flatfish or here's mud in your eye

We experimented with a nice recipe calling for halibut served on a bed of fennel slaw with mustard sauce. The fish's scientific name is hippoglossus from the Greek for horse-tongue, referring to the shape of the fish's body and not to its more distinctive, I think, feature of having one of its eyes migrate over to the other side of its head as it flounders its adult life on the sea floor. The common name, halibut, means holy-flatfish, as it is very popular for feast days of obligation during Lent.

For two to three portions, one will need:

• 500 – 600 grams of Halibut (fresh or fully thawed)
• 100 ml of cream
• 2 stalks of leek 
• 1 good sized fennel root
• 1 small onion
• 1 large carrot 
• Four to six small potatoes
• 1 glass of dry white wine
• Aluminum foil, Salt, butter, and one tablespoon of Dijon Mustard

First, divide the fish into serving sizes and briefly fry them, just browning the surface but not cooked thoroughly as it will be steamed later, in a pan with butter and then set aside. Pulse the leeks, fennel and carrot in a food-processor into a fine and thin slaw. Meanwhile, pre-heat your oven to about 180°C and make little pouches out of the foil, one for each portion of the Halibut and divide the slaw among them. Douse each pouch with the white wine and fold and pouch so they don't leak. Place the pouches back in the oven and allow to steam for around fifteen minutes (depending on the type of potato), while boiling the potatoes, peeled and in lightly salted water. Cube the onion and introduce it to a pan with some butter. Remove the foil pouches from the oven and carefully empty the liquid, fond (stock) into the frying pan and stir in the cream and mustard, with a little sauce to taste. Allow the fond to thicken a bit, only frying it for a minute or so, to use as a zesty sauce for the fish and bed of slaw.

conqueror worm

Wired Magazine reports on how a genetically engineered variety of maize designed specifically to kill one of the crop's biggest plagues, the corn root-worm (a beetle belonging to the genus appropriately named Diabrotica), has lost its efficacy. Accounting currently for some seventy-five percent of the US, the bio-tech harvest has been a casualty of its own success and wide-spread adoption, which in a text-book demonstration of accelerated natural selection, caused the pest to evolve by making dominate the mutation that accorded a small population of the worms resistance to the targeted toxin.

Now the majority of the worms are immune and poised to lay waste to the farmers' fields. Surely, there were more hard-nosed tactics in turning growers towards these patented seeds, forcing a whole lifestyle and licensing agreement on the farmers along with the crops, as well, but one other selling-point was that by not having to use chemical pesticides, there would be less negative environmental impact—without considering the effects that mono-culturing and cross-contamination might pose for the ecology. The industry could do without this sort of publicity, which forebodes a food-supply more vulnerable than it was before and evaporating benefits from all their research and government lobbying. Researchers are urging more refuges of natural corn be mingled in the huge tracts of GM crops, sort of as firebreaks to attract pests, as they originally urged, but I think its probably too late for containment and such a practise what have over unforeseen consequences besides. I suspect that human tinkering with genes, especially when it comes to food, has other chinks in its armour that no one in the business want to go public.

selected images oder farbe für die republik

There is a cheerful exhibit of everyday examples, not of propa- ganda—but rather of putting ones best foot forward of images of the German Democratic Republic (DDR) on display in Berlin, captured by a pair of freelance photographers, who found themselves sponsored not only by the patronage of businesses and catalog and cookbook publishers but also by the State, in order to promote optimism and efficiency. The documentation, in some instances, departed somewhat from reality, like showing a happy couple enjoying a repast of herring and pineapple cooked on a table-top grill with red wine. The exhibition seems to be an interesting if unintentional commentary on make-believe and GDR-chic.

better mousetrap oder nachgestellt

Though not quite on the frontier of forensic science as the technical capabilities have been explored for a decade and longer, genetic researchers are just discovering now the score or so of genomes from a sample that determine ones outward appearance, forehead, chin, ears, eyes, nose, lips, etc. (excluding nurture, vanity and lifestyle) that could be quickly scanned and extrapolated to produce police-sketches of suspects, possible even creating a visual match—for those populations not already in a registry.

Witnesses could of course tweak the profile returned to account for things that are not necessarily in ones genes, even with the possibility for a computer-generated crime scene reenactment with avatars. These new degrees of accuracy won't only be used to catch criminals, however, and the potential for abuse remains great since all ones predispositions and proclivities are all laid out there in same snatch of human detritus. Insurers, pharmaceutical companies, lenders and employers would certainly be eager to project their profits, gains and losses against each individual on these threads spindled by the Fates (Moirai). A burgeoning discussion has developed in response as to how to protect elements of this data, to encrypt ones DNA after it leaves ones body and go into the wilds—or into the lab. I don't know what form this practise might ultimately take, but I imagine once the public realises the implications it's going to be hygiene that everyone will be interested in.

satrap

While the US, in its usually cheeky fashion, is dismissive of the counter-sanctions of the Russian government, declaring senior members of the Senate as personae non grata—as EU and US authorities are freezing the bank-accounts of certain Russian nationals and imposing travel-restrictions, canceling debit cards, and believe their ribald attitude has dissuaded Russia from pursuing this tactic. Russia, however, I am certain is more than a few moves ahead of the parties that would boycott and blackball Russia for its posture in the Crimea and other satellites in its orbit, trying in fact to counter perceived or real expansionist's ambitions with appeasement (even though it is never presented openly).

Russia has its own infrastructure, independent of anything that the US delivers and officials can make due without the redundant systems. Western Europe is trying to levy more meaningful commendations by pursuing measures to relieve itself from dependence on Russian fuel delivery, but that will be very difficult to accomplish without much austerity, like Norwegian petroleum, re-routing pipelines to the Middle East or at unacceptably high environmental costs, such as a creeping acceptance of fracking or re-thinking the moth-balling of nuclear reactors. While the stance of the EU is a noble one, it is also untenable since if the valves were to be closed for just one day, which is certainly a possibility and not without precedence, panic would break out—though Germany has worked up some heady sense of security due to the warm Winter. Russia also, I believe, would have little trouble finding other customers. China's voracious appetite would certainly make a good match, I think. It is a dangerous thing to underestimate different cultural-norms, especially when shared among compatriots with an underestimated might.

sampo

Finland's tourism bureau has some pretty keen diversions—priming oneself for the immersive experience in a land where the naming-convention harkens back to Nature and mythology, aside from promoting the typical vacation. I like how their Finngenerator dubbed me Sampo—a lucky artefact forged by Seppo Ilmarinen (the eternal blacksmith, like the Greek analogue Hephaestus—Vulcan) that could grant its owner any wish, like the concept of Cornucopia or the Holy Grail, while the configuration remains a speculative mystery. What would your Finnish monicker be?

ockham's razor

After days and days of no resolution and aggravating, conflicting accounts and patience that's out-waited even the stingy faith of the insurance-brokers, the families of the missing souls of Flight MH370 who disappeared with no trace must be enduring a waking nightmare. Despite every modern, hyper-connected nuance there is to transportation, surveillance and other forms of cleverness, the combined efforts of many nations cannot locate the airliner, and while I sadly suspect that people's expectations of what such domineering technology can deliver under-estimate the vast scale of the Pacific Ocean, there are many theories out there—mostly I believe with the intent of keeping hope alive and not just useless grand-standing, fed by the changing details of authorities.
Ockham's Razor is a sort of philosophical decision-chart, lex parsimoniae, holding that the explanation with the least assumptions is probably the right one. This guidance, however, also contains its own anti-thesis (an anti-razor) since the principle also holds that the only remaining explanation after others have been duly eliminated, however implausible, must be true. Just after contact was lost, it was disclosed that three passengers on the manifest were traveling under false credentials, and despite being initially dismissed as the kind of paranoia that makes the best crowds for security-theatre, the high-jacking supposition now is accepted fact. Some suggest that the whole plane was kidnapped and is being ransomed by sky-pirates with the condition of a total media blackout; others believe that the aircraft was spirited away for some future high-profile attack on a metropolitan centre and is in the mountain lair of an evil-genius, and all explain how this could be carried out, convincingly—more less. Considering the changing stories, some believe that some military power, testing out a new, secret weapon accidentally vapourised the wrong target. Conspiracy theories are usually not given the chance to thrive and not a one quite seems like blind-faith, but I do think that officials are not being exactly transparent with their search and believe something lies underneath. Whatever the truth ultimately revealed, I hope the families find their peace and I hope that dispatching search teams and enormous resources is not exactly the diversion that the alleged masterminds behind this tragedy was hoping for.

merkmale

H and I had the chance to re-visit the site in the north of the City of Leipzig, dedicated to the memory of the fallen German and Russian troops who withstood Napoleon's advance on this front and ultimately precipitated his surrender and defeat, after managing to realign and re-distribute much of Europe in a manner that survived his rampage.
Partnerships of convenience, long-lasting alliances and a much poorer Church emerged from the turmoil. Das Völkerschlachtdenkmal (the monument for the Battle of the Nations) was completed in its unique and defining neo-classical, betraying influences from the Meso-Americans and the Ancient Egyptians and previsioning the Art Déco (Jugendstil) movement, in 1913 for the one-hundredth anniversary of the decisive campaign and underwent extensive restoration of its interior crypt during the past few years for its centennial, honouring the anniversary of the battle this past October.
We were able to see the halls and galleries, a clime of some five-hundred steps (with a lift too but some chambers, like the ancient ziggurats it borrows from, could only be reached through a labyrinth of stairwells that sometimes had one ascending through the colossal statues.
The monument was misused at times as a symbol of German mysticism and exceptionalism, like the Barbarossa monument commissioned by the self-same German emperor, Kaiser Wilhelm, that sought to strengthen ties among a disparate assemblage of former petty kingdoms as the German Empire, and its East German caretakers proposed at one time to tear it down. I am glad that they didn't and consistently appreciate the charge of a curator.

An inverted bee-hive spiraled high above. No doubt that the crypt is sacred ground and one cannot forget, even when awing at the scale as a tourists, but it was a strange feeling how the experience was reminiscent of Scooby-Doo forensics or the archetype for the staging of an installment of Star-Gate, Riddick and any given action-adventure experience—without being too sacrilegious.