Whenever there's a storm on the way, my office is buzzing with anticipation: "Hey, did you hear? We're gonna get eight inches tonight!" "Oh, my -- better go shopping; who knows how long we'll be snowed in!" "I'm not worried; I've got 4-wheel-drive, I can handle anything." "Take a look at that green blob on the radar!" The next day, everyone finds it necessary to spend the first two hours at work trading war stories about the morning's commute, using terms worthy of Shackleton's Antarctic expedition: "The Tollway was a disaster area -- they were down to two lanes; couldn't see a thing; they had to send out rescue dogs; it's amazing I got here at all," etc., etc.
When the TV stations predict a storm of such Biblical proportions, people immediately stampede to the supermarket, buying as much bread, milk, and eggs as they can pile into a shopping cart. The mayor declares a state of emergency. Every school district in the tri-state area is closed. All this excitement, over a measly eight inches of snow.
What's going on? It used to be that every so often, you'd wake up in the morning and there'd be a foot of snow on the ground that you hadn't expected. When that happened, you simply put on a jacket, cranked up the snowblower, cleared the driveway, and got on with your life. Not so anymore.
I'm not sure how to explain why people have become such winter wimps -- but my guess is that the main culprit, paradoxically, is improved weather forecasting. Twenty years ago, the weatherman could tell you that a snowstorm was on the way -- usually, a day or so ahead. How much snow was going to fall? That was a crapshoot. Nowadays, they can usually give us a pretty good idea, four or five days ahead, of what we're in for. And the broadcasting industry has collectively decided that since weather's an easy story to cover -- all you have to do is send reporters out on streetcorners, holding onto their hats -- they might as well fill up as much time with it as they can. It's easier than ferreting out real news on which to report.
Push those pedals!
I suppose there is one legitimate reason for going into a state of panic at the sight of a snowflake: Nobody knows how to drive in the stuff -- even here in Chicagoland. After last weekend's snowstorm, I saw no fewer than three cars lying in ditches, by the sides of perfectly straight roads. Now, I ask you: How do you drive a car into a ditch, off a straightaway?
I've already argued (see The nut that holds the wheel, September 10, 1998) that the best way to improve highway safety would be to upgrade people's driving skills, instead of hiding everyone behind tons of steel and spending thousands of dollars per car on air bags, crumple zones, and other "safety" equipment. Unfortunately, this isn't going to happen -- in fact, we're going in the opposite direction. Very few motorists have ever taken a driving class of any kind (not counting driver's ed, which doesn't teach much of anything, beyond making it clear which is the "go" and which is the "stop" pedal).
In the winter, this is a disaster, mostly because when you have less traction than normal, you have to drive much more smoothly in order to keep the wheels from spinning and skidding. I like to imagine that there's an egg between my foot and the pedal (this goes for both the accelerator and brake), and that I have to get to my destination without breaking the egg. This is, unfortunately, not how a lot of people drive -- when they want to stop, they stomp on the brake pedal, locking up the wheels (and splattering the imaginary egg all over the floor and their shoes) and losing control of the car. They've never been taught that when the wheels lock up, you have to get off the brakes, so the wheels can regain some grip. Not having this knowledge, the poor souls step to the floor and hang on -- hence the cars in the roadside ditches. The same principle applies to acceleration -- you have to step on the pedal gently; otherwise the driving wheels will break loose. This is basic stuff -- but it's amazing how many people have no clue how to drive in snow.
These days, more and more motorists think sport-utility vehicles (SUVs) are a substitute for driving skill. They think that a bigger, taller, heavier vehicle is, ipso facto, safer than a car. It's taken as a given that an automatic transmission greatly improves a vehicle's driveability, and that anti-lock brakes (ABS) insulate the operator from needing to know anything about how to stop the vehicle. Well, I say a manual gearbox is far superior to an automatic, in snow, because it lets you use the engine, not the brakes, to slow the car down -- you're much less likely to break the wheels loose that way. And as for ABS, it sounds like a good idea, but studies have not shown that ABS-equipped cars are significantly less likely to crash than those without ABS. What's more, my favorite motor sports columnist (who will remain nameless, because he's probably not interested in getting involved in this argument) says he never used to miss the driveway of his Wisconsin home until he got a car with ABS, and that New York city cab drivers have experienced a marked increase in rear-end collisions since they started driving ABS-equipped cars. I don't know why this is true, but ABS is clearly not a magic bullet for winter stopping problems. Oh, and the statistics also say that SUVs aren't any safer than cars -- they're better in head-on collisions, but they make up for it by rolling over more often.
Getting plowed ain't what it used to be
In the good old days, suburbs like Wayland, Massachusetts, where I grew up, had no problem getting the streets plowed after a snowstorm. You'd have 12 or 18 inches overnight, and the next morning, the streets would be pretty passable. Things changed, though. Street-clearing got much worse after 1980, when a statewide property-tax reduction called Proposition 2-1/2 was adopted. (Under Prop. 2-1/2, cities and towns are limited to taxing property at 2.5% of assessed valuation, unless they vote by a two-thirds majority to tax themselves at a higher rate.) As anyone who's taken Bureaucracy 101 can tell you, when you're a town official and you find yourself short of cash, you always cut the budget in a way that's guaranteed to make people scream. Don't cut invisible stuff, like the assistant school superintendent who makes more money than the mayor of Chicago. Don't take away the City Council's cars. Instead, lay off some crossing guards. Close a fire station. Cut out the beach lifeguards. Or reduce the number of snowplows. Every local politician knows that when you make these kinds of cuts, the townspeople get upset -- and restore your funding.
After Prop. 2-1/2, the town fathers apparently decided that the snow plowing budget was a good place to cut, i.e. one likely to cause outrage among the populace. I'm not sure whether the strategy resulted in increased funding -- but I do know that it resulted in decreased plowing.
Whether or not the same scenario has played out here in Highland Park (Meg and I haven't been living here long enough to know for sure), when I got up this past Tuesday morning, and found some 6-8 inches of snow on the ground, I went out to the garage, fired up my trusty two-stroke Toro snowblower, and started making my way out toward the street. When I got there, I discovered that the street had not been plowed -- despite the fact that the snow had begun falling around 6:00 the previous evening and had been anticipated for days. The city was not caught by surprise, by any means -- yet they couldn't get it together to clear even a modest amount of snow off the streets!
Maybe I'm just getting cranky, as we approach the end of winter. The endless grey skies we have, here in the Midwest, get more than a little depressing. But I can't help thinking that people have gone soft in recent years, when it comes to winter. Come on -- why all the hullaballoo over a minor snowstorm? Why the war stories? Why the frantic shopping? On this last item, though, at least I can offer something constructive -- in the form of a recipe, courtesy of Meg, that may help get rid of some of those loaves of bread, cartons of eggs, and gallons of milk purchased by hysterical shoppers last Monday afternoon and evening:
Bread pudding
6 eggs
2 1/2 cup sugar
1 tbsp. cinnamon
1 tbsp. nutmeg
1 tbsp. vanilla
1/2 cup melted butter
3 cup milk
1 cup evaporated milk
1 loaf French bread torn into 1-inch pieces
1 cup chopped pecans
1 cup raisins (optional)
Sauce:
4 large eggs
4 large egg yolks
1 cup sugar
2 tbsp. cornstarch
2 cup milk
1 cup evaporated milk
2 tsp. vanilla
2 tbsp. dark rum or amaretto [Meg doesn't suggest an alternative for those
who, like us, are off booze -- but if you drop me a note, I'll ask her and get
back to you -- ed.]
Whip eggs until foamy. Add sugar, spices, vanilla, and melted butter; mix well. Add milk and torn pieces of French bread. Mix until all bread is saturated. Add pecans and raisins, if using. Pour into greased 9 x 13 inch pan. Bake at 350 degrees for 45 minutes.
While bread is in oven, make custard sauce. Beat eggs and egg yolks together until light and creamy. Beat in sugar, cornstarch, milk and evaporated milk. Microwave at high for 2 minutes. Whip with wire whisk. Continue cooking at high until mixture is very thick, stirring with wire whisk every 30 to 60 seconds. (If you overcook, custard will have unsightly little bumps, blend in food processor or blender until smooth.)
Remove from microwave and whisk in vanilla and amaretto or rum. Spoon over hot bread mixture in attractive bowls or glasses. Serve warm. If making ahead, refrigerate both bread and custard. Re-warm both in microwave.
Copyright © 1999 John J. Kafalas