Red Shirt Rally Day 49: Standoff Continues

Yesterday, the Red Shirts attempted to leave their positions in Central Bangkok to go to Pathum Thani.  By the way, this is on the opposite side of town from where we live. It's not clear why the Red Shirts were going there. Perhaps it was to test the government's attempt to keep them hemmed inside the area called Rajaprasong intersection. Andy saw the procession from his office which is located in the northwest suburbs.  Later, I read in the Nation online, that a confrontation with riot police and soldiers resulted in the death of a soldier and several injuries. Later reports said the soldier was killed by friendly fire. In any case, the Reds eventually withdrew. Back to their original positions, presumably. And that's how it stands: no better, but a little bit worse.

Cake Monday: Orange Glow Chiffon Cake

This cake has a wonderful orange aroma and the slightly tangy taste of tangerine orange zest. It is light, moist, and tender. According to the author, this cake only has 129 mg. of cholesterol per slice.

Have at room temperature:

• 2 1/2 cups sifted cake flour
• 1 1/2 cups superfine sugar, divided
• 2 teaspoons baking powder
• 1/2 teaspoon salt
• 1/2 cup safflower oil (I used sunflower)
• 7 large eggs, separated + 3 egg whites (total: 1/2 cup yolks, 1 1/4 cup whites)
• 3/4 cup fresh squeezed orange juice (about 5 small tangerine oranges)
• 2 tablespoons orange zest (2 tangerine oranges)
• 1 teaspoon vanilla
• 1 1/4 teaspoon cream of tartar

Preheat oven 325 degrees F. Prepare 1 ungreased 10 inch two-piece tube pan. Reserve 2 tablespoons sugar for the egg whites.

In a large bowl, combine flour, the remaining sugar, baking powder, and salt. Mix on low speed for 1 minute. Make a well in the center. Add egg yolks, oil, juice, zest, and vanilla. Beat for 1 minute.

In another large bowl, beat the egg whites until frothy. Add the cream of tartar and beat until soft peaks form. Add the reserved sugar and beat until stiff peaks form. Add the egg whites to the egg yolk mixture. Fold in with a balloon whisk or a slotted skimmer until just blended.

Pour into the tube pan. The batter will come up to 1 inch from the top. Run a small sharp knife through the batter several times to eliminate air pockets. Bake 55 minutes or until a cake tester inserted in the center comes out clean. Invert the pan over the narrow neck of a bottle and cool completely in a draft-free place.

To un-mold the cake, loosen the sides and center core with a long metal spatula. Invert onto a greased wire rack and loosen the bottom and center core. Re-invert onto a serving plate or wrap airtight. Serve with a dusting of powdered sugar, if desired, or decorate with flowers.

Red Shirt Rally Day 43: Explosions in Bangkok BTS Station

I want to reassure all our family and friends that we are okay.

You have no doubt heard about the bomb attacks here in Bangkok. Last evening while commuters were going home, there were 5 grenade explosions at the Saladaeng BTS station in the business district. One person, a Thai, was killed and dozens were injured. This is so sad, because it seems that the stand-off will continue.

For how much longer? No one knows.

Buttermilk Country Cake

Some bakers say butter cakes and pound cakes are ideal for beginning bakers, but I've been having an over-mixing problem with these cakes. That slice has more holes than Swiss cheese!

The creme fraiche topping is excellent and so easy to make. Not as sweet as a frosting, it is slightly tangy. I admit the bananas aren't a very country touch, but peaches just weren't available at Tops Supermarket in the City of Angels. 

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Cake Monday: Chocolate Chiffon Cake

Rose Levy Beranbaum calls this Chocolate Chiffon Cake "guilt free" in The Cake Bible (1988), because, she says,  one slice of this cake only has 110mg of cholesterol. Since I started baking, I've moved on from butter cakes to chiffon and sponge cakes. I find butter cakes more challenging. However, this version is my second attempt at this chiffon cake recipe. The first time around, the chocolate batter was too stiff. I had mis-read the recipe and only used 1/4 cup of boiling water instead of 3/4 cup to make the chocolate mixture. I started over again, and now I have 1/3 cup cocoa powder left in my pantry and 8 1/2 ounces of egg whites left over in the refrigerator. A third cup cocoa powder isn't enough to make a cake but I suppose I can make an egg white omelet!

I combined the egg whites into the chocolate batter using a slotted skimmer. This is not a common kitchen implement; it's a spatula with a round head filled with tiny holes.  For cooking Chinese food, I thought the only use for a slotted skimmer is to drain deep-fried wontons and spring rolls. Since I now eschew anything deep-fried, I found another use for the skimmer: removing blanched asparagus spears and sugar snap peas from boiling water. Now I have yet another use for it! It worked really well blending the egg whites into the batter without over-mixing the batter or deflating the whipped egg whites. The finished height of this chiffon cake is 4 inches at the edges and 4 1/2 inches in the center. I trimmed the top to make it even all around. The scraps were delicious!

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Letters from Thailand, Revisited: The Soi Dog's Gamble

It is Gigi's third Songkran since she came to live in our house, and it's a reminder that she needs her annual shots. It's something I face with trepidation; Gigi just does not have good relationships with cars or vets.  Each trip to the vet was fraught with drama and injury. I still have the scars. It's gotten easier since the vet at the paak soi is willing to make house calls just for Gigi's sake. I've forgiven him everything just for that. 

This afternoon, Andy called; we're on our way. He had left the fishing hole early to pick up the vet at his clinic. When they arrived, Gigi took one look at the vet and barked sharply. I tied her up to a post and  muzzled her. The doc held up his syringe and approached. Andy and I both grabbed her sharp end while the doc busied himself with the back end. Gigi suddenly relaxed. I couldn't see anything happening behind me. Is it over? I asked. It was as easy as that. 

Later this year Gigi's vet will become our neighbor. At the opposite end of the cul-de-sac, he and his fiancee are building two houses, one for them and the other for the parents. They will move in after the wedding in August. I think this is going to be the beginning of a beautiful relationship for Gigi and her doctor, who will have many more fond memories of her. 

Friday, September 21, 2007

Dear Ones:

We decided to get Gigi the Mutt spayed last Sunday. It was a traumatic event for all of us.

We knew it wouldn't be easy. Taking Gigi to the vet is never a pleasant experience.  She hates the car.  This is because she has never left the yard in 3 years since she first arrived next door as a puppy. When we got her she never had her shots,  never had been wormed, and never had been spayed. She was healthy but I remembered what happened to Coffee Bean, our puppy that died of distemper. I didn't want to take any chances. So March was Gigi's first trip ever in the car as well as her first visit ever to the vet for her shots and de-worming. Her second trip three months later was to have her toenails trimmed. She didn't like that either. As a result, I bought a nail clipper and now I do it myself to avoid unnecessary trips to the vet.

As for the spaying, the vet said wait six months after you've had her to give her time to adjust to her new surroundings. Well, it's been six months and I was the one that pushed for having her spayed. Andy was against it from the start, knowing how much she hates the car because all of her trips have been to the vet and none of them were pleasant experiences. Still, when I weighed the consequences of allowing her to come into season I felt the good outweighed the bad. I made the appointment for Sunday at 8 a.m. Gigi was supposed to be NPO (nothing by mouth) for 12 hours before the surgery.

We lined the trunk of my hatchback with shower curtains.  Gigi balked when I brought her to the back of the car. I bodily lifted her into the trunk, handed Andy the leash to hold until I could clamber into the backseat and take the leash from him. That done we set off for the paak soi (the vet's office is at the top of Soi 93). Gigi shivered and panted.

At the vet's office, Andy dropped us off. He had to go back home because he forgot to bring his golf shoe to the shoemaker to repair. Meanwhile, the vet, his English-speaking assistant and I tried to restrain Gigi so that the vet could give her the shots. She did not like the first shot he gave her. But I thought that was the only one. I was shocked when he said, he hadn't given her the sedative yet. That was the shot to dry up her saliva.

I thought he should have given Gigi the sedative first. It didn't matter at all now, because she was really angry and refused to be restrained. She broke free of the muzzle I put on her, scratched my arm and grazed my finger with her teeth. The vet paused to wipe my arm with alcohol and betadine. He slapped a large piece of gauze and tape over the wound. His assistant gave me a cottonball soaked in alcohol for my finger. There had to be a better way, but he didn't offer us one, and it was too late to stop now.

When Andy got back, he was horrified at the situation. He was all set to go back home, but then what? I got the muzzle back on Gigi and fastened it tightly. He thought quickly. Andy knew that there was no way he was going to be party to bringing that poor dog back to have stitches removed. He told the vet he wanted dissolvable stitches. He held Gigi's head and I held her front legs. The assistant held on to Gigi's back legs, the safer end. The vet jabbed. Gigi snapped and clambered off the table.

In 5 minutes she went from standing, to sitting, to lying down. Back on the table, she protested weakly when he jabbed her again to start the IV. Andy and I left the vet and his assistant to work. Out in the market, Andy and I looked around for breakfast. I didn't see anything appetizing.  I went into the 7-11 to buy a band-aid for my finger and a microwave dinner for breakfast. At least it was hot. Andy's meal was cold.  

We went back to the vet's. Surgery was still in progress. I reminded Andy we might need the plastic hood so he went back home to get it. While he was gone, a car pulled up and two women came into the office leading another small yellow Mutt on a chain. They came prepared with a hood, an old towel, and wads of paper towel.  This Mutt looked amazingly like Gigi, with one ear up and the other down, the same sharp nose, and that disgraceful curled tail defiantly announcing her mongrelhood. Her nose was pink whereas Gigi's is all black. She promptly went into a squat and decorated the floor copiously.

The older of the two women clucked her tongue in annoyance and looked around the reception area for tools to clean up the mess. I, however, was prepared for this with a supply of plastic bags in my pocketbook neatly folded into triangles. I gave the older woman one. Andy came back just in time to translate. He saw, as I did, that this dog resembled Gigi very much. He asked them her name. As she cleaned up the mess, the woman laughed and told us  that the dog's name is Long, which in Thai means "lost." She was the only survivor of a litter of puppies that had been abandoned by the mother. The women told us, rather matter of factly, that they think field rats carried off the other puppies. Life and death is a soi dog's gamble.

Lost was very active and the women were constantly scolding her and threatening her with a rolled up newspaper. The poor pup was never praised for doing anything right. I think she just did whatever came naturally and took the consequences.  She was nine months old but she was the same size as Gigi. Like Gigi, Long is a snake-catcher but not an experienced one. The younger woman said Long was bitten by a snake recently but that the vet was able to save her.  She was supposed to be NPO too, laughed the elder woman as she rested her bare feet on Long's chain, but Long ate mud instead. Now they were bringing her in to be spayed too.

There was no recovery room period. The vet gave Gigi a shot of antibiotic. She never knew it. Gigi was still unconscious when he helped Andy to put her in the car trunk. Only the whites of her eyes were showing. They laid her on top of the shower curtains. Long watched, unaware that the same thing would soon happen to her too. The vet gave me a batch of pills and instructions--Andy translated. He said she might wake up in a couple of hours but she'd be groggy the whole day. She might or might not eat.

On the way home, Andy told me that "Grandma" the old lady in our cul-de-sac was ninety-one that day and her family have invited us to her birthday lunch. Grandma likes to sit at her front gate and watch the comings and goings of her neighbors. I wai her and she wais back. She thinks I speak Chinese when I am speaking English. Andy understands what she's saying because I've never heard her speak Thai. 

Honestly, I was so tired I really didn't feel like a party. We got back home. Andy backed the car in the carport and we put Gigi's inert body on the porch next to a bowl of food and water, just in case. There was a catering truck for Grandma's party in our cul-de-sac and another just arriving with  a grill on the flatbed.  Food, plates and utensils were spread  all over tables beneath the umbrellas set up in the street. Thunder rumbled. It would rain. I saw dishes of marinated chicken's feet waiting for the pot. The car port of Grandma's house was already set with tables and chairs for the guests.

We went in to wish Grandma happy birthday bringing her some Chinese green-bean cakes.  She was so delighted with all the fuss everyone was making over her birthday. Her son invited us to stay but Andy declined. For one thing, I don't speak Thai well enough to carry on a conversation, and he was anxious to get going after giving up his morning at the fishing hole. Of course, the fact he was wearing his fishing t-shirt, the one that says "here fishy, fishy, fishy..." says it all.

As the party progressed, I could hear thunder rolling. Gigi was still asleep but now the pupils of her eyes began to show. It was so unusual not to see her trying to hide from the thunder. Two days ago, both Andy and I were out during a thunderstorm. When we came home, Gigi complained aggrievedly at our inconsiderateness. She had muddy paws and a wet coat. Judging from her paw tracks, I think she first tried to hide in the flower bed then she climbed up on the "fish tank," the storage bins in the carport,  where she left a lavish impression in mud, Jackson Pollack style,  both on the wall and on the hinged lid of the fish tank. Along the way,  she left a splotch on the door where she had scratched at it in the vain hope we had somehow got past her and were in the house. Silly Mutt.

That evening, Ginda came over to wash the cars with Boong. Gigi had moved slightly but she was still sleeping. I slipped the plastic hood over her head. She's going to have to wear it for 2 weeks until the stitches dissolve. Andy and I went out to dinner. When we came back home, Ginda and Boong had gone home. They had lit a coil of mosquito incense and left it near  the sleeping Gigi. They really like the dog; they will buy her ice cream and Ginda will bring her chicken bones as a treat. (I know what you are thinking,  but Andy says Thai dogs know how to eat chicken bones!)

On Monday evening we stopped at the vet's to pick up Gigi's worm medicine. His English-speaking assistant wasn't there. Just him. I know he can speak English but he just prefers not to. I had to ask him. Why, I said, didn't you give her the sedative first? He said that he had to give Gigi some medicine before the sedative, otherwise he would have had to use a higher dose of sedative which would have been dangerous. I held up my arms, the bandaged finger and forearm.  There had to have been a better way to put her under. He just laughed. I don't know why he laughed.

The bandage on Gigi's underbelly is beginning to fall off. There is no way she will let us take it off so we'll just let it fall off by itself. There is no way she'll let us put a fresh bandage on either. But there is no pus or bleeding, and  by midweek Gigi was back to normal, eating, pooping, and peeing, so I think she is on the mend. At first she was stiff getting in and out of her cage...I said to Gigi, I know how you feel, girl.  After my fibroid surgery, I was stiff and sore too.  Bless Andy, who had the foresight on that horrible morning, to insist on dissolvable stitches.

Both Gigi and I have souvenirs of  Sunday's trauma.  It cost Baht 2,550 (approximately US$75.00) plus 15 baht (about US 45 cents) for bandaids at 7-11.  I couldn't believe that the vet actually charged me Baht 50 for the dressing he put on my arm! The fact remains that what should have been done when Gigi was a pup like Long has now been done. I realize there are some truths I'll never be able to change. She'll never like cars. She'll never trust vets. And she'll never have puppies.

I sit here irritably fanning myself through another hot flash, and I wonder, why is it fertility and its complications occupy us so much? I thought of the other two women at the vet's. Fertility is a "female problem" that transcends cultures and crosses species. Long's mother took her chances to have her litter in an archetypal urban jungle filled with the usual stock characters, people and other vermin. It's not a kinder, gentler world in the sois of Bangkok. Like Gigi, Long was rescued from the streets and given a home. They are among the lucky ones.

Walk good,
Jo Anne

Red Shirt Rally Day 37: Keeping Law and Order in Bangkok

When police commandos went to arrest the leaders of the Red Shirts at a Bangkok hotel, they observed one of them climbing out the hotel window in classic style (knotted bedsheets) and dropping to the street below.  Come on, man,  we're here to arrest you. Such disrespect for law and order. It was too humiliating for the Men in Khaki, especially since the protesters took two senior police commanders hostage. To show they are really, really, REALLY serious now, the government has appointed the army chief to head the state-of-emergency operations.

Red Shirt Rally Days 32 & 33: Songkran Respite

 Traveling in a Tuk-Tuk

Nonthaburi, Thailand

People forget, amidst the raucous fun of the water fights, that Songkran (Thai New Year) is a holiday of solemn remembrance, that water is a gift and a blessing to be poured over the shoulders of a Buddha statue and upon the hands of the elder generation. For the moment hostilities between Red Shirts and the government have ceased. Deadly weapons on the street have been replaced by water pistols, hoses, squirters, even bathing bowls have been pressed into service, so dire is the need to have fun; a fun-loving three-day drenching despite the emergency decree forbidding gatherings of more than 5 people.

For Songkran, we decided to stay close to home because of the uncertainty of the political situation, afraid that if we left the city, the roads might be closed either by the government or by the protesters. Jamaicans have a derisive term for people who become tourists in their country of residence, dry-land tourist. Nonetheless, it was either go out or stay at home and be a prisoner of the sort of siege mentality that is now taking over the city. So on Monday, we visited Wat Traimit in Yaowarat (Chinatown) and on Tuesday we visited Koh Kred (Kred Island) in the middle of the Chao Phraya River.

There is a wonderful story about the Buddha statue in Wat Traimit. Also known as the Temple of the Golden Buddha, Wat Traimit has a three-meter (10 foot) tall solid gold Buddha statue that was made during the Sukhothai period. It is at least 900 years old. At the time, the political situation was precarious (nothing has changed) and so, to protect the statue and to prevent it falling into the hands of the invading Burmese, the image was covered in stucco. This hidden treasure was forgotten over time, until a piece of the stucco cracked when the statue was moved, revealing the glint of gold.

We picked up Nicky at his house and went down to Yaowarat to meet his mother, Lek, at the temple. She told us that she and her sister went to the temple school when they were little children. Her brothers were taught separately by the monks, as is the custom. We had also wanted to see the Chinatown Heritage Museum but it was closed Mondays and we didn't know that. Another day, another trip.

Still, there is a lot to see in Yaowarat. There are temples in unexpected places tucked between shophouses and popping up at the end of a dark alley.  We walked down streets and alley-ways, most of the shops were closed for the holiday. I had never seen Chinatown so quiet before. The mantra still stands: if you have it someone will buy it. Just not today.

We went to Lek's store to say hello to her brother and after that we set out again. Lek led us unerringly through a maze of streets and alleys, straight down one of those t-shaped alleys. At the end of the stem was another temple. I could see the goddess Kuan Im (Quan Yin, the Goddess of Mercy in the Chinese pantheon) in her avatar as the Avalokiteshvara (AH-vah-low-key-tesh-wah-ra), with a thousand arms, each wrist tied with sai sin or sacred string. The original multi-tasker, I thought. We were actually looking for lunch, but even good restaurants in Chinatown are secrets.  At the end of the crossbar on the right was a tiny place no bigger than my dining room filled with people patiently waiting to be fed. Unfortunately, all the tables were filled.

Since we were disappointed at lunch, we went in search of Jao Mae Tuptim, the Ruby Goddess Mother, and my guardian. This trip took us into Pahurat, known locally as the Indian Market, which is well known for fabrics and the site of the Sikh temple with its golden onion domes. Right next door was the temple of the Ruby Goddess Mother, dark and mysterious and smelling of smoke. She didn't have multiple arms, just a kind  face, the tiny figure of her attendant draped in strings of pearls,  offerings from her devotees. In 2003, when I first met the Ruby Goddess Mother on the advice of the fortune teller, the temple attendant had pointed out the Avalokiteshvara to me. It now seems that she hadn't wanted to disappoint me for traveling all the way from Bangkok and not see the Goddess. So she had pointed to the Avalokiteshvara instead. After all, the gods (and goddesses) are in heaven and you're praying to the same place. The Chinese religion, I've found, is eminently pragmatic.

Lek and I each shook a prayer canister and a bamboo stick fell out. She got number 13 and I got 20. We found our fortunes in a numbered rack on the wall. Mine said that after a period of adversity, riches will come. Soon. Lek laughed and said, it always says "soon" never says when. As a Jamaican, I can understand that. Soon come.  All in due time.

After our trip to Chinatown, the next day we headed north along the river to Koh Kred. Koh Kred was deeded to the Mon people over two hundred years ago by the Thai king for helping defend his kingdom.  The Mon originally came from Burma and today they are potters, creating a distinctive unglazed orange pottery with highly decorative patterns etched into the clay while it is still soft enough to work.

The day began with a drive to the northwest suburbs of Bangkok, to Nonthaburi. Underneath the Rama IV bridge is a different world of boats selling kway teo rua which you can eat out of a bowl sitting on straw mats spread in the shade of the bridge. From here, we parked the car also under the bridge, and got on a long-tail boat to Koh Kred.

After a 5 minute boat ride, we alighted in Koh Kred. We walked along the raised walkways adjacent to the river and turned inland a bit. It looked like some Bangkok neighborhoods must have looked 60 years ago; pastoral, a bit broken down, but proudly faded.  We passed a disused turtle kiln and a dusty museum where I snapped this picture of a map of Koh Kred.

Outside was a shady stall by a trickling creek, where they still make cafe boran or old-fashioned coffee filtered in a muslin strainer. The lady there told us the history of the island. They are very proud of their Mon heritage and the children go to school learning both Mon and Thai. Very enlightened, I thought. Andy paid 60 baht for his cafe boran and he got to keep his coffee cup, a glazed ceramic mug.

We rented bicycles to bike around the island but the narrow elevated walkways were crowded with children celebrating Songkran, and I was afraid to collide with them, or worse, fall into the river (there are no handrails). I went back to the bike shop and waited for Andy and AJ to come back. Meanwhile, I made considerable headway into Stieg Larsson's  The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo. I wrote about it to the Evergreen Book Club, this Google Group that Fei Min and I belong to. It's a busy book, packed with every conceivable trope in the crime thriller genre. But that's for another discussion.

Back at the river again, we were herded into this shed with 50 other people, other dry-land tourists escaping Bangkok for a day. We crossed the river into the city, leaving behind this other world that is a step out of time.

Red Shirt Rally Day 32: The Latest Twist

The Election Commission has announced that the ruling Democrat Party must be dissolved for the alleged failure to report campaign contributions from a large corporation. If the Constitution Court concurs, then Prime Minister Abhisit Vejjajiva would be out of a job. In fact, his government could be tossed out. If so, this would be the second time it has happened to a sitting Prime Minister in the last two years. In 2008, Somchai Wongsawat lost the job after the Court ruled against his People Power Party for alleged vote buying. At the time, he was also facing a political impasse because the Yellow Shirts (the anti-government protesters of the day) were his most vocal opponents, having occupied the two airports and Government House.

After the Red Shirt protests turned deadly last weekend, the protesters have declared their demand Yubsapha! (Dissolve parliament now!) is non-negotiable. The victims of the violence are martyrs and their cause is just; they cannot waste their blood by negotiating with the government.  If the timing of the EC decision is appalling, well, it may be an indicator that the Prime Minister has lost key political support.  These events have called into question Abhisit's ability to control the situation, even to bring it to a peaceful resolution. Dissolving the Democrat Party, rather than parliament,  may even be viewed as a solution to the current impasse. If it seems extreme, well, political winds are fickle.

Red Shirt Rally Day 31: Endgame?

I want to reassure everyone that we are safe and that we are fine. The demonstrations are taking place in the shopping district of lower Sukhumvit Road where it becomes Ploenchit Road,  as well as in Old Bangkok. A friend of mine who lives in that old part of the city is supposed to fly out to the States tonight. She doesn't know whether the roads will be open.

An estimated 15 people have died in clashes on the streets between the government soldiers and the Red Shirt protesters. Hundreds have been injured.

I was here in May 1992 when soldiers fired real bullets at unarmed protesters, causing dozens of deaths. Are there parallels? Certainly. The battle lines were and are ideological. But class lines have been drawn this time around. What lessons have been learned (or not learned) since those terrible events? That is for discussion in a calmer time, for the future.

Read Shirt Rally Day 30: Attack and Counter-Attack

It has been a game of attack and retreat, counter-attack and retreat. Neither the Red Shirts nor the government will give an inch.  The government closed the Red Shirts' television station. The Red Shirts attacked the station and took it back. The government pushed the Reds out. All the fun seems to have gone out of the demonstrations, no more flag waving, clappers and drums. The Nation reports that troops have fired rubber bullets at the protesters and the protesters responded by firing real bullets, injuring several troops. Who will gain the upper hand is now deadly contested.

Red Shirt Rally Day 22: A Red Easter

If you've lived here long enough, then you've seen the temples and monuments, so there are really only two things left to do in Bangkok: eat and shop. For the last three weeks, though, most Bangkok residents have been entertaining second thoughts about shopping and eating out. It's something we're not used to doing. It's forcing us to find unfamiliar ways to entertain ourselves. Like exercising. Or cooking at home. I tell you, it's unfair. My inalienable right to shop till I drop and dine heartily at restuarants has been interrupted by the red tide of protests.

Last night we didn't go to the Easter Vigil because the Red Shirts decided yesterday to occupy the business district near the church, forcing shopping malls in the area to close down. Since superb restaurants are in the shopping malls, that ended any notion of celebrating the end of Lent with a succulent glazed ham. 

The Red Shirts repeated their blood-letting rituals and ceremoniously poured the red stuff at Government House. Afterwards, men in haz-mat suits came out to clean up. It is telling when one person's symbolic act is another's inconvenience. That has been the whole sorry consequence of the protests starting with the Yellow Shirts' infamous 2008 occupation of  Government House and the two airports.

Since both the government and the protesters have tried and failed at negotiating an end to the stalemate, there is no telling how or when the protests will end. We just might get used to not shopping and eating out whenever we feel like it. One thing is for sure, though:  we'll all be a lot healthier and richer when this rally is over.

Irish Soda Bread with Cranberries and Almonds

I adapted this recipe for Irish Soda Bread from Martha Stewart's Baking Handbook. Hers had raisins and caraway seeds in it.  I didn't have either in my pantry, but I did have dried cranberries and almonds. According to chef Rory O'Connell on Epicurious.com, the original soda breads were made with either whole-meal flour or white flour. However, the addition of sweeteners and dried fruit is recent.  Soda bread is patted into a round and baked. The round shape is traditional, and it comes from being cooked originally in a cast-iron pot, since many homes did not have ovens in the early 1800s. Irish Soda Bread is actually a quick bread and not a yeast bread.  In the picture above,  the dough is prepped for baking on a parchment lined baking sheet.

The dough should be handled as little as possible. When I combined the wet and dry ingredients, the dough came together in a gooey sticky mass. I patted it into an 8 inch round. I scraped it off the sides of the mixing bowl and gently placed it on the parchment lined baking sheet. I slashed the loaf and studded the top with toasted sliced almonds. I forgot the egg wash.

This is the finished height and color after baking.  It looks kind of hairy! It looks kind of dry too.

The texture was just like my banana tea bread, and it wasn't too sweet. The ends were dry but the slices in the center were not. I guess I could live with that. The slices were long and narrow like a slice of biscotti. In fact, that's what it reminded me of. To make the bread have more height, I'd pat the dough into a smaller, higher round. And for variation in taste, color, and texture, I'm going to use pistachios instead of almonds with the dried cranberries. Andy pronounced this one a keeper.

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Interlude with Wildlife

During dinner at Steak Lao, AJ casually announced that there is a skink in the kitchen at home. He said that he had heard Gigi barking like mad and later, around noon, when he went into the kitchen, he surprised it. It was black and had two vertical stripes and a very long tail. A skink is about two feet long from pointy nose to tail. It sounded like the same visitor, or a near relative at least, that came inside our house several years ago.  Feeling a large lizard in the house was not an urgent matter, AJ puttered around the house for almost an hour. Then he locked up and went to the club to workout.

I don't need to describe my reaction. Andy was puzzled, Are you angry? Not, I said irritably. AJ pointed out, reasonably, The thing is more afraid of us than we are of it.

After dinner, Andy went back to the motor show at BITEC. Like AJ, he felt this was not his area of expertise.  But how do you get a skink out of the house?  The first time, I left the front door ajar and poured flour on the door sill. Then I went away. An hour later, slither tracks in the flour told me the creature had left the premises. So, AJ and I came home to a dark house to check on the whereabouts of our house guest. AJ turned on the lights inside.  I called Gigi,  put on her leash, and led her into the house. If the skink was in the house, Gigi would be sure to let us know. That's what she must have been barking at earlier when she had flushed it out of hiding and it ran into the house. If she found it, I was hoping to stop her from killing it by controlling the leash. No dead mutilated skinks in my house. 

Gigi calmly toured the kitchen where AJ last saw the skink. She padded around the laundry area, poked her nose in the bathroom, ignored the living room, then mounted the stairs. She wandered into the bedrooms. Like taking a long pull on a mug of ice cold beer,  Gigi took a long sniff of my sweater, my pillow, the chairs where AJ and I sit, and AJ's comforter. She completely ignored anything of Andy's. Quirky dog.  I quickly realized the skink had slipped out before AJ locked up the house and went out. AJ inquired anxiously, are you sure it's gone? I said, if the skink was still in the house, Gigi wouldn't be this relaxed;  I've seen her in prey mode before. The Mutt must have a Thai ridgeback barking up her bloodline. She's a purebred soi dog. A blueblood mongrel. Silly Mutt.