Read Online How to Cook a Moose by Kate Christensen - Free Book Online
Authors: Kate Christensen
Ads: Link
cider vinegar and Worcestershire sauce
2 tsp harissa spice mix or Sriracha
a small handful of minced cilantro
Eat with oven-roasted red potato wedges and a French lentil salad with grated carrots on a bed of red-leaf lettuce. Serves 4.
Chapter Three
A Tale of Two Kitchens
Right away, when we first moved to Portland, I noticed the large numbers of homeless and mentally ill and drug-addicted and hardscrabble people on the streets. Walking Dingo through our new neighborhood, I saw a lot of strung-out-looking people talking to themselves with unselfconscious intensity as they took refundable bottles from recycling bins, as well as couples screeching at each other, enraged and incoherent, often many feet apart on the sidewalk. Every time we drove to buy groceries, passing by a series of homeless shelters on and near Preble Street, Iâd look out the window of our warm car at the faces of the people standing there, huddled groups of down-and-out men and women, a few black but mostly white, hunched in wool pea coats and hats with earflaps, or watch caps and down jackets, rubbing hands together, kibitzing and standing around waiting for the soup kitchen to open and exhaling cigarette smoke as if it had warming properties.
I thought about my own good fortune, my unexpected happiness here in this small seaside city. I was in my secondhand but hardy Subaru, on my way to buy (reusable, cloth) bags full of groceries andwine at Whole Foods, that bastion of elitist consumption; meanwhile, I was eating well in the local restaurants. I had a job I loved, writing books and essays and reviews, teaching and giving readings and talks, which sustained this way of life, at least for now. And I was healthy, at least for now. I knew that I was very, very lucky to have this life of happiness and luxury and well-being and pleasure. I didnât take any of it for granted; I was constantly, deeply grateful for all of it, but that didnât feel like enough.
Maine has always been a place of poverty and hardship, and during the countryâs current economic downturn and recession, Portland has fared worse than a lot of the rest of the country. People who were already struggling tipped into a state of real emergency. Whole families became displaced and homeless. New immigrants, many of them parents with children, couldnât find jobs and found themselves on the streets and in the shelter system.
But, unlike New York City, whose relationship with its homeless is both historically and at present a complexly harsh one, involving cruelly draconian bureaucracy, bad conditions, and a catch-22 of contradictory, whimsical rules, Portland is unusually generous with its homeless population. In 1987, when a homeless encampment arose at City Hall in protest of a shelterâs closing, Portland implemented a policy, which still holds, of not turning away anyone seeking shelter. Itâs worth noting, it seems to me, that around the time I moved to New York in 1989, then-mayor Rudy Giuliani became notorious for closing homeless camps, most notably the one in Tompkins Square Park in the East Village, and exporting countless numbers of homeless people elsewhere. No doubt a certain number of them ended up in Portland, Maine, because of its reputation for being homeless-friendly. In New England, people take care of their own, even when they have little themselves. Itâs a long, honorable tradition.
Recently, because of this policy and the recent economic hardships, Portlandâs shelters have been strained to their breaking point. In an article in the Portland Press Herald , published in October 2013, when the cityâs homeless population hit an all-time high of as many as five hundred people seeking shelter a night, Randy Billings wrote, âOnly 272 beds, cots and sleeping mats are available each night in the six shelters run by the city and nonprofit groups. When the shelters are full, 75 additional mats are placed in the Preble Street
2 tsp harissa spice mix or Sriracha
a small handful of minced cilantro
Eat with oven-roasted red potato wedges and a French lentil salad with grated carrots on a bed of red-leaf lettuce. Serves 4.
Chapter Three
A Tale of Two Kitchens
Right away, when we first moved to Portland, I noticed the large numbers of homeless and mentally ill and drug-addicted and hardscrabble people on the streets. Walking Dingo through our new neighborhood, I saw a lot of strung-out-looking people talking to themselves with unselfconscious intensity as they took refundable bottles from recycling bins, as well as couples screeching at each other, enraged and incoherent, often many feet apart on the sidewalk. Every time we drove to buy groceries, passing by a series of homeless shelters on and near Preble Street, Iâd look out the window of our warm car at the faces of the people standing there, huddled groups of down-and-out men and women, a few black but mostly white, hunched in wool pea coats and hats with earflaps, or watch caps and down jackets, rubbing hands together, kibitzing and standing around waiting for the soup kitchen to open and exhaling cigarette smoke as if it had warming properties.
I thought about my own good fortune, my unexpected happiness here in this small seaside city. I was in my secondhand but hardy Subaru, on my way to buy (reusable, cloth) bags full of groceries andwine at Whole Foods, that bastion of elitist consumption; meanwhile, I was eating well in the local restaurants. I had a job I loved, writing books and essays and reviews, teaching and giving readings and talks, which sustained this way of life, at least for now. And I was healthy, at least for now. I knew that I was very, very lucky to have this life of happiness and luxury and well-being and pleasure. I didnât take any of it for granted; I was constantly, deeply grateful for all of it, but that didnât feel like enough.
Maine has always been a place of poverty and hardship, and during the countryâs current economic downturn and recession, Portland has fared worse than a lot of the rest of the country. People who were already struggling tipped into a state of real emergency. Whole families became displaced and homeless. New immigrants, many of them parents with children, couldnât find jobs and found themselves on the streets and in the shelter system.
But, unlike New York City, whose relationship with its homeless is both historically and at present a complexly harsh one, involving cruelly draconian bureaucracy, bad conditions, and a catch-22 of contradictory, whimsical rules, Portland is unusually generous with its homeless population. In 1987, when a homeless encampment arose at City Hall in protest of a shelterâs closing, Portland implemented a policy, which still holds, of not turning away anyone seeking shelter. Itâs worth noting, it seems to me, that around the time I moved to New York in 1989, then-mayor Rudy Giuliani became notorious for closing homeless camps, most notably the one in Tompkins Square Park in the East Village, and exporting countless numbers of homeless people elsewhere. No doubt a certain number of them ended up in Portland, Maine, because of its reputation for being homeless-friendly. In New England, people take care of their own, even when they have little themselves. Itâs a long, honorable tradition.
Recently, because of this policy and the recent economic hardships, Portlandâs shelters have been strained to their breaking point. In an article in the Portland Press Herald , published in October 2013, when the cityâs homeless population hit an all-time high of as many as five hundred people seeking shelter a night, Randy Billings wrote, âOnly 272 beds, cots and sleeping mats are available each night in the six shelters run by the city and nonprofit groups. When the shelters are full, 75 additional mats are placed in the Preble Street
Similar Books
