National Poverty Rate Rises for 2nd Year in a Row
"Poverty rose for a second straight year in 2002 as 1.7 million more people dropped below the poverty line, according to Census Bureau estimates released Friday that provided fresh evidence of the struggling economy’s effect on Americans’ pocketbooks.The poverty rate was 12.1 percent last year, an increase from 11.7 percent in 2001 even though the last recession ended in November 2001. That meant nearly 34.6 million people were living in poverty."
"While Hollywood has the Emmys and the Oscars; Big Business has the Forbes 400. And yet again, tech bigwigs are well represented on the annual list of the 400 richest Americas. Microsoft's Bill Gates takes the list's top spot again with a personal fortune estimated at $46 billion (more money than a lot of countries have in their coffers).Overall, Forbes found that the rich are, well, getting richer, and Internet executives are reaping a lot of the climbing fortunes, despite a lackluster technology economy. Overall, the aggregate wealth of the Forbes 400 members climbed by ten percent in the past year."
"Well, there are positive things going on. That's after, you know, in 2001 we were in a recession, when we were in negative growth. We've got positive growth, which is good. And the foundation for future growth is good, in my judgment. We have money going back to the people who pay taxes. "[snip]"And what I said in my speech is that the economy is remarkable, the American economy, when you think about it, particularly in the context of the world economy. I mean, we are "the" economy right now. We're strong and healthy and vibrant."
7:35:35 PM
Share the Magic! Aunt Jenny Manifesto, page 33: "Magic Meat Pie. Here's as tasty a way of stretchin' hamburg as you'll find." I put it off as long as I could, but last night I ignored the warning which The Force was giving me (the "I don't have a good feeling about this" feeling), and prepared Magic Meat Pie. And with magic like this, I can see why David Blaine is starving himself in a plexiglass box. (However, I don't think it's the meat pie's fault that Londoners are taunting Blaine and throwing stuff at him -- he pretty much earned that on his own). Anyway, here's the step-by-step unfolding of my magical journey. Step 1. Planning, Shopping, Theorizing About the Great Depression. As I read through the recipe (if you too want to peruse the recipe, scroll down to the Sept. 24 entry and read all about it!), and made my shopping list, I remarked (to the cats) that the two onions seems like a lot for one pie, so I decided that Jenny must have meant stunted, Depression-era onions, and I put them on my shopping list. (Shopping List: 2 puny onions, 1 can Spry, 1 pound hamburg, carrots, peas, boiling water.) But then my mother gifted me with an armful of onions, as she'd just bought a 50-pound bag from a farmer and wanted to share the oniony wealth. When she told me that the whole bag cost $10, I realized that onions were CHEAP, and were probably all that people ate during the Depression, and were undoubtedly watermelon-sized back then. Anyway, I crossed onions off the list. Now, to the store to get the remaining items on my list. Except there is no Spry anymore, as you all know. I had assumed that Lever Brothers, the original makers of Spry, had just changed the name in the wake of the "Dozens of Bodies Found in Basement of Aunt Jenny, Spry Spokesman" scandal. But no, there was no Lever Brothers shortening on the shelf, just Crisco or Store Brand -- Lever Brothers apparently just makes soap now. I was tempted to substitute fluffy, white Dove Beauty Bar for Spry, but instead purchased the 3-pound can of store brand shortening, because it was cheaper. While not triple-whipped, and making no claims about its digestibility, it was white, partially-hydrogenated vegetable fat, and it came in a nice, blue can that I thought Jenny would like. I also bought a bag of El Cheapo frozen mixed carrots and peas (yeah, I know, but if they don't make Spry any more, authenticity is already out the window, and I can used frozen vegetables if I want). Now, let's start cooking! Step 2: Make filling. First, slice those onions. Since I am either highly sensitive to onion fumes or a big baby, it always takes me hours to chop onions, since the process goes: make one cut with the knife, run out of the kitchen with eyes streaming, stick head under cold water faucet, dry face, touch eyes with onion-contaminated hands and make them water anew, redunk head, scrub hands, dry face, return to kitchen and repeat process 100 times until I decide I can live with one-inch pieces of onion, and so the chopping is done. Next, get HazMat team to contain onions in a frying pan, along with 2 tablespoons Spry, and wait for them to turn yellow (the onions, that is; the HazMat team was yellow to start with). I couldn't stand to be in the kitchen while they were sauteing (if the police threatened me with tear gas, I'd give up before they finished the sentence), but I did check on them every couple of minutes. First check: onion status--white. Second check: Code Translucent. Third check: still translucent. Fourth check: Onions at Code Terra Cotta! I decided they weren't going to get any yellower, and threw in my hamburg (well, actually extra-lean ground beef) and sauteed some more until "richly browned" (it was the Depression, and so they fantasized about wealthy hamburg). Then I dumped in the frozen mixed peas and carrots I had microwaved while the meat was getting rich. Now to tap my magic wand and turn this mixture into a casserole: Voila, it's a casserole! So, we can move on to . . . Step 3: Make the gravy. I don't want to spoil the surprise, but this is where things start to fall apart. I should have known from reading the recipe, but stupidly didn't focus on it, but we are mixing 1 TEASPOON OF WORCESTERSHIRE SAUCE WITH 2-1/2 CUPS OF WATER AND CALLING THIS GRAVY! Even if we ARE in the Depression, this is NOT gravy. (Yes, the magic is officially over in this relationship.) First, we make a blasphemous paraody of a roux with the a tad of shortening and a bit of flour, and then we add worcestershire sauce and water, to make . . .a sad, sad looking pan full of water. Jenny says to "continue cooking and stirring until thickened," but after several days, I realized that it just wasn't going to get thick. The poor little fellow tried, but it just couldn't do it. And I knew it was always going to be a sickly dirt color, and was always going to taste like that paste that they gave you in elementary school, only thinned down with 2-1/2 cups of water. And since this "gravy" is supposed to season and thicken the whole dish (there are no herbs, no spices, no butter, no nothing with flavor in this recipe except for that teaspoon of worcestershire), this is where I realized that I should have gone the I DRINK YOUR BLOOD/rabies meat pie-route. But I poured 3/4 (well 7/8--I wanted to get rid of it) of the "gravy" on the casserole, like Aunt Jenny said, although I knew in my heart that I'd just committed a horrible crime against nature. Step 4: Make the biscuit crust. And here is where we see the evil of that "2/3 milk (about)" business. To start our crust, you (or "me," as the case may be) spend hours (or minutes) cutting and cutting your Spry into the flour mixture until it truly is, like the recipe says, as fine as meal (you had astutely realized that they meant "Malt O'Meal" fine, not "Happy Meal" fine and so had used the pastry cutter that you had bought years and years ago, when you were young and idealistic and were going to make pies and clean the closets and stuff). Then, you dump 2/3 cup milk into your meal, mix it, and realize that despite what Jenny promised, it does not form a "soft dough." Add a bit more milk. Stir. Still not forming a dough of any kind. Pour more milk, repeat, stir. Finally, when you've added about another 2/3 of milk, you do have dough, but it's a hardened, street-tough dough which has been scarred by life, and so is never going to be flakey enough to impress old bachelor Ebeneezer Todd. But it does roll out nicely, and doesn't break apart when you pick it up to put on top of the casserole. Hmm, maybe this will work after all ... So, you bake the pie for 25 minutes. When you take it out of the oven, it looks . . . really good. Not Martha Stewart-quality good, but certainly Alice-from-Brady-Bunch good. Maybe it WAS magic. But when you cut it open, it looks like this:  Not great, but not horrible. Maybe we can still believe in magic, in a young girl's eyes who needs laser-correction surgery. But on to . . . Step 5: Put a scoop on the plate and slop some gravy on it. You now realize that you were supposed to put 3/4 a CUP of gravy, not 3/4 of the gravy, in with the filling, and so should have had almost 2 cups to pass around to dress up the dish. But since the alleged gravy-substance has now concealed (in a weird, watery way), it looks even worse than it did hot, and frankly, you are glad, GLAD that you only have a few spoonfulls of it left, and you dump it all on one slice of pie, in an act of doomed defiance! You take a photo. It looks like this:  Step 6: Eat some. So, the time has come to put a forkful into your mouth. How does it taste? Well, let me just say that Magic Meat Pie IS magic, for it's undoubtedly the BLANDEST DISH KNOWN TO MAN! I add salt, lots of salt. Some pepper. A whole bunch of that catsup I made last summer to use up tomatoes. And it still takes like absolutely nothing. But not in a good way. So, I agree that this recipe DOES stretch hamburg (while Jenny says the receipt will serve 6, I'm sure it actually serves 12 or so, which is pretty good for one pound of hamburg). However, it is certainly NOT "as tasty a way as you'll find." Even if this is the Depression. And that was our Regrettable Food Project experiment for today. Lesson learned: there is white magic and there is black magic. Magic Meat Pie, as you can see from the photo, is Gray Magic. But since it did look kind of pretty when I first took it out of the oven, I'd maybe try making it again, but with REAL gravy, and with some different vegetables, and with a pastry crust instead of tough baking-power biscuits on top. Or maybe I'd just buy a Marie Callender Chicken Pot Pie and heat it up in the microwave, and then go sell some pencils to pay for it. Next week, I'll be making the Pineapple Parfait Cake. Although it seems hard (you have to grate lemons, whip egg whites, AND make Snow Whirl Frosting), I THINK it might have a flavor. We'll see, I guess. Tomorrow I'll share with you the Aunt Jenny story that goes with the biscuits -- it involves a heart-broken bride, vicious rumors, and invisible tea. I'd think you'll be able to appreciate it better after the Magic Meat Pie digests. 2:26:22 AM |
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