Windy day and beet soup recipe

We didn’t get the wind in Burnaby that was forecast yet; I’m assuming the coast got it.

It’s the kind of day when you feel good about grating beets and finely slicing cabbage for borscht.

It’s a dead simple recipe: boil six cups of water (less if you want it SOLID, more if you’re liking more broth), peel and grate three medium sized beets, finely slice a quarter of a head of cabbage, (adjust balance of veg for preferences) & throw them into the water, add a heaping teaspoon of Better than Bouillon vegetarian salt paste, a quarter teaspoon pepper, a quarter teaspoon garlic powder, a little hand ground basil, and it’s food in half an hour of a steady low boil and ambrosia nuked the next day. I chopped some scallions, parsley and yellow pepper to throw on top, and there’s greek yogurt in the fridge.

brO and I were dreading the season opener of the Rookie but it kicked ass. We heard lines of dialogue we never expected to hear from the show. Very welcome change from the overwrought magical bad guy shit at the end of the last season.

I knew I’d have lunchbag letdown from yesterday so I’ve been babying myself today (CBD gummy early in the day – I don’t take them every day) and it’s worked well. I’m halfway through a letter to Dave, finished all my Trotsky Tuesdays for January, am making song lists for stuff I can record and post in two seconds when I’m behind the eight-ball for deadlines, and contemplating the fifty stamps I just bought, uncoiling like two misshapen tentacles over the dishwasher, with a lazy smile.

I can hear Jeff getting borscht, I’ll join him.


Inaugural Trotsky Tuesday

I used to think that I wanted to make a baseball card art collection of anarchists and revolutionaries, but I’ll do this instead. Each week I’ll present an agitator new to me — or an old friend. I don’t know if I would have liked Emma Goldman in real life… she’d have a lot to say about how lazy I am, although I’m working on it.

Emma Goldman on Wikipedia.

A review of her autobiography on C4SS

She lived in Toronto for a while. Every time I walked or took transit past Dundas and Spadina, I would think of her. I wrote a story about her and Kropotkin when I was living in Montréal; if I find it I’ll append it although I will probably need to retype the damned thing if I do find it.