The House of Cooking Part 5: Bring Me the Head of the House of Cooking

I'm going to toot my own horn here for a moment: I make great pickles.Not like cucumber pickles, which I've never actually made (but the theory is effectively the same) but high acid pickled vegetables and sauces.

The reason I make great pickles is that I follow the recipe (for the most part) without deviation, because the secret to pickling is that for it to work the acidity levels need to be precise, the processing time in the canner needs to be precise (especially because I don't use a pressure canner) and every step you follow needs to be on the dot and crossed of the tees and spot on and kosher and rigid... etc.

And for someone who does not otherwise follow recipes very well, I'm surprised by how easy I find it to actually follow a pickle recipe.

The reason, I suppose, is in the repercussions. If I muck up a standard recipe, at worst I'm going to get some funky tasting food. If I muck up the acidity levels in a jar of pickled beans, I've got a botulism problem on my hands. I'd rather err on the side of not-botulism and stick to the recipe than wing it. Luckily enough, sticking to the recipe yields some great pickled products. My go-to recipe guides are the Bernardin Guide to Home Preserving and of course, the "Joy of Cooking".

Both are resources not only for pickling recipes for both low and high acid canning (I do high acid, since I have no pressure canner) but are great tools to figure out what NOT to do. This is a big one. The tips on how to avoid giving your family botulism are absolutely vital.

Now, having said that I follow the recipes to the letter is true, to a point, in that when it comes to the level of acid and salt required by the recipe, as well as the volume of vegetables used, etc, I do not deviate. However, when it comes to some of the ingredients I will occasionally play around a bit. Especially when it comes to non-vital ingredients like spices.

For example, D hates waste, and there are so many recipes that use tomatoes that say to peel and core and seed the tomatoes first. Why? You've just wasted half the tomato. For my recent spate of cooking, I used the whole tomato and threw caution to the winds. Net result: 6 jars of salsa, 12 jars of some VERY nice if spicy chili sauce, and 6 jars of plain jane tomato sauce, no embellishment. I used a total of about 60 tomatoes to make that, plus sundry ingredients. Not a single one was peeled or seeded or cored.

For the chili sauce mentioned above, I used Bernardin's recipe for Hot 'n' Sweet Chili sauce, but when I tripled the recipe (I bought tomatoes in bulk) and the end result was 4 1/2 cups of sugar as a required component, I said screw that and cut out 1 1/2 cups of sugar and still felt like I should have cut out more. Frankly, I don't care if it's spread over 12 jars, that's a fuck tonne of sugar and I don't need to give myself or anyone else diabetes.

I also used jalapenos instead of hot peppers, and I did not seed them. For anyone who knows nothing about hot peppers, leaving the seeds in increases the spiciness of the dish to an exponential degree, regardless of the dish. I also omitted the pears the sauce called for (though not on purpose, as I just plain forgot to do them up... 24 tomatoes, 18 jalapeno peppers, 3 onions, 3 red peppers, 6 peaches, 3 apples all finely chopped... so I forgot the pears, sue me) The end result was a sweet but spicy, flavour packed sauce that I think I will be enjoying for a couple of years, given it will be too spicy for D and I can only consume so much chili sauce on my own.

The point is that if you understand how to balance the acidity of the brine to the ingredients used, you can play with some of the core ingredients themselves and still come up with a lovely pickle. You can also create a disaster, taste wise. Be careful when using cider vinegar as even though it contains the right acidity level (5%) it is dramatically sweeter than white vinegar, more so than you would think possible, especially if not balanced against the correct level of pickling salt. If you like sweet pickles, that's great. I don't like sweet pickles, and in an attempt to make pickled carrots one session I ended up with carrots that tasted like candy... something my extended family enjoyed just fine but that I can only stomach the smallest portion of. It was a mixed success, and I learned a lesson about how to be careful with playing around with a recipe, but ultimately I still created a successful preserve because regardless of taste I had the right level of acid to ensure that bacteria growth would not occur, and processed the pickles in the canner to ensure their longevity.

So my recommendation, and this is coming from someone who has unequivocally, regardless of my own personal opinion of what I have produced, received nothing but thumbs up commendations from anyone who has tried my pickles, is to start with one recipe for pickles that speaks to you, and follow it precisely. Figure out the timing on your canner. It takes about an hour to heat up, but if you leave it boiling too long, you'll lose volume to steam and may not be able to fully submerge your jars if you lose too much water. You also have to time your recipe so that it's ready to drop into the jars just after your canner comes to a boil, but not before (you don't want your mix to cool before you can get it in the canner) and all of this comes down to learning the timing, practice, and probably a few failures. So start simple, basic, but choose a recipe you think you'll like the results of and then make as big a batch as you can stomach making. 8-12 jars is a nice number, as this allows you to keep some for personal consumption and also share some with friends to hear them say how good it is.

My personal favourite is pickled garlic, but I will warn you in advance that unless you want to spend literally four hours peeling garlic cloves to produce 5 jars of pickled garlic, find a source of pre-peeled cloves you can use. I have a fairly efficient method of peeling garlic and I still spent 6 hours peeling 30 heads of garlic and pickling them. I will devour the results once they are cured a bit, but if my supplier hadn't been out of the pre-peeled cloves I wanted I would have saved myself 3 1/2 hours of mind numbing labour.

Having made in my time pickled garlic, salsa, chili sauce, tomato sauce, pickled beets, mustard beans, dilled beans, pickled carrots, and other pickles, the thing I enjoy about canning isn't necessarily in the process. It's time consuming, sometimes boring, often hot and frustrating and makes you wish you could cut a corner here and there. No, the enjoyment lies in knowing that a few weeks from when all that bullshit is done, when you have forgotten how much your hands ache from all that chopping and first crack open one of those jars and feel the tang of vinegar at the back of your nose, when the waft of other flavours and spices follows in its wake until your mouth waters for the smallest taste, and you know that regardless of the effort you went to what you are about to taste is something wholly created by you. And it's made from science you in most circumstances barely understand, and from a love for creating something that not only tastes great but can last a good long time and be shared with friends and family without worrying about when it may go bad, or rotten.

And if you have the right group of friends, properly motivated, get together and do your canning together. Everybody pick a recipe and then swap jars with each other. Spend a day at it, drink wine (sometimes a required ingredient depending on the recipe, so stock up), talk about your kids or your lawn or your job, or whatever. Regardless of whether you are a man or a woman interested in canning, it's a better experience with a group of people of similar inclination. Although all my canning has been done solitary, that's more a comment on me as a person than on canning as a hobby or an experience.

The most important thing is to enjoy, relax, and anticipate what you'll be creating. It's a fun experience, when all's said and done.


A quick list of essential tools: 
Recipe guides (regardless of publisher, these are NECESSARY)
Water Bath Canner
Large Stock pot
Canning funnel
Magnetic lid probe (that sounds dirty, but it's a wand with a magnet at the end that let's you snag hot snap lids out of a pot without singing your fingers.)
Mason jars, and lots of them. For your first experience with canning, pick up two lots of 12 jars... I say this because once you make your first batch, you'll want to try something else.
Pickling spice
Coarse Salt
White vinegar (2x 4L jugs on hand is not insane):
Cheese cloth
Silicon Jar Gripper
Large and small measuring cups. Big glass cup a good idea, between 4-8 cups size, as well as the smaller 1/4- 1  cup sets.
Dill seed, mustard seed, whole cloves, black and green peppercorns... a selection of whole spices
Counter space: this is important because your newly prepped jars will need to rest for 24 hours before being moved to the pantry. Plan ahead.

The House of Cooking Part 4: Become a House of Cooking in Just Three Easy Steps!

Tuesdays and Wednesdays are my days off work, and in addition to other chores it's when I get to do the majority of my cooking. Tuesday is also usually when our CSA box comes, but until it does the fridge often looks a little bare and empty, so sometimes coming up with something to make for D when she gets home from work on Tuesday is a challenge.


Still, it's an opportunity for me to be a little more inventive with my cooking. My opportunities to cook are rare, given that the rest of the week by the time I get home from work D has already prepared a lovely meal, and we all sit down to dinner and I get to try and eat my meal more quickly than my son can snatch it off my plate. It's a race I rarely win.

I honestly had no real ideas for today's lunch, however, D gave me a great idea and I ran with it. We had a prime rib steak in the freezer from one of our CSA meat deliveries, a zucchini in the fridge, and a couple of other odds and ends. With a couple of very good suggestions from D, I made the following recipe.

Jeremy's Quick Marinated Asian Inspired Steak and Zucchini Sandwiches with Home Fries

1 steak cut into strips (I used a prime rib we had, but any steak will do, or use two if you have 4 people to feed)
2 tbsp white vinegar
2 tbsp olive oil
1 tbsp sesame oil
1 tsp minced garlic
1 tsp ground ginger
1 tbsp soy sauce
1 tbsp worcestershire sauce
salt and pepper
1 tsp dried cayenne pepper flakes
1 tbsp prepared yellow mustard (or if you want, dijon... only used as an emulsifier)
1 zucchini, sliced
Several potatoes
2 Tbsp mayonnaise (or as my brother would demand, Miracle Whip, because it's better)
2 Tbsp ketchup (again, I personally cannot stand any ketchup but Heinz... but your choice)
A splash or two of chipotle tabasco sauce
Several Kaiser Buns

Start by marinating the meat. Combine the vinegar, olive oil, sesame oil, ginger, soy sauce, worcestershire, as much or as little salt and pepper as you desire, the pepper flakes and the yellow mustard in a Ziploc bag (I'm aiming to become Ziploc's schill) and smoosh (that's a word, mom) it up into a semi-homogeneous mix. Dump in the steak slices and seal the bag,then smoosh it again until the meat is thoroughly covered in sauce. Toss it in the fridge for an hour, turning it and smooshing it again once or twice.

Slice the zucchini into coins, as I did, or into lengthwise strips, as D suggested I do. Set aside.

Take the potatoes, cut them into whatever shape you like, cubes or fries or quarters... doesn't really matter. You're making fries. Place the potatoes on a greased baking sheet, throw some salt at them, and maybe drizzle a bit of olive oil over top. Preheat oven to 375 farenheit and put the potatoes in. Toss the fries about halfway through the process. Roast them for 45 minutes to an hour.

Combine mayonnaise, ketchup, a little bit of salt and pepper and a little bit of chipotle tabasco (taking care to be judicious with the tabasco and consider the spice sensitivity of whomever you are cooking for) and mix them in a small bowl.

I use a George Foreman Grill to grill my veggies, typically, so following the directions for that device, grill the zucchini. If you don't have one, then take a frying pan and heat it to medium high heat, then sear the zucchini on both sides for maybe 5-7 minutes total. Then you can use the same pan for the meat.

When the meat is done marinating, throw a frying pan on the stove on medium high heat, add the steak strips to the pan and cook for about 10 minutes, turning the meat with a pair of tongs about halfway through the cooking process.

Assemble sandwiches as you desire, adding any other condiments you might like. Serve sandwiches and fries together on plate. I spread the chipotle mayonnaise on both top and bottom halves of my buns, but not everyone will want to be that greedy.

As well, I feel like this recipe would go nicely with red onion, or even slices of orange. I'll have to try those another day and see how it is.

The House of Cooking, Part 3: Dawn of The House of Cooking

This post is mainly going to be about how to put slightly obscure or otherwise unwelcome ingredients to work in a way that is flavourful and enjoyable, because putting everything from our CSA box to good use can sometimes be challenging. But I'll be damned if I'll let it beat me. We're going to use everything we get from that box if it kills us. That's only a dim possibility, and only if one of the boxes comes with cyanide pills. So I'm pretty safe.

Please don't include cyanide in my next box. Thanks.

In one of our recent boxes we received Fennel. D hates fennel, or anise as it's otherwise known, or anything licorice flavoured. This meant the challenge of figuring out how to make the fennel to her liking was up to me. This ended up being surprisingly easy. All I did was saute it in butter with a bit of salt and pepper, some of our ubiquitous garlic scapes, and after about 5 minutes threw in some mushrooms and taragon and let that saute for another five minutes. I say that on the understanding that I threw in whole mushrooms because I was lazy and didn't want to chop them but because of this laziness the mushrooms were a little underdone, so I would recommend slicing or shopping them and then the cooking time noted above should be fine.

Prepping the fennel is easy. Just cut off the hard root end and the stalks, and then quarter it vertically (stalk end to root) and then slice the resulting quarters.

The reason this preparation worked for D is because the cooking process sweetens the fennel, and the simple spices serve to mute the very strong licorice flavour of the fennel that might otherwise bother her. The taragon especially helped. If you want a more detailed recipe, ask me in comments and I'll post one.

Another challenge we occasionally have is kale. Kale is tough to use, because you get a huge amount of it and really, who uses kale except for the manufacturers of V8? One of our CSA boxes had a head of kale in it a couple of months back and we were at a loss with what to do with it until D, I think partially in frustration, made it into soup.

I am not normally a big soup fan. This has nothing to do with D's inherent distrust of salt and pepper, nothing at all. I do not make soup as a general rule, so the soup that is made is made by D. It's usually quite nice but soup just doesn't usually float my boat unless it's exceptionally rich. D is not prone to making rich soups, which is fine.

However, the soup she made with the kale was hands down one of the best soups I've ever eaten. She will agree that the speed at which I consumed that particular soup exceeds by an order of magnitude the speed at which I have consumed any and all previous soups combined, over the course of our nine years together. What I mean, to be clear, is that there are probably still hiding in our freezer soups made near the start of our relationship that remain unconsumed. This soup didn't last long enough to even smell the freezer. Because we just got another head of kale in yesterday's box, I have just today tried to replicate her accomplishment, with some success, and I'll put my recipe below, but given it's still on the stove I don't have a final verdict for you. It is, however, shaping up to be very nice.

Note, however, that the base of the soup is broth made from the bones of my chicken recipe on my last post. You could probably use stock from the store, but why not use leftovers where you can instead? There's a richness of flavour that comes from homemade broth that's hard to get from store bought. Plus, making my chicken recipe means you get to EAT my chicken, which is great, and then you can have chicken sandwiches and soup for lunch for the rest of the week. That's what we call, in the industry, win-win.

D and Jeremy's "Mostly Jeremy's Recipe for Kale and Legume Soup" Recipe

6 cups of chicken broth (preferably home made)
1 head of kale
1 can of romano beans, drained
1 can of black beans, drained
1 can of chopped or crushed tomatoes (or even whole tomatoes, but then chop them in can)
1 cup of lentils
3 bay leaves
1 tbsp cumin
1 tbsp black pepper
2 tbsp organo
1 tbsp rubbed basil
(optional) 1-2 cups chopped cooked chicken leftovers (optional, but easy to do if you made my chicken recipe first and have leftovers)

Recipe is simple. First chop the kale across the ribs, making thin strips about 1/2 inch across. Then bring the broth to a boil in a stock pot (the pot I used was WAY too small) and reduce temperature to medium. Add all the ingredients, cook for 15 minutes on medium, stirring occasionally, then reduce temperature to a simmer and continue simmering for an hour or so. Remove from heat, serve.

D is about to try the soup. Will have a verdict soon.

The House of Cooking Part 2: In The House of Cooking's Studio

I could never be a vegetarian for one simple reason: I like meat. Sure, I've heard a billion (literally. I've counted.) reasons to not eat meat. Not one has convinced me. Because I can give you two reasons why I eat meat that trump all arguments to the contrary.

Both those reasons are called incisor.

Herbivores don't have them. They are designed to cleave meat, sever tendons, carve flesh from bone and generally wreak havok on stuff that has blood inside. Animals that only eat plants are not equipped with them. Most of our success as a species can be attributed to the fact that we basically spent most of our history looking at the world and saying "NOM!" Hell, Cajun cooking is basically centred around making a stew by tossing a net into the swamp and cooking anything that wriggles. The fact that we are omnivorous is I would argue a substantial part of  who we are, as human beings. I don't have a problem with anyone who chooses not to eat meat, because hey, more meat for me, but I don't think it makes sense to omit it from our diet.

That said, I would like to discuss chicken. What? No Seque? Nope. I'm going to buck that tradition. See what I did there?

Chicken is a great meat. Unlike a lot of other things that taste like chicken, it IS chicken, so it simply tastes, I suppose. Possibly it tastes like itself. Regardless, it's good.

For the longest time I did very little when it came to prepping chicken. For a stir fry I cut it into cubes or slices and just cooked it. I baked or seared chicken breasts either plain in the frying pan or with maybe a mustard sauce of some kind. But no matter what, chicken always tasted to me dreadfully dry, and I don't think I realized how much so until I finally, finally tried my hand at brining.

Very simply, when you brine a chicken you infuse the meat with moisture, not to mention salty goodness (which is always a good fit for chicken). I could probably explain the chemistry behind it but I think it's unnecessary. Just do it. Brine your chicken. If you don't know how, pick up "The Joy of Cooking" and learn how. I'll give you a recipe below that tells you how I brine my chicken, but I typically cook chicken whole so my recipe won't work necessarily for smaller portions like breasts, thighs, and drumsticks, but the basics are there. You can probably reduce the proportions in my recipe for smaller portions of chicken, but really, if you don't already OWN "The Joy of Cooking" then you need to get it. It's about as important as owning forks.

Anyway, the added moisture and salt means that after cooking you don't end up with that dry, cloying, cling to the roof of your mouth, fibrous, wash it down with a splash of chardonnay thing that chicken sometimes does when it isn't brined. You know what I mean. When you take a bite of chicken, screw up your face and make a "ngyah ngyah" sound while you try and scrape the Gobi desert from your soft palate with the cracked ruin that used to be your tongue. That's what brining stops. Plus it's delicious. Did I mention chicken needs salt? I did. Chicken needs salt. Brining gives it salt.

Now, if you really want to play with your food, then brine your chicken first, drain it, and then use a dry rub and THEN bake or barbecue it. That's what I do and I have never once failed in being showered with comments about the perfection that is my chicken. I'll share with you my recipe. Most of it is dead simple, but the results should leave your guests wondering how you pulled it off.


Jeremy's "Couldn't Think of a Clever Name For It" Brined Roast Chicken
As mentioned earlier, this recipe is for a whole chicken. You could try and cut the proportions down for smaller portions of chicken, and definitely leave your chicken in the brine for a shorter time if using say, half a dozen chicken drumsticks instead of a whole chicken (as a general rule, 1 hour/lb is a good time) but why not do the whole chicken anyway? Not only do you end up with chicken sandwiches for later in the week, but if you have a spouse like D who won't even let bones go to waste she can render those bones and fat down into a nice broth that you can use later to grease the bearings on your car or, I dunno, make soup or something. Plus, making a whole chicken means you get to whack that thing down on the table at the neighborhood barbecue and say: "I made a whole chicken, suckahs! Eat it! Literally. That's why I made it. So it could be, you know, eaten."
Anyhow, here's the recipe. A bit of forewarning: I mentioned in my last post that I am not predisposed towards measuring. This is especially true for my rubs. The rub recipe below is a guideline only. Feel free to modify the proportions to your heart's content because I rarely make the same rub twice. That's half the fun.

1 whole chicken, 3-4 lbs
Brine
1 cup of coarse salt
A bagful of water (I will explain this in detail in a moment
Dry Rub
1-2 tbsp salt and the same of black pepper
1-2 tbsp lemon-garlic seasoning (if you can't find it, equal portions citric acid and garlic powder will likely make do)
2 tsp dry mustard
1 tbsp rubbed basil
2 tsp oregano
1/2 tsp cayenne pepper (be very careful with your cayenne. A little goes a LONG way)

Okay, so to begin there's usually all these instructions when brining on using non-reactive cookware and making sure the chicken is fully submerged or weighted or what have you. I'm going to make it simple. I brine my chicken, and I'm going to product plug here because they are perfect for the job, in Ziploc Double Zipper Heavy Duty LARGE Freezer Bags. I do so thusly: Take one of the bags, set it in a flat bottomed dish primarily to keep it from toppling over and spilling out all its contents once it's filled with water. Begin filling with cold water. Slowly add your cup of salt to the water as you fill, stirring it in as best you can. Your best will not be perfect and you will still end up with salt crystals at the bottom. Ignore this fact. Once the bag is about halfway full you should be done adding the salt. At this point insert chicken and continue filling the bag with water. When you have about 3 inches of air left at the top of the bag SLOW DOWN on adding water but do not stop. Instead, start sealing the bag. As the remaining three inches of space fill with water continue sealing the bag, until when you finally seal the other corner you actually end up squeezing some of the water out of your now completely full bag of briney goodness.
Congratulations, you now have a fully submerged bird that requires no weighting to keep it below the surface, no turning over while it brines, is successfully contained within non-reactive cookware. And all you had to do was fill a bag with water. I will accept applause.

Now stick it in the fridge for 4 hours and just let it rip. If you want to make your rub, now's the time.

To make the rub, take the ingredients listed under "Dry Rub" and mix them together in a pinch pot or appropriately sized small bowl. Yup.

Once four hours have passed you can prep the chicken for roasting. This is the hard part. It's also easy.

Remove chicken from brine. Do whatever you want to drain the bird (holding it over the sink for a couple of minutes works) and get rid of the brine. I really don't think there's anything that can be done with leftover brine. I don't suggest finding out. Now place the bird on a cutting board or large plate and rub it with the rub. Get the rub into all the nooks and crannies, or crooks and nannies as I used to call them, and don't be shy. Rub it like you mean it. Rub it like you hope it has a happy ending. Don't forget the inner cavity. Get some rubbing done in there too. It can only help. Once as much bird as can possibly be covered in rub is covered, or you've done your best and you're out of rub, only then can you stop rubbing.

If using the oven, as I typically do, preheat to 450 Farenheit. Put the chicken in a suitable roasting pan, I prefer uncovered personally so that the rub bakes right in, and place the whole monster on the bottom rack. Immediately reduce the temperature to 350 Farenheit (this seals the flavour in because of the initial high heat but ensures that the meat is cooked thoroughly at a lower temperature over a longer time without burning). Cook 20-30 minutes per pound until the internal temperature reaches 160-170 Farenheit, basting periodically. Even if you forget to baste it should still end up fairly moist, but basting can be fun in and of itself because you get to open the oven, smell your beautifully roasting chicken and just drink in the flavours through your nose. It's visceral and fantastic and one of the best experiences cooking has to offer.

If you use a barbecue, I recommend indirect heat if you have the option. I use a 3 burner grill and I turn on the two outside burners to medium or medium-high heat and place the chicken on the centre rack, preferably on a roasting stand such as one you would use to make beer butt chicken but without the beer, unless you wanted to give that a whirl at the same time. Same cooking times and stipulations on internal temperature apply but you'll need to take more care to make sure dripping fat doesn't set your bird to scorching. Just keep an eye on it.

Carve and serve. Or do as I do and have your spouse (who you secretly know does a better job than you do at it but you give the excuse that you cooked the meat so she gets to serve it up) carve the meat and serve. I'll probably post next time some vegetable dishes or side dishes that I think might nicely compliment this chicken, but frankly I'm out of steam tonight.

Try it and enjoy, however. And let me know if you do. Enjoy it, I mean. If you don't enjoy it keep it to yourself. I don't need the bad press.

Ah hell, any press will do.

The House of Cooking, Part 1: Journey to the Centre of the House of Cooking

So it's been a while since I last posted. That's mainly laziness and sloth and procrastination. Did I mention sloth? Okay, things were also busy with vacation and my son turning two and housework and everything, but I'm sure I could have squeezed in a post here and there. However, I weighed my activity options for my free time and opted to instead watch cooking shows and occasionally play computer games.

I mention the cooking shows because, as you may have noticed from the title of this post, this is not going to be a House of Grammar post. (shock and dismay!!!) I figured I'd take some time to talk about garlic scapes.

I'll give you some background. D and I signed up earlier this year to be part of a CSA. We pay a monthly amount for a share in a local farm and receive weekly boxes of produce (with meat bi-weekly) locally grown and organic. However, we of course have no choice in what we receive, only in what sort of volume we get based on the price we pay for our share, and in what categories of produce we receive. Currently we are getting what is called an "appetizer" box of vegetables and the same of fruit. But what actually comes in the box each week is a surprise. It's sort of like our own Masterchef mystery box challenge.

Now, the surprise is great. In the spring, of course, we were deluged with turnip, cabbage, and potatoes, as well as carrots, apples and the occasional preserve. D and I had to be very creative to make turnip and cabbage interesting for about 2 months, but we managed. Turnip fries, scalloped turnips in cream of mushroom soup, cabbage rolls, coleslaw, an abortive attempt at fermented sauerkraut (I don't know what I'm doing wrong, but 2 batches of sauerkraut have developed mold on me without even starting fermentation) soups, stews, stir fries with cabbage leaves... the list goes on. We are now very comfortable with turnip and cabbage and never want to set eyes on it again.

Recently, however, we have been receiving a high volume of garlic scapes. For those who don't know, garlic scapes are apparently the stems of garlic bulbs that farmers trim this time of year to allow the garlic bulbs to grow larger. Apparently someone discovered they too have a strong garlic flavour and are easy to cook and prepare, so it's become another seasonal product you can get your hands on. Garlic scapes look horrific, in the truest sense of the word, especially when bunched together.

They are springy, green, grasping tentacles that look like they've been severed from the beard of cthulu. Despite their appearance, they are delicious. They are very much like green onion in terms of consistency when chopped, are easy to saute in butter and you can use them in place of fresh garlic for a lot of recipes. I was originally at a loss with what to do with them, especially given how many we have received, but D and I have come up with a couple of recipes that have been quite good. I'll share D's recipe first, as much of it as I know, since she made it when I wasn't around and I'm having to reverse engineer it a bit from what I remember of our discussion when planning the recipe, but I hope I hit all the points. I'm sure she will correct me if not.

There are, I will point out, a number of recipes out there for garlic scape pesto if you care to look. Also sounds quite good. I haven't made any yet but I plan to. I'm also planning to try my hand at some Lebanese food and I think garlic scapes might fit in nicely.

Oh, and if my recipe format is wrong, imagine me making a rude gesture when you think of scoffing.

Garlic Scape, White Bean, Asiago and Artichoke Dip
This dip is smooth and creamy and pairs well with tortilla chips for a snack. We have recently discovered that it can be added to great effect to macaroni and cheese to kick up the flavour.

1 can white kidney beans, drained and rinsed
1 can artichoke hearts, drained and rinsed (if you want to use fresh artichoke hearts, go right ahead, but that's on you)
X number of garlic scapes, finely chopped, where X=the number of garlic scapes you want to get rid of
As much asiago as you like. I like Asiago, preferably fresh, but I would just get a brick and grate it until I felt like I had enough. (If you can't tell, I don't really measure ingredients. "To taste" is my watchword)
1-2 tsp salt
1 tsp black pepper (D probably did not use either salt or pepper. They are anathema to her)
A couple capfuls of lemon juice

Dump the whole lot in a blender or food processor and run the bastard until the resulting mixture is smooth. Serve.

Shepherd's Pie with Garlic Scape and Asiago Mashed Potato Crust
This will probably not be considered a "shepherd's" pie by those who like to nitpick the provenance and categorization of pie. But it's my recipe, so it's a goddamned shepherd's pie. That introduction out of the way, this pie is rich and flavourful and the mashed potatoes are actually a joy to eat rather than sort of a dry cake to hold in the sauce. I will warn you, as a man, I make a lot of dishes when cooking. If you can think of a way to use fewer dishes, go right ahead. Your spouse will thank you.

2 cups of finely chopped lamb meat (not ground) from a cheap or on sale cut of lamb... don't use expensive lamb meat on a recipe like this, as it's just a shame. I used leg of lamb steaks that I bought for like 4 bucks each.
2 large or 4 small potatoes
1 cup of finely shopped garlic scapes
1 can of corn niblets
1 can of peas and carrots
1 white onion, finely chopped, your choice whether sweet onion like vidalia or not. Though I didn't actually have any onions on hand when I made this recipe, I would have liked to.
1-2 tbsp butter or margarine
1 tsp celery salt
1 tbsp all-purpose flour
3/4 cup beef broth
1-2 tsp dried or fresh thyme
1-2 tsp dried or fresh rosemary
A pinch of ground nutmeg
2-4 tbsp sour cream
1/2 cup grated cheddar cheese
1 tbsp vegetable oil
Salt to taste
White pepper to taste
Asiago. Remember what I said about Asiago above? The same applies here.

First, get a pot of cold water on the stove and put in your potatoes. Throw it on medium heat and leave it to come to a boil and then let it boil for 10-15 minutes. That should be done first because frankly, you then have time to just let that happen while you get everything else ready.

Now, take the butter and melt it in a small skillet, add your garlic scapes and give them a quick saute. Remove from heat.

Heat the vegetable oil in a large skillet on medium high heat and add the chopped onion, saute it for a couple minutes before adding the chopped lamb. Brown the lamb. Then stir in the flour and cook it for another couple of minutes before adding the beef broth, nutmeg, thyme, rosemary and a bit of salt and black pepper. Reduce the heat to low and stir occasionally until sauce thickens (about 5 minutes or so).

Take the meat and onion mixture and transfer it to a medium sized sauce pot on medium heat. Add the corn, peas and carrots, throw some celery salt at it and let it cook for a few more minutes.

By this time, if not before, your potatoes should be ready to mash. Reserve 1/4 cup of the potato water (sounds appetizing) and drain off the rest, then mash the potatoes (do I really need to explain how?) and add the sauteed garlic scapes (with the butter they were cooked in, please), sour cream, asiago, the potato water you reserved, some salt and white pepper. Mix this until creamy and smooth.

Now assemble the pie and throw it in the oven at 425 farenheit for about 15 minutes.

I have to explain that in more depth?

Okay, find an appropriately sized ceramic dish, insert meat and veggie mixture to about halfway up, settle the meat mixture by agitating the dish ("You're an inadequate piece of cookware! I slept with your wife!"... dishes are surprisingly easy to agitate) and then spread the potatoes over the top taking great care to not do what I did and mix the meat into the potatoes in some places, making for a bit of an ugly liver-spotted mess for my crust. Once potatoes evenly cover the meat, throw the grated cheese down on top as artfully as you desire and THEN pop it in the oven at 425 for about 15 minutes, or until crust is as crusty as you desire.

There you go. See the number of dishes? Insane. But worth it.

The House of Grammar Part 14: One Flew Over the House of Grammar

D spent some time on my birthday taking some photos for my blog posts. This is one of several, and I like it.

On to bloggy goodness.

I've recently been playing a board game with a few folks called Twilight Imperium 3. It's akin to Risk in its tactical and strategic depth, and takes as long if not longer to play through a full game.

One of the game's stronger aspects is the universe the creators have built, and the background for each of the races that players can control. The game I'm currently playing is actually being done via BBS (Oh my God, ANCIENT technology!) and I'm finding myself quite involved not only in the game itself but in the roleplaying side of things.

Currently I'm playing as a race of mercenaries and pirates called the Mentak (How in the heck does this have anything to do with grammar?) Shut up. I'm about to tell you.

I haven't written poetry in quite a while, but something in the background of the Mentak really started to speak to me, so I chose to spend some time writing a couple of poems through the eyes of the Mentak. I have no idea if they are actually good in any respect, but I enjoyed writing them. Fair warning, these are almost pure fan-fiction, with very little substance outside the context of the game, but I'd appreciate feedback anyway. More fair warning: When it comes to poetry I write for feel rather than structure, so at least the first poem is going to come across as a bit sloppy. Imagine it read in an Irish accent, maybe by Sean Bean, and you'll hear it the way it sounded in my head when writing it.

Poem 1: An Ode to Moll Primus

Betwixt the stars, on rails of light we fly
From fields and valleys where unmarked the bones, our fathers', lie
Where shackled once they slaved and strove, with plows they tilled and hoes they hove
And fought with brothers, kin of other mothers
And slew them, and in turn were slain, for lords possessed of greed, and vain.

And now amidst the silent sough of space, the cough of cannon spurs our race
The rusty tang of blood in air, the rending sound of a railgun's tear
The scream of foe hacked down by blade, or his noiseless death by enfilade
His wealth made ours, his last words devoured
By ears long deaf to the words of cowards

But we still dream, in the abyss between the stars, so far from home
Of you, Moll Primus, and the rolling fields of red we left
For we found our brothers, and strove together, and found,
That those who shackled could in turn be shackled,
And bound,
And made humble, through fire and pain

Each breath of air compressed, each sight we take by artificial light
Each time we hear the engines roar, the shields engage and our fighters soar,
Each ship our weapons set ablaze, or tear asunder, each battle waged
Our thoughts are of you, of warmth, of home.
We hear you call us back
Amidst the sounds of plunder.


Poem 2: The Ballad of the Widow's Pain

Of ships oft sung there's many names
Yet there's one rare heard that still remains
A tale worth hearing, so hark the strains
Of the ballad of the Widow's Pain

Her crew was surly, her Captain drunk
Her bosun rare to rise from up his bunk
Her hull was ragged, her engines junk
Worth more a'scuttled, still she slunk

One day she dropped from speed of light
Her thrusters burning with all their might
Her Captain cursed with all his spite,
As she dropped from warp a'to an unexpected fight

Three ships there were, all shining new
Gleaming hulls and disciplined crew
Weapons trained and torpedos flew
A swift death approached and all hands knew

But the captain cried, "No, not today!
"For every drop our blood we make them pay!
"Hands to stations, prep to evade!
"To arms, to glory, to Hell we wade!"

And the Widow's Pain engaged full thrust
And the crew felt the call of battle lust
Into the captain's hands they placed unexpected trust
To fight, to survive, they knew they must

The ship was old but something changed
In her heart burned hot a sudden rage
The bosun shrieked, "All guns, engage!"
And the sky lit fire with the ship's barrage

Swift and true she jigged and yawed
Close missed by cannon, and torpedos' claws
Her weapons fired, trails of fire sawed
And delivered one foe into death's hungry maw

Another lucky shot made the end another,
Her perfect flanks were torn asunder
A ball of fire blossomed with no answering thunder
But one remained, and the crew looked on in wonder

But then the strains of age did tell
This hoary boat that had fought so well,
Klaxons blared, and her speed it fell,
The alarum's cry a funeral bell

"More power, bosun, make her soar!"
"I cannae, Captain, she can give no more!
"The tiller's struck, the dirty whore!
"We cannae turn, only thrust afore!"

With this grim news the Captain set his face
Found now the courage that defined his race
"If death must come, we will find our place,
"Or die forgotten in the depths of space."

The Captain pushed the bosun aside
Took the tiller, his spine stiff with sudden pride
"Into fire I go, into death I ride,
"All hands to lifeboats, save your hides!"

And so while the crew did flee the captain held
The Widow's Pain creaked at every weld
The foe, his doom in the air he smelled
An unfamiliar resolve he felt

Straight as an arrow, hard as rain
So flew the Captain and the Widow's Pain
The foe beckoned them with fury unrestrained
But no wound her trajectory could constrain

Now eye to eye with the foe's gleaming ship
The Captain grit his teeth and bit his lip
Felt the tiller beneath his sweating grip
And with a crash of steel into the foe's hide they ripped

When later came the salvage crews
To find the wrecks of ships old and new
They found still the Captain, standing true,
At the tiller, fused with the ship he slew

She fought with fury, and glory gained,
Her Captain honoured where he once was shamed
No ship come after could such a story claim
Here ends the tale of The Widow's Pain



Anyway, I had fun with these. Please let me know what you think.

The House of Grammar Part 13: To Kill The House of Grammar

Ooooh. Photo in the centre. Will the awesome and unexpected changes never stop? No, they won't. Get used to it, and quickly (I could have said "and fast" but this is a grammar blog... ostensibly)

Okay, so I'm typing this on my new laptop. I have a confession to make: I hate laptop keyboards. The worst problem is the stupid mouse pad which puts my typing back at the mouse cursor every time the heel of my hand hits the stupid thing. The other problem is that the enter key is in an uncomfortable place and I often end up hitting \ instead. That having been said, I'm actually fairly pleased with the laptop, though ultimately I'll end up using a regular keyboard plugged in via USB instead. I'm just not going to bust into the attic while D is asleep to find one. So I will make do.

It was recently suggested to me by D based on a reply I made to a friend's facebook post that I do a blog about something. Well, I'm vain, and if someone tells me something I've done is neat enough to expand upon, I'm liable to go ahead and wax philosophical on the topic. Even if that person is D and automatically someone I should suspect of covert and even overt manipulation. But she's cute, so I typically fall for it anyway.

Anyway, a friend of mine mentioned that awkward was an awkward sounding word, to the point where it was almost onomatopoeic. I liked the idea, and decided to run with it, but I thought that in addition to awkward being it's own awkward word, we should also have a defining term to other words that are just, well, awkward. Although the word I'm about to use has been used before it does not appear to have been used in quite this context.

We're talking about "awkwords".

The link above speaks about a few definitions for this term that don't quite fit my intended meaning. Most of them speak to the social aspects of certain words, and how they can cause discomfort in certain conversational situations.

I'm talking about words that are just weird, make you question your spelling of them every damned time you try and put them down on paper. Conscience. Segue. Onomatopoeia. Definitely. Tomato (how many times have you wanted to put an "e" on that?) Incense. Broccoli. Nuclear.

Any word, essentially, where you have to think two or three times before you remember how it is actually spelled, and still wonder whether you are correct is an awkword. It's a word that never seems right to you, never seems quite like it fits, like a pair of jeans that's just a little bit too tight, or an office chair that won't recline quite enough to be that perfect combination of comfort and lumbar support that you're looking for. If you find yourself looking up the spelling in an internet search engine for a word you've said a thousand times when you're finally trying to put it on paper, that's an awkword.

So while this is a short post, I'd love if people posted a list of their own awkwords. We all have them, and not everyone experience the same difficulties with some words that others will. I'm absolutely fascinated to know what yours are, because I'm sure they'll be something unexpected.

Please post. There will be no ridicule. Well, not by me anyway. Unless it's really darned funny. Then there will be lots of ridicule.

I'm being disingenuous. Of course I won't mock you. But I welcome the discourse.

The House of Grammar Part 12: 10000 Leagues Beneath The House of Grammar

I have mentioned a few times that I have recently been editing some of D's essays for school. This is something I am happy to to do for her, because I'm that sort of spouse, and also because I find the process itself to be rewarding.

D, for her part, when I've actually written something, is usually also willing to edit what I've written, when I actually sit down to write something other than this blog. As much as I may hate some of the comments she makes about my work, because I'm very rigid about certain things (Really? Is everyone surprised?) I can at least accept that the points she makes are in many ways valid. I don't let her muck with the sentence structure or grammar because this only causes conflict (Have I mentioned I'm very particular?) which is best avoided, but I'm very careful to listen when she tells me something just doesn't make sense.

The reason for this is that when I write fiction, I write sci-fi or fantasy, and she reads neither, at least in the sense that she has no particular dedication to either genre.

That may sound counter-intuitive, but let me explain. When I read D's essays, I have absolutely no bias. I have no idea if the content is correct or not, or if her quotations are accurate, or if the terminology she is using is appropriate to the course work or not. Half the time I have no idea what she is actually trying to say. However, given that I have no preconceptions one way or the other regarding the subject matter, I am extremely capable of editing for structure, removing awkward statements, fixing spelling, and improving the clarity and concision (If that's not a word I'm coining it RIGHT NOW) of her work. I have no problem telling her if what she has written flat out says the opposite of what she intends.

The same is not true of when I try and edit her science fiction. I have too many biases, too many notions of what science fiction should be and how it should be structured. When I sit down to try and edit any science fiction she writes I am far too invested in what I want the story to focus on (or how I would write it if I were her) to really pay attention to what she wants the story to be about. All I read is science fiction, all I write is science fiction, and when her story does not fit easily into a thematic niche I can identify with all I want to do is rebuild it from the ground up so that it does.

When it comes to D reading my work, one would think the fact that she occasionally writes science fiction would hamper her with the same biases I find so restrictive. Such is not the case. When D approaches any piece of writing it is not with a bias towards genre, but with the intent of pursuing a particular core concept. If that core concept works best written as science fiction, then she will write it as science fiction, but for no reason other than to give the idea its best chance to succeed. If the same idea would work better as a romance novel, then that's what she will write. She is absolutely unbiased when it comes to any particular genre, possibly as a result of being so much more broadly read than I am. Because of this when she reads my work, it is with an objective eye, and her only concern is whether or not what I've produced comes across as logically consistent to someone who otherwise couldn't care about science fiction.

Orscon Scott Card, one of my favourite authors, wrote in either "Characters and Viewpoint" or "How to Write Science Fiction and Fantasy" (It's been so long I forget which, and it could be both) about the need for any author, published or not, to have an "educated reader". Essentially this is someone who can read your work and tell you when it's done. He goes into great depth about what he means by this, and I'll leave it to you to check out those books for the specifics, but this boils down to an understanding that we are all too attached to our own work to know whether or not what we have created is of interest to others, or only to ourselves, and whether or not what we have produced actually says what we intend.

But I think there's more to this. I think that any writer needs an unbiased reader, someone who can tell them from the perspective of someone who has for all intents and purposes never picked up a book in the genre they're writing whether or not what they have created is enjoyable, consistent, and understandable. However, this individual must also be someone who can read for effect, who has a good enough grasp of literary structure or even just good old fashioned storytelling to know when you've made a mistake, or when you've written something so full of jargon that most of your audience will be alienated. For an established author this person may be the editor assigned them by their publisher, but if you're trying to sell yourself as an author for the first time it's going to have to be a friend or family member, someone who is willing and able to plod through your creation with a dispassionate eye and tell you when it's time to kill your babies (If you think that term is literal, you're on the wrong blog).

For me, that's D. Most of the time I can be that for her as well, as she only occasionally writes science fiction, and the rest of the time I can be as unbiased a reader as she is for me. But not everyone is as lucky as I am. Most writers looking for such a person are going to have to look in unusual places, and probably ask a few friends for their opinions and find someone with just the right level of detachment and critical commentary. An unbiased reader who just says "I don't get it." or "That was really good." isn't helpful (but the latter is quite flattering). You need someone who can put into words what they did or did not like, and why, and then you need to chain that person to your writing desk and never let them escape.

For someone who writes historical fiction, this could be as easily a friend who reads only scientific journals as it could be someone who is heavily invested in the Twilight series of novels. For someone trying to write romance novels you could find your unbiased reader in your uncle, who only reads the obituaries, or your nephew who has just started reading Terry Brooks. There's no way to predict what person will be the best fit to act as your unbiased reader, so if you haven't already found someone, try everyone. Give the first couple of chapters of your story to all of your friends. The person who comes back to you with the most critically constructive comments who obviously couldn't give two shits about the genre you're working in is the person you want to stick with. That's the person who will make you work for it, who will make you try time and time to please them, and who will challenge you to produce something that not only interests your target demographic but everyone else as well.

I don't know that I have any other commentary other than I am glad I have such a person in D. She challenges me to be a better writer, to re-evaluate my own preconceptions, and to write for an audience other than myself. She makes me work for every compliment, and in so doing makes each compliment worth that much more. It's not easy to sell her on an idea, but if I can hook her with a concept, I know I can hook anyone. And that's what tells me I'm on the right track.

The House of Grammar Part 11: Showdown at the House of Grammar

Ooh. I put the photo on the right. Fancy. I need to find a better source of stock photos and/or spend more time thinking of better photos to use. Ah well.

D has recently been taking a number of courses at a variety of local universities for the purposes of getting a new degree. I applaud her for this. As a university drop-out, due to a variety of circumstances, I think anyone who sticks it out is worthy of all the laurels they can reap (can you reap laurels?) The number of friends I have currently who have obtained their doctorates is a figure that frequently causes my mind to seize up when trying to remember which particular friends have attained this status.

Anyway, a lot of her courses have been sociological in nature. She frequently asks me to edit her papers for her, because for all D's brilliance and capability in hammering out exactly what her teachers want, her skill with spelling and grammar are inversely proportionate. This is not a criticism, simply a statement of fact. D can write me under the table, and does so frequently. She is prolific and talented and full of good ideas. However, I have compiled a compendium of amusing misspellings she has made that one day I intend to publish, if in fact I ever get to the point of writing them down.

In editing these sociological papers, I have come to the conclusion that sociologists, as a group, need to stop FUCKING with my language.

My mom's going to cuss me out for that one.

Sociologists seem to be in the habit of routinely creating new words, or re-purposing existing ones in order to coin terms that individually only one sociologist can own. This in and of itself is not necessarily a bad thing, and ensures that certain research is effectively owned by the person who did the work, but the frequency with which sociologists do so, and the sorts of words they choose to defile, makes any word they touch or create an absolutely meaningless nonsense pile of gibberish. (ah, synathroesmus)

I'll give you an example. Parentalization. Ostensibly its meaning is "The moment when a child realizes that he/she is becoming his/her parent(s)"

Why does this need a term? And why does it have to be such a stupid term? This is a term that I guarantee was gestated in the sweaty fires of a drunken stupor, fermented in lack of sleep, and was ultimately adopted via the same process P. Diddy (Is he still called P. Diddy? I lost track the same way everyone lost track of "&" or whatever he is calling himself now) makes music, or a catbird avoids the trouble of raising its own offspring. "Screw it. I'm done. I'm going to jam 'parent' together with 'realization' and call it a goddamned day. Nobody will notice anyway. Now hand me a beer."

Here's another example: Individualization. I'm not kidding when I say that one of the definitions is: "The consequence of social changes in late modernity in which individuals are increasingly required to construct their own lives."

Read that to yourself again. Okay. Now digest that. What is it actually saying? Wait for it... there you go! That's right. It's saying that people need to figure out who the hell they are because of changes in society, more often than they might like.

Really? How long did it take sociologists to come up with that gem? I should call Captain Obvious, because even he would be floored by disingenuity of that definition. Should I start coining stuff too? Here's one: "Azuration: the process by which someone realizes the sky is blue." Or another: "Urination: coming to the understanding that everybody pees." Or: "Hungrification: from time to time, people need to eat."

Now, D is required to write essays on this stuff, and I'm required due to my position as her loving spouse and father of her child to read them and edit them. But I can tell you after any ten pages of sociological etymology, the mind literally becomes mush. Not only do they squirt out word abortions with the same glee most of us reserve for popping bubble wrap, but they do so in such volume that any rational mind is quickly reduced to paste. By the end of the last essay of hers that I read, I found myself unable to make words with my mouth. Being verbose by nature, this was for me the equivalent of suddenly finding myself unable to use a spoon, or open a door. Words literally ceased to have meaning. I had to go and stare at my phone for thirty minutes before I found myself able to comprehend what "slide to unlock" meant. D didn't notice, as she was printing out her essay.

The fact that I was mind-locked by a sociological paper when half my day job requires me to explain complex concepts like amortization and debt ratio to the sorts of people who cannot by themselves subtract fifty from one hundred and come up with a round number is by itself an accomplishment. Not a good one, but an accomplishment nonetheless.

The House of Grammar Part 10: A Fistful of The House of Grammar

It's been a couple of weeks since I last posted, a delay primarily caused by to being busy with work, as well as by sheer procrastination. Yeah, okay, I should apologize for that, but how many people are actually actively checking this daily? That's right, I'm deflecting blame back on you, the audience. Shame. (please come back!)

I want to take today to talk about a very real problem for any writer, or any person with a broad enough vocabulary that choosing the right word is an exercise in gauging the subtle differences between, for example, "camouflage" and "obfuscate". Anyone who understands that struggle knows I'm talking to them.  Yes, you. You have a problem. I have a problem. And it's a problem we need to talk about.

It can be summed up in one word: (Ooh, a paragraph break. How novel!) That word is Synathroesmus.

A few posts back I used this word and told you to look it up. Well, you probably didn't, thinking I was either lying, or not caring enough about whether I was lying to bother. I'm here to tell you it's a real word, and a real problem. Synathroesmus is, for explanation's sake, the piling on of adjectives, typically for the sake of invective.

I, like many, find myself burdened with this problem. It may not seem like a problem to some, but that's because to those people the word "shame" is as good as "chagrin" or "rousing" as good as "inflammatory". It's a problem for anyone who is trying to apply their vocabulary in day to day conversation, usually with people no less intelligent than themselves but perhaps with a lesser or looser understanding of the English language. In most circumstances we are able to apply a filter between our brain and our mouth, but in the wrong circumstances, like a heated debate or a subject about which we are passionate, synathroesmus rises to the surface to capsize the hull of our otherwise solidly keeled statements.

I will give you an example. Let's say I want to explain that something is "gross" but I want to do so in a way that leaves no doubt, because to me it is so utterly abhorrent that I MUST get my point across. In thinking the word gross I immediately have several adjectives at my disposal: Foetid. Feculent. Disgusting. Abhorrent. Abominable. Bilious. Foul. Well when my mind gets to "foul" I immediately start thinking of birds. Duck. Eagle. Chickadee. Robin. Wren. Sparrow. Chicken. At chicken I leap to "Coward." Yellow-Belly. Wuss. Pussy. Wimp. Traitor. Craven... And this keeps happening. And at each branch of words I am still thinking about appropriate adjectives based on my first train of thought, and each subsequent branching train of thought, until I suddenly have a list of 60-70 words rattling through my head from which, reasonably, I should pick the most appropriate adjective to apply. Only I can't. Because in the microseconds I've had to come up with this list my mouth has already started snagging words and spitting them out because it's so caught up in the passion of the moment that it can't wait for the person I'm talking to to poke me in the forehead because I've suddenly frozen up like a rusty tin-man in mid-sentence and ask me if I'm okay. No. It's continuing the conversation without my consent, gleefully snagging words out of the aether and suddenly I'm spitting out a phrase like: "Canteloupe is the most vile, bilious, eagle, knave, shower, pants melon ever conceived by God!" (although usually my automatic filters will omit the purely ridiculous adjectives or only apply ones I'm sure my audience doesn't know the meaning of anyway, even if they're vastly inapplicable.)

Most of my friends will agree that's probably a statement I've actually made at one time or another.

Now you question why this is a problem. Well, when it comes to writing, as my mother would probably say, "less is more." Though I disagree with her on the specifics I know I am guilty of using synathroesmus when otherwise I cannot find the right and proper word to explain what I mean or evoke the right emotion and find myself using many adjectives instead in an attempt to bludgeon my point into the audience's skull. This is clumsy and unwieldy and ultimately a recipe for failure, but when you're in the midst of writing something you love it's often difficult to just stop the flow and wait until the right word comes. You have to get the words out. You have to get the page, or the chapter, or the novel finished, and you can't be bothered with finesse. Your audience will get your point if you just hammer it out.

I'm here to tell you that's not true.

Living with D is an exercise in analyzing my own day to day vocabulary. I find that half the time I use a word that I understand on a level so far past conscious thought that when she asks me "what does that mean?" I have to pause and actually think about it. When I do this I often come to the conclusion that I don't actually know.

Do it yourself. How many words do you know how to use, but actually know the meaning of? For me, a lot of my vocabulary boils down into how the words interrelate. Effectively, this means that much of my vocabulary I understand because of other words that are essentially similar.

That's like understanding the word "run" because of the adjectives people use to describe it, like "hard," "long," or "sweaty." And yes, the same adjectives can be used, in many circumstances, to describe "penis" as well.

You see the problem?

Synathroesmus is something that any writer should be careful of, not because it in and of itself an ineffective tool but because it can be symptomatic of a more critical failing: a lack of understanding of the adjectives themselves being used. If more time was spent trying to find the appropriate word to fit the intended meaning, and given the breadth of the English language this is almost always possible, how can one perfect word in almost every circumstance not be better than five adequate ones?

It a crutch at best, and a bad one, especially if not used sparingly, as it also speaks to a clumsiness in the writer's thought processes, and if used frequently, actually loses any impact it might have once had if used sparingly. Imagine if you will if V's "V" speech in "V for Vendetta" had not been a paragraph, but if every word of dialogue in the movie had started with V. It's the same thing with synathroesmus. When used at the right time it can be a powerful tool to emphasize a point. When used too often it feels lazy and heavy handed.

I'm the first (well, second, behind my mom) to admit that I am guilty of everything I've said above. Including calling a penis sweaty.

But they say admitting a problem is the first step, so here's my admission. I'm a filthy, dirty, grime-encrusted, sooty, scabrous, vermin-infested, rabid, disease-bearing synathroesmus user. I have a problem.

I'd like to hear from anyone else who has it too.

The House of Grammar Part 9: I, The House of Grammar

It's been a few days since I made a post, mainly because I've been thinking about this one for a while. Having been on a bit of a tangent in respect to sci fi recently, I was thinking about a conversation that D and I had about a novel she wrote a long time which is set in a sci fi world. Now, I respect D's talents as a writer probably more than I do my own, mainly because she's actually capable of finishing a work of fiction, whereas my "current" novel has been on the back burner for almost a year. She is excellent at coming up with an idea, and regardless of any hurdles she may come across she damn well finishes it. While nothing is published, she's got about four novels finished to my zero. That's an accomplishment in and of itself. That's saying nothing about the quality of her ideas, which are typically excellent, as I've found myself inspired and engaged by them consistently (And I'd love to take some of them and rework them for my own purpose, but they're not mine to play with).
What she is not, and this is not necessarily a failing, is a reader of sci fi. This becomes a problem when trying to write in that genre.
Why is hard to explain (and not necessarily a good thing, but keep reading), but I'll try. Science fiction has come a long way since the days of Jules Verne, Heinlein, Orson Welles, even Bradbury and L. Ron Hubbard (shudder). What I mean by a long way is that if Verne had tried to use the word "quantum" (assuming it was even a word back in the day) in any work of his, his readership would have looked at it, frowned, and probably used the book as tinder while they drank their evening tea. These days a science fiction writer can bandy about words like "quantum", "string theory", "fraction of c", "electromagnetic pulse", "gravity well", etc... and their readership not only will not bat an eye but will immediately grasp the concepts described with almost no need for extrapolation of the concepts.
Now, this is not something that's developed in a vacuum.  It's not like all of a sudden people decided "I'm going to bone up on my science talk so that I can understand this new book that's just come out." No, it's precisely because of the work done by the fathers, and mothers I presume, of science fiction that we have such an intelligent readership to work with. People like Verne and Heinlein created a baseline, a starting point from which any new reader can work their way into more advanced concepts to the point where it is not only easy to make logical leaps from one precept to another, but to accept things at face value and grant the author the chance to suspend disbelief through the use of principles they may not fully understand themselves. Authors like Bradbury, Huxley, John Wyndham, even William Gibson (who coined the term "Cyberpunk") helped form the core principle that defines beyond the science what sort of tool science fiction really is. And, as a result, the genre has helped teach generations not only accept but to hold with healthy respect and even suspicion the very changes in technology and society predicted in the works created by those authors, to experience how those very changes have made the world in which we now live the place it is today, and has taught us to be naturally critical of new advances and how they might change the future of our children. As a side benefit, I think that the people who have witnessed firsthand the truth of what these past writers envisioned have, perhaps unknowingly, forced themselves to be educated to a certain degree in principles that might otherwise be beyond their ken when confined to the text of a scientific journal, or a mathematical textbook. Science fiction, in my opinion, is a filter between those who want to know more about what the future may hold, and those whose livelihood it is to create that future. There may be problems with that filter, though.
Even having thought about this in advance, this post has already gone places I did not intend. Just putting that out there.
To get back to my conversation with D, we were discussing the novel she is editing currently, one she wrote a long time back but has started to edit again, and we were talking about technologies one of her cultures might possess, assuming they had traveled across the stars from Earth to the planet on which her story is set. It's when I started asking her questions about how they had gotten there that I started to realize the gulf between us when it came to a basic grasp of science fiction principles. This is not a criticism: all I read is science fiction and fantasy. D has read Andre Dumas, and Hemingway, and Kazuo Ishigiru, and Ian Rankin, and Rose Tremain, and Kathy Reichs and practically everything she can get her hands on that isn't science fiction. She's an accomplished reader and will challenge herself with new genres whenever she can. But she doesn't read science fiction.
So when I asked her how her colonists from Earth reached this planet, it's not like she drew a blank, but she could not articulate the process involved. So I bore down. Did they travel at sub-light speeds, which would mean cryogenic sleep or generational ships (the latter of which itself would imply a disconnect from the culture of origin that would not fit her story) and also imply that any colony ships would have to possess not only all the rudimentary technologies necessary to not only terraform the destination planet but also to rebuild the industrial base required to rebuild any part of their technology that failed. Or did they travel at faster than light speeds, of which a variety of theoretical options are available to choose from, but all of which would indicate her colonists would have if not easy, at least ready access to help from home, which has its own ramifications.
And those are basic questions. I didn't even think about them. To me, if I'm conceiving a science fiction universe that happens to include space travel, it's an either/or decision. In my mind the choices and potential ramifications of either choice are clearly delineated and readily accessible, and if I find my initial choice does not fit later thematic decisions, I am not only able to rework my story accordingly but I've usually already done so in my head to fit the basic parameters of my plot, so going back and changing things would be almost effortless. And this is purely because choosing FTL or Sublight is as basic a decision for me when coming up with a plot as picking the colour of a character's hair.
But as I asked the questions and posed theoretical consequences to her involved in either decision, it started to become apparent to me that what I took for granted, any educated reader of science fiction (by which I mean educated BY sci fi to READ sci fi) would also take for granted. Where I have a working understanding of "quantum entanglement", and could probably rhyme off for her some of the basic theories involved, and can actually get the humour of "When we observe them, they become amber particles of grain", someone who does not read science fiction, and who did not spend their formative years devouring every piece of it they could find, these things I take for granted because I have effectively (there I go again) been training in this discipline my entire life, and which are trivial knowledge for me, may as well be, for lack of a better term, theoretical physics to them. (That felt like a run on sentence, but I think I may have actually pulled it off.)
All this is really meant to pose the question: Has science fiction become so rarified that it can now only be understood by people who read science fiction, and is that not a recipe for disaster? If those of us who read and enjoy science fiction assume that everyone has the same understanding we have developed over years, sometimes decades of reading in this genre, are we not effectively writing for ourselves and those like us, rather than trying to draw in new readers, new audiences? Are we trying to engage people to question their futures, or are we condemning our potential audiences to be educated by movies like "Armageddon" and "2012" and the remake of "The Day the Earth Stood Still?"
I think that may something worth questioning.
In support of this argument, read (or recall your impressions of) Heinlein's "The Moon is a Harsh Mistress." Then read Adam Roberts' "Gradisil".
Understand before you do that I personally think both novels are phenomenal and read them cover to cover without pause. I wonder how many people would agree with my assessment of the second, however. That's not speaking to its quality, which I defend, but its accessibility, which I do question. If you have thoughts, please post them.  I'd be interested to hear.

The House of Grammar Part 8: The Island of the House of Grammar

Since I was on a bit of a sci-fi kick a few days back, I figured I'd return to that genre. Besides, my mom's planning to throw down a bit of schoolin' in the comments section of these posts so I may as well get my vitriol out. I was lucky to get away with it this long, but I suppose that's the benefit of her being away from a computer for a couple weeks; no time to knock me off my high horse.
Anyway, I was talking about sci-fi. You know how in Part 6 I mentioned I would buy just about any method of communication you dished up for me for a non human species? Well, there's a caveat to that.
Talking animals are not a non human goddamned species.
I'm not talking about alien species that share superficial similarities with let's say, deer. If you want your alien species to flick its white tail in the air and flee at the crack of a twig, go ahead. I'm also not talking about creatures like The Cheshire Cat, who is not a talking cat, but some kind of reality warping quantum hate beast from Mars who just happens to look like a cat. I'm also not talking about animals speaking only with each other because they are the only main characters. Even the movie "Babe" had a hard divide between its animal and human characters. They did not speak to each other, even though they worked to coexist. It was very clear in that story that the humans could never, and never did understand the dialogue happening between the animal characters, and the suspension of disbelief comes into play there because it is very easy to believe a farmer imagining the things going on inside the heads of his stock, but never being able to know for sure. This is mainly because that's something we all do.
Quite simply, what I'm saying is that if the best you can come up with for your sidekick character, or for your power behind the throne villain, or secret group of vicious rebel insurgents, is that the reason they're able to succeed is because they are house pets with the uncanny ability to talk human language, granted to them by experiment/radiation/viral evolution/because they didn't want us to know/venereal disease/you're a lazy writer/I hate you... etc, then you have just failed at engaging my suspension of disbelief. You have successfully managed not only to be less imaginative than my less than two year old son (who is at least capable of imagining that a chicken finger is in actuality a dancing train) but you have also managed to step into the ranks of the same sorts of people who created the movie "G-Force." Yeah. That's how talented you are. "No round of applause?" you ask. Nope.
I really don't care what your counterargument is. Nor do I care how long you spent developing the really detailed back story for your nattering llama, your sobbing pet iguana, or your pleading chimpanzee. And no, even if the talking cat is green, it is still a talking fucking cat.
And no, I don't have a thing against Furries. As long as you keep it in the bedroom or wherever it is you do your thing, do whatever you like. But just because I'm fine with whatever people want to do for kink does not mean I'm going to excuse you for deciding because you lack even the merest, infinitesimal fragment of imagination that your main character is going to be (and I can imagine the fervor of excitement as you say this) "A bipedal female wolf whose species happened to evolve on Earth in the hundreds or thousands of years following the release of a terrible nanovirus, and speaks English because of books we left behind." I'll tell you what you just said to me, but with more brevity: "TALKING GODDAMNED ANIMAL."
What about Planet of the Apes? What about Dolphins? Well, there's quite a lot of scientific research, to start with, that human beings evolved from chimpanzees (one might argue that it is scientific fact, but I'm not here to spark an evolutionary debate) and many primates show a marked ability not only to mimic human speech but to communicate in rudimentary sign language. That's fact. Dolphins, too, are said to have near human intelligence, so I can accept a logical argument for one being able to communicate with humans.. I'm not, however, going to buy a raccoon that suddenly possesses the ability to engage in witty banter with a Yale professor just because you think it's very "Odd Couple" to have that happen. If a raccoon could talk, I imagine it would say "Screeeee!" because it's a godsbedamned raccoon, not Chris Rock.
Now I'm going to dial down the rage a little. I'm as guilty of being tempted by this trap as anyone, but the difference here is that any time I have found myself thinking along those line, I've stopped myself. If you find the same, go drink a coffee, or take a nap, or talk to a shrink for all I care, because you are now on the wrong track. No matter what rationale you come up with, people do not, cannot, and will not communicate with animals, and anything else you come up with to explain it is going to shoot your story right in the kneecap before it can go thirty feet.
I haven't explained why yet? I suppose not. Let's put it simply, then. No matter how fun it is to pretend that your pet dog is thinking something in particular, or that your cat has an opinion of your hygiene, or that your fish is concerned about the diver in its tank getting the bends, any conversation you imagine between yourself and them is you putting words in their mouth. We cannot put ourselves, as an audience, into the shoes of an animal, without realizing this. At that point, the animal character in question may as well be a human character, because for your audience they have already become a human character. They have become a ventriloquist's doll, at the very best, and a poor second hand one at that. We immediately realize what you're trying to do, and it fails, because you're trying to get us to actively believe that all the conversations we have with our pet are real, and that's when it falls apart.
Save yourself the trouble. If you think a talking animal would be a hoot, try an experiment. Write that character as a person. How much better or worse would the story be if that character were human? Do they need to be there at all? And if they need to be there, if the quality of their character improves the story, why do they need to be an animal? I'm far more likely to fall in love with a human character to whom I can relate than an animal character who happens to talk like a human character to whom I can relate, for the simple fact that I, as a human, am not capable of relating to an animal. Period. By making them an animal, you have just removed my investment from your story.
And at that point if your story makes it to the bottom of my rabbits' cages, I've probably gone to more effort than I should have.
And when I tell them why your story is now their litter, they're going to stare up at me with the blank suspicious eyes of prey and say nothing.

The House of Grammar Part 7: In the Valley of the Shadow of The House of Grammar

I've been writing for a few years, obviously not in the professional sense, but long enough that I have a pretty solid grasp of how to manipulate the English language as I need to accomplish whatever purpose I have in mind. Does this make me an expert? No.
"You mean I've been listening to a crock of bull hockey from you for like a week and you're not an expert?" I hear you ask. Yep. That's what you get for reading a blog instead of a textbook.
However, what I lack in expertise I make up for significantly in practical application, and more significantly simply because I have the sort of mind that turns a problem over and over and over again until it finds a solution that works well enough to suit. It may be dirty, it may be cheap, it may be messy, but it usually gets the job done. Given that, I present to you: Why I Break the Rules.


When it comes to grammar, and its application, you have a tough choice to make. You can stick to the rules one hundred percent of the time, making sure every comma is in its place and every line of every sentence fits together with every other like gears in a clock. If you can do that, you're going to turn out some pretty beautiful stuff, work the likes of which could grace the cover of every literary magazine and book review website, and if it still existed, be the next Oprah's book club book.
Conversely, you could turn out something about as interesting as a pane of glass. Clean, clear, transparent, easy to look through, but just as easy to ignore.
I know what I'm about to say sort of flies in the face of most of my arguments, but fittingly enough it also supports its own argument: your second choice is to ignore the rules. Paint with your fingers. Get your hands in the dough.
This is the way I like to roll. (Except the finger paint. It wigs me out.)
I use commas like they're on sale, because as I'm writing I imagine what the words would sound like were I to read them out loud, and I mentally insert a comma wherever I would naturally pause. This means comma splices. Commas commas commas. Yes, mom, I just admitted it. Sit back down. It's not over yet. I use parentheses willy-nilly, whenever I disagree with myself about something I've written or want to emphasize a point that would otherwise interrupt the flow of the sentence (and still does) I'm trying to craft. I hyphenate where I shouldn't, use semi-colons instead of colons, and sometimes instead of periods, use periods where I should use commas because I suddenly think that a comma is unacceptable in that spot, and generally ignore or misuse punctuation whenever I come to a set of quotation marks. Flipping tenses means nothing to me if it helps me emphasize a point, or because the tense I started out in bores me to tears by the time I get to the end of the sentence. Run on sentences are also a thing. That was not an example.
I do all this because like anything, writing is art. The art I like is not precise. I like impressionism, expressionism, surrealism, even cubism to a point. If there was ismism I'd probably enjoy it. Art that is messy and visceral and full of passion and vulnerability is what really shines for me. The brushstrokes should be visible, the emotion in every straining thrust of the pen (euphemistic?) should be there for the naked eye to see. As much as I love attention to detail, I love it more when an artist knows when to fudge it.
Why? Because if it's done well there is no difference -in terms of the audience's ability to appreciate a piece of art, be it writing or paint or any other medium- whether it is made with absolute precision or with gut instinct. But what I think (and feel free to think differently) makes a piece of art stand out is when an artist can not only make you see themselves in the work, but when they can make you see a little bit of yourself as well. And I think that can only be done by stepping outside the bounds and breaking a couple rules here and there. Because, like in love, what we really fall for in human beings, and subsequently I would argue in the art they create, is their flaws and not their virtues.
However, this does not mean you do not need to KNOW the rules. Without understanding the rules you are breaking, without a conceptual grasp of how they work and when they should be used, you end up turning out something artless and soulless and about as hamfisted as a fist full of ham.  So learn the rules, read lots of books, and fill your head with the words of people who know this art better than you do.  Only then will you be prepared to truly attempt the creation of art, because only then will you be ready to play. And in the midst of that play I hope you find a method of creation that sings -even if only for you.

The House of Grammar Part 6: Darmok and Jalad at The House of Grammar

Almost any piece of science fiction or fantasy you can name, or imagine, is going to include non-human species. As a writer, you're going to have to make a decision: Do they speak English? (I'm assuming anyone reading this is doing so in English, because I'm fairly sure I can't write in German, and if I can, holy crap) If they speak English, why? (not the people reading the blog; the non-human species to whom I previously referred) And if not, how far down into the rabbit hole do I go to craft their particular language? Do I pull a Tolkien? Do I actually build the language from syntax up? Or do I whip out some funny sounding words and hope no one cares?
Frankly, it doesn't matter to me. As long as you can get me to suspend my disbelief, I'll take it served up however you dish it. I'll buy universal translators. I'll buy a race that only says "yoto". I'll take clicks, pops, glottal stops, creatures that communicate via pheremones, a race that writes with yarn, etc... I would even be willing to accept a race that communicated through the trading of candy hearts (though that implies a base written language that in and of itself would have to be quite complex to effectively take over for all verbal communication, and I would love to see the Gettysburg Address given via this method.)
I have an issue, however, with the "Star Trek: The Next Generation" episode entitled "Darmok."
I'm sure anyone reading this is thinking to themselves, "Why would you be bringing that up now? That episode aired twenty one years ago!"
It's probably because I was ten when it aired and only recently have people been bringing it up again, on facebook, etc (though for what reason I have no idea) and all of a sudden my hind brain kicked my forebrain and said "Dude! Wake up! That episode was stupid!"
For those who don't remember, I'll give you a brief synopsis. "Darkmok" was an episode about an encounter with a species who can only communicate through the use of metaphor.  I'll spare you the details and the minutiae, but effectively this would be like communicating by only using pop culture references: "Buffy and Angel at the Christmas Tree Lot" or "Sting aboard the airplane." would be phrases that carry a weight and significance that supposedly would communicate the speaker's intent.
This is stupid. I can't say it enough times.  Stupid, stupid, stupid.
Let's examine this in more detail, using a simple test phrase. For the purposes of argument the phrase we will use is "Sheila and Paul in the bedroom."

Point One: Every single member of this species would have to have a perfect eidetic memory and the ability to absorb contextual meaning from nonsensical stories their parents tell them: In order to communicate at all, any species that communicated via this method would have to be able to remember every single saga or story told by anyone, about anyone, at any point in history, because these events take the place of words. They would also have to be able to dredge their memory instantly for the appropriate saga or story to fit the context of whatever conversation they were having with another person. This means that not only would they have to be able to absorb however many thousands of years of history their species has experienced but would also have to be able to do so by having their parents TELL THEM STORIES. That's like trying to teach my son theoretical physics by the time he is three by reading him "The Hungry Caterpillar" over and over again. So for either of us to be successful, I would quite literally have to know everything that had ever happened to my species ever, be able to draw this knowledge up at will and tell it to my son, who not only would have to be able to absorb it with equal immediacy and perfect retention but also be able to immediately grasp how the information should be used contextually. There is no room for mistake.  There is no word for "um" in this language (unless um itself is a story, but we'll get into the complexities of that in a moment) so saying "Um... shit...  Sheila and Paul in the bedroom" would mean something completely different than "Sheila and Paul in the bedroom." given that this story is now about Um Shit Sheila and Paul, rather than Sheila and Paul.


Point Two: No one's name could ever be repeated, ever, even phonetically, throughout the entire history of this species: For a language like this to work every story or saga must be contextually precise, which would also mean that in order to remain a valid method of communication, names could never be repeated. A simple example is all that's needed here. Let's say my kids are named Sheila and Paul, and your wife and brother are named Sheila and Paul. If I say "Sheila and Paul in the bedroom" I'm probably talking about having put my kids to sleep. But if I say this phrase to you, you're probably going to run home and shoot Paul in the kidneys for sleeping with your wife.

Point Three: No member of this species could ever disagree: This is because disagreement changes context, and in this language, a change in context changes meaning. Either everyone agrees all the time about what each phrase means, or you end up splintering your language into infinite dialects that simply can no longer communicate with each other. If you think "Sheila and Paul in the Bedroom" means something different than what I mean when I say it, we've stopped communicating. Effectively this is like me saying "I'm going for a walk" and you hearing "I've just purchased a banana for the low low price of three kidneys." because you disagree with the meaning of "I'm going for a walk." Everything I say becomes gibberish to you because we are not communicating with words, we're communicating with concepts, and those concepts mean completely different things to the two of us.


Point 4: Every single word used as part of a phrase to communicate an idea would also have to be its own metaphor for a saga or event: This is like watching fractal art take shape. Given that information is transmitted entirely via metaphor, each individual component of any given metaphor would itself have to be a metaphor for another, because for the more complex metaphor to have developed there must be a root meaning behind each word. You cannot jump from "Thog like water" to "I, Thog, have decided that water is intrinsically good, given its scarcity and our dependence upon it for our continued survival as a species." without the language evolving. And for this language to evolve, every word is a metaphor which speaks to an event, and arguably speaking, every larger metaphorical phrase is effectively grouped metaphors that have their own intrinsic meanings that if separated and recombined would mean something else because of how they are contextually reassigned. Given this, saying "Sheila and Paul in the bedroom" would mean something completely different than "In the bedroom, Paul and Sheila."

Point 5: What about nouns? There aren't any. Or at least, not in the way we think of them. "Bedroom" means nothing conceptually, except for the metaphorical concept that it communicates. It does not mean bedroom, but itself could stand for, let's say "Sheila and Paul, in the place of sleep." and because of the significance of that particular story to this species is then used to always communicate the room in which people sleep, but it does not describe a thing, but rather an event. This also means that in situations of discovery you run the risk of disagreement (see point three). Columbus, for example, thought when he discovered (arguable) the Americas that it was India. Given this, if he coined the newfound continents "Columbus on the shores of India" to stand as the noun "India" then there would effectively be two nouns "India" meaning completely separate things. If however he simply decided he had reached India and used whatever nonsensical metaphorical phrase currently in use to say "India" to indicate what he had discovered, he would have been wrong, and would effectively be in disagreement because his concept of India and that of someone who had actually been there would be contextually different.

Part 6: Counterpoint. The crew explains that the Universal translator is able to translate the words the Tamarians were using very easily but it's the meaning of those words that is being communicated as metaphor, which means they have their own language, blah blah blah, I hate you and you make me cry: If we are to believe the science behind the Universal Translator (and if I've invested enough time in Star Trek to write this, you better believe I'm willing to accept it, otherwise I'd be a MADMAN) then we have to accept that its entire job is to communicate the meaning behind the words that are actually being spoken by the species being interpreted. That means, effectively, that regardless of the spelling, grammar, syntax, etc that the Tamarians were using, what they were ACTUALLY SAYING TO EACH OTHER and correspondingly to the crew of the enterprise was "Darmok and Jalad at Tenagra." The whole point of language is to communicate meaning. It's the Universal Translator's job to pick up meaning from the words spoken. So if it can make the Klingon phrase "Baklavah, borscht chow" sound like "Today is a good day to dine." then it could certainly make "Sheila and Paul in the bedroom" actually mean whatever it is the Tamarians intend, if in fact the meaning was effectively anything but "Sheila and Paul in the bedroom."Nothing in your argument invalidates my points, it just means that a team of Federation Linguistics officers need to spend about four hundred years locked in a room with a bunch of Tamarians like caged video game testers plugging gobbledegook into the Universal Translator program so that it filters out for us conceptually what the Tamarians mean contextually with every single one of their stupid phrases.

I'm not even going to bookend this, or conclude. I'm just going to reiterate:  Stupid, stupid, stupid.