Thanks to the very patient and skilled help of my new friend, Giyen Kim, I have a new and rightful home for this blog. And several other sites as well. Leave a comment or contact me directly if you have any questions or anything provocative to say.

I also have a piece up at Artocratic, and will hopefully have lots more there, too!

Check out all the new wild and crazy posts on the new Poppa. Thanks.

Getting married yourself is one thing.  Someone entrusting their wedding to you to you is an entirely different beast.   Especially when you’re not exactly in the wedding business.   But indeed, our dear friend Matt, who at that time was the Sea Breeze Farm manager and his bride Mary, did just that. We were tremendously honored when Matt and Mary told us they’d like to get married on our farm.  And given the many concentric circles of family and … Read More

via Sea Breeze Farm . La Boucherie

I had some talking points:

It’s OK that girl was wearing a ball gown at the party…I know you had on a party dress…But that doesn’t mean you can’t dance on the same dance floor she did…If you want to dance, then you can dance…It doesn’t matter what your wearing…What matters is who you are…Who you are on the inside is what is most important…People love to watch you dance, and you love to dance…

And so on.

But fortunately, my plan was thwarted by a raucous game of catapult. We were at a really great shop called Back Wagon in Portland a couple of months ago we got a hand-made little wooden catapult. It came with three cool little hand-made bean bags. The kids love it. I love it. Mary is skeptical. It’s a little dangerous.

They saved me from having to go there. Elouise and I are going to have lots of deep talks her whole life.

I had a plan, and I really wanted to stick to it. But once again, I had to let go and shift. I asked Elouise if it was OK that we rescheduled our quality time for later. The fist bump we did seemed to convey, “We have a lot of time, dad. I’m still only three”.

After the initial shock wore off (which took about a week, followed by several more weeks of geeked out bliss) I started to think about what this girl was going to be like, and also what she was not going to be like. Here is what I remember feeling:

WAS GOING TO BE: tomboy, my little farmer, cute, green and orange, pigtails, freckles, broccoli lover

WAS NOT GOING TO BE: princess, pink, hair in bun, ballet, nails painted, string cheese lover

I guess I thought we were going to raise a little Mary. And though Elouise is a broccoli lover, we ended up getting something a little closer to what I thought she was NOT GOING TO BE. And I don’t know who that other girl is, I’m sure she is very nice, but I am thrilled I got my little princess.

all of her favorite colors are represented

The photo was graciously taken by Giyen Kim, Elouise’s new best friend.

Here’s the thing: I know absolutely nothing about engines, and worse than that, I am not very tough. But after driving my first Camaro last week, I’ve realized, maybe I don’t need to be such a tough guy. Maybe I can learn a thing or two about engines:

“As long as the inertial charge of the incoming air/fuel mixture is greater than the force exerted by the piston, the cylinder will still get filled with more air even as the piston moves back up the bore from BDC. To take advantage of the pressure wave of air going into the cylinder at high rpm, it’s imperative to close the intake valve at the right time, or else you’re just wasting energy. That’s why getting the intake closing point just right is so important, because closing it later allows more time for the cylinders to fill with air.” — Horace Mast of Mast Motorsports.

Okay, not totally sure what that all means, but I bet I can learn.

My dad is the GM of Michael’s Chevrolet in Issaquah. Never one to pass up a GOLDEN OPPORTUNITY, within moments, I had the keys to 426 horses, all waiting on me to open them up. And I did.

With my cherry popped, I am in love. A Camaro it is. The SS is powered by the 6.2 L (380 cu in) LS3 V8, 426 horse power, 6-speed manual transmission. It will be a few years. I’m pretty sure I would not be able to get two car seats in the back of this Chariot. But that’s OK. I’ve waited this long, I can wait a bit longer.

Apparently, I am maturing with this whole fatherhood thing.

]]> http://thepoppa.wordpress.com/2010/06/22/my-muscle-car-is-tough-enough-for-the-both-of-us/feed/ 8 thepoppa camero http://thepoppa.wordpress.com/2010/06/18/pork-chops-and-business-networking/ http://thepoppa.wordpress.com/2010/06/18/pork-chops-and-business-networking/#comments Fri, 18 Jun 2010 17:12:46 +0000 Matthew Lawrence http://thepoppa.wordpress.com/?p=635 ]]> When I worked the farmers markets in Seattle for Sea Breeze Farm, it was easy to know when I made a sale.

OK. Get your pan nice and hot. But do it slowly. Do you have lard? OK, you need to buy some lard. Or you could use butter–but don’t burn it! SO you brown the chop on one side for a minute, then flip it over, and sear it on the other side for a minute. Then take it off ,and drag it in the herb and garlic mixture you already have prepped on your cutting board. Drag it on both sides over that mixture. ARE you with me? GOOD. Then pan fry it again on both sides for each an additional 4 minutes. THEN you stand it on its side–showing off its amazing thickness–and put it in the oven, WHOA, THIS IS GOING TO BE GOOD! You already have preheated at 350–put the whole thing in, pan and all for another 5 minutes. AWESOME! Take the chop off the pan, remembering the handle is hot make a cream sauce while the chop is resting. OR you could just grill it with pepper and salt.

Done. They always walked with a couple of chops. Why wouldn’t they? I was on fire for the chop! Not really because I wanted to make a sale, but because I wanted our customers to have awesome meals. Later in the week we would get a Facebook message with pictures of the chop glazed in a marmalade sauce (or something like that). Message read: That was the best pork chop of my life! I didn’t know it could be like that! Thank you SO much!

I connected with customers over shared excitement,  knowledge, and the deep desire to feed ourselves with food from producers we can count on.

Pork chops, tangible. Business networking, not so tangible.

Business networking is not as sexy as a pork chop.  Food is sexy. Networking is not sexy and actually, most of the time, it sucks.

Which is where Biznik comes in. As I begin to understand business networking in a different way, I am beginning to think differently about it. People want to network to generate business. That’s fine. But the old way is lame-o. Networking the Biznik way is more about establishing yourself in a community, building trust in that community, and then going forth in the world a more knowledgable and skillful business owner.

Happy small business owners+customers grooving on small business= healthier culture for all

I can get behind that.

As his father, I have magic glasses which let me know who he grooves with and who he doesn’t. One day, he will learn to empathize and he will begin to temper his relationships with cultural cues.

I believe all of us humans are hard-wired to empathize with one another. Right now Jacob is responding to his world the only way he can: through crazy unfettered emotional explosions. He tests his interactions and instincts about people by offering them food and drink. Some people take it, others don’t. Yeah, I know. It can be kinda gross nibbling on a half-eaten strawberry some kid sticks in your face. I’m not sure I would eat it if he weren’t my kiddo. But I wonder if Jacob keeps silent track of who does and who doesn’t accept his offerings. I tell people they can fake it, if they want to. Most don’t really care what I have to say.

From the moment these two dudes got together, they clicked.  Why? How did he learn to do that? Did we teach him that?

What a legacy to contend with. Though, before for he does kick the bucket, he is going to make cheese. Lots of amazing cheese for many, many years which will decay with precision. The climate in the cave will be controlled by the surrounding earth and an air lock. It has been engineered to produce a specific temperature, what that temperature is–we do not yet know. Which also means, we do not know what cheese will come forth from that cave.

As Luke said during his first visit to the site, “ this is the beginning of a facility whose service life will last  hundreds of years.” I like thinking of this 300 square foot room buried deep in Kurt’s pasture in terms of service. Not only will it serve Kurt’s needs, but it will serve the needs of humanity.

Where does he get off? What inspires him? How does he know what to do? It’s because Kurt has moxie.

He has the drive to connect people with food. And connect we will.

“Hey man, why don’t you step outside for some fresh air? Don’t be falling asleep.”

“They’ll come on the bus and take you out. And it’s a three-day weekend–you won’t see Judge till Tuesday.”

My lungs burned and my heart pounded, I gathered myself, it was 8:57 AM, and a passenger was wavering back and forth from the motion of the bus. He was falling asleep.

Don’t fall asleep. You don’t wasn’t to fall asleep on the bus. They’ll come on and get you. Anyone falling asleep, I got to report. I see you there, man. Go on–make it easy on yourself, get off the bus. Go on, get off the bus and get a bit of fresh air. You need some fresh air. Make it easy on all of us.They will come onto the bus and reach behind your ear and PINCH YOU HARD, and they are hoping you wake up swinging, because then you are assaulting an officer. I’ve seen it! And then you assault an officer and they gotcha! They run your record and you go to jail. You don’t want to go to jail man! It’s a three-day weekend! You won’t see a judge till Tuesday–IF YOUR LUCKY!!! You’ll spend the weekend in jail. You don’t want that!

All the while, the bus driver is driving and he is letting people on the bus and he is letting people off the bus. He says a nice hello to the people, and some people thank him when they get off. But this morning is different on the bus. There is a man who can’t stay awake. And that is a problem for the bus driver. If he gets to the end of the line, and this guy is out cold! in the bus, then the bus driver is stuck with him. He has to take him home and care for him. It’s like some sort of old transmission of familial bonds that Seattle never took off the books. There is strong magic in this transmission. But the bus driver does not want this new son. He pleads with him to get off the bus, or the police will come.

Other passengers are listening. I can’t stand it anymore. I got out of my seat to try another angle.

“Come on man, get off the bus”, I shook him. I took a stranger, a large man on the arm, and shook him. He had a black velour sweatshirt on with a black tee shirt underneath. Then I grabbed his knee. And I shook it. “Do you like coffee? Get off the bus and get coffee. You don’t want the police. It won’t be nice.” I was trying to reason with him. I was hoping to access his cerebral cortex.

The bus driver and I were quiet for a moment. The passengers eyes finally rolled back far into his head. He was gone. Black velvet sweat pants with little pockets on the sides which couldn’t even contain his ID. Old Reebok shoes, his feet bursting out of them. Gigantic lips agape as he took his first few peaceful breaths of slumber. He slumped over, and began to snore.

“DUDE”, I said. “Don’t go to sleep! The police are going to get you! Get off the bus!” I yelled at him from across the aisle.

He was out cold. His eye balls began to track back and forth. I love watching that. I watch that with my kids, my wife, my dog. And now a stranger sitting across from me on a warm, steamy bus zigzagging its way through Seattle. I watch him knowing he will be rudely awoken any minute.

Was he dreaming of his mother? Holding him. Caring for him. He is a little baby and the world is safe and warm. The world is such a wonderful place. His momma. Her caress. Her warm breath and her bosom. Soft lips on his cheek. Bouncing. He loves when she bounces him like that.

But here he was now. All in black. With shoes that don’t fit well and it was raining outside. Not a lot, but enough. Who would take care of him outside? The bus was warm and soothed him slowly to sleep. They were going to touch him. Hard. To wake him up and then they were going to touch him badly to get him off the bus. And if he swung then they would take him to jail.

It was my stop.

“Thanks for helping”, the bus driver said. “He’s going to have a rude awakening. I’ve seen it. But what are you going to do? You got to do the right thing, and if you don’t do the right thing then you got to pay for it. He’s going to pay for it. He should have gotten off the bus.”

My wife at home, caring for our children.

The man asleep on the bus.

Me on my way to work.

Them on the way to the places that they are going.

The police on the way to where they are going.

To the man asleep on the bus.

Our daughter refers to the gooey camembert-style cheese which our friend  Kurt makes as cheese-yolk. The oozeier and gooeyer the better. Fortunately Kurt knows this and we get the over ripe cheese. It’s a disc of amazingly delicate runny cheese which slips out of its soft fuzzy white casing when cut.  In a short period of time, Kurt has perfected this amazing cheese, called Dinah’s Cheese.

And lucky for everyone on the planet who is lucky enough to try it, Kurt is also making a tomme-style cheese as well. It doesn’t have a name, and it’s place is, just now being built. The unique characteristics which will be prevalent in this particular cheese–which will live in a cave underneath the very pasture from which it came–are yet to be determined.

My eagerness to eat decayed milk might be unreasonable. But so is Kurt. And here is the proof.