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In 1997, in Amsterdam, Yotam Ottolenghi finished writing the last chapter of his master's thesis on the ontological status of the photographic image in aesthetic and analytic philosophy, rode his bicycle to the post office, and sent copies of the manuscript home to Israel. It was his second year away. He was twenty-nine, and nearing the end of an adventure in indecision that began a few months after he had completed the coursework for a fast-track, interdisciplinary bachelor's and graduate degree at Tel Aviv University—known among students as "the genius program," because only fifteen freshmen a year were admitted—and decamped with his boyfriend to sample the famously accessible offerings of the city of marijuana cafés, Ecstasy raves, and breakfast hams. When he wasn't celebrating his release from school, he worked. He edited the Hebrew pages of a Dutch-Jewish weekly known by the acronym NIW, plowed through the essays of Ernst Gombrich, passed the qualifying exams for a doctorate in the United States—he was thinking comparative literature, at Yale—sat through long nights as a desk clerk at the kind of hotel he wouldn't recommend, and wrote his thesis. "I'm incredibly self-disciplined," he says. "I never would have not written it."
One copy went to his thesis adviser in Tel Aviv, and another to Yehuda Elkana, the philosopher who created the genius program. A third copy—"the one I dreaded sending"—went to his parents in Jerusalem, where his father was a chemistry professor at Hebrew University and his mother, a former teacher and herself the daughter of a professor, was at the Education Ministry, running the country's high schools. It was a moment of truth, Ottolenghi says. He slipped a note into the envelope—"actually, buried it in the manuscript"—which read, "Here is my dissertation. I've decided to take a break from academia and go to cooking school." A few months later, he was in London, rolling puff pastry at the Cordon Bleu.
The moral is that smart people can be masters of many trades, though Ottolenghi claims that it took him a lot longer to "really experience pastry with my hands" (six months) than to make his way through Hegel (an excruciating few weeks). At forty-three, he is not much changed from the recovering geek of his Amsterdam years—lanky, loping, and quite tall, with the same short, sticking-up dark hair and fashionably stubbled chin, and even a version of the same black-rimmed student glasses. The difference is that today he wears the happy smile of a man who has left behind "The Phenomenology of Mind" for baked eggplants with lemon thyme, za'atar, pomegranate seeds, and buttermilk-yogurt sauce—and, in the process, become the pen, prime mover, and public face of a partnership of four close colleagues who have quietly changed the way people in Britain shop and cook and eat.
At last count, his eponymous reach extended to two hugely popular London restaurants, the flagship Ottolenghi, in Islington, and, in Soho, NOPI (for North of Piccadilly, but known to foodies as "Ottolenghi's new place"), as well as three packed gourmet delis, in Notting Hill, Kensington, and Belgravia, which are never without his favorite pastries and his signature platters of butternut-squash salad, roasted aubergine with yogurt topping, grilled broccoli with chili and fried garlic, and fresh green beans. The delis, along with the Islington restaurant, also provide a catering service that will deliver a dinner party to your door or, if you happen to be the Queen, put together a groaning board of snacks (as in "golden and candy beetroot, orange, and olive salad with goat's cheese, red onion, mint, pumpkin seeds, and orange blossom dressing") for the eight hundred and fifty people sipping champagne at your jubilee party at the Royal Academy of Arts.
Ottolenghi himself is the author of a weekly food-and-recipe column in the Guardian and a visually irresistible vegetable cookbook called "Plenty"—proof that an education in aesthetics is never wasted—and, with Sami Tamimi, his Palestinian executive chef and one of the early Ottolenghi partners, the co-author of two other cookbooks, the latest of which, "Jerusalem," is about the food of their home town and the rich symbiosis of Arab and Jewish culinary traditions that survives in the markets and kitchens of an otherwise fractured city. (The book came out in Britain and America this fall, but the British got a preview late last year, when Ottolenghi became the peripatetic guide and narrator of a BBC documentary about his research, "Jerusalem on a Plate.")
No one who has grown up in the Mediterranean Middle East can really live without the colors and textures and tastes of home. The food that Ottolenghi serves and writes about often includes them all, but it isn't ethnic cooking, grounded in one tradition, and it certainly isn't fusion cooking, or its muddled suburban hybrids. He uses the fish and meat and produce that everyone in Britain eats, and then, he says, "borrows from here and there" the tastes that will produce a recipe he likes. His instincts are collaborative and practical. When he started the Guardian column, six years ago, he wanted to create recipes that a home cook could pretty much put together from the shelves of a decent supermarket. (At first, he sent them to friends to test. His bottom line: a harried child-minder in Hackney, with two children of her own to feed.) He was wrong about supermarkets. But his column was so successful that the chain Waitrose began to stock his favorite condiments and spices. And he eventually launched an extensive online catalogue, in the hope of restoring domestic calm to readers like the woman who wanted to make his whitefish-grapefruit-and-fennel seviche. She ignored his advice about the quarter teaspoon of dried fennel pollen—"Don't worry if you can't get it, though. This cured fish dish will still taste great"—and wrote to the paper, "I'm a bit of a Yotam fan, but his mere mention fills my husband (who does most of the shopping) with dread. This week's 'dried fennel pollen' might send him over the edge."
Ottolenghi's first word was ma. He didn't mean "mama," and he didn't mean marak, which is "soup" in Hebrew. He meant the croutons that his mother scattered on the tray of his high chair while the soup was simmering. ("Store-bought croutons," he maintains.) He can still name everything his parents cooked, from his mother's beef curry, stuffed red peppers, and gazpacho to his father's polpettone and polenta. His older sister, Tirza Florentin—a businesswoman who lives in Tel Aviv with her family—says that, as a boy in Jerusalem, he was "very passionate about food," but much more interested in talking about what he ate and where it came from than in actually cooking any. It was a household of cosmopolitan tastes and backgrounds. Ottolenghi's mother, who comes from a Berlin Jewish academic family (her uncle was the modernist architect and critic Julius Posener), had arrived in Palestine via Sweden, where she was born, in 1938, the same year that his father's Florentine merchant family arrived from Italy. Two prominent, secular, Zionist clans had pulled up stakes in the wake of the Hitler-Mussolini military pact and, with it, the certainty of disaster.
Ottolenghi calls them a "strong-minded" and resilient people—smart (one grandfather started the mathematics department at Tel Aviv University) and, like him, masters of many trades (one grandmother worked for Mossad, forging documents for the agents who, most famously, captured Adolf Eichmann in Buenos Aires and delivered him to an Israeli prison). His sister calls it a family of high unstated expectations "that were simply something we grew into." The burden of them fell on Yotam when he was twenty-three, and his younger brother, Yiftach, was killed by friendly fire during field exercises toward the end of his military service. "For Yotam, I think it was a tragedy on top of a tragedy," Florentin says. "Yiftach had been the star; he was outspoken, charming, always in trouble—making us laugh—and very bright. Yotam was the reserved one then. And, like me, he was in a kind of under-the-surface competition with our brother. He wanted to find his niche. When Yiftach died, we were very concerned about how my father would get through the loss. He was a conservative person, which made it terrible for Yotam. Not talking to him about being gay—that was the price he had to pay for a long time."
Every Israeli boy spends three years immediately after high school in the Israel Defense Force. (Girls spend two.) Ottolenghi had studied Arabic in school—in part, in the hope of avoiding assignment to a fighting unit. He succeeded, and went to Army-intelligence headquarters instead. "Otherwise, I was a conformist boy," he says. "I studied physics and math because my best friend was good at that, but I was really much more interested in literature. I read a lot in the Army, I had a good time, and made lots of friends, and went home at night for dinner." A few months before his discharge, he fell in love with a twenty-five-year-old Tel Aviv psychology student named Noam Bar, and that fall—after a summer in Berlin, learning German—he moved to Tel Aviv, started college, and began experimenting with his father's Florentine pasta sauces. (Bar did the dishes.) He also managed to land a part-time job on the news desk at Haaretz. "I'd arrive at four-thirty in the afternoon, when the news was coming in fast," he says. "It was very exhilarating—everybody was young, everybody smoked. I was going to become a journalist if not a chef." His parents were still thinking "a professor." Four years later, with a thesis to write, he left for Amsterdam with Bar. "We arrived the month of the Rabin assassination, and joined the demonstration," he says. "That death was the end of a moment of high optimism at home. Israel became a very closed culture again, living according to its own rules. There was a desire growing in me to live somewhere else."
In Amsterdam, he began to cook in earnest. He prowled the fishmongers for mackerel and herring. He stopped at the butchers he passed for bones, and made his own stocks. He roasted, sautéed, and baked his way through Julia Child, started ordering from Books for Cooks, and "cooked for everyone who asked." So many people did ask that, at dinnertime, his walkup, on Herengracht, turned into an open house. "We were his guinea pigs," a Tel Aviv friend named Ilan Safit, who was studying in Amsterdam at the time, told me. "I had a Dutch girlfriend. We were living practically hand to mouth, but even after we got married we must have eaten at Yotam's every other night. He loved the kitchen. He was obviously an intellectual—a first-class intellectual—but he wasn't happy writing philosophy in his study. He was happy feeding people. He said, 'Ilan, I don't want to go back to academia, I don't want to live with books.' ''
His father was shocked. "This is not a very good idea" was his reply to the note buried in Ottolenghi's thesis. His adviser, Ruth Ronen, puts it this way: "Cooking? It was like a metamorphosis, it was so extreme. His thesis was excellent, very thoughtful and intriguing. He had a natural inclination to philosophy—you could feel the urge—and the world of cooking was so far from that; I couldn't even see the connection. Was I disappointed? In a way, yes." But his sister told him, "This is the coolest thing." His mother wanted to see him happy. And his old mentor, Yehuda Elkana (who died in Jerusalem this fall), even claimed some credit for the change. "We had hundreds of candidates for the program," he told me. "We were looking for the few who had an original attitude to something in life. It could be anything. How you made love, how you made bread, how you 'made' philosophy. Yotam had that curiosity and enthusiasm. He would come to my home, and I'd cook for him. I'm a very good cook, so I may have had an influence. Even then, he was proof that the division academics make between 'cognitive' and 'emotional' is bullshit."
Ottolenghi still makes the puff pastry that he learned at the Cordon Bleu. He loved the pastry part of his cooking course; he found "the physicality of pastry" soothing. But he found the savory part—which, in the hierarchy of professional kitchens, is called "cuisine"—so pressured and unnerving that it nearly ended his new career. "I thought, This will only get worse," he says, and it did. His first cooking job was a trial run at a London restaurant called the Capital. He spent three mind-numbing months whipping egg whites for the pastry chef to fold, and then was promoted to full time in the cold-starter section. "On my first day, the sous-chef said, 'O.K., now make me a lobster bisque and an amuse-bouche.' It was terrifying. I couldn't sleep all night, and by the middle of the next day I was so exhausted that I took my scooter and went home and never went back. I said to Noam, 'This is not a normal job.' "
He was rescued by the well-known London chef Rowley Leigh—an experience on the order of starting out in New York with, say, Daniel Boulud. ("Not charitable, but sweet," Ottolenghi describes him. "I doubt if he likes my food.") Leigh placed him at a small restaurant that he had opened in Kensington called Launceston Place, where he quickly became the pastry chef. "I could do what I did best, and I was really teaching myself, because the menu was basically French-English, and French pastry wasn't my thing. I wanted the vibrancy and freshness of California pastry"—the Ottolenghis had spent a sabbatical year in Mill Valley, when Yotam was ten—"so I bought Alice Waters, and Emily Luchetti's 'Stars Desserts.' I made fresh-fruit galettes and meringue pies. I stayed a year and got a lot of confidence. You can do that with pastry; you learn a certain range of processes, and it's very contained. I began to think that maybe I had a pastry talent and should get a pâtisserie job—see how it all worked, napoleons, pâte à choux, crème pâtisserie."
He went to work for a chain of bakeries—a franchise spinoff of the entrepreneurial restaurateur Raymond Blanc. The bakery turned out to be a factory, where the crème pâtisserie came out of a machine. Plus, it was freezing. "Fifteen degrees," Ottolenghi says. "The guy next to me said we'd be warmer driving a minicab. I did twenty-five shifts, and, on the one where I worked a machine that poured chocolate mousse into sponge cake, I decided that this was not what I needed to know to further my career." A few days later, he got on his scooter and rode up and down the streets of central London, "searching for bakeries that looked exciting." On a quiet street in Knightsbridge, he spotted a small traiteur called Baker & Spice, peered through the window, and ran in. "It was completely magical," he says. "I saw all these walls and counters covered with a marvellous mix of food. There were Middle Eastern salads, Italian Caprese salads, rotisserie chickens, even char-grilled broccoli, and you could see into a small kitchen open to a mews garden, full of light. You could even see Ringo Starr's house." A young chef, about his own age, came out of the kitchen and said, "I'm Sami. I'm from Tel Aviv." Ottolenghi said, "Me, too."
Sami Tamimi was seventeen when he moved out of his father's house, in the Old City of East Jerusalem. It wasn't entirely his decision. "My family was a very traditional Muslim house," he told me one day in Acton, in West London, where he lives with an English property-research analyst named Jeremy Kelly, his partner of eight years. We were in the kitchen. I had found him making a cheesecake for us to have with coffee; the cake was from a television recipe he had just downloaded, but the gesture of hospitality was timeless, tacit, and very Arab. "I had six siblings and five step-siblings; every time I came home, there was another baby born. And when the whole sexual thing came up—well, in Palestine you can't tell anyone how you really feel. I was fifteen when I left school; I always knew there was something else in life." At the time, Tamimi was working at the Mount Zion, a West Jerusalem hotel whose German chef, seeing the makings of a cook, had promoted him from kitchen porter to "head breakfast chef," a job Tamimi describes as an education in scrambled eggs. Three years later, he said goodbye to his friends, and left for Tel Aviv.
He says that he could "breathe" in Tel Aviv, a city as open then as Jerusalem was staid. He acquired an Anglo-Israeli boyfriend and a decent restaurant job, discovered his talent for catering home-cooked food ("After all those years of dreaming about European food, I realized that the food I grew up with was the food I did best"), and settled into the kind of "good" neighborhood that he describes dryly as "quite unusual for an Arab living in Tel Aviv." He stayed for the next twelve years. He liked the city—the freedom he'd felt at first, the European cafés and restaurants, and, above all, the chef's job that he eventually found at Lilith, a fashionable new brasserie whose owner, a transplanted American, served an eclectic "California-Mediterranean" mix of grilled meats and vegetables that was, in many ways, a version of the kind of food Tamimi cooks now. One night, a woman visiting from England ate at Lilith and asked to meet him. She said that she loved his food, and that there would always be a job waiting for him, with her, in London. In 1997, he called the woman, got on a plane, and started working at Baker & Spice—"creating the concept" that made Ottolenghi stop his scooter, on a spring day two years later, and run in, asking for a job.
"We clicked as friends, right away," Tamimi says. "It was an 'everything' mesh. We came from the same place, we tasted food in the same way. And, of course, our cooking was very similar. We both wanted to surprise, but we also wanted our food to taste 'comfortable.' Our feeling was: pick good ingredients and let them speak." They worked together in Knightsbridge for about two years—with Tamimi running savory and Ottolenghi eventually running pastry—and talked, from time to time, about someday opening a place together. In the fall of 2001, Ottolenghi left to find one. Tamimi stayed. "For months, I was thinking yes, no, yes, no," he says. "Then Yotam asked me to join him, and a few weeks later it was yes." The Notting Hill deli opened with a bright-red "Ottolenghi" painted in block letters above the door. I asked Tamimi if he thought it should have had his name, too, and he shook his head: "It was Yotam's vision and his dream. The work was his. The stake was his. I didn't have money to invest. He risked everything he had. A few years later, I became a partner, but regardless of the cookbooks we do, regardless of our friendship, I'm still working for Yotam. He's my boss."
Tamimi writes poetry, in Arabic, and paints. There is a haunting gouache on his living-room wall—lines of script painted over with bright-yellow flowers and green leaves. The poem, he told me, is "about the things you're supposed to remember and the things you have to forget"; the flowers are "the way I felt after it was written." There are layers of irony (or innocence) in a lot of what Tamimi says, and, perhaps because of this, he stays away from the kind of exposure that Ottolenghi is able to embrace—and weather. When they worked on "Jerusalem," it was Ottolenghi who did the travelling, the interviewing, and nearly all the writing, but it was Tamimi who in many ways talked him through the experience. "We'd sit down and think about little things we'd done as children—things associated with a recipe," Tamimi says. "We'd tell stories. We'd compare the smells and tastes and sounds that were our memories of food. It was mind-blowing, for me, to be re-created through that book." This fall, he went with Ottolenghi on two "Jerusalem" book tours—first in England, then in Canada and the United States—and admits to having enjoyed them both. He discovered two nephews looking for him on Facebook, and even talked by phone to a brother who hadn't spoken to him since the day that, as a gay man, he became unwelcome in their father's house. He and Kelly are going to East Jerusalem for a week at Christmas—his first trip to Israel in nine years. (He had told me that after the second intifada started, in 2000, visiting "became unbearable, the hatred on both sides was too intense.") "I don't know what will happen, but I'm going," he says. "We'll see."
In Acton that day, he said, "I'm very private. I don't think I'm built to be Yotam's sort of famous person." Ottolenghi—who stopped cooking at the restaurant and deli kitchens when he took on the column and, with it, the job of creating, testing, and writing new recipes each week—still visits them almost every day, to check out the food and talk to the chefs and the staff. The customers recognize him. They stop him to say hello. They ask about recipes. Some take out their smartphones and ask him to pose with them for a picture. (He obliges.) Tamimi never leaves the kitchen if he can help it, and he shoos away any customer (including me) who invades his space during lunch or dinner service, hoping to watch him work. "I'm happy in our kitchens," he told me. "I divide my week between them, working with the chefs all day, and you can't do that and have a public image. It would be easy for me to visit a kitchen, taste, and leave, but my idea of teaching our chefs is to work with them, to work as hard as they work—to compete. They're young, they respect that, and I like passing what I know to other generations. I have so much knowledge in my head that it just comes out. You spend your life learning, and a time comes when you want to share it."
Ottolenghi likes to write. "He wasn't interested in sports," his mother says. "He was interested in trying his hand at a short story." He expects that, one day, he will produce a book about food that isn't a cookbook—something literary, maybe a memoir full of experiences and ideas. "Jerusalem" includes his nimble, often eloquent evocations of the city and its multitude of different peoples, and of the helplessness both he and Tamimi feel as "that elusive dream of peace in the Middle East" fades. He put it this way: "It takes a giant leap of faith, but we are happy to take it—what have we got to lose?—to imagine that hummus will eventually bring Jerusalemites together, if nothing else will."
In the fall of 2004, a literary agent named Felicity Rubinstein, who lived a few blocks from the Notting Hill deli, suggested that Ottolenghi write a cookbook. She wasn't thinking about literature. "I wanted the recipes," she says. "I was shopping at Yotam's all the time—the food was different from anything I'd ever eaten—but I was spending a lot of money there. I thought, I could do this myself if I had a book." At the time, Ottolenghi had only one deli, and the Islington restaurant had just opened. He was working at both kitchens with Tamimi, doing pastry or savory or both, as the need arose. They were absorbing each other's recipes and techniques. His ideas for a book were, perhaps, still more philosophical than gastronomic. "I heard back that it was 'maybe no recipes, maybe no paper,' " Rubinstein says. She told him to think again.
A year later, with the Kensington deli open, he was ready. By then, he had established a name, and also what in the restaurant trade is called a "look"—thanks, in large part, to a commuting Israeli architect and friend named Alex Meitlis, whom he credits with the clean, white, laid-back elegance that all the Ottolenghis share, from the red logo on their white menus to the chairs and countertops and tables. (Meitlis told me, "Yotam has absolutely no ego when it comes to how much of the aesthetic success is his.") His one problem was the limited reach of his reputation. He had a big following in the trendy boroughs of central London, but not much farther, and to fast-track that to a good book deal, as they would have said in the genius program, his choice was apparently between flinging pots and flipping fritters, as a wannabe television-chef celebrity, and producing a weekly column in the kind of national newspaper whose readers would like his butternut-squash salads and his green beans. The Guardian was "inevitable," Rubinstein says.
Ottolenghi isn't a vegetarian. He once told me that he hadn't left the country of "no seafood, no pork" in order to cook for people who wouldn't eat anything but plants. But many of the customers who ate his beans and salads assumed that he was one of those people—and, as it turned out, the only available space in the Guardian's overflowing food pages was the "vegetarian slot." The slot had for years been filled by Rose Elliot, an ardent herbivore and astrologer with an army of sandal-wearing fans, who had departed the paper with an M.B.E. and the royalties from more than fifty books waiting in the bank.
At first, Ottolenghi thought he should refuse the column. He said this to me one night at NOPI, as we were sitting down to a carnivore's feast of sharing dishes that began with gurnard, a fish from the Celtic Sea, which the chef, a Malaysian from Australia, had filleted into a beautiful chunk of white flesh, marinated in a complex curry-lime-and-coconut paste, wrapped in a pandan leaf, steamed, and served with a pineapple sambal. (Not for the home cook.) Ottolenghi, who has a huge appetite, had ordered half the dishes on the menu. We finished the fish, cleaned a plate of zucchini-and-manouri-cheese fritters with lime yogurt, and moved on to a baby chicken—simmered for an hour, marinated overnight in Asian wine and spices, then flash-fried crisp—so tender that you could munch the bones. We washed them down with a good, light Austrian white, and I asked him what changed his mind. "My agent," he said. "She told me, 'Yotam, beggars can't be choosers. The day you take that column, you'll get a book deal.' " He took the column, and three months later he had the deal. His first recipe was for "seriously zesty bread salad," which appeared with the addendum: "Will taste amazing alongside a piece of slightly charred meat from the barbecue." There were so many letters that week from angry readers that, despite his frequent pleas "to get my brief expanded," he had to swear off any mention of flesh until the fall of 2010, when Merope Mills, the editor of the Guardian Weekend and a "big Yotam advocate," called to say, "The shackles have lifted—write anything you want."
By then, of course, he was seriously into vegetables, and today at least one recipe of the two or three in each of his columns remains a vegetable dish. "I found it appealing—the idea of celebrating vegetables or pulses without making them taste like meat, or as complements to meat, but to be what they are," he says. "It does no favor to vegetarians, making vegetables second best." In his first cookbook, "Ottolenghi," vegetable dishes were often spiked with a bit of meat: try the caramelized endive, smothered in bread crumbs, Parmesan, thyme, and cream, and roasted with a topping of serrano ham. With "Plenty"—a collection, for the most part, of his favorite vegetarian columns—the vegetables stood alone, their ontological status deliciously revealed. The book, which sold nearly half a million copies in Britain, became a best-seller in Germany, Holland, and America. A Russian translation is on the way.
Noam Bar, who moved to London with Ottolenghi in 1997, doesn't cook. Nor, in fact, was he still living with Ottolenghi when the Notting Hill deli opened, five years later. But he had remained Ottolenghi's closest friend—"the one person in the world who I knew would never let me down," Ottolenghi says—and had also become his business partner, the éminence grise of the operation. "Our M.B.A.," Ottolenghi calls him. "He put the company together." It was Bar who pushed Ottolenghi to open his own place, searched with him for the right place, structured a backers' prospectus that would spread the risk among small investors (who are "more than satisfied," he says), and, over the years, has sat at the negotiating table for every one of Ottolenghi's contracts. "Noam's the one who rattles the cage," Ottolenghi told me. Rubinstein put it this way: "He's more abrasive than Yotam, but he's much softer than he appears, and Yotam is much steelier than he seems."
Bar is another polymath. He grew up in Haifa, where his father—a Polish Jew and a Holocaust survivor—was a chemical engineer and his mother taught literature and Bible studies at a junior high school. "I had a problem with Haifa," he said, in the middle of a conversation one morning at his house in Hammersmith. "I couldn't express myself in that middle-class city. Actually, I couldn't express myself in Israel. It was opera seria then. Today, it takes a lot out of me just to be there." He has not stopped running since he left. In Amsterdam, he started a company that offered "premium-line telephone services" (horoscopes, dating, and the weather). The Internet killed it. In London, he went back to school for his business degree, and in 2000, when he and Ottolenghi ended their nine-year affair—a parting that left them both shattered—he flew to Dharamsala to meditate and study Tibetan medicine. A year later, he was back in London, getting a degree in homeopathy, which he still practices, in Marylebone, twice a week. When he can get away, he flies to Tanzania and volunteers with a homeopathic project that provides supportive treatment to AIDS victims. The rest of his time is spent keeping the Ottolenghi brand current—"Jerusalem" was originally his idea—profitable, and realistic. Meitlis calls him "the wind behind everybody's wings."
"My job at Ottolenghi is asking the 'now what, now where' question—it's about strategy, about keeping an edge," Bar told me. "Food is not my passion. Nothing infuriates Yotam more than me in the kitchen, making comments about the food. My passion is the organism—it's about people working together with a sense of movement and purpose." He says of Ottolenghi and Tamimi, "Yotam is inventive; he has the ultimate, the most discerning, palate. Sami is more traditional, but he's the kitchen authority; his hand goes into the salt, and his fingers know it's the right amount."
And he says of himself, "I'm the one who's either solving problems or looking for the next new thing. The fact is that most restaurants fail. You have to stay one step ahead. We were fine in Notting Hill for a while, but the back room was always too small. Then there was Islington. We know how to fix things now, but in 2004, when we bought Islington, we didn't know what we were doing with a restaurant. It's been a big success, but, at the beginning, I'd go for dinner, there would be eight people. Maybe. I'd want to slit my wrists. And Belgravia? We opened Belgravia in 2007, and it was another catchment. We're still working on a hot breakfast there. Last year, the problem was NOPI, because Soho is definitely another catchment. You can't do an Islington there." He meant that a couple of North London literati looking to sample and share, in Islington, after the curtain falls across the street at the Almeida, is not the same as a couple of testy businessmen walking a few blocks from their offices to Soho, looking to seal a deal. "We had to reinvent the wheel at every level, without making the mistake of 'surprising' at every level."
Bar thrives on his intimations of disaster. "You have ten minutes of Noam, maximum," their general manager and fourth partner, Cornelia Staeubli, says. "He gets bored, and he's on another planet—or another problem that nobody else has seen. He loves change, and Yotam doesn't. We will sometimes do Noam's idea just to prove him wrong." Bar says that their arguments are "loud but never personal. It was never difficult, working with Yotam on a new basis. We were always more than lovers. We had that deep trust; we broke up, I went to India, and a year later we had new lives, but we still had it. We're very complementary. Yotam is measured. I'm forward-looking, always pushing. Yotam says, 'Stop! Let's wait and think.' I say, 'Let's do it now!' A restaurant is like a bicycle—if it stops moving, it has no life."
The partners call themselves a family. They eat at one another's houses, take vacations together, and occasionally even rent a house in the country together for a weekend, to reconnect—or, as Meitlis puts it, "to celebrate their different obsessions." "Three gay guys and a mother hen" is how their friends describe them, which isn't entirely accurate, since the family now includes their lovers and spouses and parents and brothers and sisters and nieces and nephews, and the list goes on. Staeubli, a blue-eyed Swiss beauty of forty-four, is, de facto, the mother hen. Bar calls her "the foreman," and says he can see her "moving armies around in World War Two, calm and energized in a crisis." Ottolenghi says, "She makes everything work." She shares his obsession with "the context of food," with the balance of buzz and quiet in a restaurant, and, especially, with the way the mood and clarity of its spaces can anticipate and echo the look and taste of the food in front of you on the table. "She's tough, too," he told me. "She'll spot the one speck of dirt on the floor—the way I'll see the one tart that's badly displayed—and stand there until it's gone. But there's the other side. I've seen her go out and buy a sleeping bag for a waitress who didn't have a bed. She looks after a staff of two hundred people. She takes care of us all."
Staeubli comes from Goldau, a mountain town in the canton of Schwyz so remote that, when she left it, at nineteen, for an au-pair job in America, it had "maybe a thousand people, just like me." She still talks about the thrill of landing at J.F.K.: "The smells, the elbows out, I loved it all. I loved that there were so many nationalities in those visa lines, everyone with the same goal—to start their lives." (In her best of all possible worlds, she would open a New York Ottolenghi, "big, like Eataly.") Her job turned out to be in a New Jersey suburb. The family was rich, the children spoiled, and after three months she decided that she was "not an au-pair person" and fled to the Lower East Side, where she waitressed happily until her visa expired and she had to go back to Switzerland. She stayed there for ten years, and, at thirty-two, quit the last of a series of dull office jobs and set off to see the world. She flew to Southeast Asia, and eventually on to Sydney in the middle of a winter so cold that she got on a bus for Queensland. The trip took forty-eight hours, and at the end of it she fell in love with a backpacking Englishman who had boarded along the way. They spent a week together in the sun, on Airlie Beach. Three months later, she arrived at Heathrow to the same multicultural mix of people that had delighted her in New York, and she and the man from the bus—a journalist named Peter Lowe, who is now the managing editor at Sky News—got married.
Nine years ago, Staeubli sold her half of a small Internet café-cum-restaurant that she and a friend had opened in Putney a year earlier, and went out looking for a job closer to the Notting Hill apartment where she and Lowe then lived. She passed a "Sales Assistant Wanted" sign in the window of the Notting Hill deli, met Ottolenghi, and started working the next day. "I came home that night crying," she told me late one afternoon, over tea at their apartment. "I said to Peter, 'I can't do it, it's too chaotic there.' He said, 'Try till Christmas.' " By April, she was managing the store. A year later, she was managing managers, and doing it so efficiently and agreeably that she was invited into the business. "I know I'm the 'mother hen,' " she said. "I don't have children of my own, so I like that. But I don't mother them. I love them. I do the hiring, the staff, the managers, and the chefs. I fill in when someone on the staff's away. My job is to make everything O.K." She spends her days whizzing around London, from deli to restaurant to the next deli, and knows before anyone else when something's wrong.
I asked her what, exactly, the problem had been at NOPI, which opened in February last year and is now arguably one of the city's hottest restaurants, and she said, "At first, it was all sharing plates, like Islington. I told Yotam, 'We haven't got the right customers here yet. We've got your most boring fans, the food bloggers and the ladies over fifty who sit with a glass of water and talk about your beautiful salads, and then order a single plate to share.' Sharing is fine at night, but the rich guys we need for lunch in Soho, the ones with offices in the neighborhood, don't want to be disturbed or distracted by the food. They don't want a cluttered table. They want a main dish, fish or meat, and if they get that they'll order a nice, expensive wine to wash it down. Yotam got that wrong." (She meant he was nervous about diluting the Ottolenghi signature.) "But Noam and I fixed it. It didn't take long. You can share tastes, or you can dig into your own big steak. We're very popular now."
On my last night in London, a Friday, Ottolenghi and I cooked from "Jerusalem" in the Notting Hill apartment that he shares with Karl Allen, a quirky and quietly impressive Northern Irishman whom he met at the gym twelve years ago—and married in September, in Massachusetts, where gay marriage has been legal for eight years. Allen, who is a law graduate, a former British Airways flight attendant, and a keen-eyed collector of vintage fifties antiques—he found the outsized cabbage-leaf chandelier that hangs like a flashy hat above the receptionist's stand at NOPI—has been managing the company's Kensington deli since it opened, in 2005. ("You function at eighty per cent when you fly," he says. "You don't realize it until you've spent a week in one time zone. I met Yotam and I wanted that.") His plan is to quit Kensington "when the first baby arrives" and become a house parent, eventually selling antiques or designing interiors from home. With family in mind, they have bought a large house on a quiet street in Camden—a short walk from Ottolenghi's test kitchen, in an old building under the Camden railway arches, and the adjoining prep kitchen where the bread for his restaurants and delis is now baked and the pastry is prepared for on-site finishing. "Pretty, respectable, and bourgeois" is how Ottolenghi happily describes the house. It has five bedrooms, a deep garden, and a proper kitchen to replace the one he cooks in now, which is minuscule, or, as he put it when I walked in, "a case of the cobbler goes barefoot." Every inch was taken.
Ottolenghi cleared some space for us on a serving counter above a shelf of tottering pots and bowls and unpacked the fixings, which, in keeping with his "any decent supermarket" home-recipe rule, he had just picked up at the local Waitrose. He tweeted a picture of the radishes he'd bought, glistening in the sink, "because they look so fresh," and then a message to say that, regrettably, they were tasteless—after which we took a break, opened some white wine, and stepped onto a narrow balcony off the kitchen for a clandestine cigarette. Ottolenghi rarely smokes. His real vice is drugstore candy, which he keeps stashed in the glove compartment of an eight-year-old Prius, and dips into on his daily rounds. He is almost preternaturally energetic, perhaps because of the sugar but more likely because of the Pilates classes he takes twice a week and never misses. He started Pilates twelve years ago, with a terrible "bending-over-the-stove" backache. Eight years later, he qualified as an instructor—something he hopes will come in handy on the off chance that London ever stops eating Ottolenghi.
My first job that night was to help assemble a "one-pot Sephardic hybrid" inspired by a dish called plov—a barberry, cardamom, onion, chicken, and rice concoction, originally hours in preparation, that Bukharan Jews introduced to Jerusalem and still serve in one form or another at celebrations. "You have to remember that, for Jews, Jerusalem was never an affluent town," Ottolenghi told me. "It was different for Palestinians. The Arab middle class was affluent. But for most Jews it was a poor immigrant town. They cooked with what they had. There is no one recipe. In fact, we never replicate recipes. We replicate the idea of a dish. We replicated the idea of plov." The barberries—a sour, dried berry from Iran—went into an infusion of water and sugar to plump and sweeten. The chicken thighs went into a marinade of olive oil, green cardamom pods, cinnamon sticks, and cloves, along with salt and pepper. Sliced onions slowly caramelized in a frying pan, and we began chopping herbs and tearing lettuces for a raw cauliflower salad. I looked at my watch: we'd been back in the kitchen less than twenty minutes, and talking all the time. Ottolenghi had been so carefree and relaxed, juggling pots and pans in that ridiculous space, that it was impossible to imagine him as the panicked apprentice who had once fled on a moped from the cold starter station of a London restaurant.
He consulted his list—he is a compulsive list-maker—and announced that dessert was next, whereupon he opened two packages of phyllo pastry, melted a good third of a pound of butter, brushed some onto a baking tray, and began layering the tray with sheets of buttered phyllo. The name of the dish was mutabbaq. It was Palestinian, and was traditionally filled with "hard-core" goat or ewe cheese, which, Ottolenghi allowed, was an acquired taste. He and Tamimi had decided, instead, on the combination of ricotta and soft white goat cheese that he now mixed together with a fork and spread over half the phyllo sheets, leaving me to cover the mixture with the rest. It took me seven sheets, but the last one looked respectable. He checked it out. "Phyllo masks all mistakes," he said, reaching around me for a small pot to hold the sugar, lemon juice, and water for a pastry syrup. While the syrup boiled, he tackled the bowl of chicken. Soon the spicy smell of the thighs, browned with the cloves and cardamom pods of the marinade sticking to their skin, was mingling with the sour-sweet smell of barberries and caramelized onions in a pot of simmering basmati rice. We opened another bottle of wine, filled a dish with some olives left over from the cauliflower salad, and crashed.
It had been what his friends call "a Yotam week." He had worked mornings at the test kitchen with his assistant, Sarah Stephens, a young Tasmanian chef of surpassing patience, whose job, at the moment, was to produce a large number of interesting, attractive dishes for the British food photographer Jonathan Lovekin, who had taken the pictures for "Plenty" and whom I met that Monday, waiting in a patch of light by the front door, to start taking them for "Jerusalem." (We ate the morning's offerings for lunch.) He had visited the prep bakeries next door, where the pastry chef (Lebanese-Brazilian) taught me how to work the dough laminator (think of an old-fashioned clothes wringer, only horizontal and sleek steel) and to hand-roll croissants (so addictive it was hard to stop), and a staff of sous-chefs from Australia, Poland, and Brazil fed me leftover crackers, smothered in salt caramel and chocolate, which they called "brittle." He had played the fall guy in an interview routine at a cabaret in Soho, appearing between a campy standup-comedy act and a famous cross-dressing singer; agreed to four more television hours, this time for Channel 4, which would take him from Morocco to Tunisia, Turkey, and back to Israel by the end of the summer (they began airing this month); met for a long Islington breakfast with a group of American women (chefs, food writers, and their friends) on an eating spree in London and Paris; hosted a butchery demonstration at NOPI; endured a humorless session with a group of Dutch students, who were horrified to learn that he ate meat, shopped occasionally at a supermarket, and stretched his carbon footprint by importing his pomegranate molasses from Beirut; prepared for the class that he and Tamimi teach, on alternate Saturdays, at Leiths cookery school, in West London; written three columns; and made time for countless hours eating and talking with me.
Ottolenghi works hard, and the challenge for him is long-term: how to maintain the Ottolenghi signature and, at the same time, not exhaust its appeal in a notoriously trendy and capricious city. NOPI was an attempt at both. It tastes different—more Asian and exotic—and looks different, with a gleaming brass counter and brass tabletops and fixtures replacing the pristine Corian white of Islington and the delis. "We wanted a brasserie feel, something fresh," Meitlis told me. "So we kept the white walls but made it as mellow and deep as possible, and let the brass shine." Ottolenghi admits that it looks terrific. Whatever hesitations he had at first are long resolved. "We wanted to get everything right—right away," he says. "It's not easy to keep on reinventing." He worries (or, more accurately, Bar and Staeubli worry for him) about the downside of so much success—about the gorgeous Ottolenghi-catered buffet becoming the ubiquitous Ottolenghi buffet. One writer recently grumbled about walking into an Ottolenghi dinner party and wondering what had happened to serious English food, served in the proper English dinner order. Another quoted his wife saying that ninety-four per cent of the DNA in every Ottolenghi dish is identical—arguably a case more of expectation than of reality. Ottolenghi experiments all the time. Lately, he has been incorporating tastes he discovered this year in Turkey into recipes at his test kitchen. Tamimi, who loves Japan—he says that "taste is a part of me, it's why I travel"—has been working with Asian seaweeds and vinegars. As for me, I would be hard put to explain what, genomically speaking, the Malaysian-spiced gurnard I sampled at NOPI had in common with the Turkish-inspired zucchini fritters I also ate that night—beyond the fact that they were both good, in an unmistakable Ottolenghi way.
At seven, Allen came home from the Kensington deli and took a Friday-night nap on the living-room couch. When he and Ottolenghi met, Allen was in the habit of driving to Gloucestershire on Fridays, to work on an old cottage that he had bought to sell. "I grew up in the countryside," he told me. "I can rough it in a sleeping bag. But Yotam? It would have killed him. Luckily, it was sold." The phone woke him. Bar, who was coming to dinner with his boyfriend of four years, Garry Chang—a young Taiwanese doctor with the National Health Service—had called to say they were running late. We turned off the pot, and I peeked in. The plov was as beautiful as it smelled. "The senses are not so separate," Ottolenghi had said one day in Camden, en route to a High Street diner for a quick lunch. "They're synesthetic. They need to work together." He called this his aesthetic. The word, at work, is "smiling." Staeubli, who coined the expression, says, "Sami can make food smile," and Allen swears that he has seen Yotam walk into one of his delis or restaurants and take away half the food on display or the salad about to be served "because it's not smiling." The smiliest dish I'd seen that week was shakshuka—a North African breakfast from "Plenty," cooked and served in little cast-iron skillets. It wasn't fancy: a couple of eggs poached in a spicy saffron-onion-tomato-and-bell-pepper sauce, flecked with fresh herbs and dappled with drops of yogurt. But it was irresistible. I could taste it before I raised my fork.
Bar and Chang arrived at the apartment toward nine. Allen and I set the table. Ottolenghi put the mutabbaq in the oven, turned the plov back on, and chopped some parsley, coriander, and dill, for sprinkling. A few minutes later, we sat down and ate serious Jerusalem food served in the proper English dinner order. The plov was delicious, if you didn't count the undercooked rice and the pinkish chicken near the bone. Ottolenghi, who is known to be very precise at work—"He's always asking, 'How much of that? A teaspoon? A half teaspoon?' " Allen says—tends to get lost in thought, or conversation, when he cooks at home. He had doubled the number of chicken thighs in his recipe and added some extra rice, but not the extra water with which to cover and cook it all. ("The big secret at Yotam's house is that the food is much better when Karl cooks it," Meitlis, who stays in their spare bedroom when he comes to London, says.) It didn't matter. We chewed the rice, avoided the pink, and asked for seconds.
The pastry was a sweet success. We ate it slowly, and talked till midnight. Ottolenghi was leaving for Israel in a few weeks, to be with his parents on the twentieth anniversary of his brother's death. He has been flying to Israel two or three times a year since he left for Amsterdam. He says that "the sense of a network there, the security in that, is what gives me the cohesion that I don't have here." He calls it "the feeling that, when I'm at my parents' house, anything wrong or difficult can be fixed." The Ottolenghis have both retired. His father gardens; his mother volunteers with the women of Checkpoint Watch, documenting the trauma of border crossings for Palestinians. Once a year, they spend a week in England with Ottolenghi and Allen. His father has become a fan. Three years ago, at Yotam's fortieth-birthday party (three days and thirty guests in a rented Dorset mansion), Professor Ottolenghi stood up, raised his glass, and said, "My wish for Yotam today is that he keep not listening to my advice." ♦


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Vt. man accused of crushing cop cars due in court
NEWPORT, Vt. (AP) -- A Vermont man, who authorities say was angry over an arrest and used his tractor to drive over seven police vehicles, is expected in court.
State Police say 34-year-old Roger Pion was taken into custody in Newport on Thursday, shortly after he allegedly crushed the Orleans County sheriff's vehicles. Estimated damage was at least $250,000.
He was apparently mad over his recent arrest on resisting arrest and marijuana possession charges.
Sheriff's deputies working inside their building didn't know what was happening until a neighbor called 911. They didn't hear the ruckus outside because their air conditioners were humming. They said they couldn't pursue the man because their cars were crushed.
Pion faces numerous charges. He's expected to appear in court Friday. Authorities didn't know if he had a lawyer.

subset: commoncrawl


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CEDAR FALLS, Iowa (AP) Deon Mitchell scored 20 points, leading four Northern Iowa players in double figures, and the Panthers routed Drake 85-55 on Sunday.
Jake Koch had 16 points and a team-high seven rebounds, and Seth Tuttle and Anthony James scored 10 points apiece for Northern Iowa (10-9, 3-4 Missouri Valley), which shot 60 percent from the field, making 30 of 50 shots.
The Panthers led 37-22 at halftime, and their biggest lead was 36 points.
Richard Carter led the Bulldogs (8-10, 2-5) with 16 points. Jordan Clarke had 10 points and eight rebounds for Drake.
Northern Iowa has won 19 straight games when scoring 80 or more points going back to 2008.


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BRIDGEWATER, Mass. – Trailing by 20 points in the fourth quarter to Bridgewater State, the Endicott football team orchestrated two fourth quarter touchdown drives capped off by touchdown passes by sophomore Drew Frenette (New Bedford, Mass.) to junior tight end Greg Dellorco (Franklin, Mass.) but the Gulls fell just short of an upset road victory as they suffered their first loss of the season, 20-14 to the Bears.
Endicott dropped to 2-1 in non-conference play while Bridgewater remained unbeaten at 3-0.
Frenette connected with Dellorco on a 12-yard pass to the corner of the end zone to finish off a 13-play, 76-yard drive that began with 2:02 remaining in the 3rd quarter and ended 2:19 into the fourth quarter.
The Endicott defense, who battled a talented Bridgewater State running attack that accumulated ___ rushing yards in the game, came up big on the Bears' next offensive possession forcing a punt to give the Gulls offensive the ball back with 9:49 remaining. Endicott senior defensive lineman Kevin Pressey (Fairfield, Maine) caused fourth down with a sack on 3rd-and-9.
On Endicott's next drive, Gulls senior running back Mike Wheeler (Hanover, Mass.) busted out runs of 20 and 22 yards to help the Blue and Green reached the Bridgewater 25-yard line. On 1st-and-10, Frenette against found his tight end, Dellorco, for 25 yards up the middle of the field to cut the Bears lead to 20-14.
Endicott came up big one last time on the next Bridgewater State possession forcing a three-and-out. The ensuing Bridgewater State punt was blocked by junior Nick Kozlowski (Beverly, Mass.) and the Gulls took over at the Bears 32-yard line with 6:59 on the clock.
With the momentum in Endicott's favor, the Gulls looked to score again to hopefully take their first lead of the game but the Bridgewater State defense stopped Endicott on 4th-and-6 to regain possession. Bridgewater went on to possess the ball for the 5:20 of the fourth quarter, rushing on all nine of their final plays.
Frenette finished the game with 219 yards on 27-of-35 passing attempts with two touchdowns and two interceptions. The sophomore connected with sophomore wide out Nate Lewis (Acushnet, Mass.) eight times for 60 yards, a career-high for Lewis. Senior Jimmy Nguyen (Methuen, Mass.) led the team with 65 yards receiving on seven receptions. Junior Matt Smith (Uxbridge, Mass.) hauled in five catches for 25 yards in the loss.
On the ground, Wheeler accumulated 64 yards on 12 rushes (5.3 per attempt) while senior Jared DiBiase (Cranston, R.I.) ran 15 times for 61 yards.
Defensively, junior lineman Marcell Cooper (Dorchester, Mass.) tied for a game-high 11 tackles, nine of which were solo takedowns and one for a loss. Cornerback Davas Wright (Fall River, Mass.) and linebacker Peter Kallas (Beverly, Mass.) added eight and seven tackles each.
Bridgewater State scored 14 of their 20 points in the first half on two field goals by Jarred Diorio and a Mike McCarthy two-yard touchdown run with a successful two-point conversion. Late in the third quarter, the Bears tacked on a touchdown on McCarthy's second scamper of the game, this time a 31-yard rush to the end zone. The point after attempt was blocked by Cooper.
Bridgewater State controlled time of possession, holding the ball for 34:58 compared to 25:02 for the Gulls. Endicott was 9-of-14 on third down plays while Bridgewater State was 6-of-14. Bridgewater State accumulated 307 of their 352 total yards on the ground. Endicott passed for 219 and ran for 114 yards.
Endicott will be on the road for week four as they travel to Salve Regina for their first NEFC Boyd Division game of the season.


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Talajeh Livani is an Iranian who grew up in Sweden and is currently working as a
Kathleen Christison is a Former CIA analyst.
Dr Sandeep Pandey is a recepient of Ramon Magsaysay Award for emergent leadershi
Jean Bricmont teaches physics in Belgium and is a member of the Brussels Tribuna
The writers (firstname.lastname@example.com) are researchers, legal historians, authors
Idris Tawfiq is a British Muslim writer who lives and works in Egypt. He has spe


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Investiture: Class of 2004
To the applause of their professors and families, 109 Thayer School students received hoods, caps, and honors at the 2004 Investiture on June 12.
Presiding over his last Investiture, outgoing Dean Lewis M. Duncan told the graduates, "We have provided for your education here to the very best of our abilities, but as we're sure you recognize, your education is not yet complete, but only transitioning to a new stage."
Robert Fletcher Award winner and Investiture speaker Rita R. Colwell, Distinguished Professor at the University of Maryland and Johns Hopkins University Bloomberg School of Public Health, welcomed the new engineers to the profession. "In our science-, engineering-, and technology-powered world of ever-increasing complexity," she said, "there is a growing need for your knowledge and very special know-how, steeped in interdisciplinary education and social conscience — so very important as we try to understand each other in order to live in harmony and build a sustainable future."
Engineers have social responsibilities, Colwell stated. "It is no longer enough for scientists and engineers to generate the new knowledge. We, as scientists and engineers, must be active in the support of, and debate about, the use of that knowledge. Science and engineering are strong and valuable forces for finding solutions to problems and for changing the world in positive ways. But, the task for all of us is to understand the issues that science and engineering raise and to be informed partners with the public in the debate about how knowledge is used."
Dean Duncan urged the graduates to use their education to the fullest. "In adherence to the founding charge of Sylvanus Thayer," he said, "we believe that you are indeed today the most capable and faithful, well prepared for the most responsible positions and the most difficult service. Of those to whom much is given, much is expected. And so we expect much of you. Through your choices and your deeds, through your professional careers and the lives that you lead, stand tall and proud, now and always the men and women of Thayer School."
By the Numbers: Engineering Graduates
- 4 — Doctor of Philosophy
- 18 — Master of Science
- 30 — Master of Engineering Management
- 57 — Bachelor of Engineering
- 60 — Bachelor of Arts, Engineering Sciences Majors
Brieanna S. Weinstein Engineering Design Prize: Brian M. Foley '06, Albert M. Kang '06, Andrew P. Argeski '06, Zachary E. Pierce '06 — Combined existing technologies with their own Java-based graphical user interface to create a touch-sensitive remote-control screen for turning household appliances on and off. The device increases independence for people lacking fine motor skills or confined to wheelchairs.
Thayer School of Engineering Corporate Collaboration Council Engineering Design Prize: Curt A. Monaco '04, R. John Ring Th'04 — Designed a hybrid drive system for Dartmouth's formula race car.
Special Faculty Award for Engineering and Service to Humanity: Matthew K. Sueoka '04 — Designed new buildings for an orphanage in Bangladesh.
Thayer School Faculty Award for Academic Excellence: Alexander D. Streeter '03, Th'04 (B.E.) — Obtained the highest academic record in coursework required for the Bachelor of Engineering degree.
Charles F. and Ruth D. Goodrich Prize: Hai Sun Th'04 (Ph.D.) — Designed an intra-operative stereovision system to track brain shape and motion in near-real time during surgery.
Caroline Henderson Prize: Ashly K. Downey Th'04 (M.E.M.) — Streamlined recruitment process for the H. Lee Moffitt Cancer Center.
John C. Woodhouse Engineering Design Prize: William H. Shields '03, Th'04 (B.E.) — Developed and used a simulator to investigate the importance of component congruency to the integrity of knee replacements.
John C. Woodhouse Environmental Engineering Prize: Zhiliang Fan Th'04 (Ph.D.) — Developed a process using enzymatic hydrolysis to convert paper sludge, the refuse from the paper industry, to ethanol, a renewable fuel source.
The Dartmouth Society of Engineers Prize:
- Alexander D. Streeter Th'04 (B.E.) — Developed a portable headset to execute a new hybrid Active Noise Reduction algorithm that provides real-time attenuation for many different noise sources.
- Benjamin R. Bollinger Th'04 (B.E.) — Integrated two existing methods of detecting and monitoring bubbles during decompression sickness to produce a new system with increased effectiveness.
The Phillip R. Jackson Engineering Sciences Prize: Michael Martin '06, Jon Groetzinger '07, Ashley Levack '07, and Eben Sargent '05 — Designed a shower system that saves water and energy by cycling water through a reservoir until it is hot enough for use.
Excellence in Teaching Award: Francis E. Kennedy
Outstanding Service Award for Staff: Barbara E. Crawford, Philip D. Tacy
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NAGOYA, JAPAN — Japan's center-left government approved a bill limiting the hiring of temporary workers Friday, in a bid to reverse years of labor deregulation that it says went too far in favoring big business at the expense of workers.
But the proposals have drawn fire from all sides. Businesses and some economists say firms need flexible labor to remain lean amid fierce global competition. Meanwhile, some workers and small unions argue that the reforms don't go far enough.
The cool reception reflects growing disillusionment with the Democratic Party of Japan (DPJ), which took power last year with lofty ambitions but is now being dealt a reality check on some of its pet policies.
It's been forced to retreat on several issues – scaling back a populist pledge to slash highway tolls, for example, and cutting in half its proposed child-rearing subsidy, from 26,000 to 13,000 yen ($145), at least in the first year of implementation.
Meanwhile, the DPJ cabinet's approval ratings have plunged to 34 percent, from around 70 percent when it took power, according to the latest poll from the Japanese daily Asahi Shimbun.
The labor bill is just the latest example of the DPJ's struggle to balance competing priorities while playing complex coalition politics.
"People are getting more and more frustrated about increasing inequality, and the DPJ has to take care of this national frustration," says Koji Murata, a professor at Doshisha University in Kyoto, about the labor bill.
"But this type of regulation may decrease Japanese companies' competitiveness. That's a catch-22 for the Japanese economy."
Promises, promises
The measure fulfills a campaign pledge made by the DPJ during last summer's election campaign.
The bill approved by the cabinet Friday will ban "dispatch" work, or short-term contract work arranged through a third company, in the manufacturing sector. That rolls back liberalization measures in 2004 under the more business-friendly Liberal Democratic Party (LDP) government.
The new measures would also ban one-or two-day dispatch work contracts.
The bill now goes to the Diet, or parliament, where it is expected to pass within weeks.
Such measures are a response to widespread indignation over the mass firing of dispatch laborers when the recession hit in 2008.
Dispatch workers, along with part-time, subcontract, and other nonpermanent labor, now make up about one-third of Japan's 56 million-strong workforce.
The labor reforms are supported by Rengo, Japan's largest trade union confederation and a pillar of DPJ support. Most of its nearly 7 million members are permanent, full-time workers at big-name firms like Toyota and Panasonic.
But former dispatch workers, activists, and smaller unions representing temp workers say the changes won't take effect for three to five years, and that firms will easily find ways to sidestep the new measures.
'Just in time' workforce
As recently as the 1980s, Japan was famous for its social bargain. Salarymen gave firms long hours and unquestioned loyalty, and in return, companies took care of them for life.
Firms began relying on temporary labor in the late 1990s, with the help of LDP-led deregulation, says Yasushi Iguchi, a labor expert at Kwansei Gakuin University. Prime Minister Junichiro Koizumi's policies accelerated that trend.
Firms took on more part-time workers, dispatch labor, migrant labor from depressed regions like the northern island of Hokkaido, and foreign labor, especially Brazilians of Japanese descent and low-paid Chinese "trainees."
In 1999, 26 specialized sectors were allowed to hire dispatch labor, he said, and in 2004, dispatch work was allowed in manufacturing firms. Dispatch labor boomed, peaking at 2.2 million in 2007, only to plunge during the global recession as firms shed workers.
Iguchi called such dispatch labor a "just-in-time" workforce, complementing the famous "just-in-time" manufacturing model of Japan's corporate titans like Toyota. Workers are hired only when needed, and cut when orders are slack.
Such an arrangement has helped Japanese firms control costs. But it provides little security for workers, who are paid less and receive fewer benefits than permanent, directly-hired employees.
Skeptical workers
At a union office in Japan's manufacturing heartland, one tousle-haired former dispatch worker, who did not want his name used, told a typical tale.
He worked for 6-1/2 years as a dispatch worker for Mistubishi Electronics in Aichi Prefecture. He clocked 60-hour weeks and had the same responsibilities as permanent workers. But he earned less than half of what they made, only 1,120 yen (about $12.40) per hour.
Mitsubishi sometimes gave two or three dispatch workers permanent jobs, giving hope to the rest. "Me and my coworkers thought, maybe one day we'll be taken on, too," he says.
Instead, in December 2008 he and 40 other dispatch workers in his unit were summoned by Mitsubishi bosses and fired, with a week's notice. The recession had hit with full force and they were no longer needed; the unit's 20 permanent employees would stay on.
Now, he's supporting his wife and child with a job training allowance provided by the government, which he can receive for six months.
He and two other former dispatch workers have taken legal action against Mitsubishi. They're asking for 6 million yen ($66,000) each in compensation. They argue that under labor regulations, Mitsubishi was required to offer permanent employment after three years of work. Mitsubishi Electric declined comment, saying the case was still in litigation.
The worker says the DPJ's reforms don't go far enough. "They're no good," he says flatly. "People will still be able to be fired easily, and in practice nothing will change for workers like me."
The wrong solution?
Chie Matsumoto, a Tokyo-based labor rights activist, agrees. "There are other temporary employment systems in Japan that would still leave working conditions unstable," she says.
Iguchi, the labor economist, says firms will simply turn to other avenues of hiring non-permanent workers. He says that improving unemployment benefits would have more impact.
The government should also enforce equal pay for equal work, he says, to close the wage gap between regular and "irregular" workers. He cites research showing that a full-time male worker in Japan typically makes more than three times what a part-time female worker makes for the same work.
"The idea that if you ban dispatch labor you'll have no 'working poor' – it's an illusion," he says.
Saichi Kurematsu, chairperson of the Aichi Prefectural Federation of Trade Unions, says some of the new measures were welcome, such as banning one-day contracts.
But he says 70 percent of the dispatch workers fired during the recent recession were on monthly contracts, not daily ones. He called for better unemployment benefits, and said companies should be required to offer permanent employment to any temps who work for them for longer than a year.
"During the Koizumi government, the liberalization of labor rules created a very difficult situation for workers," says Kurematsu. "We were very happy to see that administration thrown out. But after six months [of DPJ-led government], we're less happy."
"We think the reforms are insufficient," he says. "They don't deal with the real problems."


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2011 Ch. Clinet, Pomerol
Red | Ready, but will improve | Chateau Clinet | Code: 11905 | 2011 | France > Bordeaux > Pomerol | Cab.Sauvignon Blend | Full Bodied, Dry | 13.5 % alcohol
The Wine Advocate - Clinet has produced a blockbuster wine, even in the lighter, less consistent vintage of 2011. It reveals a dense purple color as well as an abundance of black cherry, black currant and blackberry fruit intermixed with licorice, incense and a touch of camphor. Full-bodied, opulent and fleshy with a substantial finish, this showy, dramatic 2011 should drink well for 15-20 years. Brilliant!
Robert M. Parker, Jr. - 30/04/2014
Eligible for storage in our Bonded Warehouses, terms and conditions apply. See Further Details
Scores and Reviews
The Wine Advocate
Wine Spectator
The Wine Advocate - Clinet has produced a blockbuster wine, even in the lighter, less consistent vintage of 2011. It reveals a dense purple color as well as an abundance of black cherry, black currant and blackberry fruit intermixed with licorice, incense and a touch of camphor. Full-bodied, opulent and fleshy with a substantial finish, this showy, dramatic 2011 should drink well for 15-20 years. Brilliant!
Robert M. Parker, Jr. - 30/04/2014
Wine Spectator - This has solid range, with blueberry, loganberry and bergamot notes mixed together and framed by anise-infused toast. There's solid flesh through the finish, with lingering purity.
Wine Spectator's 2011 Top-Scoring Red Bordeaux
James Molesworth, Wine Spectator, April 5, 2012
Parker - Under proprietor Ronan Laborde, Clinet has returned to the high quality witnessed in 1989 and 1990 under the helmsmanship of the late Jean-Michel Arcaute. Made from a final blend of 85% Merlot, 12% Cabernet Sauvignon and 3% Cabernet Franc that hit 14% natural alcohol, the inky, opaque purple-colored 2011 exhibits notes of blackberries, blueberries, espresso roast and subtle oak. Full-bodied, layered, opulent and flamboyant for a 2011, with loads of concentration and glycerin as well as a long finish, this is one of the most impressive wines of the vintage. It should drink well for two decades.
Robert Parker - Wine Advocate - April 2012
Decanter - Deep purple-crimson colour. Tight, firm and intense. Lots of chocolatey, liqueur de cassis extract. Finishes a little tough and drying.
Decanter – Bordeaux 2011 coverage – April 2012
You may also like
The Producer
Château Clinet is a small Pomerol property that has leapt to prominence in the last 15 years and now produces one of the most sought-after wines in the region. The 9-hectare vineyard is on top of one of the finest plateaux in Pomerol and is planted with Merlot (80%), Cabernet Sauvignon (10%) and Cabernet Franc (10%).
In the 1980s Jean-Michel Arcaute married Clinet's proprietor George Audy's daughter and by 1986 Jean Michel was running the property. He engaged the services of cult oenologist Michel Rolland, who introduced much later harvesting, ensuring super-ripe fruit, as well as extending the amount of time the wines spent in 100% new oak barriques. Within 5 years, Clinet's wine were being compared to those of Pétrus, Lafleur and Le Pin, and selling for similar prices.
Clinet produces a wine which is concentrated and rich but is supremely well balanced with a finish that lasts and lasts. It is hard to resist when young, yet the wines from the best vintages will continue to improve for over 10 years. Jean-Michel Arcaute was tragically killed in a boating accident in 2001.
Other wines by this producer:
The Grape
Cabernet Sauvignon lends itself particularly well in blends with Merlot. This is actually the archetypal Bordeaux blend, though in different proportions in the sub-regions and sometimes topped up with Cabernet Franc, Malbec, and Petit Verdot.
In the Médoc and Graves the percentage of Cabernet Sauvignon in the blend can range from 95% (Mouton-Rothschild) to as low as 40%. It is particularly suited to the dry, warm, free- draining, gravel-rich soils and is responsible for the redolent cassis characteristics as well as the depth of colour, tannic structure and pronounced acidity of Médoc wines. However 100% Cabernet Sauvignon wines can be slightly hollow-tasting in the middle palate and Merlot with its generous, fleshy fruit flavours acts as a perfect foil by filling in this cavity.
In St-Emilion and Pomerol, the blends are Merlot dominated as Cabernet Sauvignon can struggle to ripen there - when it is included, it adds structure and body to the wine. Sassicaia is the most famous Bordeaux blend in Italy and has spawned many imitations, whereby the blend is now firmly established in the New World and particularly in California and Australia.
The Region
Pomerol is the smallest of Bordeaux's major appellations, with about 150 producers and approximately 740 hectares of vineyards. It is home to many bijou domaines, many of which produce little more than 1,000 cases per annum.
Both the topography and architecture of the region is unremarkable, but the style of the wines is most individual. The finest vineyards are planted on a seam of rich clay which extends across the gently-elevated plateau of Pomerol, which runs from the north-eastern boundary of St Emilion. On the sides of the plateau, the soil becomes sandier and the wines lighter.
There is one satellite region to the immediate north, Lalande-de-Pomerol whose wines are stylistically very similar, if sometimes lacking the finesse of its neighbour. There has never been a classification of Pomerol wines.
Recommended Châteaux : Ch. Pétrus, Vieux Ch. Certan, Le Pin, Ch. L'Eglise-Clinet, Ch. La Conseillante, Ch. L'Evangile, Ch. Lafleur, Trotanoy, Ch. Nenin, Ch. Beauregard, Ch. Feytit-Clinet, Le Gay.
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Opinion: The Democrats' Great Hillary Hope
Republican pollster Kellyanne Conway on the political fallout of the Benghazi scandal, and the Democratic bench for the 2016 Presidential race.
This transcript has been automatically generated and may not be 100% accurate.
... I ... welcome to Opinion Journal I'm Mary Kissel ... the actual second terms always have their share of scandals but this one as had quite a number from the IRS the band Ozzie and more ... were very lucky to have the president and CEO of the polling company winning trends Kelli and Conley here to talk about ... what has happened to the poll numbers ... attorney thank so much for being on show on ... I will look first at ... a specific scandal then got C ... for it that those numbers up on the screening of forty one percent ... of Democrats ... say they think the administration is covering this up ... I it how does that bode for that for the present ... what's really the key number here Mary along with a nearly six in ten independents ... if the present was Independence day and he's really I lost the latest in the second term why ... because the semi annually and in two thousand he on being transparent post partisan fact non partisan ... and if Barack Obama and his administration even you a Christian is the former secretary of state presiding over pink IC at the time ... if you both are seen as Colin just other politicians ... the mealy Drew's it's been a very special about them to a number of Americans including independents ... to credit the Democrats this pull for ... him bucking the party line in saying that they believe is a coverup ... Berry Springs president or any number of reasons and good progress is do not think he's one of them ... this is nothing but Clinton is funded and they would forget Mary to close gap in Iraq Afghanistan yesterday ... and yes another on Jindal this on top of its own but it looks like it the president's favorable and unfavorable numbers ... on September twenty twelve unfavorable ratings forty five percent if you look at the latest numbers in June ... it's only forty six percent said you know ... really have to have to close the euro as you haven't heard this this battle of the scandals that meant that I think is the key there Mary is what happened to his approval and disapproval in December ... he actually at a twenty percent felt it went from a net positive four percent favorable TenneT posit twenty percent favorable ... this is after the election act is reelected in this is after the Newtown tragedy ... and what's happened since then is that he was unable to ... cash in leverage ... on the big gun control legislation anyone knows ... he's at it I think they reckon this ... scandal operating a few Belconnen ... and and what's happened is now his disapproval rating is back where was when he was seen as a politician has exploded as it was not a man she has ever been Healey said about the presidential race ... according to the Democratic contenders for twenty sixteen it's all about Hillary Hillary Hillary Hillary ... Hillary Clinton sixty one percent of Democrats say that she is the pic ... but it is even a contest to anybody else running answer is this poll will be conducted in New Hampshire of likely voters in Democratic primaries voters for the Center for American themed Halloween than a sixty one percent of Democrats either for heli ... that one of five or so undecided so with that they still need to know about Joe Biden Hillary ... question ... that we have other means be nice pulls the wrong way they're saying it's all Hillary when Linn doesn't run ... Democrats are in deep serious health issue tell you what a sheen to less when you look it there was another pull out the CIO's pilloried the marker Rubio in Florida ... to try really an estate ... that he's not reading the book that ... he's the nominee sure to come by ... but that doesn't surprise me ... looking airy free sample that she's seen as Helena Christensen scene is a former first lady a former secretary of state ... she's not see the Democratic nominee she's not seen as a candidate ... those numbers will really dissipate ... on rapidly it again she becomes ... ok we really wanna have you on the show again as we look towards twenty six and maybe the twenty fourth in the early release of the mountaineering ... not running out the ... gate firing Killion comic thank the much for being on the show


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Idoit40fans wrote:Kunitz Crosby Dupuis is a no brainer and that Morrow Sutter Cooke line is going to be legendary if the Pens go anywhere in the playoffs. Talent will come out in the Iginla Malkin Neal line.
Malkin seems like he really been trying hard to make it "click" with Iginla the past 2 games -- so much so that he's been over-passing to Iginla when he (Malkin) clearly has a shot to take. Not sure I like it, but I hope it starts working soon.


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It's an all-too familiar plight: every Christmas you head home for some togetherness and good cheer, and suddenly you're a one-man tech support team for a family of techno-neophytes. But take heart! This year, Google's on the job.
Google's Tech Support Care Package lets you preemptively send your folks videos on tech subjects ranging from how to change your desktop background to cropping photos to video chat - although be prepared to deal with the consequences of that last one. It's a little snarky, but they can take it. And it could do wonders for your eggnog-to-troubleshooting ratio.


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The cuisine of Castile-La Mancha
Traditional desserts from Toledo
- 自治区: Castilla-La Mancha
Castilla la Mancha, Quixote cuisine
Located almost in the centre of mainland Spain, Castilla la Mancha and its cuisine is a very appreciated discovery for the traveller. The cuisine of this region is comprised of a great variety of traditional, hearty yet simple dishes which are prepared using elementary ingredients such as bread, meat, vegetables and accompanied by a wide range of wine, sheep's cheese and desserts, transporting the diner back to the era of Don Quixote and his faithful Sancho.Castilla la Mancha, Quixote cuisine
Nature, fields, hills, lakes and rivers can be tasted in its cuisine: ?aubergines from Almagro, garlic from Pedroñeras, peppers, tomatoes, olive oil, meat, including both game and farm animals which are later converted into unforgettable recipes or sheep's cheese which if preserved in oil can be stored for over two years.
Ever-present wine Special mention must be given to the grape from which the local wine is made. Wine is the most important drink of this region and in Tomelloso the largest co-operative in Europe is found. There are various Denominations of Origin: La Mancha, Valdepeñas, Méntrida, Almansa... and the recent Dominio de Valdepusa and Finca de Elez. The most famous wines are those of La Mancha and Valdepeñas, which have been written about on many occasions. Light red and white wines are drunk young, at a maximum of one or two years old and their alcoholic content oscillates between 11 and 13 degrees. At present, a great effort is being made to obtain good ageing wine. Those wines which have been awarded the "Great Selection Award 2002", by the local government of Castilla La Mancha are as follows: red wine over 5 years old: Viña Albali Gran Reserva 91; red wine over 3 years old: Torre de Gazate Reserva 98 and red wine over 2 years old: R.V. Ruiz Villanueva 99. In Castilla la Mancha, a flat farming area, agricultural produce is a very important component of the local cuisine. A few tomatoes, red and green peppers and a little courgette is enough to make a dish which has become a national speciality: "pisto manchego", a type of ratatouille which can be served either hot or cold and contains, in addition to the ingredients mentioned above, any other ingredient the cook fancies. More examples of some of the recipes which are based on country produce are the famous roasted red peppers, which are chopped, roasted, mixed with tomato and dressed with oil and garlic, the popular "ajoarriero" and "tiznao", which are untypical examples of Castilla La Mancha dishes as they contain filleted cod which is flame-grilled in an earthenware dish with the ever-present pepper, tomatoes, onions and garlic. Other very typical dishes include the garlic soups, which may or may not contain cumin and paprika and the "migas de pastor", (fried breadcrumbs), which does not differ that much from the variations of this dish found in other places but which can be soaked in milk or accompanied by chocolate, pork products, sardines, grapes, etc.
Natural, yet rich cuisine However, in addition to the agricultural products, another main ingredient of La Mancha gastronomy is meat. An example of this are the "galianos" or "gazpachos de monte" (which must not be confused with the Andalusian variation), prepared using unleavened cakes and any type of poultry (including game) which is at hand. This dish must be tried when the opportunity presents itself as it is not served throughout the year. There are more delicious meat dishes: the visitor to Toledo must try the delectable marinated partridge hotpot. Also the "tojunto", a rabbit stew from Ciudad Real; the "morteruelo", a paté made of pork and game birds from Cuenca and roast kid from Guadalajara. To finish off the meal and freshen out the mouth, the diner has a wide variety of desserts to choose from. The most important include the lardy cakes, the oil buns and the flower shaped sweets and flakes with honey. Worth special mention are the "bizcochás de Alcázar", a tart soaked in milk with sugar, vanilla and cinnamon and the bizcochos borrachos, sponge soaked in wine and syrup. And most of all we must not forget the marzipan from Toledo, a remains of a Muslim past, which is made from sugar and almonds, the "alajú" from Cuenca, an almond and nut pastry, almond soup, syrup, "marquesitas", pastry rolls, etc.
Restaurants The gourmet traveller can try the traditional dishes from La Mancha, at times prepared with modern touches, in the restaurant called Adolfo, which figures in the CAMPSA guide with two suns. This restaurant is located in the centre of the old quarter of Toledo and serves traditional and local dishes. It is not the only restaurant; other places which will not disappoint the visitor are El Bohío (awarded one star by the Michelin Guide and two suns by the CAMPSA guide) located in Illescas, Toledo, Las Rejas, in a town near Cuenca called Pedroñeras (awarded two suns by the CAMPSA Guide), El Mesón de Pincelín, in Almansa, Albacete and the Mesón El Corregidor in Almagro, Ciudad Real. Castilla la Mancha, Quixote cuisine.
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Jan. 21, 2013
Box Score | Notre Dame Georgetown Box Score
SOUTH BEND, Ind. (AP) – Notre Dame coach Mike Brey didn't know what to say to his team after being thoroughly beaten by Georgetown in one of the worst home losses in recent memory for the Fighting Irish.
"I told them I don't have much to say because I don't know where to start," Brey said after No. 24 Notre Dame's 63-47 loss on Monday night. "So let's get together at 8 a.m. and let's figure it out. And I don't know what we'll do at 8 am. We might watch film. We might practice real hard."
Otto Porter scored 19 points and Georgetown held the Irish (15-4, 3-3 Big East) to a season-low 35 percent shooting, handing Notre Dame its third loss in four games. It was a dismal night for Notre Dame's offense, which recorded season lows in points, field goal percentage (35 percent) and assists (11).
The Irish went on long stretches without scoring in both halves, while Georgetown (13-4, 3-3) shot 53 percent from the field.
It was Notre Dame's third Big East home loss over their past 24 conference home games. The game was reminiscent of last season's 59-41 win by Georgetown over the Irish in Washington, when the Hoyas held Notre Dame to its lowest point total in nearly four years by limiting the Irish to 33 percent shooting.
"I think this league is crazy," Georgetown coach John Thompson III said. "I think our defensive effort was really good today. We were on the same page and we made things difficult for them. That's just hard work. There's no magic formula here, our guys just sucked it up and played hard today."
Jerian Grant led Notre Dame with 13 points while Pat Connaughton had 12 points and Jack Cooley added 10 points with 10 rebounds.
Notre Dame set the tone with their offensive woes early. The Hoyas got off to a 10-4 run over the first 4:44 of the game, fueled by 3s from Porter and Jabril Trawick, while the Irish hit just one of their first five field goal attempts.
"It was key to come out from the tip, get that quick start and jump right on," Porter said.
Notre Dame scored only eight points over the first 10 minutes, hitting just three of their first 10 shots from the field.
Cooley appeared frustrated early, hitting just one of his first four attempts.
Notre Dame appeared poised to overcome big deficits twice in the game.
Georgetown went cold late in the first half, hitting just 3 of 10 shots over a 6-minute span that allowed the Irish to pull within 25-21. But after Thompson called a timeout with 4:01 to play in the half, Markel Starks hit a baseline jumper to make it 27-21. The Hoyas then finished the half on a 7-0 run.
Notre Dame came into the second half with energy, reeling off a 10-0 run early to cut the margin to 40-37. But they then went scoreless over a 7-minute stretch, as the Hoyas went on an 18-0 spurt and put the game out of reach.
During that stretch, Notre Dame reserve freshman guard Cameron Biedscheid, shooting 43 percent on the season, missed two 3-pointers, a jumper and a layup.
"We knew they were going to make their run, and we just tried to stay composed," Porter said. "We don't want to get rattled or anything like that, and we did a very good job at that."
Georgetown outhustled Notre Dame to loose balls on both ends of the court and outrebounded the Irish 35-24.
"I'm sorry the fans had to watch that," Brey said. "It was like men versus boys. They really flustered us. Give credit to Georgetown. Any time we started to make a run, they made shots. We're struggling a little bit right now."
Georgetown was coming off a 61-58 loss to South Florida, a game in which they had let an 11-point lead evaporate. So Thompson said it's too early to evaluate his team.
"We have to continue to get better," Thompson said. "How would I sum us up? We weren't good the other night. We were good tonight. Hopefully we'll be good the next night."
Cooley said his experienced team must find a way to respond after getting "punched."
"We've just got to play better than that," Cooley said. "That was just not a good effort at all. We just can't start off halves really well and then slack off near the end. We have to keep up the intensity the entire second half."


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It has been an amazing couple of weeks since we started to print Instagram photos. Our fans and followers have been great with helping to spread the word. We've also grabbed the attention of some of the most influential media. Here's a sampling of some of the love we've been getting:
"Over 10 million people have created artful iPhonography with Instagram, but they've never seen their masterpieces any bigger than a Postagram postcard. But now, thanks to a peculiar synergy between the mediums and a secret algorithm, CanvasPop has found a way to blow up Instagrams and print them … Read more


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WILSON, OK-- A 75 year old Wilson woman speaks out after being attacked by her neighbor's pit bull yesterday.
Mary Williams said she had just come back from the store and was taking groceries out of her truck when her neighbor's pit bull got loose and attacked her.
"I heard him, he was coming toward me viciously, I mean charging so then I said oh I jumped up like I was going to get in the side but I couldn't because he got me before I got up in there," said Williams.
Williams tried to get in the bed of her pickup truck but could not in time, the dog had grabbed her by her right calf.
"It was the most scary thing, well you just didn't know what to do, it was really hurting bad," said Williams.
Williams said she screamed and was fortunate that a neighbor was outside and heard her calls for help.
"And then the dog attacked him so he tried to jump the fence but he couldn't get over so the dog ran back across the street and he came on up there where I was and I said call the police," said Williams.
When Wilson police arrived they said the dog charged them and they were forced to shoot and kill it.
"When the officer approached the dog the dog was aggressive towards him so he had to put him down," said Wilson Police Chief Felix Hernandez.
" I don't have to worry about that dog anymore," said Williams.
Williams was taken to Mercy Hospital in Ardmore and needed 29 stitches to her calf.
"And I'm a survivor," said Williams.
Wilson police say they city will file a misdemeanor dog at large charge against the owners. They said the state health department will run a rabies test on the dog, the results should be back within a couple of days.


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Descriptions for Description
Name: Family Tree Maker Mac 3 Version: Deluxe 184.108.40.2060 Language: English Mac Platform: Intel OS version: 10.8 or higher Includes: Pre-Activation (install and play) More info: http://www.mackiev.com/ftm/ Overview Family Tree Maker makes it easier than ever to discover your family story, preserve your legacy and share your unique heritage. If you're new to family history, you'll appreciate how this intuitive program lets you easily grow your family tree with simple navigation, tree-building tools, and integrated Web searching. If you're already an expert, you can dive into the more advanced features, options for managing data, and a wide variety of charts and reports. The end result is a family history that you and your family will treasure for years to come! Key product features ・Quickly and easily build your family tree ・Update your tree on the go with TreeSync®* ・Enhance your tree with charts, reports, photos, and more ・View family history timelines and interactive maps ・Includes free 14-day trial subscription to Ancestry.com ・Includes digital version of the Companion Guide Family Tree Maker® TOP FEATURES Follow the hints Just enter what you know into your family tree. Hints (green leaves) will soon appear, linking you to historical records and trees that might hold answers about your ancestors. Charts & Reports View and share your discoveries with a variety of colorful family tree charts, such as pedigree, descendant, bowtie and fan charts, and create reports that provide a snapshot of your family tree and help you plan what to research next. More options and views let you display an individual's ancestors, spouses, and children together. Also, the Index of Individuals Report has been expanded with options for anniversary, birthday, contact lists, and more. Put your ancestors on the map Access interactive street and satellite maps to view important locations in your ancestors' lives and track your family's migration paths. TreeSync® Sync desktop and online Ancestry.com trees and keep your tree up to date wherever you are. Update your tree from any computer with an Internet connection and Web browser or from mobile devices. Share your tree easily with your family and work on it together. Family and friends can view the online version of your tree without software or a subscription. Organize media with ease Illustrate your family story with photos, historical records, and audio and video files. The easy-to-use tools in Family Tree Maker 3 help you manage media faster than ever before, as well as add photos directly from iPhoto®, scan images directly into your tree, and even create slideshows. Digital Companion Guide This guide offers you a step-by-step tour of the program and all that you can accomplish with it. Learn Family Tree Maker's most popular features with quick lessons that make research fast and fun.