The American Election
posted by Barter Books @ 3:55pm, Saturday 8 November 2008.
It was thrilling, the American election.
Stuart and I stayed up all night watching the BBC news waiting for the outcome, with me catching myself throughout thinking I want to be home, which was kind of funny, because there I was, already home.
Thrilling to see all those enormous long lines of people snaking around whole city blocks, young and old, black and white, patiently waiting for hours to cast their votes. (I’ve never seen lines like that before, not anywhere, and certainly not here in Britain or in the United States.)
Thrilling to hear how many of those people, young and old, black and white, said that their real vote wasn’t about race but about country, their country.
Thrilling to sit up watching the election results come in, sit there fist in mouth until Obama achieved the magic number of votes, at which point we (me, my husband, our cat) sprung up and cheered. (That's also when I spilled my third cup of coffee all over the place, coffee I had been drinking out of my specially-chosen sacred mug, see below.)
Thrilling to watch Obama and his family, followed by their supporting cast, Joe Biden and his family, come out on the stage to the roar of a crowd which one could be forgiven for thinking must have been heard around the world. (In fact, given the news coverage the next day - all these exultant scenes in Paris, Berlin, Delhi, Manila - it was.)
Thrilling to think that at that moment an old sad chapter in American history might have finally have been effectively closed, that with any luck generations to come would take racial equality as much for granted as women now take the right to vote.
Thrilling to hear a speech of such eloquence and power from a politician who isn't afraid to talk up, not down. (Listen to this, if you haven't already heard it enough: “If there is anyone out there who still doubts that America is a place where all things are possible, who still wonders if the dream of our Founders is alive in our time, who still questions the power of our democracy, tonight is your answer.”)
Thrilling.
Thrilling, too, for this expat not to have to skulk around England any more apologizing for Bush, for Iraq, for Guantanamo Bay, for living - “I’m sorry”, “I’m sorry”. “I’m sorry”.
Thrilling to get all the exultant emails, texts, phone calls from friends everywhere, the UK, the USA, "Give me 5!" (As strong as the need to connect is in bad times - 9/11, Hurricane Katrina, Lockerbie – it’s even stronger in the best of them. Just take a look at all those people squeezed in together shoulder-to-shoulder in Grant Park - all of them cheering, singing, laughing, crying - would they have been anywhere else in the world?)
Thrilling the number of customers in the bookshop (many of them I didn't even know) who came up to me, “Congratulations!”
Look, whatever happens (and we all know the problems are enormous), it is thrilling in the here and now just to feel hopeful.
Thrilling to have an Obama to root for.
Thrilling to feel so proud of America, and of being American, again.
A Pencil and a Piece of String
posted by Barter Books @ 1:31pm, Wednesday 22 October 2008.
But what is currently terrifying me is not so much that my candidate won't win but that neither candidate will win legitimately. Specifically, that there will be a reprise of the Great Hanging Chad episode. And it appears there’s a risk of just that.
Say it isn't so. Believe me, that chad episode was rough on us ex-pats - I mean, the jokes! Can only say that the Europeans had a great time, can you blame them? Including the vicar of St
Anyway, in an effort to forestall another such disaster, British friends have asked me to please tell my fellow Americans
Ready?
1) First, of course, you must be a registered voter. And registration is the responsibility of the local council who must write to every address to find out who, at that address, is eligible to vote. (The council is also responsible for keeping the list up-to-date.)
2) When there is an election coming up, you are then sent a postcard that states the date of the election and the location of your polling station.
3) You then go to the polling station on the day and ‘check in’ at the desk. They will have a list with all the authorized names in that particular district and will duly check your name off.
4) They will then give you a coded ballot (note: a hard copy), one not tied to an address. This is so that no-one can find out how you voted.
5) You then go off to the polling booth and draw this little curtain around you. Inside the polling booth you will find a pencil tied to a string (yes, a pencil tied to a string). You will then use that pencil to mark your ballot with Xs.
6) You will then fold the ballot, go back to the desk, and put it into the slot of a locked metal box.
7) At the end of the day, the workers at that desk are responsible for getting that box to the counting station, and God help them if they don’t do it.
8) Should there be any unexplained discrepancy, then or later, either party can ask for a recount. Which almost never happens because there are enough tallies, checks, and counterchecks, to ensure it all happens.
There, how easy is that? And how failsafe, too. (Please, write your Congressman - a pencil will do.)
N.B. When you exit the polling station, there are sometimes journalists around asking how you voted. Americans generally tell them. The Brits generally don't. In fact, and without apology, they'll even lie. (They don't think it's anyone's business. Be warned.)
Anyway, my vote is already in. Has been for weeks (sent back my absentee ballot by return mail, just to be safe).
As for who did I vote for? Obama, that’s who. Such potential! And what a thrill to actually be excited about a candidate for a change; I didn’t know it was possible. (Barack! Don’t let me down!)
As for John McCain, Stuart always thought that whoever won this election, McCain or Obama, it was, after these past eight years, a win-win situation for
In any event, whatever happens, speed November 4th! And a new era.
Catering 4 U
posted by Barter Books @ 10:46am, Sunday 7 September 2008.
What qualifications did Stuart and I have for entering into the catering business?
None.
We don't even like to cook. (Look, we can cook enough to keep us alive, always convenient. Also, Stuart can open a bottle of champagne without making it pop.)
Did that stop us?
No.
Should it have?
Possibly. All right, probably. We don’t know yet. Our little Station Buffet only opened just under two months ago. The jury is still out.
The evidence so far?
So far so good. Bearing in mind we have done no advertising at all (we’re basically hopeless at it) other than put up two sandwich boards - one outside by the front door and the other one way down the Main Hall beside the entrance to the Buffet. For all that, Stuart reckons we are at least on track.
Which means what?
It means that we may be doing well enough in our High Season (basically, Easter to Michaelmas1 to balance out the losses we’ll inevitably have in our much longer Low Season (Michaelmas to Easter). If so, that would mean that the Buffet would be a goer; we could cover the additional overheads (two short-order cooks, not just one, plus occasional staff help) and still write in the black side of the ledger, which is all (or almost all) we ask in this world. It also means that we have learned quite a bit, fast.
Like what?
That if we thought we didn’t know anything about the catering business when we began, we were right.
For example, we didn’t even think about having our basic supplies delivered to us; we were getting them ourselves until somebody asked us what on earth we were doing going to Cash n’ Carry all the time.
For example, we had no idea you had to have, by law, umpteen sinks in a kitchen, including one to wash your hands in after you’ve used that other one just in case that other one had am escapee germ in it.
What else we’ve learned: that if we don’t know anything about the catering business, we’re not too proud to ask people who do. Which doesn’t mean we always listen. Like, to that man, seriously rich, someone whose own catering business was a mere hobby, etc, who had a look at our Buffet before it opened, shook his head, Too small, he said, should be in the big front room. And he was probably right, too. But did we listen? No. We liked it way back there in the back, this little cubby hole, tucked away. (OK, we’re mavericks. Move over McCain-Palin.)
That we were right – well, we think we were right - to keep the menu as simple as possible, you can have this, this, this or that, not whole pages' worth. But what we have good, seriously good - soup, hot and cold sandwiches, best ingredients, fresh bread – and with everything, as much as possible, home-made.
That it’s no good trying to second-guess what everyone else would like on the menu, go for what you’d like. Which works perfectly because, hello, you’re everyone else.
Not that we don’t keep revising the menu all the time. Because what else we’ve learned is that some things we thought would sell, haven’t. And some things we thought wouldn’t, have.
For example, however popular all the lattes and the cappuccinos, the americanos and the macchiatos (whatever, quite, they are), the British, as a whole, want tea. WE WANT TEA WE WANT TEA WE WANT TEA. And by tea they don’t really mean a cuppa2 either. They want a cup and saucer (forget a mug). They want the pot. And then another pot, this one with nothing in it but hot water so they can have a second cup of tea that isn’t too strong. And a little jug of milk. Plus a little bowl of sugar. In short, while what Americans mean by a cup of tea is just that, a cup of tea, what the British mean by a cup of tea is a whole shooting match. With the ideal accompaniment to all this being scones3.(To give you some idea how much they, tea and scones, go together in the British mind, think coffee and donuts and you’re there.)
What else? that bacon butties4 are more popular than sausage sarnies5 but that you forget the humble cheese toastie6 at your peril.
That in High Season we need a lot of staff for a little Buffet, at least two full-time cooks and one person seconded from the staff to handle the drinks and the till. All of which means raised overheads we hadn’t counted on. (Will we be able to handle that? We don’t know yet. Stuart says basically depends on how well the Low Season goes, if the takings for the year as a whole balance out.)
That we’ve possibly got a lot of adjusting to do in terms of opening hours. Which have so far been all over the place. What we can’t do is keep the Buffet open too late, as the Buffet staff are responsible for keeping the Buffet clean. Which means we’ve got to close it by 4pm to give the staff a chance to do the cleaning and leave before overtime kicks in. So, for now, this minute, the Buffet sign reads: ‘Open 10-4 (hot food 10 – 3)’.
What else? That all these bacon sandwiches are going to kill me if I don’t quit eating them myself. And don’t even mention those chocolate cupcakes, killers. (Pace Withnail7 we warn people on the blackboard: ‘the finest chocolate cupcakes known to humanity’; they are, too.)
That book people, by and large, are nice. Well, we’ve always known that. They are nice, there’s just something about them. Still, there are always the exceptions (that baby throwing around orange juice, if only I could have thrown it right straight back) and we had visions of the sort of mess those exceptions would make. Meaning more staff time to clean up. But, so far at least, that hasn’t happened. Without even any signs asking people to bus their food, lots of them actually do that. See the need, help out.
That It must be terrifying going into the catering business where the catering bit stands alone, no bookshop to help out.
That even with all the encouraging signs, Felix, for one, remains worried. He’s been through all this already with his own café, now history. He says it doesn’t matter how well we do, we’ll never make anything given the awful margins in the restaurant business and the fact that it’s looking like we’ll need three staff, forget it, he says, close it down, now, yesterday.
But, true to form, we’re not listening. Anyway, not yet. As we see it, we don’t have to make anything, not really. What we do have to do is just break even, that’s all. Because if the odd extra person hangs around long enough to buy the odd extra book, great!
What else Felix doesn’t understand is that from the time we opened the shop, my own driving force (beyond the tiny desire to avoid bankruptcy) has been to create what I, myself, want.
And I’d want a little café.
“One decaff skinny latte, please, and the best chocolate cupcake known to humanity.”
And then take them and my book off to a corner, sit there among other people, in little groups or alone, but everyone together and not together all at once.
Bliss.
1. Michaelmas: St Michael’s Feast Day, September 29th. Also the name of the first term in the academic year in ancient universities in the UK and Ireland. (Warning: the use of this term will earn you a few points but at the expense of even more blank stares.) So why don’t I just say ‘September 29th’ and be done with it? Because I like that little connection with the Middle Ages, that’s why. It’s what comes from growing up in a small farming town near the Mississippi, you think that kind of connection is amazing.
2. A cuppa =s a cup of. (You hear ‘cuppa’ constantly.)
3. Scones. The Brits love them. The generally come in three varieties: plain, fruit (ie, with raisins added to the dough), or cheese. They are essential ingredients in a ‘full-English tea’ when they come with incredibly thick cream that you layer on the scone with a knife, along with strawberry or raspberry jam. But more usually, the scone (plain or fruit) comes just with butter and jam. Personally, I’m not a fan. Maybe if they come hot straight out of the oven but name me any bread that isn’t wonderful when it’s hot and comes straight out of the oven. Otherwise, to me, they’re too big, too heavy, cowpats.
4. Butties: northern slang for ‘sandwich’ named after the Earl of.
5. Sarnies: southern slang for ‘sandwich’, also named after the above Earl. (And who exactly was the Earl of Sandwich? Allow me to quote Wikipedia on the name 'sandwich': ‘It was named after John Montagu, 4th Earl of Sandwich, an 18th-century English aristocrat, although he was neither the inventor nor sustainer of the food. It is said that Lord Sandwich was fond of this form of food because it allowed him to continue playing cards, particularly cribbage, while eating without getting his cards greasy from eating meat with his bare hands.’
6. Cheese toastie (UK) =s grilled cheese sandwich (USA)
7. Withnail: quote comes from wonderful cult movie, Withnail & I, in which the Withnail character (Richard E Grant) calls for ‘the finest wine known to humanity’.