Ailanthus was sold in nurseries across the country as the Tree-of-Heaven for many years, before its invasive qualities were recognized. People planted them as ornamental trees not only in the cities but out in the rural areas as well. And so it turned out that when my parents left Detroit to get in to organic farming, they wound up on a nature center that had a grove of decades-old Ailanthus growing right in the very heart of the sanctuary. Twenty years later, the trees have still never spread off the island! I find it all the more amazing because they are situated in disturbed, degraded old cattle pasture. One would think if they can spread like wildfire through disturbed and abandoned urban sites they can do the same in an old field like this one. But no, in the country, ghetto palm behaves itself. Maybe it was just the crisp, clear fall sun, but this grove displayed a beauty I never appreciated in Ailanthus before.
Springing the lemang out of the casing isn’t so tough; after roasting over the fire, the bamboo is pretty weak and cracks open. The mixture inside has fused into a long tube of creamy, chewy ricey-ness, and the banana-leaf lining peels away as you slice discs off. Lemang is great with rendang or peanut sauce, or if you are a seven-year-old of my household, pretty good for munching as is, too.
Two of my three amazing and talented sisters visited me a few months back. To get here they had to layover in Jeddah for 8 hours. I was worried sick they'd get harrassed by the Mutaween or just have an icky time in general and was working on my "we think they're crazy too" speech. Turns out it's just like any other international airport, according to them, except more boring. With little to do and eight hours to kill, they picked up a local newspaper and discovered an awkward and disturbing ode from an 8th grade girl to another big brother named Zayn: