Why it isn’t polite to stop for a stopped cyclist

I feel like I’ve ranted about this topic at length, but I can’t find any evidence, so it must have been on Twitter. The issue deserves some explication, since I think this is a point of actual confusion among decent people who are actually trying to be nice.

You should not stop when you have the right of way just because you see a person sitting on a bicycle preparing to travel across your travel path. In all interactions, please, proceed according to right-of-way laws. That does mean that the following advice does not apply to people walking, and it also doesn’t apply to people on bicycles using a crosswalk where sidewalk riding is permitted.

Caveat: always attempt to avoid any imminent or probable collision. Safe and wrong is better than sorry. Safe and correct is better than safe and wrong.

That out of the way, right now I’m talking about you, a kind Portland driver (or a kind anywhere else driver) traveling on a street, seeing a stopped or slowing-to-stop rider in the street at the intersection where the street the rider is on has a stop sign. Your street may or may not have one. In either case, proceed according to right-of-way laws. That means stop if you have a stop sign. Then, proceed in your turn (which means going first if you arrived first). If you have no stop sign, don’t stop. If you have one, don’t insist that the rider precede you if you arrived first.

Why? you say to me innocently. I’m just trying to be nice.

I know you’re trying to be nice, but it’s mostly confusing, and therefore mostly annoying, because it breaks predictability, which breaks safety and efficiency, which are virtually everyone’s first and second goals in traveling around (not necessarily in that order). There are two reasons it does this.

  1. Your car does not have the magic power to stop every other car on the road. Just because you stopped does not mean the rider can safely proceed.
  2. The rider already has predictions and plans about when it will be safe to cross. Your behavior screws up those predictions and usually creates delay.

Neither opposing traffic, nor traffic in the other lane, nor traffic behind you will necessarily stop because you have. You might even trigger a rear-end collision if the person or people behind you aren’t paying attention, since no one expects you to stop for no apparent reason.

If I’m waiting on the cross street and there’s actually traffic on the main street, I have to check that your stoppage has triggered everyone else to stop. Often this doesn’t happen (in which case you wasted everyone’s time), or takes a long time. If it takes a long time, you and I could already have both been out of here, along with everyone else, if only you had taken your turn. It could also change at any time. If I see everyone stopped and decide to cross, and suddenly one of the people behind you gets impatient and darts into the intersection, or the opposing direction of traffic changes their mind about stopping because I’m waiting too long so they think I’m not going to go but oh I am going, guess what happens? I get squished, and we don’t really know whose fault it is, so according to the police it is most likely my fault and therefore I get to pay all my medical bills and your car repair bills. No thanks! I’ll wait!

Or, if I’m waiting on the cross street and there’s not really much traffic on the main street, or it’s just you or most of the line of traffic has already passed, traffic is about to be clear if only you would get the heck out of the way, so do it. If I’ve already stopped or even put my foot down, gesturing for me to go is not doing me a favor. I already lost all my momentum. If you would just go already, you and everyone else would be out of my way and everyone would be happy and delighted and we wouldn’t be wasting this time waving at each other and getting increasingly frustrated.

In summary, there is no circumstance under which you deciding that you need to stop out of turn so that I can proceed out of turn will predictably end in happiness. It is possible that it may end in happiness, and I do take advantage of the possibility sometimes, because if everyone does stop and there really is a long line of traffic, that’s a less confusing and usually less dangerous way to resolve the situation than being annoying in turn and refusing to go so that everyone stopped for absolutely nothing.

But if I am refusing to go, there’s a reason, which is that I don’t think it’s safe or I think you’re wasting my time and probably someone else’s as well. So if I’m not going, please take your turn instead of sitting on your high horse thinking you know what I’m supposed to do. You do what you’re supposed to, and I’ll do what I’m supposed to. That’s only polite.

Not terribly impressed with The Long Tail

So far I’m not impressed with Chris Anderson’s The Long Tail. It was boring for several chapters as it banged on about things I already know. Then it was interesting for about a chapter as it described the rise of the enabling technologies and early “long tails” like Sears Roebuck (plus the founding of Amazon).

Then it degenerated into terrible metaphors about astronomy (neutrinos do not go through the earth “like bullets through tissue paper”, obviously, because they don’t shred the earth to bits) and tautologies like “what’s notable is that none of them [the amateur astronomers] do it for money”. Well, yes. Because if they did, we’d call them professionals, and put them in the other category of the “Pro-Am” partnership you’re describing. Not to mention describing a supernova seen by a telescope as being “witnessed by the naked eye” and the clunky way he describes the fact that an event that was witnessed just now from Earth but took place 168,000 light years away would have taken place 168,000 years ago.

Next comes overheated rhapsodizing about Wikipedia and Google, wherein he asserts that probabilistic systems are “simply counterintuitive to our mammalian brains” (this is true in some ways, but not in others), that Wikipedia created order out of chaos (not really a great description; it created order out of not very much, not out of a swirling vortex of disorder), and that it is “completely unbounded by space and production constraints” (which is definitely why it’s always asking us for money). Not to mention that he claims that Britannica has a line beyond which “this is not worthy” but Wikipedia doesn’t. Actually, the lines are just in different places: Wikipedia’s Notability guidelines anyone? Things get deleted from Wikipedia all the time. In this chapter he also says that The Wisdom of Crowds (which is a book I actually did enjoy about a concept that can be as easily summed up as the Long Tail) is about Adam Smith’s invisible hand of the market. Certainly that aspect of the wisdom of crowds is mentioned, but it’s far from the only or even the main thing the book is about — most of it covers modern social science research.

It doesn’t really get good again until the detailed analysis of music marketing in Chapter 7. Interesting case studies I didn’t know about! Yes!

Basically, The Long Tail gives the impression of a well-honed presentation that had much less well-honed “book material” added to it — occasionally interesting, but often not — which is disappointing. Although it may be unfair to criticize a book that’s probably the ultimate reason why I already know about its ideas for not having fresh information, the best idea books I’ve read have far more substance than their core ideas suggest (see The Wisdom of Crowds). There’s nothing wrong with the information in the book being out of date (Netflix is no longer primarily a physical goods aggregator, having gotten into the digital aggregation business, where the getting is better) but not having interesting information in there to begin with makes it difficult to trudge through, in spite of Anderson’s usually engaging, conversational style.

What can I contribute?

Asked of oneself, in the context of being able to contribute one’s non-material resources to societal endeavors, the question What can I contribute? can be taken at least two ways. One is: what resources am I able to contribute, or capable of contributing? The other is: what resources can I offer that constitute a unique and valuable contribution?

I’m lucky to have a job where I frequently have the opportunity to make a contribution to improving people’s experience with software that’s important to their business or profession. I do that alongside other people with a similar role, which is a great opportunity to see both the common contributions that we bring and the unique and valuable ones. Everyone I work with has really strong technical skills, proven ability to analyze complex problems and identify solutions, and the ability to express those problems and solutions clearly and appropriately in speech and writing. But we all have different styles of expressing ourselves, different specific technical knowledge areas, and different ways of looking at problems. I’m particularly interested in documentation, zero in on and remember details, and tend to focus on the core issue without a lot of verbal decoration. I also have a great head for correct and effective process and a related, more amorphous thing that I think of as ‘appropriateness’ — I’m unlikely to jump into a situation headlong and ask for something that was already provided or try to answer a question I’m just guessing at. That’s a pretty cool thing that I’m good at. The flip side of that skill is “get ‘er done” — jump in and move things along, even if you don’t always get it quite right. It’s also valuable, but it’s not something that I personally am best at doing. It’s great to be part of a team so that I can focus on using my skills where they’re most needed and letting others do the same.

Applying that same thinking to transportation advocacy seems fruitful. Being on the sidelines right now means I’m mostly tuned out, but I’m still friends with my friends and Twitter is still Twitter, so I have the chance to see some of what happens with me out of the game. And the answer is: mostly the same stuff happens. I’m not the axis on which that world turns (obviously), but when I was in the midst of it, it was easy to think that because I could contribute something, that meant I should, because the work I was doing was important and therefore doing as much as I could was obviously valuable.

This seems honestly kind of stupid in retrospect. Most of what I can contribute (in the first sense) in advocacy can also be contributed by other people. As in my job, I’m one of several to dozens of people with similar capabilities and inclinations. Is this kind of contribution valueless? Definitely not. At work we’ve got a certain ticket load and my base contributions are important to keeping that load manageable. And in advocacy there’s a certain amount of basic work to be done that creates value by showing interest and articulating opinions — writing letters, making requests, commentating on issues, having discussions, attending meetings. But almost anyone can do this, and I don’t do most of it remarkably better than most people, aside from being a good letter-writer. Unlike in my professional life, though, I’m not as clear on what I do in advocacy that is unique and valuable, and that’s part of what I’d like to figure out during this hiatus.

This idea has a pretty broad application — it’s worth thinking about how it applies to close relationships, general socializing, and internet/social media as well, but that’s too long for one post (and I’m too tired).

Road $$ is not cycling $$

There’s a problem with transportation funding framing. The problem is exemplified by the notion that we have enough money to build and maintain roads, but not enough money to build out bike facilities.

Frankly this doesn’t make any sense, and no one should be allowed to say it ever again without being strictly challenged on their assumptions. Building and maintaining any kind of bicycle facility is so much cheaper than building an auto-oriented facility for equivalent capacity. Furthermore, bicycle facilities require less maintenance because they suffer less wear and tear from heavy vehicles. So building a bicycle facility that will be consistently used is a great investment in the present and a great one for the future, because it is cheap and long-lasting.

If this doesn’t make any sense, why are people allowed to say it? Some of it is due to funding obligation. Transportation agencies can’t remove previously committed money from certain pots without repercussions. But I think this isn’t the real reason. The real reason is that money for bike facilities is seen as an add-on to money for roads, with the occasional exception being standalone trails, which are often funded differently. Makes sense, right? I mean, most bike facilities are currently just special parts of roads, so they pretty much are add-ons to roads. They’re not a separate system. There’s rarely much that’s separate about them!

It’s interesting to think about how this may have been affected by cycling advocacy history. In the 1970s when the Dutch were building real bike facilities, we were building pretty bad bike paths kind of off to the sides of roads, which caused all kinds of problems. The advocates of the time decided that this was terrible, and that furthermore bike paths could never be convenient or safe because these paths weren’t, and the real solution was to ride on the road. That’s the basic landscape we’ve been working with ever since. Even as bike lanes and now “separated” cycletracks have come into vogue, the basic model we have is that bikes ride on the road and act like every other vehicle, and that space where bikes ride is taken from the rest of the road and funded from the same pot as any other road money, for the most part. There are some special small pots that can be used as well, but mostly it’s just the same money as everything else. Oregon’s famous Bike Bill (which is pretty widely seen as awesome, and is, for what it was) is actually just a requirement that’s very explicitly on top of this model that says that a certain amount of this pot has to be used for bike things and that bike things are supposed to be a routine part of making and remaking roads.

If you look at it this way, it’s not a surprise that there’s a problem with framing around bike facilities, and not just for funding. Anything that “bikes” get is something that other vehicles that are not allowed in bike lanes don’t get, whether it’s money or space. So of course there’s no money for bikes, right? Because there’s hardly any money these days, and it’s supposed to be road money, vehicle money. And the majority of the population still drives, because we haven’t built very many good bike facilities, so they think that the money should be used for them, and not for bikes.

I’m not dissing “road funding” here. Roads carry the freight that brings me goods and the buses I ride and the neighborhood streets that I ride on. The point I want to make is that there’s a mistake in the framing. Proper bike facilities following major travel routes, the kind that are truly 8 to 80, are not just add-ons to roads, and the funding they require is not just an add-on, an extra, to road funding. Cycling is a different way to travel around, and outside of neighborhood streets and other extremely low-traffic or extremely low-speed areas, it requires separate facilities in order to be a safe way to travel. And there will never, ever be a majority of people riding until it’s a safe, consistent, easy way to travel. You can’t get there from where you are, framing-wise. Those facilities need their own funding stream and their own space and their own engineering system. They can’t be contingent on “road funding” because they aren’t roads. They’re places to ride bikes to get around. They need to go everywhere that roads do (so, like sidewalks, it makes a lot of sense for them to coexist in the same corridor as roads), and maybe places that roads don’t, or don’t in the same way (so they need to be separately considered as well).

Tell the truth: there is enough money for bike facilities. You just don’t want to use it for them, because you think that roads are more important.

How not to be a jerk: pay attention to signal timing

When I had a sprained ankle, I got passed a lot on the bike. And I noticed, even more than I had noticed before, that after people passed me, I frequently caught up to them. That doesn’t mean they shouldn’t have passed me, but it does mean that when they passed me dangerously, or when they passed me and then obstructed my start out of the intersection where I caught up to them, I really noticed how little that pass gained them, and how it sometimes inconvenienced me as well. That’s being a jerk — and not only that, it’s being a jerk to no purpose.

How do you avoid that? Well, first of all, don’t be a jerk to begin with. Whether you’re driving or riding, pass safely, leaving plenty of room, and only on the left. If you’re riding, only pass when traveling; don’t shoal at intersections. But second of all, pay attention to signal timing. Traffic signals work in systems (I think everyone knows at least that much) so if you pay attention and experiment, you can figure out when a signal is likely to turn green or red. On one-way streets in Portland, the lights usually operate in a “green wave” at a certain speed, and frequently, thanks to the awesome Peter Koonce, that speed is approximately average bike speed, or is compatible with it. Even if it’s not a full green wave, you can usually figure out which lights you’re likely to end up stopping at. I’ve spent a lot of time commuting up and down Broadway, Vancouver/Williams, and the Hawthorne/Ladd/Clinton corridor, and all of those corridors have key signals (the longer red signals at major cross streets) which you tend to depart from at certain times that make for relatively predictable timing of the rest of the experience.

Newsflash: usually, after you passed me on those corridors, somewhere on NE Broadway, along Hawthorne, in Ladd’s, or on the slope between Russell and Fremont, I caught up to you at Seven Corners, or one of the ends of the Broadway Bridge, or at Fremont or Shaver or Russell or Broadway. Whether you saw me or not, I was right behind you. Occasionally, someone’s really fast or really lucky, but most people? It makes absolutely no difference whether you blast up from the Broadway Bridge toward Williams or just go along comfortably — you’ll end up waiting at Vancouver/Winning for that long light to finish before you can move on to Broadway or Williams. Rushing through the light at Emmanuel? Don’t bother — Russell doesn’t go green that fast, and after it does, you’ll still have to wait at Vancouver and Broadway.

Some of this is bike-specific. Seeing yellow at Victoria on Broadway? Don’t rush — you won’t get the bike signal at Williams until after the LBI for Victoria anyway. That doesn’t apply for cars, for whom the timing is different, but the takeaway is the same: cool it and wait your turn; we’ll still all make it through. And next time you’re stymied, pay attention to the signal timing.

Vision Zero and enforcement?

When you’re walking and riding around and you see people in 2-ton vehicles doing things that are dangerous to you, I think it’s natural response (especially for rule-followers like me) to think “Someone should stop them from doing that.” Often what they’re doing is already illegal, so it’s natural to think that enforcement by the police would be the way to fix the problem. And indeed, enforcement is one of the “three Es” of traditional traffic safety problem-solving: engineering, education, and enforcement.

You know what, though? I think it’s usually listed last for a reason. Enforcement for street safety is about fear: not doing something for fear of the consequences. And police enforcement is the wrong consequence for dangerous drivers to be afraid of, in my opinion. I want people to drive safely because they care about their fellow human beings, because they understand what it’s like to be the one out there walking or riding, because they know it won’t benefit them, won’t get them anywhere any faster if they try to cut corners (figuratively or literally). Fear has a place in this as well: I want people to fear the social disapproval of others who do feel that propelling a two-ton metal object around at high speed is a privilege that only the deserving should have. Fearing the police seems like a last resort.

Enforcement is important, because there will always be people who will try to get away with anything they can get away with, and because if there are no penalties for dangerous driving, then there’s little motivation for those people to change. And enforcement is entwined with the cultural change that would be required for people to feel the way I described above. Something being illegal and having heavy penalties reinforces a social sense that it’s unacceptable. But the equation goes both ways. Something has to be seen as unacceptable before it can be assigned heavy penalties.

Education is lovely, but I think the main burden here has to fall on engineering. We know how to create streets that are safe for people. If streets are designed for low car speeds and provide plenty of space for walking and biking, people will respond to the system, speeds will go down, more people will walk and bike, and the culture will become open to the notion that safe, slow driving is required, not optional. You stop at a stop sign before you get to the crosswalk because your neighbor’s child might be walking out in front of you any minute, or because you know how you feel when cars come too close when you’re walking. And you can stop at the stop sign and still see the intersection, because parking near corners isn’t allowed and so you have good visibility from the stop line.

Otherwise, stiff penalties for most types of routine dangerous driving, outside the more extreme cases, really are punitive, because drivers are largely responding to the system they’ve been provided. It sounds awful, and it should — I suffer the consequences of this every day, and so does everyone else who doesn’t go around dressed in a steel shell. But if the system is built with wide streets and gentle curves that encourage high speeds, if parked cars are allowed to obstruct visibility at corners, if walkers aren’t protected at crosswalks by one or both of traffic control devices (stop signs or signals) or very slow speeds, if cars can veer into and cut across bikeways on major streets, the system is telling drivers that these dangerous behaviors are acceptable, and drivers are hearing it. Sending mixed messages with heavy enforcement efforts and high penalties won’t solve the real problem: we have to fix the system.

Low-stress route choice

I decided to quit public advocacy for a while (time TBD), but one of the things I decided is that I’m going to keep writing stuff here if I feel like it, just focusing on my personal experiences and not trying to get attention for them. I can’t turn off my advocacy brain so I might as well write stuff down and see if any of it turns out to be useful.

I was riding home today from 20th and Burnside. When I used to ride from there I would just take 20th, because I live off 15th just north of Broadway, and 20th is fast and direct. But I got tired of people being assholes on 20th. It’s stressful and my goal right now is to ride my bike and try to enjoy it. So I started diverting. First I diverted from 20th between Burnside and Irving: now I take 22nd to Glisan/Sandy, then cross there either in the western crosswalk or at the light (depends how much traffic is on Glisan — if there’s a fair amount it’s easier to glide up the sidewalk and press the button). At first I took 22nd to Irving and then turned left, following that route back north (Irving is the natural choice of where to get off 21st when coming south). Now I’ve added additional diversion and take 22nd north. I can take it all the way to Pacific and then turn left and then right to come right out on the bridge, where the bike lane is. This not only bypasses the segment from Irving to Pacific that has no bike lane and then the awkward curve in the bike lane, it prevents having to divert to 20th and then end up back on 21st. (The specific path through here isn’t that important, but 22nd also avoids the dairy trucks better.)

No options until you get to Multnomah. You can turn left there, but it’s a difficult merge and there’s a lot of waiting traffic so generally I had been going up 21st to Hancock or Tillamook, which is the obvious thing to do. Today I realized that I could actually merge with traffic and then turn left at Clackamas (roughly where parking usually starts). Then it’s an easy jet up 16th. Very relaxing comparatively.

My behavior is interesting to me because it relates to a post I wrote previously called What if your design rider is wrong? As I mentioned, I used to ride on 20th; riding on the direct and fast route is definitely my preference absent other factors. But now here I am, constructing a mildly circuitous route (it really only adds a block to the distance, but it’s much more complex) so that I can relax and enjoy riding my bike. But does that mean that I prefer to ride on side streets? I don’t think it does. It means that I prefer not to be stressed (wow, there’s a surprising preference for you). I’m not a design rider, but neither is anyone else, really. We all just have a certain weight we place on various values in the transportation world, and mine have shifted substantially toward avoiding stress.

Reasons for that in another post, maybe.

UI things.

I care a lot about design things. It’s part of caring about details, to me, and also caring about user experience. I’m not formally trained, but you don’t need two years of school to figure out that doors that say push, but have a pull handle, are confusing and annoying. (On the other hand, this is funny.)

Most of my Design Things experiences these days come about on the web. Some recent things:

Websites requesting usernames or emails where validation fails if there’s a single space character at the end of my entry. This just makes me livid. Email validation is hard (so I’m not quite so angry when you deny me a plus character, although it is in fact valid, BlueShieldofCaliforniaareyoulisteningtome?), but trimming trailing spaces? That’s easy. Why is there a trailing space character, you ask? Why do you care? Just trim the damn thing. But in case you just care because you actually care, it’s because when you do an autocorrect insert on a mobile phone, you often get an extra space.

Facebook videos. You think I’m about to say something mean, but I’m not. I am super impressed by Facebook’s video behavior. The video is muted by default, and stops playing when you scroll it off the screen. Someone thought about that one for a while. Good job, that person/people.

Google Calendar looks up locations in Maps (I think it’s in Maps — maybe also in your previous events?) when you start typing them in. It didn’t used to do this, and I wished it did, and now it does, and I absolutely freaking love it. I love it so, so much. It saves me so much tedious typing.

Flickr. I can’t even. Embedding a simple JPG is now practically impossible; the embed code is pretty much a little app. God, it is so terrible. Do they know that people use devices that don’t do those things? And I haven’t even used the new website enough to figure out how much I hate it, but I definitely hate it (although less than some people do? maybe?).

The emotional challenges of advocacy.

I was having a hard time last summer and fall with getting back to riding my bike more, and with doing advocacy and encouragement work for bicycling. I didn’t — don’t — feel safe riding anymore, and I felt frustrated about the barriers to bicycling, so I didn’t feel comfortable encouraging people, and I didn’t feel that advocacy work was providing much return for the effort I was putting in. Everything seems stuck to me, like nothing is changing. Cycling is still dangerous and stressful in too many places. There’s a lack of vision within many parts of the city transportation staff; there’s stiff political opposition to policies and projects that advance bicycling and urbanism.

I am still in the midst of dealing with those feelings, but slowly, different experiences have inspired the return of the slow burn of conviction I’ve had for years: that the transportation menu for our future cannot mostly contain cars and the wide roads, highways, and freeways that we desire for such powerful beasts. And that because I believe that so strongly, I must, in the end, find the inner resources to go on working for it.

The first was this simple line, posted by a member of an online community I belong to, about something else entirely:

Nobody feels like they are doing a good job in advocating. Nobody.

That was the moment when I stopped feeling guilty for feeling that I was doing a terrible job, guilty for thinking that my job was hard. Advocacy is actually difficult. By its nature, you are almost always working against the status quo and for the underdog. You almost never get everything you want, and you have to work very hard to get what you do get.

Second: last week we watched Lincoln at a friend’s house. It’s an inspiring movie for any number of reasons, but for me, at this moment in my life, it’s best summed up with:

The greatest measure of the nineteenth century. Passed by corruption, aided and abetted by the purest man in America.

The process of moving the law forward is a messy one (laws and sausages are things you don’t want to see made). Even if we achieve great things, they may have been achieved in not-so-nice ways. I love and hate the process of moving from the crystalline clarity of the idea to the real details of how to achieve it in the current political climate. My mind is an engineering mind, and it likes that which is Correct and Effective. Politics is usually neither. But my heart believes in community input; it believes in consensus; it believes in the wisdom of crowds: that ideas are made better by more people examining them, that achieving something that people don’t buy into isn’t forward progress, that winning hearts and minds is as important as meeting budget needs and drawing lanes of the correct widths.

Finally, today I was reminded, in the person of Gabby Giffords, that there are a large number of people who share my devotion to the slow but determined method of achieving progress. Whatever issue they hold dear, they will go on pushing it forward:

Our fight is a lot more like my rehab. Every day, we must wake up resolved and determined. We’ll pay attention to the details; look for opportunities for progress, even when the pace is slow. Some progress may seem small, and we might wonder if the impact is enough, when the need is so urgent.

But every day we will recruit a few more allies, talk to a few more elected officials, convince a few more voters. Some days the steps will come easily; we’ll feel the wind at our backs. Other times our knees will buckle. We’ll tire of the burden. I know this feeling. But we’ll persist.

We can get tough and win elections. We’ll support our allies. And those who stood in the way will face a powerful advocacy community standing between them and re-election….

We will seize on consensus where it exists, on solutions big or small. We will fight for every inch, because that means saving lives. I’ve seen grit overcome paralysis. My resolution today is that Congress achieve the same. How? Step by step…

A politician to admire, and to emulate. (She likes bikes, too.)

Finally, riding home last night (it was chilly, and raining lightly) I saw the beauty of the quiet night and the slight fog, felt the strength of self-sufficiency, of resisting the cold and rain. These increasingly rare (for me) moments of joy and freedom are inevitably connected with all the ones that have gone before, and remind me of what I love, have always loved, about riding. Bicycling shouldn’t have to be a black diamond endeavor, and you don’t have to resist the rain and cold to be legit (there’s far too much mythology about toughness as it is) but as long as those barriers exist, I might as well make that work for me, make it part of my strength, not part of my fear, or part of the hassle. Because that feeling of freedom is worth it. It’s what I want everyone to have.


Smitten Kitchen cookbook adventures (7)

Gnocchi in tomato broth

This came out nicely in terms of execution, and didn’t take a whole lot longer than advertised (if you actually chop stuff first, probably it really would only take an hour). But: it took All The Dishes, it was pretty fiddly, and the result was underwhelming for someone who doesn’t love gnocchi that much in the first place.

I know, I know — why would I make this recipe if I don’t like gnocchi that much? Well, it looked really easy from a shopping perspective, and it didn’t seem like that much prep work (except for the gnocchi-making, which I thought would be interesting), and maybe it would be really good? It looks so tasty.

Honestly, I was secretly hoping that I just hadn’t had good gnocchi, and that making my own would finally convince me they’re amazing. But it didn’t. They turned out well — not the best I’ve ever had, but totally passable homemade gnocchi. Which is saying something, since gnocchi are kind of known for being hard to make. I think the reputation is a little undeserved — it’s irritating and messy because potatoes make sticky dough, but not actually difficult if you have some dough-making experience. Deb has you use a box grater instead of the fancier and rarer potato ricer, which is sort of fine except that half the potato just falls apart while you try to grate the rest. So I think, actually, you should have a potato ricer in the ideal case. Or I should have used the food processor — as if I didn’t use enough dishes as it was.

Anyway, the gnocchi aren’t the highlight of this dish if you ask me — it’s actually the tomato broth. It’s really good. Really, really good. I would totally make it again, at least if I can convince myself that ending up with a bunch of stray mushy vegetables at the end is worth it. (I’ll probably save them to add to another vegetable soup. I can’t stand throwing away cooked veggies, even if their essence is already extracted.)

But when you add the gnocchi to the tomato broth, it’s just these blandish white soft things in this amazing broth with some tasty garnishes (I used more basil leaves and parmesan, like Deb suggests), and I’m like “But why are gnocchi? I do not understand.” When all you have is gnocchi and tomato broth, they both need to be things you like. And for me they’re just not. I normally love potatoes, but gnocchi are blander than potatoes alone.

And the dishes, oh lord, the dishes. You have to understand: my kitchen is as small as Deb’s (or smaller), and doesn’t have as many cabinets or clever storage devices. I managed to use two pots, two mixing bowls, one glass storage container, one giant baking sheet, one plastic container, the grater, a strainer, the colander, and the usual suspects (knife, cutting board, garlic squisher, peeler, cup and spoon measures). I washed the cutting board and the knife twice. Things were precariously balanced everywhere. I was making gnocchi while cooking gnocchi. It was awkward. So it’ll probably never happen again. I just need to figure out something else to put in this amazing broth.