ACROSS
1 Publisher Alfred
6 Spur to action
10 Mus. key with
three sharps
14 Lost cause
15 Overconfident
racer of fable
16 Hawaiian island
17 Hawaii or Alaska
18 Oil gp. that
includes
57-Down
19 Take a load off
20 Horse sense
23 Pool tool
24 Try to win
25 Colonel Sanders
facial feature
28 Main attraction
32 Lab maze
navigator
33 Letter flourish
34 “... good witch,
__ bad witch?”
35 Angry or achy
36 Test proctor’s
reminder
40 Soap units
43 Gold in Granada
44 Semiaquatic
salamanders
48 The “A” in “IPA”
49 Hard-boiled genre
52 Like Easter eggs
before the hunt
54 Duct opening?
55 Debate side
56 Its
measurements
include liters and
grams
60 Squared up
62 Tax-sheltered
plans: Abbr.
63 More than
suggest
65 Partial view?
66 Scandinavian
language
67 Circular
68 Decrease
69 Organic
compound
70 Sch. district VIPs
DOWN
1 56-Across wts.
2 On the fence
3 Winning like
crazy
4 Korda of
’80s-’90s tennis
5 Library amenity
6 Camera buff, for
short
7 Shoots the breeze
8 Utah city near
Provo
9 10-point star
polygon
10 Main blood
vessel
11 Orchestra leader
12 Contented sighs
13 Stick (out)
21 Years and years
22 Word after fuel
or fly
23 LP successors
26 Cup handle
27 Season after
printemps
29 Erma Bombeck’s
“At __ End”
30 Décor choice
31 MLB’s D-backs
35 Editorial “let it
stand”
37 Event often
visible in the
evening sky
38 “__ tu”: Verdi aria
39 Cutting teeth
40 Derisive
interjection
41 “Rope-a-dope”
boxer
42 Paleo diet protein
source
45 Took care of, as
a spill
46 Annoy
persistently
47 __-cone: summer
treat
49 Safety feature
at a trapeze
school
50 La Brea
discovery
51 Wall-climbing
plant
53 Slow on the
uptake
57 Pakistan
neighbor
58 “Duck Dynasty”
attire, for short
59 Pants, briefly
60 Flow back, as
a tide
61 By way of
64 Ave. and st.
By Roland Huget
©2018 Tribune Content Agency, LLC
09/18/18
Los Angeles Times Daily Crossword Puzzle
Edited by Rich Norris and Joyce Nichols Lewis
09/18/18
ANSWER TO PREVIOUS PUZZLE:
Release Date: Tuesday, September 18, 2018
When I die I am going to
ensure that my last meal is filled
with all of the wheat, barley,
spelt, kamut and rye I can stuff
inside my mouth. I want my
small intestine to shrivel up and
go with me — its weaknesses no
longer my problem — my body,
laid to rest filled with all of the
things that have been its poison
for my whole life.
I will instruct the nurses and
doctors to bring over plates of
tall chocolate cake piled high
with layers of rich icing resting
between its moist, fluffy sponge.
I will start with the cake,
moving on to a bowl of pasta
next, spirals of noodles filling
a glass bowl that reflects my
chubby, round profile as I march
down the high road to my own
demise. I will ask for a package
of Oreos, a package of those pink
frosted cookies that are so sweet
they hurt your jaw and a still-
warm plate of my grandmother’s
brownies. I will move on to a
tray of croissants and muffins,
drizzled with percisise ribbons
of Nutella and sparkling with
gems of round blueberries and
chocolate chips. I will have a
bagel imported from the shop
in New Jersey — everything
and undressed, naked in its
doughy,
carbohydrate-filled
glory. I will have a Corona with
lime, a stack of pancakes, a plate
of fried chicken and a plate of
mozzarella sticks. I will dip
crispy, white-hot egg rolls into
a bowl of gleaming soy sauce. I
will finish with a chipwich — the
kind from the ice cream trucks
and a peanut butter and jelly
sandwich. Because when I was
little, before I was diagnosed
with celiac, before I even knew
what it was, those were my
favorites.
Little did I know then, I was
poisoning
my
eight-year-old
insides, bite by bite.
Three million people, about
one percent of the population,
live with celiac in the United
States of America. The disease
is, by definition, an immune
reaction to gluten, a protein
found in wheat, rye and barley.
In response to the consumption
of the protein, the body is
triggered to begin an immune
response
that
attacks
the
small intestine. This affects
nutrient absorption in the body
and makes most people with
celiac really freaking bloated
and causes a whole bunch of
other complications I’ll let you
imagine for yourself.
Basically, my body has not
made a hospitable environment
for pizza, pasta, cookies, bread
and happiness. I’m Italian, from
a family of restaurateurs and
chefs and I can’t eat pasta or
pizza without being in agony,
clutching
my
stomach
and
wondering where my genes went
wrong. Everything I feel my
culture and heritage is founded
on — sharing meals, sharing
bread — is a problem. Each pizza
crust dipped in olive oil is like my
own personal cyanide. I wonder
if my grandfather is rolling over
in his grave, wishing to disown
me for my inability to ingest our
Italian holy grail: pasta.
In a modern world, having
celiac disease is getting easier
every single day. Restaurants
and grocery stores are keen on
promoting gluten free products,
which trendy moms who are
testing out a gluten free diet
and patrons who think they’re
being healthy would consider
“actually
edible.”
But
the
problem, for me at least, isn’t
the lack of options or navigating
restaurant menus, but rather the
social awkwardness and stigma
that comes along with being
“gluten free.”
No matter how many times
I can stress that I am not
“gluten free,” but rather have a
diagnosed disease that makes
my body strongly irritated by
gluten products and will lead
to the destruction of my small
intestines if I do not avoid it,
I’m still that gluten free girl. It
makes me feel like a burden or an
annoyance — always being the
one creating the problems when
a group of people is ordering
out, or when someone wants to
share something. Being asked
“Oh ... you’re gluten free?” in
that monotone and judgemental
drawl makes me want to scream,
but normally I just respond,
“actually, I have celiac,” and
the conversation ends there, the
person on the other end blinking
in strange disbelief and biting
into their quesadilla.
The awkward situations that
come up are almost constant.
Thinking about how food is
pretty much the main form of
American
socialization,
one
can imagine how the celiac
community runs into quite a few
fumbles. Being offered a bite of
someone’s food — a taste of cookie
dough ice cream, a salad dotted
with croutons, a dumpling, a
slice of thick pumpkin bread
— all accompanied by the “I’m
allergic”
comment
will
end
a
conversation
every
time.
Birthdays and office gatherings
when everyone wonders why
you’re avoiding the cupcakes like
the plague and proceeds to offer
you them multiple times when
in reality you simply can’t have
them. Tailgates where people
hand you beers, dates where you
scan the menu for something not
weird but also allergen friendly
that won’t bring up the gluten-
free thing right away and the
“let’s order pizza!” comment
with the realization that you’ll
be skipping out on dinner — all
accompanied with the awkward
pity
coming
from
everyone
around you.
I don’t want anyone to feel
bad for me. I don’t want anyone
to think I’m doing this to be on
some trendy diet, or because
I want to drop 10 pounds fast
(which,
by
the
way,
going
gluten free doesn’t do). In fact,
I’ve really grown into what it
means to be affected by celiac,
and how I can make positive
changes to enjoy the world of
food without gazing, sardonic,
on the other side of a bakery
display, my head bubbling with
dreams of round profiteroles
and strawberry eclairs. Instead
of just the gluten free flour
options, I reach for interesting
substitutes,
expanding
my
palate and knowledge on food
— and cooking tremendously for
someone who has to try different
approaches.
Before being diagnosed, I was
always eager to choose going
out to eat over cooking in, but
now that it is easier to cook for
myself to ensure I’m not eating
anything I simply shouldn’t be, I
love to cook. Recently, I became
interested in chickpea pasta,
which tastes much better than
brown rice pasta and brings a
different flavor profile entirely
to one of my favorite pre-celiac
dishes. I also make cauliflower
pizza
doughs
and
gnocchi,
gluten free cookie skillets and
gluten free banana bread. The
substitutions I make for flour —
opting for almond flour, coconut
flour, rice and cauliflower have
opened my eyes to substitutions
I can be making for other
ingredients as well — clarified
ghee for butter and oil, cacao for
chocolate, almond and coconut
milk for regular dairy products
and a myriad of vegetables for
other common ingredients.
After
getting
past
the
separate pie on Thanksgiving
— alone in its dingy glory, the
awkward encounters and the
occasional craving for chicken
parmesan, celiac disease has
been a blessing for me. It has
pushed me into the kitchen,
testing recipes, experimenting
with flavors, trying new things.
It has led me to opt for healthy
alternatives,
exploring
the
potential of food and its effects
on my body. It has led me to
celebrate the ingredients I can
eat, to perfect my recipes and
dishes and share them with
those around me — especially
those who can eat gluten — to
show them that gluten free is not
a burden, but a chance to look at
things in a new light. I used to
think my grandfather would roll
over in his grave, a master chef
and food connoisseur, imagining
his granddaughter and her small
intestine opposing of pasta and
pizza and cannolis and the like.
But I’m sure he actually looks
down on me with pride, my
defeats accepted and turned into
gluten free triumphs, navigating
the world of food as it should
be navigated: with a unique
perspective, fresh ideas and a
pot of water, salted and boiling
on the stove.
We wheat again:
Navigating celiac disease
in a world of gluten
FOOD COLUMN
Josephine
Decker’s
(“Flames”)
latest
cinematic
offering,
“Madeline’s
Madeline,” hails from one of
the most difficult-to-achieve
subgenres of cinema: art about
art. The film is a deep-dive
into the legitimacy of high
art and creative authorship.
Did
I
really
write
this
review? I mean, of course I
wrote this review, but is it
truly mine? On one hand, my
analysis
and
interpretation
is
a
creative
entity
unto
itself, one that seems like it
would belong to me. On the
other, though, nothing I can
say here is exactly new, but
a creative process balanced
atop another creative process,
that of Decker. They’re my
words, sure, but they’re about
her film, her ideas, her life.
The film follows Madeline
(Helena Howard), an angst-
filled
teenager
who
joins
a performance art theatre
troupe led by the magnetic
and
talented
Evangeline
(Molly Parker, “1922”). Drawn
in by Evangeline’s artistic
vision,
Madeline
quickly
earns the lead in the troupe’s
upcoming
production,
but
as the show starts to eerily
mirror
Madeline’s
life,
it
becomes unclear where the
performance ends, and just
whose story Evangeline is
telling.
It’s
no
secret
that
the
upper echelons of high art
love to pat themselves on the
back and celebrate their own
artistry. From the aptly named
Evangeline to the masks and
dances
of
the
performers,
Decker’s depiction of high art
is imbued with an intense,
borderline-violent
level
of
religious
zeal.
There’s
something decidedly cult-like
about the troupe, amplified by
Madeline’s desperate desire to
find a community to which she
belongs. Decker toys with this
malicious fanaticism, using
her lurid and intimate brand
of cinematography to turn
the mundane and ordinary
into
overwhelming
sensory
experiences.
She
offers
a
cinematic
experience
that
audiences will be hard pressed
to find anywhere else, taking
the viewers into Madeline’s
mind as she struggles with
loneliness, mental illness and
artistic
discovery.
I
won’t
mince
words:
“Madeline’s
Madeline” is a weird, weird
movie.
Unlike
similarly
bizarre
offerings
such
as
Boots Riley’s “Sorry to Bother
You” — where there’s ample
creativity but little intent or
precision — Decker wields
her creative vision with poise
and
purpose,
delivering
a
well-tested rumination on the
creative process.
The film’s subject matter
‘Madeline’s Madeline’ is a
successful self-reference
MAX MICHALSKY
Daily Arts Writer
Oscilloscope
FILM REVIEW
is decidedly self-referential,
making it difficult to explain
to those who haven’t seen it.
Much of the wit in Decker’s
writing rests on the layers of
artistic performance present
within the film, from plays-
within-plays to acting about
acting. She positions these
moments deftly, using them
to make sharp observations
about the nature of artistic
performance. For example, the
film is scathingly critical of the
holier-than-thou
pretension
of the arthouse scene. When,
the film asks, does art become
less about documenting the
human condition and more
about
masturbatory
self-
celebration? If an artist were
to cover themself in oil and
lie screaming on a canvas,
are they really making an
artistic
statement?
Decker
weaves these questions into
the narrative as Madeline and
Evangeline take its twists and
turns.
Decker is able to pull these
feats off with the assistance
of Helena Howard. In her
film debut, the young actress
proves herself capable beyond
her years, flaunting a range
that should be the envy of
many
veteran
performers.
Her relationships with the
mentors in her life take a
variety of permutations from
loving
and
supportive
to
borderline oedipal to outright
adversarial.
Nevertheless,
Howard’s energy is incendiary
as she makes each of these
dynamics uniquely her own.
If this weren’t enough of a
challenge, she’s also asked
to pantomime a number of
animals, including a cat, a sea
turtle and a pig.
Wonderfully
weird
but
surprisingly
grounded
and
coherent,
“Madeline’s
Madeline” never lets its own
surrealism stop it from sending
a coherent message or telling a
well-crafted story, a problem
that seems to have plagued
similarly
experimental
releases. Decker manages to
hone her artistic vision to a
point, creating a film that is a
creatively unprecedented but
all the while neatly assembled
affair. In the end, “Madeline’s
Madeline” serves as proof of
its own hypothesis: The artist
must control their art, lest it
control the artist.
ELI RALLO
Daily Food Columnist
“Madeline’s
Madeline”
Oscilloscope
State Theatre
The film is a
deep-dive into
the legitimacy
of high art
and creative
authorship
6 — Tuesday, September 18, 2018
Arts
The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com