Monthly Archives: June 2012

I Forgot

I forgot, for a few days, to do anything real. I floated around in a daze of celebration.

 (Grapefruit juice, fizzy water… and knowing me, like a 60/40 chance of gin.)

I was celebrating my new baking program, the fact that the season of mass produced banana bread was behind us and the simple rare gift of a few glorious days off.

In retrospect, my celebration consisted largely of me sitting in sun warmed grass and laughing at bros playing (really intense) frisbee.

I think my subconscious parts were trying to give me that bear hyber-nation* style load of summeryness that I’m not gonna have time for now.

And damned if I didn’t forget I was gonna lose all of these days.

I can’t quite make it to my favorite farmer’s market anymore. I forgot to say goodbye to the stand with the best tomatoes I’ve ever tasted.

I could cry.

 I forgot to write down how this stout and mustard braised pork happened. Forgot about soft buttery cabbage and creamy mashed potatoes.

My brain is full of holes.

I keep forgetting to write at you wonderful people.

I forgot to make a big enough lunch… which is really code for ‘I forgot to not eat my lunch for breakfast’.

Real life.

I’m a hungry lady.

I forgot to pay my bus fair this morning.

Ok, I didn’t forget.

I just didn’t want to. Yay, unobservant drivers!

I forgot to buy beer.

Shambles. My life is in shambles.

Who wants to be stuck drinking Jack and Gingers?**

… Me, actually. But variety is the spice of life/hangovers and I like to keep my options open.

 I keep forgetting not to aggressively stuff my face with this speculoos stuff. (It’s cookie butter. And though both of it’s names sound gross and fucked up, it’s really only one of those things. And it’s vegan. What? Twist. It’s like peanut butter made of cookies. So, crack.)

I forgot to look at my damn clock last night and ended up going to sleep… for a grand total of about four hours.

Seriously. My brain is slipping***.

But I think, even if I tried, I couldn’t possibly forget how to make curry.

Now, I don’t think I’m particularly authentic about… well, any of my cooking. I tend to just use whatever needs using. Which usually leads to ‘fusion’ food. But it’s usually delicious fusion food.

My better curries start in a blender.

What?

Yeah.

Truth.

Well, ok, there’s a little prep before that. But. Blender.****

Important stuff.

I’m not gonna give you a recipe for curry. See, I have this problem where I just dump in unknown quantities of things. ‘Cause I do what I want.

I’ll make more curry soon… and I’ll take notes. It’ll be awesome.

But I’ll tell you a secret now: after you blend all the super flavory sauce stuff (onions, garlic, ginger, peppers, tomatoes, spices, etc), cook it, by itself, in a tbsp or two of olive oil until it looks like food****

It’s a counter-intuitive process but the results are memorable. Even for someone like me.

*Poop plug. Summer poop plug.

Yeah, I ate some corn.

I’m sorry I’m so gross.

**Anywhere from a 1:2 to a 1:1 ration of Jack Daniels:Reed’s Ginger Beer. Deloicious. Add a little lemon juice if you’re feeling fancy.

***… slippin’ slippin’. Into the future.

****Ha. Butt blender.

****And/or diarrhea.

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Filed under Drinks, Grapefruit, No recipe, Uncategorized

Basics

A cooking basic:

-Get your pan hot before you put anything in it. Then put in your fat and let that get hot. Then add other, foodier stuff.

Some life basics:

-Don’t try to substitute coffee for sleep. It’ll make you too regular.*

-Eat protein. I’ve been running around tasting cookies and cakes and doing the physical labor that is baking and forgetting to eat enough real food. Basically, I just need to pack two lunches.

-If you want a bus to come, get someone to light a cigarette. If you want something to go on sale, buy it now… and again, when it’s on sale next week.

The universe is all about schadenfreude.

-When riding your bike in a busy street and see this:

… pull over and take a picture.

That’s a dude on a bike, holding a parrot.

What.

-When in doubt, fry an egg.

 With quickly sauteed flowering kale, garlic and avocado toast that shit is dinner.

Apparently egg frying isn’t something everyone gets taught at home. What? Twist.**

Eggs are totally the cooking and life basics of my childhood.

Thanks mom!

Let’s do a quick run through of the different kinds of fried eggs.

–Over Hard- fun to say, somewhat difficult to eat if you have an aversion to the slightly chalky texture that a fully cooked yolk can take on. This egg is cooked on both sides until the yolk is firm and the whites aren’t snotty.***

I ate these, by choice, for years.

Cray, I know.

–Over Medium- my current fried egg of choice as this egg is cooked on both sides, till no egg white snot remains and the yolk thickens to a runny custard consistency.

–Over Easy- this egg is cooked on both sides, but removed almost immediately after it’s flipped as the yolk is meant to be very runny.

–Sunny Side Up- the prettiest of the fried eggs, the sunny side up egg (I feel like I’m on a game show now. Everyone picture Vanna White with me) is cooked only on one side. This is the hardest egg to do right. By ‘do right’ I mean cook until the white is set but the yolk is still runny all the way through. This egg requires patience or a desire to eat squicky egg white snot.

I have little of either of those.

 But sometimes my pan gets sticky and I get too scared to flip my eggs. And then I cheat by throwing hot fat all over the place.

It happens.

#Only all of us can prevent grease fires.

On top of mac and cheese with bacon and caramelized onions, the terror I feel about this egg is washed away in a cloud of delicious artery death.

It was kinda awesome. No bigs.

Go make an egg!

You’ll need:

A hot skillet

Butter

To wait until that butter is hot

An egg, cracked onto that hot butter in that hot skillet

Salt and pepper, hot sauce, fancy pants herbs and spices, whatever floats your egg boat

Maybe a spatula if you’re gonna flip it, maybe not if your pan isn’t straight sided and a speedy flick of your wrist will do the job

Maybe a spoon if you want a sunny side up egg but want to cheat a little by spooning hot fat on top of your egg to make sure the white cooks through

Maybe cheese

Probably cheese

And a fork or ‘bread utensil’

Did I miss anything?

Good luck, people!****

*Everybody poops.

Did you know there’s an Everybody Farts book too?

**Schools, seriously, bring back home ec.

***Snotty whites=runny, not solid or cooked through=higher risk of salmonella. Salmonella is a thing that can food poison your insides. It’s good to avoid, but the risk in eggs is relatively low.

****Sorry if you’re not into eggs or are some kind of eggspert.

And now I’m sorry I put ‘eggspert’ onto you, Internet.

Yikes.

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Filed under Bacon, Basics, Breakfast, Fried Egg, Green, Home ec, Instructional, No recipe

Siren Songs and BLTs

Can we talk siren songs for a minute?

A siren song can be just about anything that you shouldn’t do that calls to you. Hard.

I hear them, like, everyday. I have for my whole life.

When I was three, four and five my siren songs were super dicey. Mostly because, at those carefree ages, I always went with my impulses.

Siren song: Play with the shiny big ‘toy’ cars racing through busy intersections.

Result: Dislocated shoulder.*

Siren song: Touch every open flame around.

Result: … I touched a bunch of fires. Ouch?

Siren song: Stand and rock on a chair with inexplicably sharp edges.

Result: Chin chok-a-block full of stitches.

Siren song: Stand on a wheely chair while leaning out our second story window.

Result: I couldn’t go to story time.

That was the worst.** Also, one of the only punishments that wasn’t just a short time-out. I got away with so much.

My siren songs have changed a bit over the years.

Siren song: Buy every issue of Locke & Key.

Result: Poorness.

… But read this if you haven’t. It’s incredimazeballs.

Siren song: Put bourbon in everything.

Result:

 Bourbon spiked Arnold Palmers.

Siren songs I hold off on:

Putting my hand in the running garbage disposal.

Walking into the giant ovens at my baking school.

Jamming the spokes of other people’s bikes.***

Shouting in theaters during live productions.****

Eating bacon every day… I don’t hold off on this one voluntarilly, I just can’t afford that much bacon.

I ate a friend’s bacon today… that sounded… not ideal.

#No shame

A couple weeks ago I made myself a BLT that I’m still salivating over.

 Sorry, the picture’s a bit fuzzy but I took it on my phone with the low-blood-sugar/why-isn’t-that-in-my-face-yet shakes.

It’s a loaded Spring BLT. Like a salad in bread and full of bacon. So, it’s exactly how I like all my salads.

In case you want to eat this beautiful monster…

Thinly slice a small red onion and a handful of radishes.

In a bowl, pour enough red wine vinegar over the sliced onion and radishes to completely cover them.

(Later, you’ll want to save the un-absorbed oniony vinegar for dressings!)

Add a couple pinches of salt and dried dill.

Let it sit and get pickly while you get to the good stuff.

Fry several pieces of bacon, pat off excess fat and set aside.

Drain most of the grease from your pan and sautee a handful of trimmed, rinsed asparagus on high heat for a couple of minutes, until they’ve got some color on them but are still a bit crisp.

Rinse and dry something like lettuce (I used red leaf and spinach. This really was a salad. I’m bonkers, I’ve accepted it).

Slice a tomato and some Dubliner.

Toast a couple slices of sourdough and mix together a couple tsps of whatever mustard you have around with a couple tbsps of greek yogurt (I was out of mayo. This actually worked pretty well. Shocking stuff) and some black pepper.

Assemble and destroy.

You look like you could use a good sandwich.

Treat yo self.

A little quick real life talk? My days have been chaotic, I’ve been sick or fighting something off for weeks and am just now feeling like myself again. I’m gonna work on building up this weak immune system of mine while working my tail off in this baking program and looking for paying work. I don’t know how much time I’ll have for this blogging business. I’m gonna try to post more, but I can’t promise anything regular. I’m gonna shoot for a post every other week, for now.

And now, a request: TELL ME YOUR SIREN SONG.

Too intense?

Well, guys, I really wanna know.

Throw a girl a bone, will ya?

*Or elbow. Probably elbow. But who can keep track of their own medical history? Squares is who!

**I love you mom. I’m obviously only alive ’cause you made the tough decisions. But I’ll probably never get over this.

Also, Everyone, tell me a story. It’ll be awesome. For me.

***My siren songs would be dicks. Obvi.

****As someone who’s done some little bits of theater and has many friends who are actively pursuing a life in that industry, this is the one that feels the worst to me. But the urge is never not there. I figure when I’m older, I’ll snap and be the worst audience member ever. Like a living version of Thespis, but less creative.

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Filed under 'Cause I'm A Kid, Bacon, Bourbon, Drinks, Green, Sandwiches, Spring