'Sons' and Mothers

I just finished watching Sons of Anarchy 302, and two things have struck me. The first, which is unrelated to the theme of this post, is the undercurrent of mistrust that is now threaded throughout the intertwined plot lines. I guess the only "honor among thieves" is the no-ratting rule. Jimmy O lies to the Sons about the whereabouts of Abel and Cameron; the Sons clearly don't trust Jimmy O; the IRA council, Father Ashby, and Jimmy O don't trust each other; trust has been broken between Jax and Tara (even if they don't admit it); trust is going to be broken between Gemma and Tara, Jax, and Clay when she finds out about Abel...it seems like the only folks who trust each other are the brothers in the MC...and sometimes that trust is tenuous.

I'm sure these issues will play out with ever more depth over the next eleven episodes.

Now...onto the thoughts I've been percolating since dear little Abel was abducted. It's pretty clear the similarities between Gemma and Jax. Impulsive behavior seems to have passed from mother to son. This impulsiveness in Gemma is something we only get tastes of. Can everyone say skateboard? Perhaps it's because Gemma is older and wiser that we don't see her act out of impulse as regularly as Jax does. What distinguishes mother and son in this respect seems to be the consequences. Where Jax's ability to act out tends to land on supernumeraries (unnamed extras), Gemma's impulses got her framed for murder and her grandson kidnapped. From the previews for 303, it looks like her visit to dad's house is going to lead to a hostage situation.

As I stand by my computer (at 2:30 in the morning), bouncing my 12-week old baby boy in a swath of fabric designed to help me hold him without the use of my hands, it isn't difficult to realize how easy it is to be an over-protective (even overbearing) parent. Kids take a lot of damn time, effort, and above all else, sacrifice. Goodbye beauty sleep, driving 55 in a 35 mile-per-hour zone, cigarettes (at least for me), and mid-week-get-fall-down-drunk-because-it's-Wednesday parties. The sacrifice is even more evident if you're a woman (sorry guys - it's true). Women sacrifice their bodies to nurture (when it comes down to it) a parasite. We give ourselves biologically to a separate entity that shares half our genetic structure. Phsyiologically, we're never the same again.  Only mutants regain their pre-pregnancy figures (and other parts) in perfect condition.  I wont go into specifics.  They aren't fun, and may deter those of you who have thought about having kids from going through with it.  The truth is, women are protective of their children because of the sacrifice they've made. 

Gemma's protective instinct toward Jax (and Abel) is therefore very special, because it is defined by more than just genetic connection and physiological sacrifice. The family flaw makes the existence of her offspring both a miracle and a constant source of stress, and all the more protective of them. The death of Thomas Teller from the family heart condition destroyed John Teller. Conversely, it might make Gemma (at least partially) the fierce mother she is. Her protective instinct toward Jax and Abel is about the love she has for them, but it could also be about the survival of her genetic contribution to their existence. They are what she has left to contribute to future generations - they are her shot at genetic success.

I've also been ruminating about the relationship between mothers and sons since the arrival of my own little boy. I have a daughter, and I love her dearly. But I realized the other night that my relationship with my boy will help define the relationships he has with women. His dad will be important here, too.  Learning by example is pretty powerful.  For women, the presence of a son represents a relationship that isn't defined by approval- seeking (with a father figure), attraction (with a romantic partner), or competition (with a male sibling). It's defined by love alone! And that's so incredible. So I'm beginning to understand the ferocity of Gemma's attachment to Jax. And I dig it.

Season Three Fever Builds!

Thanks to Michael Ornstein for the picture of this billboard in NYC!

Would Bobby Elvis use a crock pot?

You can bet your sweet ass he would.


Now, I'm willing to bet that dear Bobby is one for spending long, slow, loving hours over a hot stove, stirring a pot full of delicious epicurean delights for his MC brothers.  That's just how he rolls.

But Bobby is a busy man, and that's why he probably owns at least one crock pot.  I'm guessing he has a 4 quart for when he's cooking for himself, and a 6-quart for when he has the guys over to watch some Raider football.  Why, you ask, would a man like Bobby own something more commonly associated with home-schooling housewives?

There are at least four reasons:

1. He's a motorcycle enthusiast.  Good weather and an open road are more tempting than a homemade pizza.
2. He's club treasurer.  With all of those funds flowing in (and out) of the MC treasury, Bobby probably has his fair share of work to do.
3. He did the accounting for Cara Cara.  Who has time to be a gourmet when there's porn to be watched...I mean books to be cooked?
4. He's got gigs in Reno.  And being an Elvis impersonator isn't something you do on the fly.  Practice is essential, and the amount of work it takes for Bobby to fluff those curls into an Elvis pompadour is a full time job in and of itself.
5. And then there's all that other stuff the club does that can make it hard to dedicate time to clarifying butter and nursing a pot of risotto.

Thus, Bobby rocks the crock pot.  Throw some chicken, a little broth, some veggies, garlic, herbs, and pasta into a slow cooker mid morning (or whenever you muster the energy to get out of bed).  By dinner time you have a pot full of lovely, comforting goodness - just what a guy needs after a tough day of gun running.  And, most crock pots come with attachments that make them easy to travel with.  When Gemma calls a potluck dinner, Bobby can throw the pot on the back of the bike and deliver a dish that's high on taste and low on labor.

This is my favorite picture of Bobby. Ever.

Here's an example of what darling Bobby would probably dig as an easy and delicious slow cooker recipe.  I can't claim responsibility - it's an adaptation of this one from a lovely lady who dedicated a whole year to cooking slow.  I used chicken thighs instead of white meat, added butternut squash and substituted the garlic powder for garlic cloves and paprika for saffron.  I hope you enjoy!


Slow cooked Moroccan Chicken

What you need:

1lb chicken thighs (I used boneless/skinless - came out delicious and moist)
1/2 large butternut squash, peeled and cut into large chunks
1 cup salsa
1/4 cup chicken broth
2 t Tobasco sauce
1/3 cup toasted almonds
5 cloves smashed and chopped garlic (I used 3 t of garlic powder)
1/3 cup raisins
2 t honey
1 t cumin
1/2 t cinnamon
1/4 t chili powder
1/2 t paprika

What to do:
Stir salsa, tobasco, spices, honey, garlic, and broth together.  Place thighs and squash in cooker and cover evenly with sauce.  Add raisins and almonds.  I used a 6 qt cooker and the chicken was done in about 4.5 hours.  I served over quinoa, but couscous is traditional (or some other hearty grain).