The new X-Files movie, subtitled “I Want to Believe,” left me wanting to leave.

There was plenty of X-Files camp, the way X-Files fans like it: overwrought dialogue, cliché spooky music, constant foul weather, and perpetual furrowed brows. And there was no shortage of severed body parts in the snow, creepy Russian doctors hefting stolen bodily organs, and long-haired Irish pedophile priests who commune with the dead and bleed from the eyes. (Ok, there’s only one of those.) But I wanted more conspiracy, and I wanted more funny. More dry wit to make the other stuff more bearable. More moments like the one at the pedophile compound when Mulder suggests they “stay out of the activities room.”

But why dwell on the film when there are scientific questions to be answered? What I really wanted to know: Is it possible to do a human head transplant? Those Russian doctors in the movie appeared to think so, and might have succeeded had the dynamic duo of Scully and Mulder not intervened. In real life, surgeons are now capable of doing a face transplant (from a cadaver to a live recipient). But a whole head?

In the 1950s, Soviet scientists stuck a puppy's head on another dog's body. The results were reported in a National Geographic documentary that aired in England. In a nutshell: The second head barked for a couple of days, but the two-headed dog soon expired.

What about today, with all the advances in science? Is a head transplant possible?

“Theoretically, I’ll give you a resounding maybe,” wrote Paul Pietsch, professor emeritus in the Indiana University optometry department, in an email. The man would know. He managed to graft an embryonic salamander head onto the eye socket of another salamander (that had its own head already). The graft developed normally, with working eyes and snapping jaws. (There was a purpose to the madness— Pietsch is no Frankenstein—something about a study requiring radioactive isotopes injected into eye muscles.)

Whether a human head transplant would function is questionable. Writes Pietsch in response to the idea, “Egad!” And: “The donated human head probably would not integrate into the host’s body (even if we prevent its rejection). While it could be spliced into the host’s blood supply and thus kept alive,” it would be just “a living hunk of proud flesh (ugh!).” And finally, wisely, he notes, “Who in the heck would want such a thing?”

Well, in the X-Files movie, apparently the demand is there. The ugly old bald guy wants to keep his own head (that in and of itself begs questions) but needs to replace his failing body. (If the guy's severed noggin wakes up and finds his cronies have attached him to a young woman swimmer's body, I suspect heads will roll.)

My take-home messages: Rent (or skip) the film. Oh, and be an organ donor.

-Jennifer Holland

Tim Gunn gave a new set of marching orders last night to the Project Runway crew: They had to use green fabrics. No, not the color green—green as in environmentally friendly.

The contestants were all for it. “The amount of dyes that the fashion industry as a whole pumps into the rivers and oceans of the world is pretty gnarly,” one said.

The Green Guide has a fine primer on green fabrics. But to get the scoop on last night's episode, we spoke with Eric Sauma, manager of Mood Designer Fabrics in New York City, where Project Runway contestants do their shopping.

So what is an organic fabric?

To be certified organic, it’s how the plant or animal is raised. There’s no killing. If it’s silk, they don’t kill the worm. For cotton, no pesticides, nothing harmful to the environment.

Are prices higher for these fabrics?

For the most part, they’re more expensive. The process of raising the plant is more expensive. Let’s say 20 percent more on the average.

Are the fabrics different to work with than regular fabrics?

No, no, they’re the same type of fabrics. Some can be dry. But for the most part, it’s the same feel, the same weight.

How does the color compare?

To be fully organic you have to use organic dyes. In my opinion, [organic fabrics] aren’t as saturated in color. Some mills are working on it. But a lot of the colors aren’t as rich.

Are you seeing a lot of interest in organic fabrics?

There’s definitely more interest. There was a lot of interest from our L.A. store, asking for it two years ago. Last year, a lot of New York-based designers began asking. A lot of designers are doing their full line in organic fabrics.

Which fabrics were used on the episode of Project Runway?

The majority were hemp. It’s easy to work with. I wish they used different varieties. Out of 100 organic fabrics we have, they only used a dozen. But it was a hard challenge. The models grabbed the colors they liked.

The judges loved a dress made of a champagne-colored silk [pictured above]. Michael Kors called it “chic.” Was that the natural color of organic silk?

It wasn’t even silk, it was hemp!

-Marc Silver and Helen Fields

Photo: Rocky, courtesy of Great Ape Trust of Iowa

Dunston isn’t checking in; he’s checking out. And Clint Eastwood is going to have to find a new co-star if he ever makes a sequel to Every Which Way But Loose.

Yes, the era of the Hollywood orangutan is coming to an end.

This month, Steve Martin’s Working Wildlife, reportedly the only West Coast source of orangutans for the entertainment industry, announced plans to donate its six orangs to the Great Ape Trust of Iowa, a sanctuary in Des Moines, over the next few months.

Pop Omnivore wanted to find out more, so we spoke to Rob Shumaker, director of orangutan research at the research facility (which offers educational tours, by reservation).

Why did the trainers make this decision?

I didn’t probe to ask all their reasons, but they were partially driven by genuine welfare concerns. It was important for them to find a destination they approved of for their apes. We have some philosophical differences, but I think of them as good people and friends at this point.

Did they treat their apes well?

There are folks who raise welfare concerns about apes in entertainment. There’s a range of how apes are treated. My interactions with the Martins have given me no indication to believe these apes were ever treated badly in any way.

Is it a bad idea for orangutans or other apes to appear on TV or in movies?

It depends how they’re portrayed. I would never suggest a National Geographic documentary about orangutans is a bad thing. But that’s obviously distinct from entertainment or advertisements.

And what’s your view on apes in entertainment programs?

Some folks firmly believe [such programs] can convey a positive message and stimulate interest in apes. Other folks believe [they] diminish concerns about conservation in the wild. I don’t have the answers. It’s certainly fair to say this is an issue people feel strongly about on both sides.

Is there any sort of “apes in entertainment” program you’d be OK with?

It depends what they’re having the ape do. If I saw apes manipulated with special effects to make it look like they’re talking to each other, and they were obviously filmed at a distance in a zoo setting, that doesn’t bother me.

What about Dunston Checks In, the 1996 movie that featured an orangutan?

That’s not the kind of thing I would be supportive of. I have my own kids, and that’s not a movie that I would give them to watch. I guess my general feeling is that I am uncomfortable any time apes are depicted on TV, in greeting cards, in documentaries, or in books in a way intended to be goofy or comic relief, or if they are diminished in any way. Anything that reinforces unfortunate stereotypes about apes makes it harder for people to understand, admire, and respect them.

What if a movie depicted an ape as a hero?

A great example was the most recent King Kong movie. King Kong was very heroic. The movie also depicted ape intelligence. And that ape was totally computer generated. I would prefer movies that depict apes in positive and heroic ways, and I think the best situation is what we saw with King Kong—all done with computer graphics.

So basically you’re against using real apes in entertainment?

I don’t want to condemn anybody who’s ever worked with an ape in entertainment. I cannot deny that my initial exposure to apes—and one of the things that most stimulated my interest—was watching Cheetah in Tarzan movies when I was a kid.

The first orangutans from the Martins are now at the refuge. How are they doing?

All apes are individuals. They are affected by what goes on in their lives just like any person would be. The first two have been here a little less than a week. I’m happy to report they are very, very comfortable. Rocky, the 3-year-old [pictured, above] , settled in very easily and quickly—you’d pretty much expect that from a healthy normal youngster. His mother, Katy, who’s 19, took a day or two to figure out what was going on. But in the last couple days, she’s so relaxed and has been very playful and happy.

How do orangutans compare with other great apes?

They are not nearly as energetic or animated as the African apes—chimps, gorillas, bonobos. I think people interpret that as being sluggish or uninteresting or maybe not so bright, but it’s just a difference in their pace of life.

So are they as smart as chimps?

Everything strongly indicates that orangutans are equally intelligent and as capable as any other great ape. There’s some indication they do better on a lot of measures of intelligence than other great apes.

Any other notable orangutan traits?

They have a wonderful sense of humor. They’re great at capturing a moment and turning it into something playful or funny. I recall one moment when I was working with one of the most wonderful females I ever knew, Indah, who died a few years ago. Apparently whatever task I had given her that day was not very exciting to her. There was one particular answer on the computer screen we were looking for, one of 28 symbols. Indah reached up and touched every single symbol on screen except the right answer, then looked at me and waited for me to respond. On another similar occasion, she looked at the task I presented to her, turned around, and made a silly face by putting her fingers on her eyes, making a goofy mouth, and just fell onto me and wanted to be tickled and to laugh.

- Marc Silver

In Hellboy 2: The Golden Army, an apocalyptic good-versus-evil battle toggles between antiquity and modernity, myth and reality, New York and New Jersey. So what else is new?

For starters, the “Troll Market,” a bazaar of misshapen, magical peddlers hidden beneath the Brooklyn Bridge’s east tower. That’s where a particularly important scene takes place in the movie—and where Pop Omnivore’s geographic and historical interest was piqued.

Of course, there are no trolls under the iconic span, which was built 125 years ago by John Augustus Roebling and his son Washington and, at 6,000 feet, is one of the longest suspension bridges in the world. If there were such a marketplace, its inhabitants would surely be grumpy: 150,000 people traverse the East River each day via the Brooklyn-to-Manhattan bridge.

But it turns out that the span does have its share of surprises. Ted Timbers, spokesman for the New York City Department of Transportation, told us about a curious find a couple of years ago. During a routine structural inspection, some NYCDOT workers came across a secret chamber that looked a lot like a Cold War bunker. Inside was an honest-to-goodness survival cache: water drums, boxes of medical supplies (including tourniquet bandages and IV drips), a pile of blankets marked “For Use Only After Enemy Attack,” and some 350,000 high-calorie crackers in sealed tins. Most of the items were dated either 1957 or 1962.

Brooklyn Borough Historian Ron Schweiger has his own opinion. To him, the most unusual things on the bridge are the cathedral-like anchorages at either end. They’re mostly closed off, but in 1983, when the bridge was celebrating its 100th anniversary, he led tours through the eight, 50-foot-tall rooms on the Brooklyn side.

“Gorgeous, cavernous, unbelievable,” he says. “For years it was just storage space. But it also used to be a restaurant, and an art gallery. There are art shows there every year now. It’s a hidden part of the bridge, past and present. A real marvel.”

Further proof the bridge doesn’t need trolls to make it special? P.T. Barnum supposedly proved the span’s safety by parading 21 elephants across it in 1884.

And, of course, there’s the sought-after factor. No one’s quite sure where the expression “selling the Brooklyn Bridge” comes from, but the tribute to gullibility didn’t bubble up from the collective unconscious. According to The New York Times circa 1928, two different confidence men, William McCloundy and George C. Parker, each did hard time after completing their respective “sales.”

-Jeremy Berlin

If you have ever worked in a biology lab, you must watch this ad from Eppendorf.

If you have not worked in a biology lab, let me explain. A lot of modern biology is done by moving around lots of tiny drops of liquid. Say, a bunch of DNA samples that you mix with various chemicals, then run through big machines. The liquids are moved by, basically, sucking up a bit of liquid in an eyedropper.

But this is science, so you can’t go around wielding actual eyedroppers. The samples have to be exactly the right size and they must not be mixed. Thus, every grad student’s friend: the Pipetman, a tool that sucks up precise quantities of liquids into disposable tips.

If you ever find yourself in a situation that requires a Pipetman: Jab it into a box of tips until one sticks. Use your thumb to push the button down and hold it. Put the tip into the liquid. Let the button up slowly. Move to the new container. Push the button all the way down to expel the liquid. Push the other button to dump the tip. Repeat. For hours.

If this sounds like a recipe for repetitive motion disorders, that’s because it is. There are machines that pipette automatically, but they aren’t always practical, and nobody gives ‘em away for free, either.

Ok, now you’re ready for a boy band to sell you an automatic pipetter.

— Helen Fields

Over four decades, Werner Herzog has shot films in the African bush and the Amazon rainforest, the jungles of Thailand and the wilds of Alaska. Yet the oft-honored German director never thought he’d get to Antarctica, much less make a documentary about it. But after applying for and receiving a National Science Foundation grant, he spent six weeks at the South Pole. The result is Encounters at the End of the World, an odd, beautiful look at the people, animals, and ideas one finds on Earth’s coldest continent.

Herzog recently spoke with Pop Omnivore about Antarctica—plus space travel, the end of the world, and goat-riding chimps, among other things.

You’re exploring Antarctica in your new movie, yet you allege that the quest for fame and glory has ruined the spirit of exploration.

Well, we’ve already damaged the dignity of Mount Everest and the South Pole. And there are all these absurd quests nowadays to make it into the Guinness Book of World Records. [I think real] adventure ended with the crazy race for the North and South Pole. I mean, adventure in its original sense—of the medieval knight setting out into the unknown and coming back having changed his perspective, his life—belongs to earlier centuries. It started to die out when men would meet for pistol duels at dawn, and damsels in distress would faint on couches. That was a time when adventure still had some validity. Now it’s over. It’s over. If you want to book an adventure trip to New Guinea, to the “headhunters,” then do that.

You say the divers in Antarctica’s frigid water look “like astronauts floating in space.” What’s the real final frontier—space or Earth’s oceans?

Probably oceans. There are still a lot of unexplored areas out there. Besides, our solar system—and whatever is beyond our solar system—is not reachable for us. No matter what technology is coming up, we won’t reach it. Period.

So you don’t think a Star Wars version of space travel is possible?

No, that’s only in the movies. The next star outside the solar system would take hundreds of thousands of years to reach. It would be 550 generations [till the first humans would arrive on Alpha Centauri]. But those people wouldn’t even know why they set out and who they were—they would be complete freaks, breeding in madness.

So it’s impossible for us. We will not reach it. Period. And it’s beautiful that it remains the fantasy of Star Wars.

Tell me about the “professional dreamers” you met in Antarctica.

Everyone there has an unusual biography. In the galley you find a retired judge who washes dishes. The man who drives the Caterpillar is a philosopher from Bulgaria who speaks profoundly and wonderfully about our planet and our existence here.

What about the animals? In one scene you show a “deranged” penguin that breaks from its flock and makes for the distant inland mountains. What did you think about that?

I’ve always been fascinated by the idea of whether there is such a thing as insanity among animals. Why is it—and I posed this question at the beginning of the film—that only humans ride horses? Why is it that such an intellectually highly developed creature as an ape, a chimpanzee ... why does a chimp not straddle a goat and ride off into the sunset? Why is it that certain species of ants keep flocks of plant life as slaves and milk them for droplets of sugar?

Those are unusual questions, but I pose them anyway. I believe that sometimes a question is better than the answer.

Humanity, you say, evolved out of “violent” ocean life, and we see images of single-celled organisms with “borderline intelligence.” Why?

When you take a close look at underwater life, it’s immediately evident there’s a constant and permanent danger out there, and the food chain down there is absolutely relentless. So I have the feeling it must be sheer hell to live in the oceans as one of these creatures, [and that we did well to] crawl out from this terror, onto solid land, to get away from this hell underwater.

The “ecstatic truth” you seek in your films: Did you find it in Antarctica?

What I always try to do is to go beyond the mere facts—to find something deeper, something that illuminates us, that moves us in a state of almost ecstasy, where we step out of our own existence and experience something that’s different from what you normally experience when you watch television. Because I think the facts per se do not constitute truth. That was always the mistake of cinéma vérité.

But here [I shot] images that are beyond what we had experienced [before], of what we had seen in cinema. The underwater footage, for example, is absolutely wonderful. It’s like being in outer space somewhere.

Scientists in your film say that our “presence on this planet seems unsustainable,” that the “end of human life is assured.” Do you agree?

Yes. And it doesn’t make me nervous, either.

Why?

These scientists are looking at the history of biological life on our planet, and it’s been a constant chain of cataclysms and catastrophes. We had the time of the trilobites, and they disappeared. We had the time of the dinosaurs, and they disappeared. And we’ve had a very, very short period for Homo sapiens. It’s quite evident that this is not sustainable, for many, many reasons.

[The end of the world] is not going to come that quickly. But it doesn’t matter whether it comes in 5,000 or 50,000 or 500,000 years. It doesn’t really matter.

What if it happens sooner—like in your lifetime?

Martin Luther, the reformist, gave a great answer when he was asked, “What would you do if tomorrow the world came to an end? And he said, “Today I would plant an apple tree.” My answer is, “Today I am going to make a movie.”

Are we hastening our own demise?

We’re certainly accelerating it. But there are other factors that may be the more important. There are microbes out there that want to finish us off. An asteroid might hit the Earth. And of course we’re wasting too many resources. There are too many human beings. That’s the problem of problems—the sheer number of human beings.

Environmentalists, the green movement: Are they addressing the right things?

Those in the green movement are too [concerned with] certain plants and animal species. No one ever speaks about the disappearance of human cultures and human languages. Within 50 years nearly 90 percent of all spoken languages will be gone forever. That’s the worst concern.

Last question. This film was dedicated to Roger Ebert: Why?

I dearly love the man, because he’s deeply insightful into cinema. And he’s very deeply afflicted by illness: He’s battling cancer, and he’s lost the ability to speak. But he’s still battling on; he’s a soldier. I love the good soldiers of cinema, and he’s one of the very last ones. And I always try to be a good soldier of cinema myself. So I am saluting my dear comrade.

And besides, I got to say: “Roger, here’s a film you can’t write a [bad] review about. It’s dedicated to you, so you aren’t allowed to review it.”

-Jeremy Berlin

New Orleans just declared the Sazerac its official cocktail. A city drink by law? Now that's a piece of legislation I can get behind!

But what exactly is it?

According to the Oxford Encyclopedia of Food and Drink in America, the Sazerac was invented in New Orleans in the early 1800s. It began with a pharmacist named Antoine Amédée Peychaud, who had created something called Peychaud's Bitters, a blend of herbs and alcohol he liked to mix with cognac for his pals.

Sewell Taylor, another local, made the drink famous. He owned the Sazerac Coffeehouse—a common name for bars at the time. And he started serving the drink - which he made with an imported cognac called Sazerac de Forge et Fils. So the name has two possible origins. Either way, it has stood the test of time. But the recipe has since evolved a bit. In addition to bitters, the drink now includes absinthe, sugar, and rye whiskey.

All of this was good to know. But as a journalist, I can’t stop with mere knowledge. I had to imbibe.

So last week I took a seat at Acadiana, a popular DC restaurant with a New Orleans flavor. I was tempted by the big, cold beers being slung around the bar, but I kept my focus and ordered a Sazerac. "Have you had one before?" the bartender asked, raising her eyebrows and clearly doubting my level of tolerance. (I don’t know why—I stand 5’ 4” in heels.) "No," I said, "But I can handle strong drinks." She started pouring.

I took a sip. Yeeow! The whiskey went down my throat like a stream of fire. There's nothing sweet or slurpy about a Sazerac. Unlike, say, a screwdriver or a frozen margarita, the alcohol in a Sazerac doesn't hide behind fruit juice or a cloying sour mix.

But I liked it. Now all I wanted was a classic recipe.

I turned to Jesse Martin, a bartender at the famous French-Quarter restaurant Brennan's, who thinks it's "very, very cool," that the Sazerac has been crowned the Big Easy's official tipple. But is it really as popular in his town as the new legislation suggests? "Oh yeah," he says. "Especially in the mornings."

Sazerac Cocktail

Makes one two-ounce drink

Pour just enough Herbsaint (a brand of anise-flavored liquor, beloved in New Orleans) or absinthe into a standard old-fashioned glass or tumbler to coat.

Swirl the liquor around in the glass to coat. Let sit while you prepare the drink in a shaker.

Put ice in shaker to cool it down. Add four dashes of Peychaud's bitters, two drops of Angostura bitters, a couple of dashes of syrup (equal parts water and sugar combined), and 1.5 ounces of rye whiskey.

Shake vigorously for about 30 seconds, then strain into glass and garnish with a lemon twist.

Serve with pancakes, omelettes, or a big bowl of Wheaties!

-Catherine Barker

Just as she promised, Marcia Ball cooked up “emergency gumbo and shrimp remoulade”— for those days when you just don’t have time to labor over the stove—at the Smithsonian Folklife Festival. She did all the work in 15 minutes, then just had to wait another 15 for the flavors to meld.

Here’s what you need on hand:

1 cup flour
1 cup oil
2 big onions
1 green pepper
some garlic
4 boxes chicken broth
2 rotisserie chickens (already cooked)
2 bay leaves
green onions for garnish
parsley
salt
pepper
cayenne pepper

The flour and oil are for the roux, a thickening agent. It can take a good 30 minutes  to stir that flour and oil in a pan until it reduces to a rich brown hue. And it takes a lot of elbow grease. So you have permission to cheat. Ball reports that her brother was waiting in line at a Lafayette, Louisiana, post office and listening to the other waitees talk about food. And they all used roux from a jar. (Google “bottled roux,” and there it is!) “I guarantee that restaurants do it, too,” said Ball. “And you can’t tell the difference.”

In a large pot, she poured some of that chicken broth, and added the chopped onion and green pepper. She didn’t add tomatoes because she just doesn’t like them in her gumbo. She added the bay leaves and both rotisserie chickens, but no hot sauce because “It’s not my goal to burn people out.” You could add some small slices of okra, which also acts as a thickener.
As the minutes ticked by, Ball added a dash of cayenne pepper, some black pepper and salt. She did have a helper on hand preparing roux from scratch, which she added toward the end.

At one point she plucked out a chicken bone and noted, “People who’ve never eaten gumbo are sometimes shocked by bones in the soup.”

You can add oysters or sausage at the end, if you want. Voila: 30-minute gumbo! All you need to go with it is some long-grain rice. “To make it pretty,” sprinkle some chopped green onions and parsley on the top.

Then the lanky songstress prepared an even speedier shrimp remoulade.

She took a plate of lettuce and added some slices of avocado. “This avocado probably cost $5,” she noted. “It’s the most beautiful avocado I’ve ever seen.”

She piled some steamed shrimp atop the green bed.

She took a jar and filled it with ingredients for the dressing:

1 cup vegetable oil
1/3 to 1/2 cup vinegar
1 jar creole mustard (which is dense and brown but wasn’t around, so she used stone ground instead)
2 tablespoons paprika
some finely chopped onion and garlic
horseradish (optional)
Tabasco sauce (although “you don’t have to”)

Then she screwed the lid on the jar. “I don’t have a food processor,” Ball said. So she shook that jar with some serious hip motion and sang, “Shake it up baby, come on twist and shout.”

Hmm, the dressing looked a little thin. Maybe she should have used less oil.

To compensate, she added more mustard. The dressing looked good. Her advice: “Don’t skimp on the mustard. It’s the predominant flavor.”

Also: “Salt and pepper wouldn’t hurt it.” And just for good measure, she added a heaping teaspoon of horseradish.

The dressing was a beautiful shade of tan. She poured it on the plate of lettuce, avocado, and shrimp. And there you have it:
Shrimp remoulade!

If you want to try Ball’s girlhood dessert, take some buttered white bread and dip it in a saucer full of syrup. “Boy, I feel old,” she said, describing the sweet treat. “It’s like from another world.”

Oh, and no matter what you cook, you might want to follow the advice of a friend of Ball’s mother. If asked for a recipe, she’d always say, “First you wash your hands.”

Ball closed her session with a joke that shows how Cajuns will cook just about anything. Two Cajuns see a UFO land, and some odd-looking creature gets out. One Cajun asks, “Now what’s that?”

The other one says, “I don’t know, but make some rice.”

- Marc Silver

Imagine a love story between a sentimental trash compactor and a high-tech flying refrigerator with an iPod-like look, holding the fate of humankind in their hands, and you have the core of the new Pixar film Wall-E.

Trash compactor Wall-E is the last of an army of cleanup bots who were supposed to tidy up the garbage-covered planet while all of humanity took a pleasure cruise through space. As he compresses trash, he picks up treasures to carry home in a cooler. His trailer is full of human artifacts like rubber duckies, a Rubik's Cube, and a videotape of the 1969 Barbra Streisand version of Hello, Dolly!

He’s a charming character, but could he also be a role model for robots looking to take evolutionary steps?

For help understanding robot evolution, I contacted robotics researcher Hod Lipson at Cornell University. Lipson has built self-aware robots that use trial and error to learn the shape of  their bodies, then teach themselves to walk. Another of his creations can build replicas of itself from materials placed in its environment.

Lipson is trying to help robots make the "important leap" from automatons to creative problem solvers. Key advances would be using things they find around them in new ways and cooperating with other machines. Check and check for Wall-E: He works with other robots. And he comes up with uses for objects he finds in the trash, like a round piece of metal he uses as a hat to recreate a dance scene from Hello Dolly!

I asked Lipson what he thought about Wall-E practicing those dance moves. Would this mimicry help a robot develop something even more special: empathy?

Mimicry isn't the same as empathy, Lipson says. But recognizing that another being has plans, thoughts, and a point of view—and mimicking those—"would certainly be a major milestone for robotics."

Watching Wall-E court the flying robot, Eve, the audience is bound to give him the benefit of the doubt on empathy. Maybe even something a bit stronger. We do see actual sparks fly between the two.

The only mystery bigger than how Wall-E made this evolutionary leap: Why, on a planet covered in trash, is there only one cockroach?

—Brad Scriber

Marcia Ball will be cooking on two fronts this weekend at the Smithsonian Folklife Festival in Washington, D.C. On Saturday night and Sunday afternoon, the award-winning rhythm-and-blues singer/pianist will represent her native Texas with several musical performances and a couple of cooking demos. Pop Omnivore will be there and promises to post her recipes for “emergency gumbo and shrimp remoulade”—ready in half an hour, Ball says. Here’s what the lanky Texan had to say about music, food, and life after Katrina.

You’re part of the delegation representing the culture of Texas. What is Texas music?

Texas music is as big as Texas itself. All the influences that make up the music of an entire country come to play in Texas. We have Cajun and Czech and Mexican and some of the roots of the blues and soul music and rap and, of course, western swing and cowboy music.

There are Czechs in Texas?

There’s tons of Bohemians and Czechs here in Texas. We have a huge polka crowd. The Germans came to Texas in one of the first migrations, in the 1830s. They also came to Mexico, which is why Mexico has such good beer (and why Mexico has a great beer called Bohemia). They brought the accordion with them when they came. And the accordion came from Mexico up through Texas to New Orleans.

What makes your music Texas?

I represent the Cajun culture that doesn’t stop at the [Louisiana] state line but is very strong all the way into east Texas and all the way to Houston.

You’ve got a lot of New Orleans in your music.

I grew up listening to Fats Domino and Huey “Piano” Smith and all the great stuff that came out from New Orleans, and my grandmother was a ragtime player from Lafayette.

Did you study piano?

I took lessons when I was a kid, but like everybody else I quit when I was about 14. I started chasing boys and playing sports and stuff. Then I got into a rock-and-roll band, and after a while started playing piano.

You’ve often classified as a blues pianist, but your music isn’t at all down and out.

It’s New Orleans–style rhythm and blues; it’s got that energy and jump to it.

Your new album is called Peace, Love & BBQ. How come “barbecue” is up there with “peace” and “love”?

The song is about home, about country, about family—about anything you do in the yard where friends and family gather and eat and play music.

Do you have any secrets to making good barbecue?

Oh yeah—I let my husband do it! That’s my secret. My husband is the true cook and true foodie in this family. You know two-alarm chili? My husband’s father, Wick Fowler, started it.

Like many musicians from the Gulf Coast, you wrote a song, “Ride It Out,” that alludes to Hurricane Katrina on your new CD. But isn’t it time to move on?

Those people are still in distress. It’s not over, and we don’t need to move on; we need to move on it. I’m going to play with Tab Benoit and the group he calls Voices of the Wetlands at the opening of the Democratic Convention to address the need to restore our wetlands, to turn attention to the fact that they’re critical to the security and safety of our coastal country, and to our food and our resources. If you like shrimp, eat ’em now [unless] we do something about the wetlands.

Are you unhappy with the government’s response?

For the last eight years, [we’ve had] a government that doesn’t seem to much care about its people. I don’t know if you want to get me started on that.

-Marc Silver