An unlikely UI lesson

The UPS man delivered a package from Amazon (the Belkin Rockstar, mentioned here). He handed me the electronic tablet/scanner for me to sign, but when I grabbed it, the signature screen was no longer visible.

“Sorry, I don’t see the signature line.”

“Yeah, that happens all the time. The most comfortable way for a right-hander to sign means they grab on the left and hit this button by mistake.”

He handed it back to me and I was careful to keep my thumb out of the way.

I wonder if UPS, when speaking to the tablet designer about the next revision, will solicit comments from the route drivers. They seem to have an innate knowledge of interface efficiencies, from the optimal load-in of a day’s packages to the placement of buttons on their most important tool.

And if Amazon learned the same lesson about the Kindle, maybe the next version won’t place the page button below the natural resting position for the left thumb.

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My brother, the genius

Chris at Electric Lady Studios

Chris at Electric Lady Studios

My younger brother Chris has won three Grammy awards in his career as a recording engineer and producer. Two of those are for Bob Dylan records: “Love and Theft,” and Modern Times.

He contributed some remastered tracks to The Bootleg Series, Vol. 8: Tell Tale Signs Rare and Unreleased 1989-2006, the release of which prompted the usual spate of Dylan career retrospective articles, some of which include interviews with Chris. One is from Uncut, a British magazine that ran a series about everyone  – musicians, engineers, and producers – who worked on the songs in the compilation.

He was also featured in EQ magazine in an article that focused on the more technical aspects of recording Dylan. The photo above is from that article, even though the Dylan sessions didn’t take place at Electric Lady.

He’s come a long way from interning at a studio that specialized in hair metal and hip-hop recordings. I claim a small amount of responsibility in pointing him in that direction, but that’s a story for a different post.

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Potato Paradise

Miles interrupted my dinner prep one night, saying “Dad, I think you need to make this soon.” He handed me a sheet of paper written on both sides:

Potato Paradise Recipe

Potato Paradise Recipe

The recipe is for Patato [sic] Paradise:

Things you need:

  • potatoes
  • potato chips
  • frozen fries (any kind you want)
  • mashed potatoes
  • cooking utensils
  • knife

How to start:

  1. Turn on the oven to any degree you want
  2. Mash half of the potatoes (save some leftovers)
  3. Put in frozen fries (and mashed potatoes) in the oven
  4. Smash chips
  5. Wait then serve and enjoy!

For his first attempt, it was a recipe that I could follow knowing his intent. I clearly didn’t have to mash the mashed potatoes again, and the crushed chips were meant to be a garnish once the other potatoes came out of the oven. I was impressed that he realized the fries could go into the mixture frozen, knowing they’d cook with the mashed potatoes. I guessed at an oven temperature of 400 degrees.

About a week after receiving the recipe I made Potato Paradise under Miles’ close supervision. It looked like what you’d expect:

Potato Paradise

Potato Paradise

I served, and we enjoyed. The leftover mashed potatoes were a stiff batch, so they crisped up on the sides and bottom of the pan. The fires on top got crispy, those inside the mix didn’t. It tasted good, like a deconstructed tater tot. I’ll probably make it again, without the interior fries – maybe a layer on the bottom of the pan.

I’ve been advised that there are more recipes to come. They’re currently being worked out in the test kitchen in his head.

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The C Word

Miles is halfway through the fourth grade, which has been pretty good for him. Now that he’s back in school after a long holiday break, some of his old behaviors have temporarily re-emerged. He gets frustrated when class sections last longer than expected, and he also gets agitated when he doesn’t immediately understand a new topic. Not a good combination for this week, in which some new math concepts and cursive handwriting have been introduced.

Yesterday his teacher reported that he had used some inappropriate language to express his displeasure with the day’s work, so when we got home, I asked him what he said.

“I used the c word, the f word, and the s word.”

I thought “He called his teacher a cunt? That will have to be dealt with,” but I asked him “What’s the c word?”

“You know – ‘crap’ – I know it’s not allowed.”

Greatly relieved, I maintained my stern expression while agreeing “You’re right, it’s not allowed. The classroom is not the place for that kind of language.”

Sooner or later he may wind up with a teacher he may want to describe as a cunt. But, thankfully, not yet.

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Best. Pasta Name. Ever.

I was watching the most recent Iron Chef America, in which Bobby Flay competed against Sabrina Tinsley in Battle Fresh Beans (yawn). Tinsley’s an Italian chef, so I expected her to make pasta. About halfway through the show she rolled out what I thought would be squid ink tagliatelle, but she took each strip, folded it in half, and rolled it together in the palms of her hands to make short, thick ropes of pasta.

Host Alton Brown, seeing what she was making, yelled “priest chokers!” Tinsley confirmed that she indeed was making strozzapreti, which translates as “priest chokers.” She went on to explain that the pasta was from one of the communist areas of Italy (I didn’t realize Italian communists were relegated to one denominazione) where they didn’t like priests.

Lydia Bastianich – who applies the name to ricotta and spinach dumplings – has a different explanation:

According to an old tale, these delicious ricotta and spinach dumplings got their name when a gluttonous priest ate too many of them too quickly.

I prefer the more malevolent explanation; it reminds me of Diderot’s quote “Men will never be free until the last king is strangled with the entrails of the last priest.”

Here’s what the pasta looks like in a typical pesto preparation:

Strozzapreti al pesto di basilico e zucchine

Strozzapreti al pesto di basilico e zucchine

I think I’ll try making this soon. With a name like “priest chokers” it has to be good.

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When gadgets mate

I have a small collection of music-making gadgets: a Buddha Machine II, ElektroPlankton and the Korg DS-10 for my Nintendo DS, and Bloom (by Brian Eno) and RjDj Album on my iPhone.

Today I found this video via the Create Digital Music blog:

It never occurred to me to use all of the programs at once until I saw this. My Rockstar headphone splitter arrives on Monday, and then the bad music begins! I may even post my own video of the results.

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Lobster Bisque

After gorging ourselves on cheap lobster on New Year’s Eve, I dealt with the leftovers. I removed the meat from the knuckles (the sections between the claws and body), then set the shells and cleaned bodies in water to simmer for a few hours. I passed the lobster broth through a chinois a few times and then set it over low heat to reduce overnight to make lobster stock.

Last night I sweated a mirepoix and some herbs, added the stock, chopped tomatoes, sherry, white wine, and white rice and simmered everything for half an hour. I pureed the resulting soup  in a blender, then added a cup of heavy cream. A gentle reheat to warm up the leftover lobster meat, and presto! – lobster bisque:

Lobster Bisque

Lobster Bisque

Very tasty, and I remembered to add the chopped chives before serving (new resolution – pay more attention to plating).  Miles liked it, even though he had expressed some skepticism after watching me make the stock (“It smells funny.”).

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Like Alton Brown on Steroids

I realize I lied in the purple applesauce post about watching only two cooking shows. I also watch Gordon Ramsay’s The F Word and Heston Blumenthal’s In Search of Perfection. Both of those, however, are downloaded from the BBC, so I don’t have to watch them on a broadcast schedule.

One of my Xmas gifts was Blumenthal’s The Big Fat Duck Cookbook, the fourth huge molecular gastronomy cookbook published this year (the other three being A Day at El Bulli by Ferran Adria, Alinea by Grant Achatz, and Under Pressure by Thomas Keller). He mentions his TV series in the “History” section of the book, so I located the shows and have been watching them over the last few days.

Blumenthal is obsessed with creating the perfect version of a particular food. Thus far I have watched him create “perfect” bangers & mash, treacle tart, black forest torte, fish & chips, and steak & salad. The shows are beatifully produced, and his enthusiasm is genuine without being intimidating. (It still kills me that the man who runs what is considered one of the best restaurants in the world is completely self-taught.)

As Di & I watched the steak episode, in which the first step is to take a blowtorch to the meat to give it a crust, I said “He’s like Alton Brown (of Good Eats) on steroids.”

I have a blowtorch, and I know how to use it. Watch this space, or look for the “third degree burns” tagged posting.

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The Place Where All the History Comes From

We live in the Prospect Hill neighborhood of Somerville, just a block below the crest of the hill. There’s a tower at the top, with a flagpole flying an early American flag. It’s the Grand Union Flag, and it was first flown atop Prospect Hill on January 1, 1776, by George Washington, who was encamped there after his retreat from the Battle of Bunker Hill. The flag was raised in defiance of the British command, who could see it from Boston Harbor. I see it every day when I look out my office window:

Grand Union flag, Prospect Hill

Grand Union flag, Prospect Hill

Continue reading

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Zombie Dick Clark Wants Our Brains!

It’s hard not to stop at Dick Clark New Year’s Rockin’ Eve when channel surfing for the best countdown from Times Square. Ryan Seacrest now handles most of the intros and blather, but he still kicks back to Dick for color commentary. And that’s when it gets scary: Dick’s skin is drawn back on his head like a wax mask, he moves in spastic jerks, and he slurs his speech.

The official explanation is that Dick had a stroke in 2004, and he’s still recovering. I beg to differ. Dick is an 83-year-old zombie, and he needs an increasing number of brains to maintain his youthful appearance. But it’s not working as well as it used to. That’s why he manages to herd thousands of young people into Times Square every year: so he can feed. We never see what happens after the ball drops, when the more drunk and stupid of the attendees (and you have to be pretty drunk and stupid to crowd into a space with no bathrooms or exits) are herded into the “police vans” and brought to his hotel suite.

You be the judge. Look at this photo from 2006:

Why is Dick smiling?

Why is Dick smiling?

Run, I tell you, RUN!

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