Curious about Cannabis edibles? Here is a simple step-by-step home brewed tea recipe.
What You Need
Ingredients
Utensils
Water ~ 2/3 Cup
Coconut Oil (or Butter) ~ 2 Tbsp
Spices (Mulling) ~ 2 tsp and a few whole cloves
Cannabis ~ 0.5 grams (1/2 gram)
Sauce Pan ~ 1 quart stainless steel
Strainer ~ Fine mesh with coffee/tea filter
Scale ~ Good to have. Helps with dosage.
Grinder ~ Very nice to have
Process:
1: Grind up 0.5 grams of your favorite cannabis flowers and set
aside.
2: Pour the 2/3 cup of water into the saucepan and heat it to a boil.
3: Add the 2 tablespoons of coconut oil to the boiling water. Butter may
be used instead of coconut oil.
4: Add the spices and 0.5 g of cannabis to the boiling water and oil.
5: Allow the mixture to boil for a few minutes. Stir to
ensure thorough blending.
6: Reduce to a simmering boil for 30-40 minutes. The longer it
simmers, the stronger the tea will be.
Color ~ Beginning
Color ~ 40min Simmering
7: After simmering 30-40 minutes, strain the mixture into a cup or other
receptacle.
8: Drink, wait and enjoy! Note ~ First timers should drink only half of the
mixture to start.
An End Note:
The reason for heating cannabis in a fat (or alcohol) is to release and activate
the Tetrahydrocannabinol (THC) which does not become
psychoactive in water alone.
Also, the more specific information you have about the cannabis used, the better
able you will be to begin discovering your own dosage levels and cannabis strain
preferences. Thanks to hard won legalization efforts, precise measures of THC,
CBD and other cannabis elements are now being clearly shown on product labels.
Experiment, take notes and have fun! See the tea as it simmers in this video
from our Cannabis Test Kitchen.
RetroVision
With years now grown in number
My thoughts are prone to wander
Among all the harder moments
Where my life has come to rest
To view them with a softer sight
To weigh them with a wider mind
To wrap them in a warmer heart
And finally to forgive myself
For doing what I thought was best
All for One Don’t worry that the Narcissist Will try
to steal your heart. They’ve never known a need for one, Beyond
seductive art.
Your soul’s the prize they aim to take, Sucked whole through a
hollow kiss. Then on they’ll prowl more tender prey To trap in
phantom bliss.
Just Because The self-centered sot
Is angry a lot That’s how they get their way.
So try as you might To side-step a fight, It will happen whatever
you say.
Invisible
As a child
I could not understand
How you’d be so kind
To dogs and cats
And cry so fast for friends
Yet ignore the wife and children
Who were drowning in your drink
Faith Perfect is not planned. It is a happy
accident That has more chance Of falling into place When
anything is possible.
Fairy Tale In love with the
illusion Of a glance that speaks A lifetime of mutual devotion,
We each become an echo Of the story The other wants to
hear.
Mixed Emotion Into a grog of frosty denial
Add a generous pour of guilt And one full measure of unreasonable
fear. Stir with endless anxiety, Then chug.
Barbs
Hook me hard
Make me Squirm
And jump
And lose the battle
To break the line.
Inside I’ll know
It wasn’t love
That reeled me in.
I took the bait
Because I lacked
The courage
To swim upstream alone.
Who’s Counting?
How many false starts
Before you’re off and running?
How many all-nighters
Before you finally see the dawn?
How many times do you dance around
Before you come full circle?
The Edge
The Magic that happens
When moving to the song in your soul,
Can easily exceed
The fragile assurance
That looks like taking control.
A Past Tense Present
Picking up the pieces
Fitting them in place
A picture once a puzzle Forms in silent grace.
If I knew then
what I know now... But better late than never.
I didn’t see
That sight inside
That came from
My own mother.
It took my heart
And not my head
To ken the whole
Of what she said.
And one day, son
you too may know
A heart that sees
What thoughts don't show.
Cancelling the Call The phone call left me exhausted
Worn down and confused.
Wanting so much to trust,
Ignoring a flickering doubt,
I was slammed by the heat Of your vented frustration. Money, more
money, Demanded as a threat To our infant chance at
understanding.
Again the endless craving Defends a fear Too sharp to soften
With anything but love.
To the Child
I love you
At depths
I cannot describe
But would not
Have known
Without the pain.
My Father’s Eyes I look into men’s eyes And hope to
catch a glimpse of yours. Hope to have another chance At knowing
who you were Without the whiskey.
A Sign
I glance out the window
Wanting a sign
That everything will be ok.
But there is no window
With a more relevant view
Than the one that opens
On my own heart.
Learning to Fight
I found my power in the written word
In stories told as they were lived
In simple language that did the work
Of remembering to listen beyond a lifetime.
Food for Thought
Fear pours my brain into a blender
Then presses the puree button.
It kneads my gut with hot peppers
Then stuffs it up my throat.
It coats my heart with a heavy batter
Then drops it deep into a fryer.
Fear makes a feast of my innermost ingredients.
A Friend in Need
Some people
Use other people up.
It’s a lesson I learned
When I had nothing left to give Then realized where it went.
Note to a Not-So-Loved One
I wish all your selves
Would get together
And decide on
A final version of my faults.
If Only
I laid by the fire and cried
For what could have been but never was
And told myself it didn’t matter.
I see you sitting on the hardwood floor
Naked and cross-legged in the Mission sun,
Lifting your head to show a smile
Saying it was the best, the most connected sex
You’d ever had.
I wanted you with me, around me and in me
And I wanted you to stay
So I waited out your other vows
Til you were called to leave this life
Before our love had found its way.
Let's Get Real
Be Authentic!
Get the Treatment
The Surgery
The Extraction
The Implant
And, of course,
The Brand
The Mark that Matters
The Silent Scream
That Says I'm Totally Sold
On Being
Completely Real
To Be Somebody
I coulda been somebody
Brando said A line that told the secret shame
Of every soul he represented.
To be somebody
Not forgotten
To be seen above the common
Who die alive without a trace
Of Immortal Grand Illusion
City Blights
In the City in the Eighties
A Bechtel Thelen-Marrin Man
Took his Vodka lunch at Tadich
Paid in Full with Client Scam
Till a Stumbled Luncheon Mishap
Turned him Sober Penitent
Praying Nightly for a Repeat Via Pristine Liver Plant.
Skatepark in an abandoned Fiat Factory - Rome Italy 2004
I believe that travel is the best form of education. So my son, Patrick, was destined to explore the world in whatever way I could afford, even camping outdoors at the Winter Olympics. In 2002, he was a twelve-year-old in love with hockey. The Salt Lake Olympics was less than an eight hour drive from where we lived in Montana. We had to be there.
Tickets to hockey games in the elimination rounds were surprisingly affordable. But lodging, even within a hundred miles of downtown Salt Lake, was on exploitation overdrive. So I rented a spot with electricity at a Kampgrounds of America (KOA)in the center of the city.
Even camping had a premium price tag but the location was perfect. Free public shuttles took us directly from our tent spot to all the downtown Olympic venues. My only regret was not getting tickets to a wider array of events because it was all so easy to access.
Camping at the Winter Olympics demonstrated to my son that the unconventional can have unique rewards. Aside from a few TV production RVs the only other campers were all Canadian hockey fans! He left talking about attending the 2006 Olympics in Turin (even if we had to camp). By 2004 I was ready to introduce him to Europe. My fantasy itinerary began with backpacking and train rides but soon scaled down to my budget and ten day timeframe. I decided his first experience would take him to the root of Western culture. We'd pretend we lived in the Eternal City of Rome.
Patrick was enthusiastic about the trip but, as a fourteen-year-old, his sporting obsession had migrated to perfecting new skateboarding tricks. He scanned photos of Roman street scenes for boarding potential. Leaving behind his trucks and deck, even for ten days, would absorb his thoughts no matter how ancient the ruins and marvelous the art around him. So I researched skateparks in Rome and the board came with us as a carry-on.
The decision to stay primarily in one place turned out to be fortunate because a month before our departure the Madrid Train Bombings happened and all of Europe was on the highest alert. Train travel became the same security ordeal as flying became after 9/11.
There were no official skate parks in Rome at the time, so the recommendations took us into ordinary neighborhoods that most Americans would never visit. Through a common language of ollies, grinds and kickflips, Patrick connected with his Italian peers, who then included me as a respected elder accessory. We became honorary citizens of Rome.
After a few hours of riding on rough cobblestone streets, our young Roman friends invited us to a skating site in a gutted Fiat factory. The location wasn’t on any of my tourist maps so they drew some instructions in my notebook and said to meet them there in the evening.
Of course, this could have been an unfortunate set-up but instead the outcome was even better than I imagined. While planning the trip, I'd read about notorious underground communities in Rome that hosted subversive art events. Being illegal and transient, they were virtually impossible for an outsider to find. Of course, I wanted to be there!
Arriving at the makeshift skate park made of plywood and scaffolding, Patrick was thrilled (in a teenage way) to be immersed in a gnarly scene half way around the world. While he was busy grinding and flipping, I explored the grounds outside and met a British expat my age who made sculptures from discarded car parts.
As we chatted, it dawned on me that this was one of those underground venues, a renegade Roman live/work/play space that I'd never have found on a tourist map. I was awe-struck.
Since he wasn’t feeling skateboard deprived, Patrick engaged with the attractions of ancient Rome. He loved the Pantheon and, for a teenager, was remarkably touched by Pompeii which was our only side trip. For both of us, though, the most enchanting experiences were the result of taking a risk.
A footnote finale: We did not go to the 2006 Turin Olympics because I opted instead to take him to Amsterdam when he turned eighteen the following year. That is a whole other story. In 2013, however, I was in Turin by myself and went to the main venue. Again, that is a whole other story...that brought me to deeply question and alter my perception of their value.
Fall was the season for holiday food preparation in my mother’s Italian
family.
Raviolis were the centerpiece. Through October and most of November we made
hundreds of them. All rolled, stuffed, and closed by hand on a massive kitchen
table.
In 2013, I decided to deepen my childhood ravioli memories
during a trip through Italy’s
Emilia-Romagna
region and registered to attend an official pasta making school in Bologna, the
place even Italians recognize as the source of authentic Italian cuisine.
Cooking schools are an industry in Bologna and are plentiful since
just offering lunch in a home kitchen could qualify. Visitors looking for
particular experiences, especially with time and money constraints, should do as
much research as their satisfaction level demands.
Francesca Prepares Dough
Being on a limited budget, value was a significant part of my decision mix. But
I also wanted to "live" the culture of an Italian kitchen. So I chose
the Vecchia Scuola Bolognese primarily because of its very affordable five day immersion
course, allowing me to spend an entire workweek absorbing the sights,
sounds, and sensations I craved.
Minimum research suggestions:
Identify your parameters for the experience, including cost, location, and
particular food interests
Use guide books, magazines, and a variety of Web resources in your
research.
Pare down candidates using available reviews. Interact with reviewers
whenever possible.
Correspond directly with the schools by email or even by phone. This can
assure you that the school is still operating, will give you a sense of
their customer service standards, and help you to better understand
important details such as payment options.
Finally, as a general rule of travel, be open to making the best of whatever
actually happens.
Ancient but Accurate Scale
I didn’t fully appreciate Vecchia Scuola Bolognese as a serious culinary production and training facility until I
arrived.
They do offer a casual half day tourist course with lunch included, but
their primary students are those beginning or extending professional careers
in Italian pasta and pastry making.
The five day course I took is
actually considered the first step toward earning the school's three month
professional culinary certification. Vecchia Scuola is also an ongoing pasta
production facility supplying food establishments throughout the region.
Students are expected to practice their skills creating usable product.
Nothing is wasted. What may not be “beautiful” enough for sale to an outside
client will certainly be used in the school's student staffed Trattoria.
Basic Riccota Filled Tortelloni
I paid for the class about six months before my trip. Arrangements such
as available course times and dates were made through email in both Italian
and English, using Google translate when necessary. Payment was sent and
confirmed via an international wire transfer made through my bank.
My hotel in Bologna,
Albergo Rossini, was a short portico covered walk from the Vecchia Scuola. Class
started at 9 AM and lasted about four to five hours. The only new students on
the day I started were myself and a twenty-four year old Israeli pastry chef
who had just completed a four month certification in gelato making. He was
planning to open his own cafe on a beach in Tel Aviv.
Alessandra Spisni (shown above in a screenshot from their website) is the unifying
force of Vecchia Scuola.
Though she was traveling outside of Bologna during the time I were there,
signora Spisni was none the less a constant presence in the many attractive
product displays throughout the school. Alessandra Spisni and her entire
family are endowed with an insatiable appetite for life.
Maestro Allessandro
The signora's brother, Alessandro, casually oversees the culinary school by
correcting students with warnings lightly disguised as jokes. Much of his work
day was spent enjoying food, family and friends.
Our actual teacher was an impressive twenty-seven year old Sicilian woman
named Carla.
She is the real head and heart of day to day pasta instruction and
production at Vecchia Scuola. Alessandro even acknowledged this fact by joking
about how often he loudly called her name. (CarrrrLLA!!)
Carla Instructs a Student from Texas
Fluent in four languages with a graduate degree in Cultural Anthropology,
Carla led an ever changing group of students through various levels of
instruction while managing overall production (rolling sheets of perfect pasta
herself), quality control, and distribution for Vecchia Scuola.
During
a break, I asked Carla how she chose pasta making rather than pursuing a
career in her degree. She told me that she came to Vecchia Scuola to do a
cultural research project then discovered she both enjoyed the physical
exercise of the work and had a natural talent for it. Signora Spisni offered
her a job. Carla took it, still loves it, and sees no reason that will
change.
Filei Calabresi ~ Our
First Pasta
Culinary Cathedral
The Israeli pastry chef and I were given official aprons, assigned
lockers, oriented to the work space, and began making pasta alongside more
advanced students.
We started with a batch of Filei Calabresi, a
simple pasta made with just water and flour rolled by hand into a hollow tube
that embraces any sauce. Using a classic industrial scale, we weighed rather
than measured all ingredients. Weight, even for liquids, makes it easy to
accurately increase or decrease the size of a recipe. We got a feel for how to
properly knead dough and assess its readiness for rolling.
Tortelloni in Process
The most exciting part of the process was using long wooden rolling pins or
poles, called matterellos, to flatten the dough. In the video at the end of this post, Carla uses a matterello to roll a
double volume of dough into a translucent gossamer sheet, closely resembling
fine cloth, in less than five minutes.
Both the matterello and
table must be made of wood. Marble and stainless steel are too cold for pasta
making. In contrast, wood warms the dough as it is worked and the grain
imparts a surface texture that better holds sauces and condiments to the
pasta.
Dried Spinach Tortelloni
At the start of this post I mentioned that making ravioli was my reason for
taking the class. And we did make one batch of ravioli at Vecchia Scuola. But
what we produced every day in quantity was tortelloni, the much larger version
of tortellini.
Bologna is known for its tortelloni, pasta with a
big stuffed "belly" that brings to mind the city's Medieval nickname, "La
Grassa" (The Fat). Of course tortelloni is much more popular than
ravioli in Bologna!
One fundamental variation between types of stuffed pasta is the thickness
of the dough. Tortelloni requires pasta that is as thin as possible because of its many
layered folds. On the other hand, ravioli doesn't have any folds and
needs to be slightly thicker to hold stuffing in place with just crimping
around the edges. I may not have made many ravioli at Vecchia Scuola, but I
did gain a deep reverence for the skill and talent of handcrafting this
seemingly simple food.
For those wanting to experiment for
themselves, we used the basic recipe below for all variations of stuffed and
flat pasta. A large wooden rolling pin can sufficiently flatten the dough but
it's actually the length of the mattarello that makes it fun (and an art) to
use.
There are no handles on a mattarello. It moves with
pressure applied from the palm of your hands, pushing and pulling like a
massage as they move back and forth across the entire length of the pin. Yes.
It is sensual. Lacking a real mattarello, a two inch diameter dowling,
thirty-six inches long, sanded and bleached, will work.
Have fun making pasta! Even the mistakes are edible.
Basic Filled Pasta Recipe for +/- 100 Tortelloni
Ingredients are measured by weight so the recipe can easily be
scaled for quantity.
Pasta
Filling
Ingredient Ratio: 100 grams of
"00" Flour per 50 grams of liquid.
Liquid can be water, egg, broth, or a cooked vegetable such as
spinach or mushroom.
One shelled egg = 50 grams (Should be weighed if very large or
small)
50 grams of cooked spinach = one egg.
The
following mixtures allow for additional 50 grams of flour
during kneading.
Plain Pasta 6 eggs and 550
g flour
Spinach Pasta 6 eggs, 50 g cooked
spinach, 650 g flour
To Mix
Form the flour into a bowl shape on the table.
Place liquids in the center of the flour. Gently blend flour
into liquid. Knead until dough forms and stickiness is gone.
Add flour as necessary. Wrap kneaded dough in plastic. Let
dough rest at least one hour before rolling.
Quantity Ratio: Filling Weight = Dough Weight
1.5 kilos Ricotta (cow)
200 grams grated Parmesan cheese
20 grams salt (to taste)
1 Egg
Nutmeg to taste
Roll dough into a sheet carefully but quickly to avoid drying.
Cut rolled sheet into one inch squares. Place a dollop of
filling into the center of each square. Fold dough corner to
corner into a triangle over the filling. Squeeze the bottom
tips of the triangle together to form a tortelloni shape. Practice
often and eat your work!
Walter Lippmann
published Public Opinionin 1922. Following is a short extract
describing the role of leadership in creating public acceptance. The
entire book
is available online for free through Project Gutenburg.
The established leaders of any organization have great natural
advantages. They are believed to have better sources of information.
The books and papers are in their offices. They took part in the
important conferences. They met the important people. They have
responsibility. It is, therefore, easier for them to secure attention
and to speak in a convincing tone. But also they have a very great
deal of control over the access to the facts.
Every official is in some degree a censor. And since no one can suppress information,
either by concealing it or forgetting to mention it, without some
notion of what he wishes the public to know, every leader is in some
degree a propagandist.
Strategically placed, and compelled often to
choose even at the best between the equally cogent though conflicting
ideals of safety for the institution, and candor to his public, the
official finds himself deciding more and more consciously what facts,
in what setting, in what guise he shall permit the public to know.
That the manufacture of consent is capable of great refinements no
one, I think, denies. The process by which public opinions arise is
certainly no less intricate than it has appeared in these pages, and
the opportunities for manipulation open to anyone who understands the
process are plain enough.
The creation of consent is not a new art. It is a very old one which
was supposed to have died out with the appearance of democracy. But it
has not died out.
It has, in fact, improved enormously in technic,
because it is now based on analysis rather than on rule of thumb. And
so, as a result of psychological research, coupled with the modern
means of communication, the practice of democracy has turned a corner.
A revolution is taking place, infinitely more significant than any
shifting of economic power.
Within the life of the generation now in control of affairs,
persuasion has become a self-conscious art and a regular organ of
popular government. None of us begins to understand the consequences,
but it is no daring prophecy to say that the knowledge of how to
create consent will alter every political calculation and modify every
political premise.
Under the impact of propaganda, not necessarily in
the sinister meaning of the word alone, the old constants of our
thinking have become variables. It is no longer possible, for example,
to believe in the original dogma of democracy; that the knowledge
needed for the management of human affairs comes up spontaneously from
the human heart. Where we act on that theory we expose ourselves to
self-deception, and to forms of persuasion that we cannot verify.
It
has been demonstrated that we cannot rely upon intuition, conscience,
or the accidents of casual opinion if we are to deal with the world
beyond our reach.
