(no subject)
The university sponsors a monthly bus trip into Washington, DC, so Tiffany and I went along yesterday. We really spent the day in a series of abbreviated laps around numerous museums and galleries, but the objects of our careful aversion were very impressive: the Hirshorn Gallery, the National Air and Space Museum, the Freer Gallery, the National Museum of the American Indian, the Smithsonian Castle...stuff like that.
The retention of a bit of the American experience was our primary goal, naturally, but to be perfectly honest, half those visits were simply futile efforts to locate eateries that were neither wildly expensive or packed with fat Americans and condescending foreign tourists. (Aside: If you're ever near the McDonald's located in the Air and Space Museum, note the foreigners who stand around. It's almost like they're observing Americans in their native habitat.) This was a hopeless venture, though, so, having arrived last at the American Indian museum, we opted to eat something American Indian-y.
The commissary of the National Museum of the American Indian makes great strides toward paying all those Native Americans back for what we did to them. Well, not really. But it's really good food! The commissary is divided into five or six areas, representing the major regions of Indian habitation in the Americas (Pacific Northwest, the Plains, Meso America, &c.), with each serving slightly up-scale versions of traditional indigenous cuisine. This concept delighted me to no end, though the prices did a fine job of hedging my enthusiasm. Maybe they're just getting back at us for buying Manhattan for a handful of beads. Still, walking around and noting the wonderful variety of culinary styles was probably the highlight of the day; the addition to my own American continuity was particularly rewarding.
We originally decided on trying the roasted venison "saddle stuffed" with wild mushrooms, along with a butternut squash puree with hazelnuts and wildberries, but they were out by the time we got around to choosing. So instead we settled on splitting a pulled buffalo sandwich, a side of wild corn and cucumber salad with prickly pear dressing, and a cup of pumpkin soup. Now, I think the wild corn was just hominy, in which case they could have said so and not tried to add "wild" zest to what is still just corn. But the food, all in all, was, if not spectacular, at least uncommon enough to qualify the $19.36 I spent on it. Slightly less amusing was hearing everyone gasp, "I thought buffalo was endangered!" as they read over the menu. I'm pleased to report that the buffalo, however, is no longer endangered, a fact of which you can be assured so because we brought them back specifically for me to eat.
On a bum note, the buffalo sandwich had enough spice on it to ensure the buffalo's revenge upon me later that night. And the next day.
The National Museum of the American Indian features hundreds of wonderful carvings (the tribal masks of the Pacific Northwest, especially), paintings and relics that added a splendidly rich depth of life to the worlds that were all but legends by the time Manfiest Destiny wore itself out. The sophistication of culture and sciences of the Native Americans was so keen, how could anyone have dared called such artistic, soulful peoples savage?
I've gotten my story out of order, but I wanted to mention the Holocaust Museum, which we actually visited first thing that morning. I'm regrettably bankrupt for things to say about the museum, though by no means did it underwhelm me. I suppose it's just one of those experiences that internalizes itself and can't find an outward context. But with events as immense as those narrated in the museum, that fairly well makes sense. Even with immersion in the photographs, interviews, diaries, films, barbed wire, ghettoes, confiscated spectacles, dolls and marbles, boxcars, gas canisters, and all the rest, it's still such an improbably horrific event that even sixty-plus years can't make proper sense of.
So, having spent a pleasant autumn day in the nation's capitol and, more importantly, having spent less than $20 keeping ourselves constructively occupied for once, we returned home in the evening and decided that, yes, paying taxes in the spring will be justified this time.
The retention of a bit of the American experience was our primary goal, naturally, but to be perfectly honest, half those visits were simply futile efforts to locate eateries that were neither wildly expensive or packed with fat Americans and condescending foreign tourists. (Aside: If you're ever near the McDonald's located in the Air and Space Museum, note the foreigners who stand around. It's almost like they're observing Americans in their native habitat.) This was a hopeless venture, though, so, having arrived last at the American Indian museum, we opted to eat something American Indian-y.
The commissary of the National Museum of the American Indian makes great strides toward paying all those Native Americans back for what we did to them. Well, not really. But it's really good food! The commissary is divided into five or six areas, representing the major regions of Indian habitation in the Americas (Pacific Northwest, the Plains, Meso America, &c.), with each serving slightly up-scale versions of traditional indigenous cuisine. This concept delighted me to no end, though the prices did a fine job of hedging my enthusiasm. Maybe they're just getting back at us for buying Manhattan for a handful of beads. Still, walking around and noting the wonderful variety of culinary styles was probably the highlight of the day; the addition to my own American continuity was particularly rewarding.
We originally decided on trying the roasted venison "saddle stuffed" with wild mushrooms, along with a butternut squash puree with hazelnuts and wildberries, but they were out by the time we got around to choosing. So instead we settled on splitting a pulled buffalo sandwich, a side of wild corn and cucumber salad with prickly pear dressing, and a cup of pumpkin soup. Now, I think the wild corn was just hominy, in which case they could have said so and not tried to add "wild" zest to what is still just corn. But the food, all in all, was, if not spectacular, at least uncommon enough to qualify the $19.36 I spent on it. Slightly less amusing was hearing everyone gasp, "I thought buffalo was endangered!" as they read over the menu. I'm pleased to report that the buffalo, however, is no longer endangered, a fact of which you can be assured so because we brought them back specifically for me to eat.
On a bum note, the buffalo sandwich had enough spice on it to ensure the buffalo's revenge upon me later that night. And the next day.
The National Museum of the American Indian features hundreds of wonderful carvings (the tribal masks of the Pacific Northwest, especially), paintings and relics that added a splendidly rich depth of life to the worlds that were all but legends by the time Manfiest Destiny wore itself out. The sophistication of culture and sciences of the Native Americans was so keen, how could anyone have dared called such artistic, soulful peoples savage?
I've gotten my story out of order, but I wanted to mention the Holocaust Museum, which we actually visited first thing that morning. I'm regrettably bankrupt for things to say about the museum, though by no means did it underwhelm me. I suppose it's just one of those experiences that internalizes itself and can't find an outward context. But with events as immense as those narrated in the museum, that fairly well makes sense. Even with immersion in the photographs, interviews, diaries, films, barbed wire, ghettoes, confiscated spectacles, dolls and marbles, boxcars, gas canisters, and all the rest, it's still such an improbably horrific event that even sixty-plus years can't make proper sense of.
So, having spent a pleasant autumn day in the nation's capitol and, more importantly, having spent less than $20 keeping ourselves constructively occupied for once, we returned home in the evening and decided that, yes, paying taxes in the spring will be justified this time.