It’s been a little over eight months since I last posted anything here. In that time, I’ve been on the COVID roller-coaster with the rest of the United States—holed up working from home, dealing with zoom fatigue and maintaining sanity with daily bike rides, walks, and explorations of local preserves managed by The Trustees of Reservations.
Initiated by Black astronomers and physicists, this Wednesday, June 10, has been called as a national day to commit to (or continue to) “taking actions that will change the material circumstances of how Black lives are lived — to work toward ending the white supremacy that not only snuffs out Black physicist [and, by extension, all STEM professionals’] dreams but destroys whole Black lives.”
In solidarity with the #ShutDownSTEM community, on Wednesday I will be refraining from my “normal” day-to-day activities that keep the wheels of the STEM enterprise going (e.g., designing experiments, analyzing data, writing and reviewing papers or proposals, editing a journal, sending and responding to emails, and engaging in standard committee work), and instead focusing my attention on taking action to agitate for change in our community(ies).
As the facilitator for Harvard Forest’s strategic planning activities, I have asked all working groups scheduled to meet this week (and not just Wednesday!) to use our regularly-scheduled meetings to identify specific actions (not objectives, not goals)—at local, regional, national, or international levels—that we can take right now to eliminate racism—and specifically, anti-Blackness—at Harvard Forest, across Harvard University, in our own work and in work with our collaborators, and in our home communities.
A little more than a year ago, I began to keep track of crème brûlèes I have enjoyed to greater or lesser degrees in my travels for work and play. In 2019, I took fewer trips afield or abroad than I had in 2018, but when I did travel, crème brûlèes were regularly encountered, eaten, and evaluated (see last year’s post for a detailed description of what I look for when approaching a crème brûlèe).
March 4, 2019
After a week at the Annual Assembly of the Biodiversity Exploratories in Wernigerode, Germany, a weekend enjoying art in Berlin (especially the newly restored pair of paintings by Caspar David Friedrich—The Monk by the Sea and The Abbey in the Oakwood—at the Alte Nationalgalerie), and the overnight series of perfectly-timed trains from Berlin to Uppsala, I found myself with colleagues from CEMUS at DomCraft, a unique bar and cafe in downtown Uppsala. Known mostly for its extensive selection of craft G&T’s and beers, they also had a crème brûlèe on the menu.
The brûlèe was slightly crisped well, but too thick. It was underlain by a custard that was little more than a thin, creamy pudding. Both were too sweet for my taste. Next time, I’ll stick with the much more memorable flight of stouts.
May 7, 2019
Closer to home, I had an excellent dinner at Ten Tables in Boston’s Jamaica Plain neighborhood with after Harvard’s annual Plant Biology Initiative symposium. Ten Tables is a local restaurant in every sense of the word: rooted in the neighborhood, locally-sourced ingredients in meals and beverages; and committed to environmentally sustainable operations. It was a great meal and a great opportunity to reconnect with a former student, Lila Fishman, whom I hadn’t seen since I taught at Swarthmore College in the late 1980s.
The excellent custard was covered by a toffee-like brûlèe lacking the expected crunch. The accompanying fruit was a fresh and seasonal palette-pleaser, but the unnecessary cookie was cardboard-like.
May 11, 2019
Later that week, Flossie and I were visiting my parents and sister in Philadelphia. We spent a morning wandering around the Italian Market, which bills itself as The Nation’s Oldest Outdoor Market. In the middle of the 9th Street district is Isgro Pastries, famous for its cannoli and other Italian sweet delights. Emphasizing the international reach of the crème brûlèe, the pastry case had a whole tray of them. Irresistable!
The custard was good, but the brûlèe was soft (perhaps not torched after baking?), and the fruit was large, watery, and unexceptional. The cannoli were much better.
June 22, 2019
The following month, I took the commuter rail from Boston to Providence (Rhode Island) for a day at the annual joint meeting of the Society for the Study of Evolution, the American Society of Naturalists, and the Society of Systematic Biologists. I was there in my capacity as one of the Senior Editors of the journal Methods in Ecology and Evolution, talking with interested attendees about whether their projects might make a good paper for the journal (if you’ve got an idea for a paper, contact us!). At the end of the day, a few of us from the journal went to the nearby New Rivers restaurant for dinner. A new Providence institution, the dinner was an excellent combination of small plates and classic entrées. Although I was disappointed not to find a crème brûlée on the menu, their Vanilla Pot de Crème with hazelnuts, a mint leaf, and a lemon shortbread cookie was a delightful alternative.
October 31, 2019
Fall found me, Flossie, and her mother and two sisters in Burlington, Vermont, for a short stay en route to a weekend in Montreal. We had a delicious Hallowe’en dinner at Leunig’s Bistro, watching through the window as costumed children and adults dodged the pelting raindrops. A Burlington institution, Leunig’s feels like a Parisian café, with desserts to match.
This was a near-perfect crème brûlée. The brûlée held it’s own but wasn’t too chewy. The custard was excellent. The fresh fruit was a good addition here, and was not overwhelming. I know where I’ll be for dessert the next time I’m in Burlington!
December 11, 2019
After an incredible (for me, these last many years) eight months without a transcontinental or transoceanic plane trip, I spent two weeks of December on the island of Ireland, including a week in Northern Ireland and a week in the eponymous independent country. I was in Belfast for the annual meeting of the British Ecological Society; the restaurants were uniformly excellent, and yes, they all served one or more sides of potatoes. We did discover, though, that most of the restaurants stopped serving food at around 9pm, shifting (if they remained open) to all-liquid fare. An exception was 44 hill street, a Mediterranean-style restaurant located at the address from which it derives its name. I had the classic—and delicious—Roast Turkey and Ham Christmas dinner, and topped it off with a similarly delicious crème brûlée.
Although many pastry chefs can’t resist adding cookies and fruit to a crème brûlée, this one fortunately had the accompaniments “on the side”, as it were. The brûlée was nearly perfect: crisp but not burnt and just the right thickness. The custard was only a bit thin, and not at all grainy. I’d have been better off skipping the compote (a bit tart, perhaps the berries were underripe or recently thawed) and the shortbread cookie (a bit dry, perhaps not enough butter). But fortunately, I had saved one bite of the crème brûlée to conclude the meal.
December 17, 2019
After the meetings ended, Flossie met me for a week of vacation in Dublin. We enjoyed the museums, the street scenes, a day trip to Galway and the Cliffs of Moher, and a series of outstanding restaurants. One of them—Wilde—we went to twice, once for lunch and once for high tea. The lunch was good and the high tea incredible, and the Vanilla crème brûlée, unforgettable.
The crispy, thin brûlée covered a smooth, light custard. The blackberries were not oversweet and perfectly complemented the crème brûlée itself. If it weren’t for the carbon cost, I’d fly back for another one.
January 30, 2020
We wrapped up the lunar year with our annual trip to Singapore for Chinese New Year festivities and, of course, food. Crème brûlée is not a Singaporean staple, but a local fusion dessert at TWG merits mention.
This “Singapore Surprise” is a crème brûlée pie with baked-in strawberries. The custard was a reasonable facsimile of the expected crème but the brûlée on top was soft, not crispy. The strawberries (definitely not locally-grown) were sweet and complemented the pie well. TWG’s pastry chef gets high marks for the originality and creativity of the Singapore Surprise, but a crème brûlée it is not.
Much more travel is on the calendar for 2020 (unless COVID-19 intervenes), so stay tuned for the next round of dessert discoveries…
While browsing my twitter feed this morning, I came across a tweet from ScienceOpen about a new article “In praise of preprints” by Norman Fry, Helina Marhsall, and Tasha Mellins-Cohen (published open access in Microbial Genomics; doi: 10.1099/mgen.0.000259). This article re-asserts familiar advantages (credit, visibility, pre-submission and prepublication review) and disadvantages (no peer review, novelty not required, financially unsustainable, and obscuring priority), and ends with a reinforced commitment to preprints (and smoothed workflow via bioRxiv) and a position statement in support of preprints from the Microbiology Society.
At ±5am EDT, there was already one response to this, from Lonni Besançon, who wrote:
#preprints can only be helpful in the dissemination of research results. I wonder whether someone has looked at whether they could actually be enough. #peerreview could happen directly on preprint platforms and could be done massively and in a totally open fashion @openreviewnet
which prompted me to wonder (and reply) whether any of the preprints I’ve posted have received any comments…
The answer: No. Not a one. In five years of posting preprints.
And, as today is a holiday here in the US, I had plenty of time to burrow further down this rabbit-hole…
As readers of this blog know, I do enjoy a good (or at least innovative or weird) meal. And foodies know that a good dessert can make or break the overall dining experience. In fact, I rarely order desserts – my waistline doesn’t need it, the options are rarely interesting, and eating anything with chocolate after about two in the afternoon inevitably keeps me up at night. But I do have a soft spot for crème brûlèes. Anytime I see one on a menu, I’ll order it. And then I’ll extol its virtues or decry its vices, either way driving my dinner companions deep into their digestifs.
One’s first interaction with a crème brûlèe is always the brûlèe – the topping of gently torched sugar that always reminds me of isinglass. Everyone has their own ideal brûlèe. Mine is one that is not too thick but breaks into bite-sizes shards with a single tap of the spoon. It should have just a hint of carbonization, but not be overburned. And it should dissolve on the tongue. Beneath the brûlèe is the custard. A traditional crème brûlèe has a vanilla custard that should be creamy, not grainy, and never a pudding. It is rare to find a simple vanilla crème brûlèe on a menu anymore. More commonly, dessert chefs are adding various accoutrements; I have had crème brûlèes with maple syrup, rum, cinnamon, ginger, and coconut. It is difficult to get any of these just right, as just the right touch is needed to maintain the integrity of the vanilla custard as it interacts with any of these additional ingredients. Finally, a crème brûlèe should never have a crust. It should be nestled in the confines of a small ramekin. The well-cooked custard should be just set and neither stick nor ooze away from the sides of the dish.
While continuing a heavy travel schedule in the last year, I started keeping track of the crème brûlèes I had around the world. This is the what I hope will be the first installment in occasional postings from my never-ending quest for the holy grail of desserts: the prefect crème brûlèe. And because good meals are only part of a broader contextual experience, some background is provided with each entry.
January 13, 2018
Flossie and I were in Burlington, Vermont for a few days while Nick Gotelli and I were working on our current book project. On a snowy and icy night (are there any other kinds in mid-winter in Vermont?), we three, along with Nick’s wife Maryanne, and our friends Aimée Classen and Nate Sanders met in nearby Richmond at the Kitchen Table Bistro. After an excellent and varied meal, I ordered their Cinnamon Stick Crème Brûlée with Sea Salted Shortbread Cookies.
The brûlèe was slightly overburnt, but of reasonable thickness. The custard was very good with subtle cinnamon imparting a good flavor. Memorable more for the company than for the dessert itself.
January 19, 2018
Our comfort-food destination at home in Boston is the Island Creek Oyster Bar in Kenmore Square. We’ve learned through experience that the appetizers, and of course, the diversity of oysters on the menu, are far better than the main courses, and we usually fill up on the former and rarely have room for desserts. But on this visit, there was on the menu a Vanilla Bean Crème Brûlée with Gingersnaps and Pear Sorbet.
The perfect brûlèe overtopped a vanilla custard unadulterated by extraneous flavors. Rather than add ginger to the custard, this crème brûlèe was complemented with a small ginger candy, a gingerbread cookie, and just-right-sweet pear sorbet. This crème brûlèe was one of two for the year that approached perfection.
February 5, 2018
Just a few weeks later, Flossie and I had emptied the refrigerator prior to our (Chinese) New Year’s trip to Singapore, and so in search of dinner, we walked into La Voile, on Boston’s Newbury Street. I completed this otherwise excellent French Bistro meal with their Vanilla Bean Crème Brûlée.
Although the brûlèe was perfect, the custard tilted towards a disappointing pudding, and the strawberries were from far away. ‘Nuf said.
February 14, 2018
Ten days later, we were in Singapore for Chinese New Year. Singapore is justifiably famous for the high quality and diversity of its food, but it is rare that among all the different ethnic and fusion restaurants one gets classic “Singaporean” food. But on this evening, we went with my in-laws to Folklore, which serves traditional Singaporean dishes. Although I wasn’t expecting it to be a crème brûlèe, the Baked Custard with Gula Melaka (coconut-palm sugar) suggested it might be a southeast Asian close-equivalent.
Indeed, this was more like a classic Latin American flan (coconut custard), albeit with a brûléed palm-sugar topping, than a crème brûlée. The brûlée was good, if a bit thick and unevenly torched. The coconut flakes were a nice touch, but they couldn’t save the grainy custard.
April 30, 2018
In April, I was in Melbourne, Australia, working with colleagues at the Independent Schools Victoria and presenting some workshops for schools on the intersection of art and science. Like Singapore, Melbourne is renowned for its innovative restaurants. One night, we went to Gazi Restaurant, a Hellenic-fusion restaurant in downtown Melbourne. After a delicious meal marred only by the seemingly 100-decibel volume of music and conversations in the restaurant, I ordered the Krema Kataifi (Crème Brûlée, Crispy Kataifi, Pistachia).
Like the rest of the items on menu, this Krema Kataifi was a fusion of styles and flavors. The classic crème brûlée custard – here nothing but a basic vanilla pudding – was topped with an Arabic-Turkish-Hellenic bird’s nest pastry (kataifi), raspberries, mint leaves, and flower petals. There was no opportunity to brûlée the topping, which would have left just a residue of charred kataifi. Overall, this was much more enjoyable to look at than to eat.
July 3, 2018
Back home for the summer, we found ourselves at a dinner party at Harvest Restaurant in Cambridge, wrapping up this summer’s session of Leading Learning that Matters with Independent Schools Victoria. Harvest is well-known and praised for its creative uses of local ingredients in delectable dishes. For dessert, I had the Choux à la Crème Brûlée (Pistachio, Vanilla Bean Mousseline, Elderflower & Apricot Sorbet).
This was another attempt at fusion of styles, which rarely is successful with a crème brûlèe. And unfortunately, this was no exception. The brûlèe was overburnt and too thick to break easily. The custard was pudding-like and grainy (not as hoped with the promised mousseline), but not too sweet. The unexpected (only because I had missed the “Choux” in the dessert’s title) pastry shell was tasty but rubbery. This desert was saved by the sorbet.
September 28, 2018
In September, Flossie and I went to Atlanta, where we visited the Atlanta Botanical Garden and had a behind-the-scenes tour of the greenhouses and the carnivorous plant collection. I gave a talk about carnivorous plants and the large book I’ve edited on them (Carnivorous Plants: Physiology, Ecology, and Evolution). On our last night in Atlanta, we went to a justifiably highly-rated Thai restaurant, Nan Fine Dining. This restaurant, a bit outside the main downtown area, surprised us with its innovative Thai dishes. None was more surprising than seeing a Thai Tea Crème Brûlée on the dessert menu.
Of all the year’s crème brûlèes, this one was my hands-down favorite in terms of its presentation. It came in a long, thin ramekin reminiscent of an áo dài. Although the brûlèe was very fine, the Thai tea custard was less than perfect and a little grainy. And while I prefer my custard less sweet, this one actually could have been sweeter. The flower of whipped cream was a very nice touch.
November 17, 2018
This mid-November weekend found me shuttling between New Haven, Connecticut, where I gave the keynote talk at this year’s final event week of the World Scholar’s Cup, and the ginormous temple to excess consumption that is the Woodbury Common premium outlets mall, where Flossie, my in-laws, my parents, and sister, brother-in-law, and niece were engaging in America’s favorite past-time (no, not baseball, the other one). After a long day talking and driving (for me) and shopping (for them), we had an outstanding Italian dinner at La Vera Cucina, in nearby Monroe, NY.
Their no-frills, home-cooked crème brûlée was well above-average. The brûlèe was excellent and just the right thickness. The custard was very creamy and not at all grainy, marred only by being just a little too sweet for my taste.
December 17, 2018
December found us in the UK for the annual meeting of the British Ecological Society in Birmingham. Although Birmingham doesn’t have the foodie reputation of the larger city to its southeast (that would be London, for the geographically impaired), we did find a number of excellent restaurants. For one of my birthday dinners we went to Opus, where we had an incredibly innovative meal topped off with their Rum and Cinnamon Crème Brûlée.
This birthday crème brûlée was the only other one of the year to come close to perfection. The brûlée was just a little thick but was just the right degree of carmelized. The custard was creamy and excellent, the rum and cinnamon combined in smoothly, and their flavors complemented the vanilla without overpowering it.
January 19, 2019
A year and five continents after I started this crème brûlée odyssey, I spent a weekend in Santiago after a week working with my colleague Ronny Vallejos on spatial statistics at the Universidad Técnica Federico Santa María in one of my favorite cities in the world, beautiful Valparaíso, Chile. Just a short distance from my hotel, I found Le Bistrot Việt. After an outstanding vegan stir-fry and a pot of fresh green tea, I indulged in their Crème Brûlée avec lait de coco et fruit de saison.
This surprising crème brûlée was really a classic coconut custard (flan) that had been gently brûléed on top. Dressed up with fresh strawberries and mint, passionfruit and raspberry emulsions, and dollops of whipped cream, it was delightful to look at and had just the right degree of sweetness. It got a happy face in my notes, and I left the meal, and my 12 months of searching for the perfect crème brûlée, pleasantly sated.
The quest continues…
I guess it’s a good sign that I’m writing for other blogs and outlets for nontechnical writing. Here are some new pieces:
Last week, two of my essays were published back-to-back in the April 2018 issue of the Bulletin of the Ecological Society of America (and yes, that is a photograph of mine from my December trip to Antarctica on the cover):
- A sense of scale (solo effort)
- Art/science collaborations: new explorations of ecological systems, values, and their feedbacks (a team effort with Carri LeRoy, Kim Landsbergen, Emily Bosanquet, David Buckley Borden, Paul CaraDonna, Katherine Cheney, Robert Crystal-Ornelas, Ardis DeFreece, Lissy Goralnik, Ellie Irons, Bethann Garramon Merkle, Kari O’Connell, Clint Penick, Lindsey Rustad, Mark Schulze, Nickolas Waser, and Linda Wysong)
I’ve also published three book reviews in the last 16 months, and have four more in the works, including one for Quarterly Review of Biology, two for Biotropica, and one for Myrmecological News.
More soon, so stay tuned!
Well, it’s been three-and-a-half months since I last managed to post here, but that doesn’t mean I haven’t been blogging. It’s just that those posts have appeared elsewhere.
So while you’re waiting for me to fulfill my Chinese New Year’s resolution (which, fortunately, was only resolved 3 weeks ago), check out these recent posts:
- The ‘most wonderful plants in the world’ are also some of the most useful ones (February 21, 2018)
On The Revelator:
- Don’t believe the hype: giant pandas are still endangered (January 11, 2018)
- Climate: riding the chaotic wave (August 28, 2017)
- 5/9: the day we passed the climate tipping point (August 14, 2017)
On The Hill
- Pesticides, Pruitt and a plea for biodiversity (June 15, 2017)
And if you want to see what else I’ve been up to while I’ve been stateside (in the last three months, I’ve been to Antarctica, New Mexico, Singapore for Chinese New Year, and Germany), check these out:
- Hemlock Hospice lecture tour, press coverage (ongoing since October 7, 2017), and a fabulous podcast for The Native Plant Podcast (February 20, 2018)
- New sculpture created for the Shifting Sites group exhibition in the Department of Landscape Architecture at the Rhode Island School of Design (March 5-19, 2018)
- New book published: Carnivorous Plants: Physiology, Ecology, and Evolution by Oxford University Press (January 21, 2018 in Europe; February 21, 2018 in USA)
- Paper on reproducibility in ecological research published in Nature Ecology and Evolution (January 16, 2018)
Meanwhile, it’s still winter here in Massachusetts, so I need to shovel out!
Since my last post on our Hemlock Hospice installation and exhibition, we had a very successful opening event (October 7) that brought more than 150 people to Harvard Forest, many of who had never been here before; the 18+ outdoor sculptures have successfull weathered torrential rains, howling winds, and the season’s first three snowfalls; and, in the past 6 weeks, over 400 more visitors have signed into the log book, leaving comments there and on ribbons tied to the Exchange Tree.
Lead artist and designer David Buckley Borden and I have given many tours of the exhibition to groups both large and small, and to visiting journalists who have written or are writing pieces about it for a range of audiences. All of these individuals have asked interesting and provocative questions that have spurred us to continue to think ever more deeply about the pieces and their broader meaning and context.
In this essay, I reflect on “invasive species”, how we conceptualize and contextualize them, and how we relate to them. My focus here is on the hemlock woolly adelgid (“HWA”), which is the non-native insect that is killing eastern hemlock throughout the range of this magnificent, late successional tree, but the ideas are, I hope, applicable to other invasive species.
While washed up in Manaus, I’ve taken a few hours to catch up on some recent papers in the (technical) ecological literature. A new paper by Egbert van Nes et al. in the most recent issue of Trends in Ecology and Evolution caught my attention. Entitled “What do you mean, ‘tipping point’?“, van Nes et al. encapsulate well the competing ideas and definitions of tipping points in the ecological and broader literature, but then end up arguing for a broad definition: “any situation where accelerating change caused by positive feedback drives the system to a new state.” But they then go on to say that their “proposed definition essentially boils down to the necessary conditions for [Malcom] Gladwell’s examples where a small initial change makes a big difference.”
I think this is unfortunate. They give too much credence to Gladwell’s sloppy handling of tipping points in his book, their broad definition will lead to a proliferation of “tipping points,” and such vagueness can only result in so much watering down of the term as to render it meaningless.
So with that in mind, I offer up for today’s posting an essay I wrote three years ago but never published. I post it here, unedited from 11 September 2013 (albeit with a few [editorial clarifications]). Perhaps an updated version could find a broader audience somewhere; suggestions welcome!
On tipping points, regime shifts, and the balance of nature
“Five-nine” doesn’t have quite the cadence as “nine-eleven,” but when we look back on the early 21st century, May 9, 2013—the day that the concentration of carbon dioxide (CO2) in the atmosphere exceeded 400 parts per million (ppm) for the first time in recorded history—may be seen as a far more important date than September 11, 2001. If the scenario described in the Scientific Consensus on Maintaining Humanity’s Life Support Systems in the 21st Century by Anthony Barnowsky and his colleagues at Berkeley, along with more than 500 other scientists, including Nobel laureates, members of the National Academies of Sciences, and other luminaries is true, Five-nine will be seen as the long-anticipated tipping point whereby human impacts have caused irrevocable harm to our planet. Or perhaps not. Perhaps there is still time to take the concrete, immediate actions Barnowsky et al. suggest—suggestions echoed by President Barack Obama in his June 25  speech at Georgetown University—that would ensure a sustainable, high-quality future. Or maybe we’ll just keep muddling along, slowly and steadily acclimating to our new lives on a now unfamiliar world, which, to distinguish it from our familiar “Earth,” Bill McKibben christened “Planet Eaarth”: durably, sturdily, stably, hardily, and robustly.
I’ve been traveling and working outside of the US since the beginning of August, and watched the evolution, media/twitter/blog coverage, and eventual vote count of the US presidential election unfold from abroad—passing through degrees of disbelief, astonishment, and horror—but also seeing it with the perspectives of physical distance and those gained through the eyes of citizens of other countries. During the two weeks leading up to the election, I was simultaneously engrossed in developing new mathematical statistics and depressed by what I could clearly see, from an overseas vantage point, was going to go down on November 8. And although I voted in Massachusetts (the first person on the first day of early voting in my small rural town—which, contra the Commonwealth overall, went for Trump by a small margin ) while I was in transit between Tokyo and Valparaiso, I suffered no illusion that my vote for Hillary would make a difference, either statewide (Massachusetts is, of course, the bluest of the blue states, notable for being the only state to vote for McGovern against Nixon in 1972) or nationally (the writing was on the wall for anyone who could read it).
As I expect many travelers and ex-pats also did, I stayed up all of election night watching the returns, until the election was called for Trump at close to 2am Valparaiso time. The next day, I watched the sunrise over the docks of Valparaiso harbor, did my daily 45-minute walk up (northeast) the esplanade, past the omnipresent graffiti, murals, stray dogs, seagulls, sea lions, and pelicans, paused to dip my feet in the icy-cold Pacific Ocean, climbed up the daily 108 stairs to the mathematics quad, and then walked up the last three flights of stairs to my temporary office at the Universidad Técnica Federico Santa María (USM), where I skyped my fiancée and had a good cry – for my country, for my family and loved ones, for myself, and for the future.
I spent a lot of that day talking about the election with Flossie and with my three friends—Ronny Vallejos, a statistician at USM, and Hannah Buckley and Brad Case, ecologists from Lincoln University in New Zealand—with whom I was working at USM for the two weeks I was there. And I thought it would be worth setting down here the common themes and ideas that emerged in those conversations, filtered through another few days of reading, thinking, walking, and flying.
These reflections come in two parts. This one, entitled “An Elegy for my Home”, and the next one, entitled “The Politics of Identity and the Destructiveness of Identity Politics”. I emphasize that these are personal reflections and opinions set down as stream-of-consciousness with little editing. The writing is rough and the ideas incomplete. But I needed to start somewhere, as the run-up to the election, the election itself, and the few days aftermath have made it hard to focus coherently. I welcome constructive engagement, discussion, and dialogue about them; please post comments here, on Twitter, or send me email.