A Word About Comfort

Tonight I'm back from an event in NYC, 24 hours there and back, running all day and 3 hours of sleep. I also feel like the moron who was coughing WITHOUT COVERING HIS MOUTH behind me on the shuttle flight has successfully infected me with his funk. I'm beyond sleep deprived.

I only wanted one thing tonight when I got home: my comfort meal that I never cook for anyone else. It's a more sophisticated riff on mac and cheese, fish sticks, and peas. In other words, school lunch for rainy days. It's fatty, garlicky, filling, and hot as hell. I like to fancy that it'll burn our all of the germs currently congregating in my sinuses and throat.

Toss into oven: Trader Joe's Breaded Tilapia fillet. These are the bomb: they come three to a box, are under 300 calories, individually sealed (which makes my toes curl in food-preservation delight) and are like fish sticks but crispier, less greasy, and not very salty.

Prepare thin spaghetti and ready a bowl with unsalted butter, EVOO, a shitload of red crushed pepper, freshly ground black pepper, two to three crushed garlic cloves.



Drop hot pasta directly into bowl; the hot water renders the garlic and mellows it a bit.




Toss, coating pasta, and then shake in a generous helping of Pecorino Romano (I prefer Romano most of the time to Parm, which I find to be sorta... timid).




In strainer, dip some frozen peas (ginormous bag at Market Basket for $1.49) into hot pasta water for 30 seconds or so to thaw and toss with finished pasta.




Look at plate and realize you are glutton and will never be able to prepare a "healthy" portion of pasta. Rip into plate in sleep-deprived haze of starvation. Warm lovely feeling fills you as you stumble along writing your boring blog post and peace out to sleep.



Night night.

OK OK. Size DOES Matter.

Again, I've been remiss. Can I blame it on a missing USB cord that I found only when cleaning / reorganizing on Sunday? No? OK.

The Friday before last I decided to have an impromptu taco party. I can make tacos with my eyes shut and one hand tied behind my back, right? No biggie, just some chopping, sautee, whatevs. Plus, The Tindallator was going to help me.

After a trip to Whole Paycheck and an oh-shit moment where I realized my apartment was a mess, I began by making guac and salsa. A LOT. Which was a good thing, because my poor guests, who arrived at 8 as instructed, didn't get to eat until nearly 11:00. Why? How 'bout I just phrase it in the following NO TO DO LIST:

1. DO NOT attempt to saute lots of items in a small amount of time on two burners, one of which is actually usable for high-heat cooking.

2. DO NOT add rice with chorizo, toasted pine nuts and carrot to the menu last minute even it if is simple. It's still several steps: saute separately: chorizo; onion and carrot; garlic, bring stock to a boil, mix rice, sauteed items; bake for 45 minutes*. Now is not the time for innovation.

3. DO NOT drink excessively while cooking. This is an oldie but a goodie. Slainte! Sucker, you burned yourself again, didn't you?

4. DO NOT attempt to revive frozen corn tortillas by steaming them. They will fall apart into an defeated mess that you will have to guiltily throw away (ahem, Miss Thang).

5. DO NOT not assume that COOKING ANYTHING will be as easy as in a Normal Kitchen. EVER.

My sincerely apologizes to the friends that had to witness this COOKING FAIL. I got my just deserves the next morning, hungover and scraping avocado and hot sauce off the pretty bamboo floor.

* But it was pretty good. I think I found my first next dish to improve. "Mexican" or "Spanish" rice usually sucks, even at better restaurants. It's just... salty, orange rice only good for scraping up the rest of the grease on your plate. This was an improvement).


A few more tidbits:

Today I hit up the Siena Farms stand at the Copley Market: beautiful broccoli, brussels sprouts, carrots, and radishes for Vegetable Only Dinner. I like to do this about once a week: three or four steamed vegetables, no salt, no butter, etc. Plus, their produce is so flavorful that it's nice to enjoy it naked. Like other things in life.



My worries about whether I can bake in the Breville have all but disappeared. It's better than a full-size oven for almost everything. Then again, I haven't used a full size convection oven yet, but I've heard it is glorious.

The first loaf of homemade bread I made in my new place was the Honey Buttermilk Bread from The Bread Bible, a bomb-ass baking book. I'd forgotten how meditative and soothing the whole process is: mixing, kneading, waiting for the first rise, second rise, baking, cooling, and tasting--a long process that anchors me while I trifle around with laundry, cleaning the shower, answering emails, etc. Sadly, I was a lazy ass and didn't take pictures of Bread Sunday, but I do have half-eaten evidence.



I swear to god that I have eaten half and there's still enough left to hide my head behind. Well, almost.


I think this is against the blog rules, by the way. Showing my picture and all to the world.

No, that's not me. I actually look just like Paris Hilton.

Gastronome d'Ikea

Yeah, I don't know if that's really French—in fact, I'm sure it is NOT. Sue me. I'm learning Spanish.

This post has nothing to do with anything really, other than the regrettable fact that I could not sleep AGAIN last night and was on the Ikea website, among other, ahem, less reputable sites. Since I've moved into a studio apartment and have become obsessed with buying more crap to organize my smaller collection of crap, I've been dabbling in late-night Ikea porn. Don't worry, I clear my internet history.

I have solid evidence that the entire... experience... of Ikea is the epitome of slack-jawed American consumerism, despite its sleeker packaging and suspiciously socialist tinge.

First of all, the absolute furious clusterfuck existent in the parking lot, particularly on Sunday afternoons in September, is a shining example of North American laziness, overcrowding, and downright competition regarding parking spaces.

Secondly, Ikea has trampled the long-standing Target-$60-Rule. Perhaps you're not aware that was actually a tariff signed into legislation by the FCC and Congress, but you'll nod with recognition, based solely on the bill's title. No American adult can leave Target without purchasing a minimum of $60 USD retail value goods (90% disposable, 10% durable). Ikea laughs derisively: the current average bill of an average Ikea shopping outing tops well over $150 USD, "as is" furniture non-withstanding. Help the economy! Just like Georgie told us to!

Third, Ikea recognized the absolute house-of-cards willpower the average American has against a cafeteria promising $6 plates of "meat"balls and all-you-can-swill, HFCS-loaded Lingonberry "juice". Let's face it. We all go to Ikea with secret hopes that we'll be hungry, and that our shopping companion is starving / is hungover / has PMS / has no taste buds / is brain dead and has not short term memory enough to agree to venture to the Ikea cafeteria to indulge in fast food dressed up as--I'm not sure--healthier? tastier? chic-er? than Burger King, Arbys, or Au Bon Pain.



Since you're going to do it anyway, here's a quick guide to about the most or least adventageous time(s) to submit to your Dirty Ikea Food Craving:


Pre-shopping. This method is sure to strip all of your dignity and energy, no matter if you'd run a 10K beforehand and done some volunteer work for homeless children. You trot in, fresh from dodging cars in aforementioned clusterfuck parking lot. Smelling cinnamon rolls and gliding up the escalator, you think, "Wow, what a great way to start a day of hell—inhaling some tasteless food I neither need nor really want." After eating, you have no defenses to the lure of Swedish-designed plastic housewares. I pity you. However, if your "quick trip" (you are now shuffling along like a stoned zombie) stretches into Eternal Afternoon, you do have the comfort of knowing that there are many, many bathrooms for your now-certain use. If only you could find your way to the ground floor.

Mid-Shopping. This method is sure to cause arguments, fistfights, catfights, divorce, and high-intensity irritation. It's related to the sense of failure one has when they're almost ready to leave (and go pluck their 130-lb dresser box from ready-to-assemble) and are lured into the cafeteria. "Perhaps, perhaps I'll just grab a coffee. And maybe a slice of Alondkonnenen Caken. And some chicken strips, I'm trying to eat more protein." I pity you. After you load your car, slowed and sedated by lunch, you'll have to double back to the bathrooms.

Post-Shopping. This method may prove to be the least painful overall, and may help numb the pain you just experienced at the checkout from the sans-lube wallet-raping you just enjoyed. At this point, what the hell. Order one of everything. Shit, order two. Get the gravy. Extra gravy. However, be warned that this method usually entails a very, very anxious drive home with you praying you can make it to your bathroom "in time".

Not a Method But Worth A Mention. As a parting shot, Ikea offers the 50-cent Ikea Farewell Hot Dog. Like a stealth missile from Sweden, it slides directly into you mouth, gone before you even fumble for keys while wheeling your crap around in circles in parking garage. It's a dirty trick. I pity you.

Bon Appetit!

MIA and MIA

Why hello there. Yes, I suck. I am lame. I have not updated. Sorry. Between a weekend of houseguest and party, and a weekend of social stuff and Maine, I have been... lacking. This'll be a mishmash of random shite.

Let's see.

Stock making. For the first time ever (due to Miss Thang's advice) I chose to roast the bones from the Molested Chicken before making stock. An extra step, but OH. SO. WORTH. IT.


Before:



After:



As everything is sized down--the bones from the chicken (shreds were used for Mediterranean chix salad) and a couple of sad-looking onions and celery that were close to fermentation in my fridge—so I only ended up making about 4 cups total. Very concentrated, deep amber, full of fat (I rarely skim it, must keep booty at full size. Gots to represent Big Irish Asses).


In other news, I had a housewarming-my-good-friend-is-visiting-come-see-my-new-pad partay last last weekend. I proved that YES you can fit 15+ people in my place without discomfort. The key? Good food, lots of bellinis, lots of beer from Cambridge Brewing Company, and lots of Italian red from Trader Joe's.

Here was the spread. Most of it disappeared.




A word about sandwiches, made with "baguette" (or whatever the grocery stores are passing off as such): this tip from Miss Thang, and dammit, it works. OK. So, you have a sandwich. The bread is important to a point. But what I really want to feel close to, to be intimate with, is the guts of the matter. Miss Thang, on our Free Friday trip to Singing Beach this summer, made roasted portabello sammiches. They were the frickin bomb, and that wasn't just the Pims Cups talking. Her trick? Rip out the soft, overly-filling guts of the sandwiches and toast what's left, and cool, prior to sandwich building. The result? Crispy bread, emphasis on fillings, and no overload on bread.


I made Ultimate BLTs (applewood smoked bacon, crisp; pounded chicken seared in said bacon fat; homemade honey mustard; heirloom tomatoes, romaine, and red onion) and Caprese (fresh mozz; pesto; beefsteaks; more romaine). Note to self: next time, regardless of vegetarian friends, stick with more meat-based sandwiches. The carnivorous side comes out when people are inebriated.


Last but definitely not least, Granola.


Those who know me know I don't buy cereal. At least, I haven't bought it since I started making my own granola about 2 years ago. It's healthy and cheap, and stores well. I'd run out tonight, and needed to make another "batch". This term used to mean two cookie sheets full of granola (7 cups oats and other stuff). Well, now I'm down to 2.5 cups oats, 1/2 each oat bran and wheat germ, and 1/3 cup each canola and maple syrup.





Again, the Breville performed wonderfully. The convection action improved on my method, which is really about dehydrating the granola instead of baking it. When the heat is too high, it gets dark quickly but stays raw tasting. Likewise, I add the nuts 30 minutes in, before I turn up the heat for browning--otherwise you can end up with bitter burned nuts. Ha. I said nuts. 3 times.




Turned out great. And this size makes approximately 8 servings for me, lasting over two weeks for breakfast if I intersperse with peanut butter toast.

OH. And MIA and MIA? So I am old and lame. And just discovered the singer, MIA, this last week. Hot damn. I'm in love.

Latah.