Thursday, August 10, 2006
One Potato, Two Potato, Three Potato, More!
Spanish and European explorers roamed the New World in search of gold, silver, mythical cities, strange smelling plants and food. Among them was Gonzalo Jimenez de Quesada who would be given the title of Governor of El Dorado in 1549. Quesada might have been forgotten by history except for two things. Many believe that he is the model from which Cervantes patterned Don Quixote. The other interesting fact is that in 1537 Quesada stumbled into an Indian village in Columbia right about suppertime. Since his reputation had preceded him, no one was there to greet him. The local Indians had left suddenly with their food still on the fire. Quesada had arrived hungry and proceeded to help himself to the warm vittles. When he left he carried with him some of the uncooked vittles. The only item worthy of note was the potato. Thus, the potato was carried back to Spain. But the potato did not fare well in that warm climate and many people found it to be unappetizing. The spud soon became relegated to the status of cattle feed. After all, would you eat anything recommended by “Don Quixote?”
Next up was Sir Francis Drake. In 1596 he decided to take a break from his pirating and head back to England with a “few” trinkets of gold along with some potatoes that he had grabbed up with the hope that they would help prevent scurvy. The spuds were delivered to Sir Walter Raleigh who set to work to grow some more. A chef cooked up a mess of potato greens to serve to Queen Elizabeth. Her Majesty pronounced the dish not only disgusting, but inedible as well. It was obvious to all that the potato was getting a bad reputation.
The Scots refused to eat or grow them. They were quick to point out that they were not mentioned in the Bible. It sounds better than to say that they are “disgusting and inedible.” In the 1700’s, Count Rumford used potatoes instead of grain in his workhouse gruel. Of course, he was carefully not to mention what he had done so for fear no one would eat it. The Catholic Irish who had a reputation for eating anything, started planting them, but only after sprinkling them with Holy Water. The Irish seemed to have been kin to little Mikey of TV fame who “will eat anything.” Soon people began to notice that the Irish had suddenly started multiplying like, well, rabbits. The potato quickly got top billing as an aphrodisiac. Or maybe it was the water.
The Germans got the potato in 1588 and refused to eat it like almost everyone else. That is until King William ordered peasants to plant potatoes and stop turning up their noses at them. And if they refused, he threatened to cut off their noses. Given the choice of noses or no noses, the Prussian people suddenly looked upon the tubers in a different light.
In France, Antoine Parmentier returned to his homeland after being held as a P.O.W. by the Germans and forced to eat potatoes three times a day. Somewhere along the way, he decided he liked them. When famine hit France in 1769 he suggested the potato as a new bread for the masses. In 1785, famine hit again. And Parmentier was there with his potatoes. He placed potato flowers in the hair of Queen Marie Antoinette and planted a couple of acres of spuds and carefully guarded them with royal guards during the daylight hours. But, come nightfall the soldiers went home leaving the royal crop unguarded. The peasants started helping themselves night after night thinking they were getting away with something they were not supposed to have. But the French still preferred bread. The Queen could and should have said, “Let them eat potatoes!” But she got a somewhat confused with her notes. During the height of the French Revolution, the country’s radical leaders christened the potato as a “revolutionary veggie” and ordered everyone to start planting them and to eat them. The French people already knew enough not to trifle with such an order or else they would find themselves with a one-way ticket to the guillotine. And it would not be their noses they would need to worry about.
In Russia the peasants refused to have anything to do with the potato. They insisted anything that grew in the ground was the Devil’s work. However, one day someone mentioned that the potato had a high starch content just like grain. “Grain?” Yep! Almost overnight the Vodka industry exploded. And soon there was no more mention of the Devil’s work.
In the new American Republic, Thomas Jefferson introduced “fried potatoes” at a dinner at the White House in 1802. They may or may not have been French-Fries but they were soon forgotten. It was not until the end of World War I, or more properly The Great War, that American soldiers got their first real taste of French-Fries. They loved them. And by the time the peace of Versailles was signed ending that war, the French fry was starting to catch on here in the States as a popular food. It is worth noting that Southerners did not invent the French fry. It is about the only fried food that they did not invent. They even came up with the fried Twinkie.
And how did the potato chip come to exist? Well, back in 1852 a person, some say Cornelius Vanderbilt, was dining at a resort in Saratoga, New York. French fried potatoes were served and our guest took exception to the thickness of his fries and sent them back to the kitchen. George Crum, the chef, had had his fill of uppity guests. So much so that he murmured something like “He wants it thin. I will give him thin.” Crum who was quite agitated by now started slicing the potatoes thinner and thinner. “Let’s see how he likes these tatters!” The thin fries were returned to our diner who to everyone’s surprise pronounced them,” Quite good.” Crum soon began to sell his new wares from a cart in the street.
The Germans took the potato and invented the spudnut or fastnacht (potato doughnut). The Russians turned the potato into vodka. The French invented the French fry. And the Americans? They gave us the potato chip and Mr. Potato Head, which was first produced in 1952 and was the first toy advertised on TV.
Spanish and European explorers roamed the New World in search of gold, silver, mythical cities, strange smelling plants and food. Among them was Gonzalo Jimenez de Quesada who would be given the title of Governor of El Dorado in 1549. Quesada might have been forgotten by history except for two things. Many believe that he is the model from which Cervantes patterned Don Quixote. The other interesting fact is that in 1537 Quesada stumbled into an Indian village in Columbia right about suppertime. Since his reputation had preceded him, no one was there to greet him. The local Indians had left suddenly with their food still on the fire. Quesada had arrived hungry and proceeded to help himself to the warm vittles. When he left he carried with him some of the uncooked vittles. The only item worthy of note was the potato. Thus, the potato was carried back to Spain. But the potato did not fare well in that warm climate and many people found it to be unappetizing. The spud soon became relegated to the status of cattle feed. After all, would you eat anything recommended by “Don Quixote?”
Next up was Sir Francis Drake. In 1596 he decided to take a break from his pirating and head back to England with a “few” trinkets of gold along with some potatoes that he had grabbed up with the hope that they would help prevent scurvy. The spuds were delivered to Sir Walter Raleigh who set to work to grow some more. A chef cooked up a mess of potato greens to serve to Queen Elizabeth. Her Majesty pronounced the dish not only disgusting, but inedible as well. It was obvious to all that the potato was getting a bad reputation.
The Scots refused to eat or grow them. They were quick to point out that they were not mentioned in the Bible. It sounds better than to say that they are “disgusting and inedible.” In the 1700’s, Count Rumford used potatoes instead of grain in his workhouse gruel. Of course, he was carefully not to mention what he had done so for fear no one would eat it. The Catholic Irish who had a reputation for eating anything, started planting them, but only after sprinkling them with Holy Water. The Irish seemed to have been kin to little Mikey of TV fame who “will eat anything.” Soon people began to notice that the Irish had suddenly started multiplying like, well, rabbits. The potato quickly got top billing as an aphrodisiac. Or maybe it was the water.
The Germans got the potato in 1588 and refused to eat it like almost everyone else. That is until King William ordered peasants to plant potatoes and stop turning up their noses at them. And if they refused, he threatened to cut off their noses. Given the choice of noses or no noses, the Prussian people suddenly looked upon the tubers in a different light.
In France, Antoine Parmentier returned to his homeland after being held as a P.O.W. by the Germans and forced to eat potatoes three times a day. Somewhere along the way, he decided he liked them. When famine hit France in 1769 he suggested the potato as a new bread for the masses. In 1785, famine hit again. And Parmentier was there with his potatoes. He placed potato flowers in the hair of Queen Marie Antoinette and planted a couple of acres of spuds and carefully guarded them with royal guards during the daylight hours. But, come nightfall the soldiers went home leaving the royal crop unguarded. The peasants started helping themselves night after night thinking they were getting away with something they were not supposed to have. But the French still preferred bread. The Queen could and should have said, “Let them eat potatoes!” But she got a somewhat confused with her notes. During the height of the French Revolution, the country’s radical leaders christened the potato as a “revolutionary veggie” and ordered everyone to start planting them and to eat them. The French people already knew enough not to trifle with such an order or else they would find themselves with a one-way ticket to the guillotine. And it would not be their noses they would need to worry about.
In Russia the peasants refused to have anything to do with the potato. They insisted anything that grew in the ground was the Devil’s work. However, one day someone mentioned that the potato had a high starch content just like grain. “Grain?” Yep! Almost overnight the Vodka industry exploded. And soon there was no more mention of the Devil’s work.
In the new American Republic, Thomas Jefferson introduced “fried potatoes” at a dinner at the White House in 1802. They may or may not have been French-Fries but they were soon forgotten. It was not until the end of World War I, or more properly The Great War, that American soldiers got their first real taste of French-Fries. They loved them. And by the time the peace of Versailles was signed ending that war, the French fry was starting to catch on here in the States as a popular food. It is worth noting that Southerners did not invent the French fry. It is about the only fried food that they did not invent. They even came up with the fried Twinkie.
And how did the potato chip come to exist? Well, back in 1852 a person, some say Cornelius Vanderbilt, was dining at a resort in Saratoga, New York. French fried potatoes were served and our guest took exception to the thickness of his fries and sent them back to the kitchen. George Crum, the chef, had had his fill of uppity guests. So much so that he murmured something like “He wants it thin. I will give him thin.” Crum who was quite agitated by now started slicing the potatoes thinner and thinner. “Let’s see how he likes these tatters!” The thin fries were returned to our diner who to everyone’s surprise pronounced them,” Quite good.” Crum soon began to sell his new wares from a cart in the street.
The Germans took the potato and invented the spudnut or fastnacht (potato doughnut). The Russians turned the potato into vodka. The French invented the French fry. And the Americans? They gave us the potato chip and Mr. Potato Head, which was first produced in 1952 and was the first toy advertised on TV.
Monday, August 07, 2006
There is something under my bed!
At some point in their early years almost every child has imagined that there was “something” under his or her bed. “Something” just might be a monster. “Something” just as likely could be a good excuse not to go to sleep. But, what if there really was something under the bed?
When Louis XIII or Louis XIV (I can’t remember which, but since Louis XIV had the furniture line named after him including a bed, I assume it was Louis XIV.) was born, there was something under his bed—an astrologer to be certain. This was a necessity to determine the exact time of the birth to create an accurate astrological chart. No need to take any chances there. As we all know a few seconds or minutes here or there in an astrological chart can mean the difference between power and glory, or between disaster and poverty. Now depending on the prophecy rendered a few minutes after birth, the astrologer could be depicted as a monster if he lived long enough. And he or she would probably pay a hefty penalty for the dire prediction—possibly an on-the-spot sentence of death by hanging. So one thing was almost always certain at the birth of a royal heir—a rosy forecast for the future. That would at least give the seer time to get out of town. After all, who wants to be the person to tell an ogre or a tyrant, “It’s not over till it’s over, but in your case it is over.” Furniture or no furniture.
Tiberius who was to become Roman Emperor was one person who sort of fits that profile. Before ascending the throne he frequently consulted with astrologers on the Island of Rhodes. If he so much as suspected you of being dishonest or deceitful, he gave you a quick push over the cliff. Thrasyllus, who was a prominent advisor to the rich and powerful, was conversing with Tiberius as he looked back over his shoulder and realized that he had been maneuvered toward the cliff. Tiberius then asked him what the future held. Aware of the cliff so close behind him, he set to work with his charts and pronounced that the future held “great fear.” When asked whose, Thrasyllus suddenly gasped and said “mine” since he could see himself flying over the cliff at any second. Tiberius, however, was satisfied with the answer and Thrasyllus was satisfied that he was able to walk away from the cliff.
Now Julius Caesar was one guy who did not take the astrologers seriously, or any predictions for that matter. “Beware the Ides of March!” Anyone who had as many enemies as Julius should have been aware of the Ides of March and all the other days of the year as well. Of course, it is highly unlikely that Caesar was ever warned of the Ides. In all probability it was nothing more than a clever line dreamed up by old Shakespeare himself.
Tyco Brahe, who lived during the early years of the Scientific Revolution, was very much interested in all areas of the occult. Although he would later go on to be one of the shining lights of astronomy, he really wanted to be known as the greatest astrologer of his age. He planned a large edition of a book in which he predicted the death of Suleiman the Magnificent during the coming year. The only problem was that Suleiman was so inconsiderate that he died months before the book was published. Now, astrology has no place for anyone who can predict events well after they have already happened. Luckily for Science, Brahe washed out as an astrologer.
More recently the Altanta Zoo hired a couple of psychics to determine if Lun Lun, the giant panda, was in a family way. Last July zoo officials were abuzz with the news that Lun Lun was pregnant. A month later she was not—that was a big batch of crow for someone to chew on. This time they did not want to take any chances—hence the psychics. Helene Frisch announced that Lun Lun was not only pregnant but would deliver a male cub on September 4. The other psychic was not totally convinced and only gave Lun Lun a 65 percent chance. With four weeks to go everyone is holding their breath. The Panda was artifically inseminated last March. After six months you would think that they would not need any psychics. Oh well, in these kinds of cases you can never be sure—especially where zoo officials are involved.
At some point in their early years almost every child has imagined that there was “something” under his or her bed. “Something” just might be a monster. “Something” just as likely could be a good excuse not to go to sleep. But, what if there really was something under the bed?
When Louis XIII or Louis XIV (I can’t remember which, but since Louis XIV had the furniture line named after him including a bed, I assume it was Louis XIV.) was born, there was something under his bed—an astrologer to be certain. This was a necessity to determine the exact time of the birth to create an accurate astrological chart. No need to take any chances there. As we all know a few seconds or minutes here or there in an astrological chart can mean the difference between power and glory, or between disaster and poverty. Now depending on the prophecy rendered a few minutes after birth, the astrologer could be depicted as a monster if he lived long enough. And he or she would probably pay a hefty penalty for the dire prediction—possibly an on-the-spot sentence of death by hanging. So one thing was almost always certain at the birth of a royal heir—a rosy forecast for the future. That would at least give the seer time to get out of town. After all, who wants to be the person to tell an ogre or a tyrant, “It’s not over till it’s over, but in your case it is over.” Furniture or no furniture.
Tiberius who was to become Roman Emperor was one person who sort of fits that profile. Before ascending the throne he frequently consulted with astrologers on the Island of Rhodes. If he so much as suspected you of being dishonest or deceitful, he gave you a quick push over the cliff. Thrasyllus, who was a prominent advisor to the rich and powerful, was conversing with Tiberius as he looked back over his shoulder and realized that he had been maneuvered toward the cliff. Tiberius then asked him what the future held. Aware of the cliff so close behind him, he set to work with his charts and pronounced that the future held “great fear.” When asked whose, Thrasyllus suddenly gasped and said “mine” since he could see himself flying over the cliff at any second. Tiberius, however, was satisfied with the answer and Thrasyllus was satisfied that he was able to walk away from the cliff.
Now Julius Caesar was one guy who did not take the astrologers seriously, or any predictions for that matter. “Beware the Ides of March!” Anyone who had as many enemies as Julius should have been aware of the Ides of March and all the other days of the year as well. Of course, it is highly unlikely that Caesar was ever warned of the Ides. In all probability it was nothing more than a clever line dreamed up by old Shakespeare himself.
Tyco Brahe, who lived during the early years of the Scientific Revolution, was very much interested in all areas of the occult. Although he would later go on to be one of the shining lights of astronomy, he really wanted to be known as the greatest astrologer of his age. He planned a large edition of a book in which he predicted the death of Suleiman the Magnificent during the coming year. The only problem was that Suleiman was so inconsiderate that he died months before the book was published. Now, astrology has no place for anyone who can predict events well after they have already happened. Luckily for Science, Brahe washed out as an astrologer.
More recently the Altanta Zoo hired a couple of psychics to determine if Lun Lun, the giant panda, was in a family way. Last July zoo officials were abuzz with the news that Lun Lun was pregnant. A month later she was not—that was a big batch of crow for someone to chew on. This time they did not want to take any chances—hence the psychics. Helene Frisch announced that Lun Lun was not only pregnant but would deliver a male cub on September 4. The other psychic was not totally convinced and only gave Lun Lun a 65 percent chance. With four weeks to go everyone is holding their breath. The Panda was artifically inseminated last March. After six months you would think that they would not need any psychics. Oh well, in these kinds of cases you can never be sure—especially where zoo officials are involved.
