No New Posts until mid-to-late February. BOOOOOOO.
:(
Friday, December 25, 2009
Monday, November 30, 2009
Dejected Bread Given Garlic Cure
How large is YOUR ass after Thanksgiving? This year was somewhat manageable for me, since I didn't host. A big shout out to Jim and Cristin for having me and The Republican over with Miss Thang and Mr. Ink.
I absolutely love boulé and sourdough bread, the big crusty loaves you can get from Whole Paycheck or Iggy's or where have you. Because I can never eat them by myself before they get crustified and dry, I usually save them for Houseguests. This weekend such a loaf found its way to my abode for the making of Leftover Turkey Sammiches (toasted sourdough, smashed fresh avocado, homemade honey mustard, Ink's leftover turkey, and super sharp cheddar...drool).
Turkey's gone. Bread is in sad shape. I've got a pot of veggie-white bean soup that I need to eat but damn it, its boring, even though I included radishes in it. Solution: Supah Dupah Garlic Croutons. I've never made croutons before and they're just coming out of the oven in batches now (of course I am plucking them out individually as they brown to perfection-- my pan was crowded and the bread not perfectly sized. Normally I HATE the nasty, dried out boogers that people inexplicably buy at the store and prefer to have good ones from real restaurants (Travato's in Omaha, NE, comes to mind--they used to cube and deep fat fry their leftover Italian bread. Awesome). The Tindallator's mother also fries them on the stovetop in BUTTER but as you know, baking is easier for me at the moment.
My method:
Cut bread into cubes, crush 4-6 cloves of garlic into about 1/4 cup of olive oil. Add a nice big fat pinch of salt, some Cubeb pepper, and crushed red pepper.
Transfer bread to large bowl, drizzle garlic-oil mixtures over bread, and stir with hands (this is not a first-date friendly recipe). Spread on pan, bake @ 400 - 425, and remove croutons with tongs as they finish.
I'm going to use these babies on the soup I have, then the rest on a salad this weekend.
Let's eat one...
I KNEW THERE WAS A REASON I DID THIS. HELL YEAH.
Except I am not allowed to make out with anyone for at least 24 hours.
I absolutely love boulé and sourdough bread, the big crusty loaves you can get from Whole Paycheck or Iggy's or where have you. Because I can never eat them by myself before they get crustified and dry, I usually save them for Houseguests. This weekend such a loaf found its way to my abode for the making of Leftover Turkey Sammiches (toasted sourdough, smashed fresh avocado, homemade honey mustard, Ink's leftover turkey, and super sharp cheddar...drool).
Turkey's gone. Bread is in sad shape. I've got a pot of veggie-white bean soup that I need to eat but damn it, its boring, even though I included radishes in it. Solution: Supah Dupah Garlic Croutons. I've never made croutons before and they're just coming out of the oven in batches now (of course I am plucking them out individually as they brown to perfection-- my pan was crowded and the bread not perfectly sized. Normally I HATE the nasty, dried out boogers that people inexplicably buy at the store and prefer to have good ones from real restaurants (Travato's in Omaha, NE, comes to mind--they used to cube and deep fat fry their leftover Italian bread. Awesome). The Tindallator's mother also fries them on the stovetop in BUTTER but as you know, baking is easier for me at the moment.
My method:
Cut bread into cubes, crush 4-6 cloves of garlic into about 1/4 cup of olive oil. Add a nice big fat pinch of salt, some Cubeb pepper, and crushed red pepper.
Transfer bread to large bowl, drizzle garlic-oil mixtures over bread, and stir with hands (this is not a first-date friendly recipe). Spread on pan, bake @ 400 - 425, and remove croutons with tongs as they finish.
I'm going to use these babies on the soup I have, then the rest on a salad this weekend.
Let's eat one...
I KNEW THERE WAS A REASON I DID THIS. HELL YEAH.
Except I am not allowed to make out with anyone for at least 24 hours.
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
We Are Experiencing Technical Difficulties
Or, in other words, an entry that actually addresses some limitations, and how I’ve had to work around them, and what I plan to do to further improve the functionality of the Hobbit Hole Kitchen. I haven’t done this much yet other that to bitch about the Taco Debacle.
Cooking: Outfitted with an Aroma two-burner electric hotplate and a Breville convection oven, I’ve managed to do pretty well—it IS just me, most of the time. The area most affected by my lack of a “real” stove is the hotplate sitch. A lot of my cooking has traditionally involved a lot of searing and sautéing at very high temps, as well as deglazing and boiling large amounts of liquid. The large burner on the Aroma, measuring about 7” in diameter, takes about 20 minutes to boil water for pasta (and you know me, I ain’t boiling 2 measly liters, I’m going to boil 6 to 8 liters with lots of sea salt). Keeping my large All-Clad chef’s pan as hot as it needs to —just doesn’t happen. This really isn’t a huge problem, since I’m no longer searing two 10 ounce rib eyes at a time. However, it’s pretty much impossible to start water boiling, and also start something else, such as a sauté, or anything that needs to be cooked at the same time.
Insert Giant Kitchen Time Suck.
I did a little research on that interweb thingie and came across induction burners. I’m drooling over this one. I am admittedly very limited when it comes to comprehending the physics of the heat transfer involved in induction heating, but I do know that it
a) works real darn fast (faster than gas)
b) is cooler and much more energy efficient than electric or gas and
c) doesn’t work with crapola pots and pans (i.e, pans made with cheaper alloys...thankfully most of my pans are high quality enough to pass the test, with the exception of my two saucepans, which I need to replace anyway)
I also “need” a smaller All-Clad saute pan. So, for in order for the $80 investment of a new induction burner to be “worth it”, I’ll also have to buy at least one saucepan and one saute pan. I’m really looking at a total cost upwards of $250-300.
Reheating
1. I don't have a microwave.
2. I cook in regular-size batches and freeze portions of soup, pasta sauce, and stews.
3. I eat leftovers religiously.
And HOW do I deal with reheating / eating leftovers?
Prolly the best decision I made was to invest in a slew of Pyrex glass containers with plastic lids. Initially I switched from plastic leftover Gladware containers (that would be reheated) to glass so that I wouldn't have toxic-god-knows-what-side-effect-this-could-have-on-my-chances-of-rectal-cancer side effects (and those of you still microwaving in plastic, shame on you).
These little guys allow me to freeze, thaw, and reheat. Badda-bing. The Breville has an awesome reheat setting. Home from gym, pop in a portion of veggie lasagna, shower, and dinner is done. Yeah, it takes longer. But if I plan, I'm cool. Microwaving food makes it taste like ass, anyway, in my opinion.
So all of this to say... I'm basically just going what our grandmothers did for cooking. Planning, reheating without microwaves, and planning a bit. It really isn't that hard.
I'll letcha all know when I finally join the Induction Club.
OK kids, that's all for now. I just made some homemade black refried beans, finished with melted butter. I promise somethin' more fun later. Oh, and I was able to find the most bomb-ass lard-filled homemade tortillas in Custer, SD. Who knew.
Cooking: Outfitted with an Aroma two-burner electric hotplate and a Breville convection oven, I’ve managed to do pretty well—it IS just me, most of the time. The area most affected by my lack of a “real” stove is the hotplate sitch. A lot of my cooking has traditionally involved a lot of searing and sautéing at very high temps, as well as deglazing and boiling large amounts of liquid. The large burner on the Aroma, measuring about 7” in diameter, takes about 20 minutes to boil water for pasta (and you know me, I ain’t boiling 2 measly liters, I’m going to boil 6 to 8 liters with lots of sea salt). Keeping my large All-Clad chef’s pan as hot as it needs to —just doesn’t happen. This really isn’t a huge problem, since I’m no longer searing two 10 ounce rib eyes at a time. However, it’s pretty much impossible to start water boiling, and also start something else, such as a sauté, or anything that needs to be cooked at the same time.
Insert Giant Kitchen Time Suck.
I did a little research on that interweb thingie and came across induction burners. I’m drooling over this one. I am admittedly very limited when it comes to comprehending the physics of the heat transfer involved in induction heating, but I do know that it
a) works real darn fast (faster than gas)
b) is cooler and much more energy efficient than electric or gas and
c) doesn’t work with crapola pots and pans (i.e, pans made with cheaper alloys...thankfully most of my pans are high quality enough to pass the test, with the exception of my two saucepans, which I need to replace anyway)
I also “need” a smaller All-Clad saute pan. So, for in order for the $80 investment of a new induction burner to be “worth it”, I’ll also have to buy at least one saucepan and one saute pan. I’m really looking at a total cost upwards of $250-300.
Reheating
1. I don't have a microwave.
2. I cook in regular-size batches and freeze portions of soup, pasta sauce, and stews.
3. I eat leftovers religiously.
And HOW do I deal with reheating / eating leftovers?
Prolly the best decision I made was to invest in a slew of Pyrex glass containers with plastic lids. Initially I switched from plastic leftover Gladware containers (that would be reheated) to glass so that I wouldn't have toxic-god-knows-what-side-effect-this-could-have-on-my-chances-of-rectal-cancer side effects (and those of you still microwaving in plastic, shame on you).
These little guys allow me to freeze, thaw, and reheat. Badda-bing. The Breville has an awesome reheat setting. Home from gym, pop in a portion of veggie lasagna, shower, and dinner is done. Yeah, it takes longer. But if I plan, I'm cool. Microwaving food makes it taste like ass, anyway, in my opinion.
So all of this to say... I'm basically just going what our grandmothers did for cooking. Planning, reheating without microwaves, and planning a bit. It really isn't that hard.
I'll letcha all know when I finally join the Induction Club.
OK kids, that's all for now. I just made some homemade black refried beans, finished with melted butter. I promise somethin' more fun later. Oh, and I was able to find the most bomb-ass lard-filled homemade tortillas in Custer, SD. Who knew.
Thursday, November 5, 2009
Gringaladas
My immune system is winning. Seven hours ago I had a fever, aches, headache, and that horrible feeling of a lurking imminent snot -fest in my sinuses. Now, at two-thirty in the morning, I feel like a million dollahs. OK, maybe 500K. But I think that my Monthly Trip To Maine will be ensuing, full steam ahead!
So nothing spectacular for this post: just the process of Gringa-ladas, the enchilada recipe I've been developing over the last year and half or so. I've got another post to write that actually focuses on small cooking and what I've had to do to change my kitchen habits, but that's not as much fun right now. Next time.
Sauce makes a dish, of that we are all certain. This dish has stretched out into nearly five hours from start to finish, but is starting to be worth it (ask The Pole, Miss Thang, or Mr. Bacon). This time I made the sauce the night before (smart girl) so that my guests wouldn't be forced to chew their hands in hunger-induced desperation.
Step one: Buy a whole chicken and about 3 bone-in chicken thighs, preferably from Mayflower Poultry, though a Kosher or organic one from Whole Paycheck will do. Hack chicken into 8 pieces, and remove skin from all parts, including the thighs. Trim visible fat. Feed cat scraps of raw chicken.
Dry chicken parts and proceed to rub in salt, white pepper, and ground cumin (preferably from Morocco or Israel, I've had only these varieties in the last year—SO spoiled). Now, you're going to let that chicken warm up on the counter. You'll want it to sit at room temperature for about a half hour to an hour. If anything I've learned, it's not to try and sear cold meat. Gross, you say, you'll get salmonella. I think not. That chicken is going to have the shit cooked out of it, I promise. You'll be fine. Plus, if you're avoiding nasty Perdue / Shaw's / Market Basket Antibiotic-Flavored chicken, your chance for the runs decreases considerably:
Meanwhile, prep aromatics: 2 diced yellow onions, half a bulb of garlic, minced, and in this case, reconstituted chipotle peppers, and cumin seed. Sometimes if I have fresh jalapeno I'll use that too. However, dried peppers are key.
Open Rogue Dead Guy Ale and clean up chicken-dissecting cutting board and knives. Line up the 4-7 spices you feel like using for sauce.
Open a can of 365 brand crushed tomatoes, and get some chix stock simmering on hotplate.
Step two: Bring about 4 TBL canola or corn oil to a purdy shimmering sheen and begin to sear chicken in batches in pot. Make sure that chicken is getting really dark. As pieces finish, put in warm oven in dish to catch juices, etc. This step will ensure that your studio apartment begins to smell like a very greasy taqueria. Olé!
When all chicken is seared, the bottom of your pan should resemble a wasteland of very dark chicken scraps and oil. This is OK, you vant dis, very very much:
Dump in the onions and cumin seed ONLY at this point. The steam and liquid of the fresh onion will soften the burned bits. Scrape up the bits with a flat-head wooden spoon, stirring the onions often; the cumin seeds will being to soften.
After a few minutes, add the chipotle pepper and the garlic and let go for a few more, stirring a few times. At this point, I add more chile powder(s) and cumin. I really can't tell you how much or what kind--though I do know that it's more than you'd think it is. Stir some more. Add the chicken and accumulated juices next, and stir well. 
After another minute or three, add tomatoes, stock, and a large pinch of sugar. What you've got now are 11 pieces of bone-in chicken in a cozy bath of spices, aromatic, tomatoes, and stock. Bring this to a boil, then cover and simmer, covered, for, oh... about two hours. Yup, two hours. Clean up kitchen and do some laundry.
Step 3: When you reach in to pick up a piece of chicken with tongs and it is literally falling off the bone, you've hit it. Remove the chicken to a large plate and keep sauce on simmer, covered. When you can handle the chicken without burning yourself and swearing, pull off the bone and shred using your fingers or two forks.
Toss the bones into a pie plate and throw them into a 425 oven. Yup, you're going to roast those fuckers. It wasn't good enough that they took a bath, they are going to make a little extra sauce for us. After they're dark, throw them in a pot with some water and bring to a boil for about a half hour. Strain this and add back to the sauce. Then, use immersion blender to puree sauce:
This will break down all the little chicken shreds into the sauce, a very good thing.
At this point, either cool sauce and refrigerate with chicken and pass out in Cumin-Scented bed, or proceed to
Step 4: A word about queso. I stopped using Monterey Jack or "Mexican" blends of cheese a while ago, as they're super greasy, salty, and all but hide the hard work I've done on the sauce. I now use a queso fresco and some other cheese, whatever happens to look good at Market Basket that day. This time I used:
Dice a WHITE onion very fine and open some corn tortillas. Some assembly required:
I used to fry the tortillas in hot oil and roll each enchilada. No more, amigo. I found that frying them just makes for an uber-greasy dish, and that everything falls apart when baked, so that the rolling is a waste of my time. Here I trade presentation for speed. Yeah, I know. That's why they are called GRINGladas. You're going to make a sort of pseudo-Mexican lasagna: spoon sauce into bottom of casserole, place on layer of tortillas, overlapping, then some chicken, onion, and cheese, and more sauce. Repeat until that casserole is full and happy. Top with cilantro and bake, uncovered, at 350 for about 45 minutes.
Serve with various fun things your guests can sprinkle on top: diced jalapeno, sliced scallions, lime wedges, chopped cilantro, and, most fun: authentic crema (you'll never use sour cream again. oh my. it's lovely. just ask R.).
So there you have it. Now back to bed for me.
So nothing spectacular for this post: just the process of Gringa-ladas, the enchilada recipe I've been developing over the last year and half or so. I've got another post to write that actually focuses on small cooking and what I've had to do to change my kitchen habits, but that's not as much fun right now. Next time.
Sauce makes a dish, of that we are all certain. This dish has stretched out into nearly five hours from start to finish, but is starting to be worth it (ask The Pole, Miss Thang, or Mr. Bacon). This time I made the sauce the night before (smart girl) so that my guests wouldn't be forced to chew their hands in hunger-induced desperation.
Step one: Buy a whole chicken and about 3 bone-in chicken thighs, preferably from Mayflower Poultry, though a Kosher or organic one from Whole Paycheck will do. Hack chicken into 8 pieces, and remove skin from all parts, including the thighs. Trim visible fat. Feed cat scraps of raw chicken.
Dry chicken parts and proceed to rub in salt, white pepper, and ground cumin (preferably from Morocco or Israel, I've had only these varieties in the last year—SO spoiled). Now, you're going to let that chicken warm up on the counter. You'll want it to sit at room temperature for about a half hour to an hour. If anything I've learned, it's not to try and sear cold meat. Gross, you say, you'll get salmonella. I think not. That chicken is going to have the shit cooked out of it, I promise. You'll be fine. Plus, if you're avoiding nasty Perdue / Shaw's / Market Basket Antibiotic-Flavored chicken, your chance for the runs decreases considerably:
Meanwhile, prep aromatics: 2 diced yellow onions, half a bulb of garlic, minced, and in this case, reconstituted chipotle peppers, and cumin seed. Sometimes if I have fresh jalapeno I'll use that too. However, dried peppers are key.
Open Rogue Dead Guy Ale and clean up chicken-dissecting cutting board and knives. Line up the 4-7 spices you feel like using for sauce.
Open a can of 365 brand crushed tomatoes, and get some chix stock simmering on hotplate.
Step two: Bring about 4 TBL canola or corn oil to a purdy shimmering sheen and begin to sear chicken in batches in pot. Make sure that chicken is getting really dark. As pieces finish, put in warm oven in dish to catch juices, etc. This step will ensure that your studio apartment begins to smell like a very greasy taqueria. Olé!
When all chicken is seared, the bottom of your pan should resemble a wasteland of very dark chicken scraps and oil. This is OK, you vant dis, very very much:
Dump in the onions and cumin seed ONLY at this point. The steam and liquid of the fresh onion will soften the burned bits. Scrape up the bits with a flat-head wooden spoon, stirring the onions often; the cumin seeds will being to soften.
After a few minutes, add the chipotle pepper and the garlic and let go for a few more, stirring a few times. At this point, I add more chile powder(s) and cumin. I really can't tell you how much or what kind--though I do know that it's more than you'd think it is. Stir some more. Add the chicken and accumulated juices next, and stir well. 
After another minute or three, add tomatoes, stock, and a large pinch of sugar. What you've got now are 11 pieces of bone-in chicken in a cozy bath of spices, aromatic, tomatoes, and stock. Bring this to a boil, then cover and simmer, covered, for, oh... about two hours. Yup, two hours. Clean up kitchen and do some laundry.
Step 3: When you reach in to pick up a piece of chicken with tongs and it is literally falling off the bone, you've hit it. Remove the chicken to a large plate and keep sauce on simmer, covered. When you can handle the chicken without burning yourself and swearing, pull off the bone and shred using your fingers or two forks.
Toss the bones into a pie plate and throw them into a 425 oven. Yup, you're going to roast those fuckers. It wasn't good enough that they took a bath, they are going to make a little extra sauce for us. After they're dark, throw them in a pot with some water and bring to a boil for about a half hour. Strain this and add back to the sauce. Then, use immersion blender to puree sauce:
This will break down all the little chicken shreds into the sauce, a very good thing.
At this point, either cool sauce and refrigerate with chicken and pass out in Cumin-Scented bed, or proceed to
Step 4: A word about queso. I stopped using Monterey Jack or "Mexican" blends of cheese a while ago, as they're super greasy, salty, and all but hide the hard work I've done on the sauce. I now use a queso fresco and some other cheese, whatever happens to look good at Market Basket that day. This time I used:
Dice a WHITE onion very fine and open some corn tortillas. Some assembly required:
I used to fry the tortillas in hot oil and roll each enchilada. No more, amigo. I found that frying them just makes for an uber-greasy dish, and that everything falls apart when baked, so that the rolling is a waste of my time. Here I trade presentation for speed. Yeah, I know. That's why they are called GRINGladas. You're going to make a sort of pseudo-Mexican lasagna: spoon sauce into bottom of casserole, place on layer of tortillas, overlapping, then some chicken, onion, and cheese, and more sauce. Repeat until that casserole is full and happy. Top with cilantro and bake, uncovered, at 350 for about 45 minutes.
Serve with various fun things your guests can sprinkle on top: diced jalapeno, sliced scallions, lime wedges, chopped cilantro, and, most fun: authentic crema (you'll never use sour cream again. oh my. it's lovely. just ask R.).
So there you have it. Now back to bed for me.
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
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.
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.
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
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.
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
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!
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!
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