Chicken Gulai

Chicken GulaiHere’s an easy, delicious recipe from an Indonesian friend of mine. I’ve always been intimidated by recipes involving lemongrass, but I really liked this dish so I asked if I could help her make it. It was worth it. Sweet, spicy, delicious comfort food at its best. (You’ll probably need access to a good Asian market for some of the ingredients.)

Ingredients

4 large chicken legs (with skin or without)
3 stalks of lemongrass
150 mL Túóng Ót Toi Viet-Nam chili garlic sauce
5 cloves garlic
1 small onion
1 tsp ginger
3 bay leave
4 lime leaves
200 mL coconut milk
4-6 Tbsp sugar

1. Fine-chop garlic, onions, and ginger, then mix together and crush with a mortal and pestle.
2. In a large frying pan, heat 2 Tbsp of vegetable oil.
3. Add the garlic-onion-ginger mix, garlic chili sauce, and coconut milk. Stir.
4. Add the lime leaves, bay leaves, and lemongrass.
5. Add the chicken.
6. Cover and cook on medium heat for 20 minutes or so (until chick is cooked through, and all the Sam ‘n’ Ella are dead).

Serve on jasmine rice and top with chopped shallots.

Note the original recipe called for aniseed and galangal, but I didn’t use either. Still tasted quite good to me.

Newtown: Guns Don’t Kill People

Statue of Minute Man John Parker in Lexington, Massachusetts

Statue of Minute Man John Parker in Lexington, Massachusetts

People do.

I started this post about a monthtwo months ago, when emotions were fresh and bitter. But I didn’t want to commit to what I wanted to write. My own words made me angry, and I don’t like being angry. Two months on, emotions are still fresh and just as bitter.

Guns don’t kill people. People do.

The people who colonized the United States of America saw themselves as people under siege. Many had been persecuted for their religious beliefs in their country of origin. They were living in a harsh land surrounded by hostile savages. And while they were subjects of a (somewhat) democratic country, they had no parliamentary representation. All these perceptions helped to create a siege mentality, which, even after a successful revolution against the “oppressors”, has persisted.

Today, it permeates popular entertainment and right-wing political discourse: our country was not given to us, it was hard-won, and we must defend it. Our enemies lie in wait all around, looking for signs of weakness, looking for a chance to take from us what’s rightfully ours. They’re jealous of our freedom and will destroy us if they get the opportunity.

When you’re under siege, it’s important to not appear weak, lest your enemies decide to test your defenses. Like many animals, who, when cornered, will puff themselves up to appear larger, more formidable an opponent to the predator, if you’re an embattled regime, having more, bigger and better guns will make you appear more intimidating to your foes. This strategy seemed to make sense during the period after the US bombing of Hiroshima and Nagasaki until the early days of the Cold War. Eventually, it became clear that it was a strategy of diminishing returns.

Still, from a position of weakness, guns might appear to be an equalizer, and they can be. But if more guns is your solution to the problem of mass murder by guns, then you don’t have a solution.

True, guns didn’t cause the violence. But they were the enabler. And the amplifier. Let’s not kid ourselves; the angel-making capacity of the .223 Bushmaster semiautomatic assault rifle is far greater than the knife, the baseball bat, the bare hand, or whatever other weapon the average “bad guy” has at his disposal.

But I’m glad we have guns. Because when the mob is reaching for its torches and pitchforks, coming for my children because they want to blame autism or mental illness or whatever it is that makes us different from them, for the deaths of their little angels, I’ll protect my angels. You people will always have more sympathy for the pretty ones, the popular ones, than the sad, lonely losers. So be it. I’ll be waiting for you. With a couple pitbulls too. Maim your ugly, neurotypical NIMBY faces when you show up at my castle.

America is a wounded animal, frantically biting its own wounds.