Eat bugs, see bugs, be like a bug at the newest museum in New Orleans

by Jamie Rhein on

Two summers ago my son was wild about cicadas. They were everywhere, and each time he found one of their shells he put it in an empty bottle. His exuberance was the type only four-year-olds can generate

There’s a museum in New Orleans with his name on it. Not literally, the museum is called Audubon Insectarium, but it’s the kind he would LOVE. This museum is the first new tourist attraction to open since Katrina changed the landscape of much of the city and is part of Audubon Nature Institute. I found out about it through this article in the Columbus Dispatch.

The landscape inside the Audubon Insectarium is bugs, bugs and more bugs–35,000 live ones and 15,000 mounted ones–or thereabouts. As people go from exhibit to exhibit, they learn about bugs from prehistoric times through today.

Built in the historic U.S. Custom House, the museum offers entertainment and creativity in how it displays its subject matter. For example, you can get an idea of what a bug’s world looks like through reconstructed tunnels that puts you in the bug’s perspective. Outside the bathrooms, you can see dung beetles roll waste into balls. In case you’re wondering-it’s not the waste from the bathroom. There’s also a chance to test your mettle against a cricket’s power. Can you pedal as fast as a cricket can hop?

Another exhibit is devoted to showing what insects people eat around the world and how they are cooked. That sounds like an exhibit Andrew Zimmern of Bizarre Foods would swoon over. If you want to try an insect yourself, you can try some edible bug snacks. I’ve had chocolate covered grasshoppers before. The closest thing I can think of is Nestle Crunch bars.

Also, there is a section about pest control management and a live butterfly exhibit among other offerings.

Lest you think getting rid of all insects but the pretty kind, one of the main points the museum makes is that if it weren’t for bugs, nothing else would live. Remember the lyrics to the song, “There was an Old Woman Who Swallowed a Fly?” It’s kind of like that.

There’s Breakfast with the Bugs on July 12. Notice it’s with the bugs, not eating bugs.

Jesus travel: Eating in the land of milk and honey

by Jamie Rhein on

Right after I posted about the Jesus Trail in Israel that meanders for 40 miles through the land where Jesus walked, I received my daily missive from Intelligent Travel. There was the post “What would Jesus eat?” Now, that’s a pairing combo–eating and walking.

Travel writer, Andrew Evans just returned from Israel armed with details on food that have a biblical basis. While you’re walking along the path that Jesus might have wandered, pop into the eateries he suggests and you’ll have some mighty fine meals.

Evans tells which restaurants serve what and gives a bit of a background history of some of the foods, many that date back to the time of Jesus or earlier.

Eucalyptus is in Jerusalem and Muscat Restaunt and The Organic Kitchen are at the Mizpe Hayamim Health Resort overlooking the Sea of Galilee.

Here are some of the foods Evans mentions eating, although some of them are from markets he visited along the way:

  • yellow lentil soup with hyssop
  • lamb braised with pomegranate
  • tilapia with lemon butter sauce and baked vegetables
  • sage tea (thought to cure jet lag)
  • pumpkin-filled Bukharian pastry
  • pickled green almonds,
  • black Persian lemons
  • Yemeni yogurt balls
  • bread sprinkled with olive oil and herbs

The Jesus Trail

by Jamie Rhein on

Here is a bit of low impact tourism that can provide you with some exercise, a history lesson–and a walk similar to one that Jesus might have made.

Instead of hopping on a bus to be taken to certain holy sites to see places where Jesus did his ministry, there is a walking option.

This go-at-you-own-pace trip is along a 40-mile path that brings you to sites like: Nazareth where Jesus grew up as a boy; the Arab village of Kana–where Jesus turned water into wine; the sea of Galilee, Mount of Beatitudes where it is thought Jesus gave the Sermon on the Mount; and to the location where it’s said that Jesus turned two fish and five loaves of bread into enough food for the multitudes.

There are sites important to Islam as well.

According to Laurie Copans who took the trip, it has appeal, partly because of the interactive quality. Listening to birds, feeling the breeze, and experiencing the topography adds meditative and reflective elements to the travle experience.

As one of the people interviewed for the article said, “The more intimate you become with the land, the more intimate the land becomes to you–the smells, the feel, the hills.”

The tricky aspect of this trail is that it’s not marked. Here are your options for doing the trip without getting lost.

  • Hire a tour guide
  • Download a Global Positioning System that coordinates with Jesustrail.com, or
  • Pick up a Map–but with the trail not marked, I say hire a tour guide.

For more details and contact information about how to follow the Jesus Trail, read Copan’s article. The photo is of Galilee from Mount Beatitudes by hoysameg on Flickr.

Women barred from men’s dining room at private golf club

by Jamie Rhein on

Whoa! Wait a minute. How can that be? Where have I been? I keep thinking I have more freedom of movement about the world than I actually have. Here’s one more place I can’t go.

I just read that at the Phoenix Country Club women are not allowed in the men’s grill room where the serious business deal making and dining occurs. No, the women who want find food to nosh on are pushed off into the women’s grill which is smaller and without the buffet, the bar or the lovely view of the golf course. The women’s grill has a hotplate.

There’s a bit of a fuss going on at the country club since some members want to move on into modern times where a couple can eat eggs together for breakfast, for example. Some of the men are as appalled by living in the days when women weren’t allowed in saloons–“respectable” women mind you and are having a time of it for standing up for their wives. This is true. Here’s the article that covers the details. The story involves peeing on a pecan tree as well as other juicy grammar school-like tidbits.

But before you go to the article, consider this. Several years ago, and I’m talking many–when I lived in Columbia, South Carolina during middle school, my mom took my brother and me to a roller skating rink. When we found out we had to be members in order to skate, we decided that rink wasn’t for us. Why not? Becoming members had to do with religion and skin color. We just happened to be the right religion and and the right skin color, but we didn’t like the rules. We thought the rules should change.

Since then, I think, rules have changed. But, I often live in La-La-Land where we all get along, so I can’t say if this is 100% so. *Before those of you from the south start sputtering, let me assure you I loved so much about South Carolina. Seventh grade was my Renaissance year and I was sad to move.

But, this story is about men and women and not race and religion–so perhaps, they aren’t similar. After all, there are men’s clubs and women’s clubs–and most people wouldn’t argue about that, so what’s the difference?

If the women had a grill as good as the men’s, and the business deal making happened outside the men’s grill so women could participate, I wonder if there would be as much of an issue?

Here’s what I mean. When I was in the Peace Corps, I had some friends who lived in my village who were from Pakistan. The women in the family–18 year-old twins and the mother, didn’t interact with men other than their dad/husband because he was the only family member who lived in The Gambia.

These were wonderful people who treated me extremely well. Once there were men coming for dinner. Since the dad was to have guests, I was invited to keep them company where they would eat in another room. The food was put in the dining room. While the men filled up their plates, we waited in a bedroom with the door closed.

After the men went to the living room, and the door was closed to the dining room, we got our food. Okay, sure the men at first, but there was plenty left.

But, this isn’t the same as the men’s grill either. I was told I could go visit with the men if I wanted to. I didn’t want to. Probably because I had a choice–and I was already in the best company.

As for the women who are at the Phoenix Country Club looking for some equity, I hope they have a frying pan if they want to cook up those eggs on their own.

And if any of you are heading off to a private club somewhere, check to see who can get in. It might surprise you.

Going to Sesame Street: Manhattan moments

by Jamie Rhein on

“Did you know that Kermit Love died?” I asked my brother two days ago. I called him when I read the news in The New York Times.

My brother was Kermit Love’s apprentice years ago, not long after my brother moved to Manhattan to attend the School of Visual Arts. Kermit Love, the creator of Big Bird and Mr. Snuffleupagus, was also an artist in other venues.

Those were the days my brother and I sat out on the fire escape of the building where he sublet a room in someone’s apartment one summer. One night when I was visiting him, we climbed out the window with our dinner to watch a ballet class in session in a dance studio across the street. The studio’s windows were open so we could hear the music.

During that same visit, we dressed up in halfway decent clothes to head to Broadway about the time of intermission. In the summer back then, people spilled out onto the sidewalks for a smoke or something to drink. If the show wasn’t sold out, it was possible to mingle with the crowd and head back in for the second half. All one needed to do was wait at the back of the orchestra seating to find the empty spots. Such were the tricks of broke college students.

At first, while working for Kermit, my brother earned a small sum for ironing Big Bird’s feathers. Those feathers don’t look fluffy all by themselves. Because Big Bird travels in various shows, there’s more than one costume that needs refluffing.

Eventually, my brother graduated to larger, more complicated jobs. He and two other fellows reconstructed costumes based on Love’s design for a Picasso exhibit at the Museum of Modern Art. As what happens with apprentices, they work behind the scenes without getting credit up front. It was cool to go to the exhibit, though, and see my brother’s handiwork. Not long after, my brother moved on. But, not before I got my trip to Sesame Street.

My brother needed to deliver something–not feathers, something else, but I can’t remember what. No matter. We went to the studio where the show was filmed. It has since changed locations to Kaufman Astoria Studios in Queens.

Sesame Street looked like Sesame Street. Happy.

Carroll Spinney, the guy who has played Big Bird for years was standing around in his Big Bird legs. The top of the costume comes off in between takes, you see. It’s too hot to keep on.

Kermit Love smiled when I shook his hand. I’m sure we said, “Pleased to meet you”–or maybe not. It was a brief visit, but an awesome one that has stayed with me all these years. I connect Kermit Love to a time when my brother and I were younger and nervy enough to sneak into a Broadway show as if we belonged there.

Now, when I go to Broadway show, it’s with a ticket that I’ve bought at TKTS, the discount ticket booth near Times Square.

My brother didn’t know that Kermit Love had died and there was a wistful tone in his voice when he told me he may look to see if there is a memorial service. He is still in touch with a person who also knew Love back then.

As for visiting Sesame Street again, the studio doesn’t do tours. The Studio Cafe is open to the public, though. If you head there for lunch, look for a guy with stripped legs and bird feet. You’ll know who he is. Ask him who irons his feathers.