Category Archives: Over the Transom

Thursday Collection: Claw Machines, Ramen & Dreams Odder Than Usual

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Spotted recently at the mini-mall attached to Mitsuwa, the largest Japanese grocery store here in the northwest suburbs, which is in Arlington Heights.

Banks of Japanese claw machines where a travel agency used to be. Not quite sure what this one is.

The arcade, if you can call it that, is under the brand name Kiddleton Kiosk. Turns out there are quite a few of them, mostly associated with Japanese grocery stores in the U.S.

I never had much use for claw machines. Probably because they seemed like a good way to feed quarters, or tokens, into a machine, and watch it give you nothing. Maybe Kiddleton has a different business model involving a low cost of prizes, which do deliver sometimes, compared with a higher input of tokens. I didn’t feel like testing out that idea.

Not long ago, we went to Hokkaido Ramen House in Hoffman Estates. Hit the spot. Hot steamy ramen, mine with thin slices of pork, egg and some vegetables. Just the kind of thing to enjoy on a raw winter evening.

I didn’t realize it was part of a chain until after we were there. When I found out, I looked at the chain’s web site to see where the others were. California, I figured, and maybe in the Northeast and Texas. You know, the usual chain restaurant suspects.

Turns out there’s only one in California (Santa Cruz). Guess the Asian restaurant competition’s a little stiff in that state. There are indeed a few in the Northeast and Texas as well, including one in Waco, which is a little surprising. But the real surprise is five in Montana and three in Idaho. Then again, maybe not a surprise. It’s cold a lot in those places, and ramen warms you up.

Two old friends of mine met for the first time recently, in a dream of mine. One a lanky bald fellow I’ve known 40 years, the other sporting long gray hair and a thick beard for that Old Testament prophet look, whom I’ve know nearly as long. They were sitting at a table, with me, eating a meal, despite the fact that we were weightless in a space station. They seemed to be getting on well, and one of them, or me, or someone, explained that the company that built the space station had done so well renting cars that it was able to send people to the station at a low cost.

An even odder dream, later the same night: I climbed a ladder to rescue – kidnap? – a group of sentient pens and pencils. Semi-sentient, at least. I couldn’t carry them in a pocket, so I put the group of pens and pencils, who knew what I was doing, under my arms to carry them down the ladder. It all felt a little precarious.

Mochidou

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Not long ago, we noticed Mochidou, a pastry shop in Hoffman Estates, Illinois. How that happened involves a change of veterinarians from a few years ago.

Once upon a time, we took the dog to a nearby practice that included a husband-and-wife vet team who had good bedside (kennel-side?) manor. Then about three years ago, they moved on at about the same time as a soulless chain of veterinary practices acquired the location. This new owner – let’s call it Three Initial Animal Care – soon showed its true colors when the dog acquired a snout infection in the summer of 2020.

Things were looking bad, and during a consultation by phone (these were high pandemic days, remember), whomever had replaced the competent married couple prescribed medicine we couldn’t get the dog to eat. Then the infection spread to one of her eyes. Later, the new vet saw the dog in person, while I waited in the car, and she seemed just a little too eager to fob us off on a specialty hospital, which also happened to be part of the chain.

After some expensive tests at said hospital, no cause could be determined. Could have been a virus. Or bacteria. Or a fungus. Nevertheless, the specialist there said we could proceed with very expensive surgery to try to fix things. As fond as we are of our old dog, we determined at the point that she was either going to live or not, without further intervention.

She lived. And lives to this day, with more energy than you’d expect from a dog around 13 years old. The infection destroyed her right eye, and she sneezes more than she used to, which seems to be a permanent result of the snout damage. She might also have a diminished sense of smell, which I suppose would be worse for a dog than losing some eyesight. But she doesn’t complain, and more importantly, has a vigorous appetite, and still barks at passersby, lolls around on the floor, begs for food, and does all the other dog things dogs do.

In early 2021, we decided to find a new vet, and so we did, a fellow with a solo practice in Hoffman Estates. We like him, and I believe he gives good advice.

The last time we took her to see him, we noticed that Mochidou had opened in the same strip center. Seems to be the only one of that name (so far). It sells mochi doughnuts — that is, a fusion of Japanese mochi and American doughnuts.

Last week, I was in the vicinity on non-dog business, and bought a box. We gave them a try. Man, are they good.

They aren’t as hyper-chewy as mochi, or as soft as a regular American (non-cake) doughnut, but in between. They aren’t as plain as mochi, or as sweet as a typical doughnut, but in between. Add to that a dash of flavor, mango in our case, and you have a wonderful treat.

“Enter the mochi donut: a donut trend that is sweeping across America due to its uniquely bouncy texture and naturally gluten-free qualities,” Thrillist reported in 2020. “The mochi donut has existed before its stateside debut, but was mostly popularized in Japan under the name ‘pon de ring’ from the donut chain, Mister Donut.”

(Mister Donut’s a post for another time. I’ve got some fond memories of mornings at the Mister Donut across the street from Nagai Koen Park in Osaka, savoring the fine doughnuts, refreshing milk tea and the incongruous rockabilly soundtrack.)

Mochidou’s confections are probably made of tapioca flour, since glutinous rice flour would end up chewier, but I didn’t ask about the ingredients, and box didn’t say. Note that they are rings of eight attached dough balls. An elegant design that makes it easy to share.

Only one gripe: they are expensive. A half dozen sells for about $16. Hipsters in high-rent urban settings spurred along to the next gustatory experience by FOMO might not consider that pricey, but we suburbanites — who take what comes — do.

Face to Face With a Short Snorter for the First Time

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After our walk in the forest on Sunday, we dropped by an antique mall that we visit occasionally, and I saw something I’d read about years earlier, but had never actually seen. And I mean many years ago – maybe as long ago as junior high in the mid-70s, when I was browsing through one of the dictionaries we had at home, as one did before the Internet. I did, anyway.

By chance one day, I happened across the term short snorter. Occasionally afterward I’d mention it to someone else, and no one had ever heard of it. But I didn’t forget. That’s the kind of obscurity worth treasuring. In more recent years, I found mention of them online.

There under glass on Sunday – which accounts for the glare – was a short snorter.

Evidently, this silver certificate began its career as a short snorter on July 11, 1944 at Crumlin, near Lough Neagh, in County Antrim, Northern Ireland.

In our time, naturally, there are web sites devoted to short snorters. Even so, I’m sure that most people still haven’t heard of them, since they seem to have faded after WWII, as lost to time time as A cards.

“A short snorter is a banknote which was signed by various persons traveling together or meeting up at different events and records who was met,” the Short Snorter Project says. “The tradition was started by bush pilots in Alaska in the 1920s and subsequently spread through the growth of military and commercial aviation. If you signed a short snorter and that person could not produce it upon request, they owed you a dollar or a drink.”

Not only was it a real thing, there are short snorters with names, as the page details, such as the General Hoyt Vandenberg Snorter, the Harry Hopkins Snorter and the Yalta Snorter, among others.

The page also claims that “short snorters come to light at coins shops and coin shows where most dealers pay very little for them as they are heavily worn and ‘not very collectible.’ ”

Tell that to the antique dealer offering the note I saw. The asking price: $95. Obscurity worth treasuring, maybe, but I wasn’t inclined to pay that much.

It Reminds Me That Summer Will Be Back

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Flickering out in the night in my back yard, near the deck, is a solar lantern. I’m a little surprised it glows in the winter, but apparently it gets the juice it needs from the limited amount of sunlight that the day provides.

Back in the summer of 2021, we acquired a set of lanterns, one a tabletop light, the other designed to top out a pole of about three feet. Same box, same manufacturer. They both glowed by night for a few weeks, but then the tabletop unit failed. Being a cheap Middle Kingdom-made item, we didn’t bother with a return.

The stick stands with a lean that has proven hard to straighten, so I let it lean.

The light itself has soldiered on this year and a half.

I Found a Time Capsule

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Thinking more about Kong Dog, it occurs to me that maybe somewhere in the hip little eateries of still-under-the-radar foodie towns (Des Moines? Incheon? Windhoek?), culinary innovators are working on artisanal beanie-weenies.

Gray, drizzly days recently, but at least above freezing, barely, so no underfoot ice. A few days ago, before the drizzle set in, we visited the lights at Schaumburg Town Square, which is a pleasure when it isn’t too cold.

The clocktower, which is at a spot called Veterans Gateway Park. Nice.Schaumburg Clock Tower

While visiting the tower, I noticed a time capsule under the nearby bricks.

How had I never noticed this before? I don’t visit the clocktower a lot, but I have been  there over the years.

Sealed herein is a time capsule, its contents gathered to honor and remember the arrival of the new millennium in Schaumburg.

Sealed the 16th day of September, 2001 at 12:30 p.m. by the Village of Schaumburg Millennium Committee.

This capsule is to be opened 25 years hence, its contents enjoyed and added to, and the capsule resealed to be opened in another 25 years.

That’s getting pretty close. I checked and September 16, 2026 is going to be a Wednesday. Will it be opened then or a near weekend? Or just approximately then? Will a new committee be formed? Or will the village forget?

As for the contents, I have to think they made some reference to the recent events of that September, as if they would be forgotten in 25 years. Mostly forgotten in 100 years, that I can see, even with whatever advanced information tech happens to exist in 2101. As the Internet has taught our generation, quick access to information hasn’t made much of a dint in ignorance.

Young Mid-Century Doctor

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I have in my possession — because I lifted it from the large collection of photos at the Stribling manse in San Antonio — this square black-and-white snapshot. I think I brought it back at the same time as my pre-1960 election Ken and Sue shot.

In light pencil on the back, my mother wrote, “V.A. Hospital Party 1958.” December is on the edge of the print, so a Christmas party would be a good bet. My father probably took it. He was handy with a camera.

Unfortunately, my mother didn’t write anything else on it. My father worked for the VA in north Texas at the time, so I have to assume this is a picture of a colleague. I don’t know who he was. My recollections of 1958 are vanishingly small, after all. Zero, as it happens.

I suspect no one would have given much thought about cigar-smoking at a party, or cigar-smoking by a doctor, though I imagine that my mother didn’t care much for the second-hand smoke. As a matter of individual taste, that is, and probably not as a health concern.

Via the magic of easy photo enlargement, most of the bottles can be identified.

The big bottle on the shelf is Canada Dry, which must have been a mixer. Next to it is the familiar shape of a standard Coke bottle, recognizable down the decades. A mixer as well, at least for some partygoers. Good to see a bit of continuity with the present, even if it’s in the shape of a commercial object.

Not sure about that left-hand bottle in the row of four, or the right-hand one either, but there are clearly more Canada Dry bottles in between.

The lower shelf features more Coke and gin.

Hiram Walker’s gin, as it happens. I haven’t checked lately, but I expect that’s still in stores, too.

Thursday Debris (Electronic and Paper)

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As expected, full winter is here. Not much more to say about that till a blizzard comes. We’re overdue one, at least when it comes to my completely nonscientific feelings on the matter. Not that I want one, just that it’s been a while, and the Old Man might want to let us have it this year.

Christmas lights are up around the neighborhood and beyond. Have been, mostly since last week. So are ours, but I don’t light them. Soon. I haven’t even gotten around to replacing the white overhead front door light with a green bulb. Soon.

We visited the Elk Grove Village lights recently, which includes a glowing ball you can walk into. Elk Grove Village Christmas Lights
Elk Grove Village Christmas Lights

How could I not open an email with a subject line like this?

SAVE at our annual Holiday Open House! Details inside

Easy not to open, actually, and usually I wouldn’t, but since I did know the sender — a dermatologist we’ve visited — I took a look:

Don’t miss our biggest savings of 2022 on skin treatment packages and in-clinic products at our Wheaton/Naperville location. Oh, what fun!

Oh, what fun? Like riding in a one-horse open sleigh?

Ridding the house of excess paper is an ongoing task. Digital age, my foot. Today I found a form letter, undated, from the Schleswig-Holstein Park District. The head:

PARENTAL GUIDELINES

Followed by a lot of verbiage, but I didn’t need to read any more. Those days are over. Out to the blue bin with it.

Before I tossed, in the same blue bin, one of those cardboard triangles that Toblerone comes in, I noticed that the brand is owned by Mondelēz International, complete with macron. Wait, isn’t that the name of the president of France? How is it that the Fifth Republic has a diacritical mark as its supreme magistrate?

Never mind. When did the essential Swiss triangle chocolate fall under the sway of Mondelēz? Back in 1990, when predecessor Kraft bought Toblerone. Shows you what I know. Then again, that would account for Toblerone’s wider appearance in North America since about 1990. Back in the 1980s, the chocolate wasn’t just Swiss made, that’s where you found most of it.

Despite its Euro-sounding name — Iberian-sounding — Mondelēz is actually headquartered in the far-off, exotic city of Chicago.

La Dalia Brand Smoked Paprika

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Almost warm today, nearly 60° F. Then winds came through, followed by rain after dark, then cold air. Tomorrow the high will be around 30° F. There’s no denying winter.

Fact for the day: the Dehesa de Extremadura Protected Designation of Origin in Spain produced 3,860 tons of peppers in 2020. I’m assuming that’s metric tons. Also, a dehesa is, according to Wiki at least, a “multifunctional, agrosylvopastoral system” specific to Spain and Portugal, though it’s called a montado in the latter country.

I had to look all that up, including a source or two beyond Wiki. Why did I look it up? Curiosity sparked by a can of Spanish paprika that recently appeared in our kitchen.

Isn’t that a fine design? A bit of everyday aesthetics, holding 70 grams of that pimentón production, though possibly from a crop more recent than 2020, since the packing date on the can is September 5 of this year — or May 9, since I’m not sure whether it’s month/day/year or day/month/year in Spain. Sometime this year, anyway.

La Dalia brand (the flower is Dahlia in English, notoriously as in Black) and from the La Vera district in Extremadura, as verified by whatever EU bureaucracy is in charge of such things. It doesn’t add materially to my life to know all that, but I’m glad I do all the same.

Fourth Friday of November Fire

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The day after Thanksgiving — Stay Out of the Stores Day, let’s call it, though I also avoided e-commerce — I decided to burn some of the wooden debris left by the flying trampoline incident. Not to grill anything, just for the pleasure of it. Daytime temps were relatively mild, much warmer than early in the week, and while there was some wind, not enough to pose a hazard.

Pretty soon I got it going nicely.

That might look like I added some accelerant, but no. I put paper and about a half load of charcoal in the chimney starter and fired it up. Later, after pouring the red charcoal out of the chimney, I added sticks. That was all it took.

What’s the fascination with a robust fire?

I kept the fire going through dusk, having started it just before sunset. Eventually, the fire consumed most of the debris wood, though there are some other small piles out in the yard that I can burn if the urge strikes again.

When did humanity finally master the art of making fire? A long damn time ago, but the exact sequence of events, like much else about our remote past, is vague indeed. Still, the fascination remains, right down to the present day, in my back yard.

Victory Over Moths

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Is it too soon to declare victory over moths? I have a superstitious feeling that after I do so, I’ll see a moth flit by here inside our house, as soon as a day or two later. Our victory will prove to be illusory.

Never mind all that. I’m declaring victory over moths — noiseless, shadowy, harmless moths that still represented an insect invasion of my dwelling space. One to be suppressed, which was the consensus of everyone here. Harmless, but annoying all the same.

At no point in your ownership of a house have you seen it all, since there’s always the possibility of another novel expense or pain-in-the-ass nuisance you haven’t experienced before, lurking in unexpected places. In the case of the moths, lurking on walls, if moths can rightly be said to lurk.

That implies a presence of mind I’m not sure moths actually have, but anyway there they were, clinging to higher parts of living room and kitchen walls. Small gray moths had starting making their appearance sometime in the summer. Originally we took them for outdoor moths accidently in the house, but pretty soon their increasing numbers made us re-think that assumption. They were setting up colonies. That meant we had to start some aggressive measures.

I became the main moth assassin. Yuriko swatted some, and so did Ann when she was here, but mostly it fell to me, fly swatter or thick paper weapon in hand (we still have a few paper magazines around, ready to roll). There’s one! Twack! Wait, another — thup! Damn, missed that last one.

Sometimes it would take a few moments to identify them; there are spots on the walls I took for moths and vice versa, especially in the early days of moth suppression.

An aside: our fly swatter goes back to 2008, a souvenir of the Bluegrass Inn in Frankfort, Kentucky. Sturdy blue plastic, it had seen only intermittent use since then, but now its hour had come, and soon started collecting faint grey stains.

I hadn’t swatted so many insects since that day in Ulaanbaatar when I cleared our hotel room of a rich bounty of flies, or the (seemingly) all-night mosquito hunt in my low-rent digs in Pusan.

As house-invading insects go, individual moths are fairly easy to kill. Mosquitoes, and flies that aren’t in their terminal moments bumping up against window glass, are much faster and seem to be paying attention. Moths wait obligingly as you spy their position and prepare the swat. As long as you aim correctly that first time — because if you miss, it will take flight — the moth will immediately become an ex-moth.

Of course, containing an insect infestation with a swatter is a fool’s errand. I soon advanced to a chemical weapon. Raid, in this case, applied to what I believed were strategic locations, and away from where the dog might go. The moth population dropped for a while, and we experienced optimism that the bugs would be vanquished.

The moths had other ideas. Localized infestations were discovered in boxes of dry cereal and one particularly vile node was in a bag of dry dog food. These packages were tossed, contents and all, and replacement boxes and bags were more carefully re-sealed. For a while, fewer moths were seen. But they returned.

With the help of my research assistant Google, I looked into moth infestations. I determined that we had pantry moths, not closet moths. Our bugs didn’t seem interested in our clothes. Naturally, there were suggestions of products to try to deal with them.

So soon I turned to a biological weapon. A successful, inexpensive and easy-to-use biological weapon, one I am happy to mention by name, so successful was it: Maxguard Pantry Moth Traps. Put one together and you’re got a tent-shaped bit of thick paper. On the inside surface, Maxguard provides a sticky surface infused with “extra strength pheromones,” the box promises.

A glue trap for male moths, other words. Or rather (projecting a little more), honey traps. They come, attracted at the prospect of moth nooky, stick and die, forever unable to do their biologic jobs when it comes to reproduction, thus setting the stage for a localized population collapse. That was my hope, anyway, when I set up the four traps that came in the box at various parts of the house in late September, before my latest trip.

Since I’ve been back, a month now, I haven’t seen any moths — except for those many stuck to the glue traps. Dozens of them. Snuffed out of whatever it means to be a moth, by human trickery. We’re pretty good at that. So long, moths. You are not missed.