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 Smorgasbord of Scandal |
 The chopper The secret life of cheese |
Julius Huck gets ready to chop some dead tomes, while Ben Winker peruses last-minute rescues that’ll go back on the shelves. Photo by Heidi Walters
Here it is, Thursday afternoon, and here is Rabbi Les Scharnberg, pawing through the orphaned books on the free-table at the Arcata Community Recycling Center and gabbing with fellow book scroungers.
“I’m a compulsive reader,” Scharnberg says.
“So am I,” says Rochelle Trochtenberg.
They lift books, put them gently down. They seem immune to the raucous clatter-clink of crashing bottles and cans, the pervasive alley-stench of stale orange juice and sour wine.
“I read books like some people watch television,” says Scharnberg. “I have 6,000 books on my shelves. I have a hard time throwing them away. I have books that were the worst read ever, and I keep them on the shelf to remind myself not to get that author again -- and to not recommend it to others.”
“I have some horrible books,” says Trochtenberg. “Somebody gave me a book about Cher, because I like Cher, and it’s not well written. But it’s on my shelf.”
Hmm, perhaps these aren’t the right people to tell about the chopper. But they only look fleetingly concerned at the news, then resume culling: for Scharnberg, Tony Hillerman’s “Sacred Clowns,” John McPhee’s “Assembling California,” and Sam Keen’s “Fire in the Belly”; for Trochtenberg, several books on house plants and “Shopgirl” by Steve Martin.
They barely make a dent. Yard supervisor Ben Winker, wandering over, says many of the books have been here for weeks. Some will go inside to the ACRC thrift store, either to the 25-cent shelf or the shelf of individually priced books deemed higher quality. Some will go to the chopper. They can’t keep everything.
“Space is our biggest issue,” Winker says. St. Vincent de Paul drops off about 1,000 pounds a week. The Eureka City Schools brought in 6,000 pounds last Monday -- they’ll be back in two months with more. The county libraries dump a ton a month. Many books go across the street to a warehouse. Others are piled into a gigantic barrel -- free pickings, if you can reach them.
Winker scours the free table. “What is ArcGIS?” -- outdated. “Excellence in Leadership” -- nobody wants it. Certain preachy works -- outta here. “Some covers are pretty derogatory,” Winker says. “Fundamentalism and angry people -- that doesn’t do anything for anybody. I kind of shoot that stuff to the chopper. But if it’s got a compassionate aspect to it, if it’s giving -- those are the things I want to see in the world. I love spirituality. If it’s a really nice Bible, I tend to enjoy that and I would love to have people have that. International, multi-ethnic books, I keep those. I want people to be exposed to the world. I want people to learn. So, dictionaries I leave out here, too.” Kids’ books in good shape are always keepers. “Look at this one: ‘High Country Adventure’, Winker says, excited. “There’s a raccoon, there’s a canoe, there’s a river -- I’m gonna leave that. Some kid, 10 to 13, they’re gonna love that.”
This pick-and-choose method infuriates some people. In an interview last winter, Arcata resident Patsy Givins -- a booklover who also sells books online -- said she wished the recycling center would make more space for books and hire a librarian to judge their worth.
Inside the chopper room, employee Julius Huck lifts several heavy medical tomes circa 1968, dropped off by HSU, and lays them spine-first against the blade of the three-ton Polar Mohr, a metal behemoth (also circa 1968). Huck pushes a button -- crunch, the pages separate from their covers. He tosses the landfill-bound covers in one garbage bin, and the pages -- which can be sold as recyclable “office pack” for $170 a ton -- in another.
But even here, at the moment of doom, there is occasional reprieve. Two towering stacks of last-minute saves, whose covers caught some chopper operator’s eye, sit on a ledge; they’ll go back to the sale shelves. Winker, pointing to a piece of paper taped to the chopper, says, “We also have a list of wanted books from The Booklegger.”
Huck loads more books. Pushes the button. Crunch. Loads more books.
-- Heidi Walters
Earlier this month, Cypress Grove registered a 10 on the local gourmet Richter scale after its new cheese, Truffle Tremor, won top honors at the International Fancy Food & Confection Show in New York City. I decided to write an article about the secret life of chèvre. The story was to be a hard-hitting (well, all right, maybe medium-soft) piece of investigative journalism: I was going to get to the bottom of how Cypress Grove invents and names its cheeses.
I imagined a room somewhere at the local cheese atelier where wordy cheese wonks hold court and bounce ideas off each other -- a sort of chèvre think tank. So I called up Cypress Grove and said I wanted to talk to someone in the know and at the top. But the search for the truth turned out to be much harder than planned.
The owner was too busy to talk. The owner was on her day off, which is sacred and cannot be violated even in the name of the public’s need to know who’s naming names over at Cypress Grove. The weekend passed. I called again. The owner is in a meeting. I left a message on her answering machine. I got a call back from the guy in charge of publicity. Now isn’t a good time to talk, he said. Too many awards and international gatherings of big cheeses from fromageries around the globe.
Was it really Cypress Grove I was calling, or some front for the CIA? The Cheese Department of Homeland Security, maybe? I had even gone out in the name of research and bought a wedge of Truffle Tremor -- the price alone was enough to make me weak in the knees.
But in the end, instead of discovering the secret of how Cypress Grove’s clandestine naming program works or what the next great cheese phenom will be to come from their hallowed cheesy halls, I was left in the dark. So I decided to come up with some possible future products on my own. That way, if Cypress Grove ever gets over the award they just won and finally stumbles out of the Humboldt Fog of victory, they’ll have the option of outsourcing their cheese creation to me. As for whether I’ll be available for comment when they call, I haven’t decided yet.
Klamath Calamity: This vintage extra dry cheese has been aged since 2002. A certain portion of the goats on our family farm are fed only wild North Coast salmon, which gives this cheese its savory Chinook undertones.
Pacific Lumber Log: Pacific Lumber Log is a 4-10 feet in diameter ripened log that’s perfect for company town gatherings. But dig in quick, because this cheese is sure to be clearcut from the table.
Trinidad Head: This bust of aged triple-cream goat cheese sculpted by hand in the likeness of Wilhelm von Humboldt is sure to be a crowd-pleaser at your next botany department potluck.
Pelican Bay Ball: The Pelican Bay Ball is a perfectly spherical, extra-hard cheese that comes with a souvenir sterling silver chain. It’s perfect for bringing to loved ones behind bars and an extra special treat for conjugal visits.
Crescent City: This moon-shaped cheese is the perfect accompaniment for a romantic dinner for two up the coast. Its nondescript flavor that borders on delicious will almost transport your soul to a higher state.
PacifiCore: This is our newest cheese, and it’s the best dam one we’ve made yet. There is no rind whatsoever. Produced using hydroelectric power and a grant from Dick Cheney, we’ve managed to separate out only the rich creamy center of our trademark goat cheese. But PacifiCore is so hard to keep on the shelves, it may very well violate the Endangered Species Act.
-- Japhet Weeks
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