The Flying Jew

Okay, so I’m taking up trapeze.  Reader say: “What?” I know.  It sounds pretty weird.  “Why trapeze?” you might ask.  Or, “Do you have a death wish?”  Or even, “Are you 22 going on 6?”  I needed some exercise in my life, it rains too much here to depend on Greenlake year-round, and the gym is just too boring without little TVs that play the Food Network.  Now, why this lack of options turned into circus instead of, er, buying a rain jacket or finding another gym is anyone’s guess.  Sure, running marathons or walking to work are much better ways to lose weight and stay healthy.  Apparently neither was my bag here, so I decided to run away (okay, drive) and join the circus (okay, SANCA, the School for Acrobatics and New Circus Arts in South Seattle).

I realize this is all sounding a little out-of-the-blue: rest assured, it sort of is.  This time last week I wasn’t exactly pondering my career in circus.  But I did do some flying trapeze when I was younger, and it was, well, really fun.  I also wrote my senior thesis in college on circus and Cirque du Soleil, which involved research like going to Vegas for 24 hours to see a Cirque show and teaching myself to juggle: I’ve always carried a torch for all things circus.  Neither of these things would really explain me taking up the trapeze at the ripe old age of 22, but here I am!

Before you get too nervous for my well-being (“she works in a freakin’ office.  She’s probably not flying through the air with the greatest of ease”), know that I’m actually taking static trapeze instead of the flying kind.  The premise here is sort of like really strenuous monkey-bar work: lots of grunting to swing yourself up or around the bar and then a really fun fall to the ground (hopefully on purpose).  When you get really good you can make it so people don’t realize how much effort it is to haul oneself over a very unforgiving bar.  Until then, you look like an asshole.  That’s the objective truth.

Rising circus stars need to eat, right?  Right.  They need to eat something that won’t make them want to vomit when they (hypothetically, of course) wipe out and knock the wind out of themselves in the middle of trapeze class.  So for dinner tonight, I had fresh bread, truffled fromage blanc (sort of like a truffled soft ricotta cheese) from Port Townsend, both spread liberally with this:

Red Wine Strawberry-Rhubarb Compote

2 cartons of strawberries

2 large stalks of rhubarb

1/2 cup red wine

1/4 cup water

1/3 cup sugar

Zest from half a small lemon

1/4 teaspoon of cloves

Hull the strawberries (cut off their green bits so when you look into the strawberry you see more red than white) and dice them.  Dice the rhubarb as well: small, uniform pieces will make your compote cook more evenly.  Add strawberries, rhubarb, water, wine, and half the sugar to a heavy skillet (I use my cast iron) and turn the stove to medium heat.  Let them cook down for a while (half hour, maybe).  It’ll look like this for a while:

Add more sugar to taste, and once the mixture begins to come together, add the lemon zest and cloves.  If the compote is too soupy, pour off some of the liquid and keep reducing it: this only improves by staying on the stove.  It gives the rhubarb a chance to macerate, and the sugar helps firm up the compote.

It’s delicious spread with a little cheese on baguette, but it’s also great on yogurt.  In fact, when you do that, it looks kind of like this:

Mmmm.  This is an especially fine arrangement for girls who are really sleepy after toiling away in the circus fields all day.