of 2012, i went for a run in the sun and a t-shirt.

i'm grateful for small things and big things too.

limitation

a discussion in the car during a long drive back from new hampshire brought this back to top of mind, where it should really always be.

One tires of living in the country, one moves to the city; one is tired of one's native land, one travels abroad; one is europamüde, one goes to America, and so on; finally one dreams of traveling endlessly from star to star. Or the movement is different but the same. One tires of porcelain dishes, one dines off silver; one tires of that, one dines off gold; one burns half of Rome to get an idea of the conflagration at Troy. This method defeats itself: it is the bad infinite. What did Nero achieve? Antonine was wiser; he says, "It is in your power to review your life, to look at things you saw before, from another point of view."

The method I propose consists not in changing the soil but, as in the real rotation of crops, in changing the method of cultivation and type of grain. Here, immediately, we have the principle of limitation, which is the only saving one in the world. The more you limit yourself, the more resourceful you become. A prisoner in solitary confinement for life is most resourceful, a spider can cause him much amusement.

søren kierkegaard, either/or

also relevant: renunciation, words from a totem animal, hugh of st. victor, the inner chapters, little gidding, and ithaka. below, the original german:

Diese Wechselwirtschaft ist die vulgäre, die unkünstlerische, und hat ihren Grund in einer Illusion. Man mag nicht mehr auf dem Lande leben, und reist deshalb in die Residenz; man mag nicht mehr in seinem Vaterlande leben, man reist ins Ausland; man ist »europamüde« und reist nach Amerika u.s.w.; man schwelgt in der schwärmerischen Hoffnung einer unendlichen Reise von einem Stern zum andern. Oder die Bewegung nimmt eine andre, wenn auch noch extensivere Richtung. Man mag nicht mehr von Porzellan essen, man ißt von Silber oder von Gold; man brennt das halbe Rom ab, um den Brand Trojas zu sehen. Diese Methode hebt sich selber auf. Denn was erreichte Nero? Nein, da war Kaiser Antonio klüger, er sagt: anabiônai soi exestin; ide palin ta pragmata, hôs heôras; en toutô gar to anabiônai.

Die Methode, die ich vorschlage, liegt nicht darin, daß man immer neues Land nimmt; man würde dann auch bald am Ende sein. Die wahre Wechselwirtschaft besteht darin, daß man bald diese, bald jene Methode wählt und mit der Saat wechselt. Und da haben wir auch gleich das Prinzip der Beschränkung, das einzige, welches uns retten kann. Je mehr man sich selber beschränkt, um so erfinderischer wird nun. Ein Gefangener, der sein ganzes Leben in einsamer Zelle zubringen muß, von allen andern Gefangenen abgeschlossen, ist sehr erfinderisch; eine Spinne kann ihm die größte Unterhaltung sein. Hier haben wir das Prinzip, das durch seine Intensität, nicht durch seine Extensität Befriedigung sucht.

mowing

There was never a sound beside the wood but one,
And that was my long scythe whispering to the ground.
What was it it whispered? I knew not well myself;
Perhaps it was something about the heat of the sun,
Something, perhaps, about the lack of sound—
And that was why it whispered and did not speak.
It was no dream of the gift of idle hours,
Or easy gold at the hand of fay or elf:
Anything more than the truth would have seemed too weak
To the earnest love that laid the swale in rows,
Not without feeble-pointed spikes of flowers
(Pale orchises), and scared a bright green snake.
The fact is the sweetest dream that labor knows.
My long scythe whispered and left the hay to make.

robert frost, a boy's will, 1915