Mixed salad, raspberry dressing

A dressing is prepared consisting of:

* olive oil

* raspberry vinegar
* raspberry preserves

* whole grain mustard with horseradish

* chile flakes

* S/P

Vegetable and fruit elements are added and tossed consisting of:

* mushrooms

* orange bell pepper

* orange segments

* sliced apple

* cooked shrimp

* mixed salad greens

A video for you! The video is called,

Raspberry Dressing with Salad. 

I should probably put this on the supporting blog and link it, but you're having it here.

Fred's dead A couple of years ago a close friend and companion of mine died. This individual was himself a widower twice, so something of a tragic figure, but that did not characterize him. He was quite a unique individual, a well-known and widely respected oncologist, always up for adventure no matter what. By way of example, a few summers ago I was interested in visiting a goat farm that was gaining renown for the cheese they produced. I asked five separate friends if they would care to join me and all refused. Fred called on the day I planned to set off and he asked me what I was doing. I told him. He said, "Well, you didn't ask me! I want to go." He wanted to drive. That was fine with me because it meant I'd be transported stylishly in a Mercedes. Yay. I rescheduled. The day came, but by then four other people decided they wanted to come too. The very same people I had already asked. Now that Fred was going, it seemed like a great idea.  This he did in spite of his own health problems, notably debilitating and painful arthritis. In fact, we believe that is what did him in. He died by heart attack while hiking Colorado mountains. It was suggested his medication combined with the strenuous high-altitude hike combined to produce the failure. As a doctor he would have known this. But I can see how his own overarching sense of machismo, which did characterize him, would set him up in competition with his hiking companions half his age and with none of his health problem. His passing both saddened me and angered me beyond speech.  I should mention that I met Fred when I was very young. I must have said something brilliant that day which struck him as exceedingly smart which then created a halo effect so that nothing stupid I did thereafter erased that conclusive impression, and I did many incredibly stupid things. He used to brag about me to others in ways I did not deserve. It was embarrassing. For instance, while waiting for the waiter to bring us our lunch, we'd knock out a NYT crossword puzzle together before the waiter returned and he would outwardly marvel at my approach to solutions, memory for clues, and speed. Then point out the confounding clues and clever solutions and the theme to the waiter! Yet he would overlook the straight up stupidity of my falling backward on my ass while photographing hummingbirds.  Fred owned one of my paintings. He collected a lot of art, actually, all significant pieces, none of it junk. His home on Genoese was quite spectacular. Upon entering the house, right at the entry, on a wall facing the front door BANG! there hung my painting, a large heavy framed fresco of a row of Egyptian boys holding odd objects of offering, jauntily walking in row upon a black line, caught in mid-stride, suggesting by their movement the direction for the visitor to turn when entering the home. Having the painting presented so thoughtfully was deeply touching. So much better than leaning against a bunch of ladders in the garage. Unfortunately, I have no photograph of this painting to show you.  Upon Fred's death I received a call from another friend asking if I knew of the disposition of the painting. I said that I didn't know and I didn't care. I assumed Fred's niece would have first crack as she lived nearby. The caller said, no, in fact a third friend was named executor and that individual claimed possession of the painting and it was already shipped to New York. I thought, "Fuck'n-a. I had no idea the thing was looked at like that, desired so strongly that someone would hasten to call dibs." Bad form that, but I admit it pleased me. The caller continued. He was interested in the painting himself. Since possession was closed, would I be interested in a commission?  This was great to hear and I was cheered. I had already been interested in doing that, as a gift not as a commission. The caller is a hunter with hunting-related objects all over the house. ALL OVER the house. The decoys, feathers, pottery, arrowheads, duck-related lamps, peasant tails, deer antlers, guns and shells, curios, etc., completely dominate. For a long time I had in mind a nature scene famed among Egyptologists and art historians for its naturalism. It is the oldest example of fresco known, the Geese of Meidum  from the mastaba of a noble. The image is reproduced millions of times in thousands of ways. Or possibly thousands of times in hundreds of ways. FINE! Hundreds of times in dozens of ways, look, the point is, the image is reproduced a lot and once you see it, you see it everywhere in all manner of styles and medium. The problem was, bringing an image of geese to this man's home is tantamount to bringing coal to Newcastle. But now the man had a brand new ranch. A huge new ranch. A gargantuan ranch. Now all that hunting-related clutter is spread thinly throughout thousands of square feet of living space. It's a whole different deal. I agreed to reproduce a simulation of the Geese of Meidum. Google it!  This painting is over six feet long. The size of the actual fresco in Cairo Museum. It is a huge and heavy plaster fresco. It is positively dwarfed by the wall on which it hangs, a 3/4 dividing wall that separates a dining area from a larger living area. It was not possible to have made it any larger and still have it framed. It is as a postage stamp on that interior 3/4 height wall. It faces inward toward the dining table, hung at eye-level while seated. It is dwarfed also by the table it faces. I cannot imagine a more perfect setting.  I do have a very poor photograph of this painting.  My brother took this photo by standing on a chair  and aiming a very inexpensive camera down toward the floor, immediately before we carried it off  to the frame shop. Finally, I mention all of that ↑ now because strange as it is, that is what comes to mind all at once when I think about raspberry vinegar. Yes. That is what happens. The owner of this painting summoned me to his ranch specifically to see for myself how the painting is hung. He insisted. While I was there he asked me "What in the hell do I do with all this raspberry vinegar?" He showed me four bottles that were given to him. He had no idea how to use it. I told him, "Dude! I just now went to four different grocery stores before finally finding this stuff."