Semi-Mallmade

I know, I know. I have REALLY outdone myself this month. I mean in comparison to the sad-sad month of November I actually HAVE outdone myself, but here I am wrapping up 2008 with the tale of a face-to-face encounter with one of Piefinger's most oft- discussed people and it isn't Takes Up Two Seats.

Two weeks ago I braved rush hour snow traffic (albeit in the passenger's seat, which is much less brave, unless you count controlling the ipod in a list of harrowing tasks) to go out to the Mall of America to try and catch a glimpse of real life Sandra Lee, get an Orange Julius, and possibly talk to her about her time at UW LaCrosse. I even prepared some anecdotes that referenced local Oktoberfest traditions. Unfortunately, it turns out that you can only enter the Green Home and Garden structure in the rotunda if you have a wristband proving the purchase of one of Sandy's new books, neither of which I desire to own. If this had been an Ina Garten book signing, maybe. Even if you got yourself the wristband, Sandy and her team dictated that no autographs would be personalized and she would not allow photos. Memorizing that anecdote was all for naught.

I was surprised at all the restrictions she had on her fans at this relatively small event, but it sure made evading security in order to get this shot a very fun challenge.

Can you see her in the background there? The woman really loves to wear white. And beige. And turtlenecks. All of which she is doing in this picture. I have to say I was kinda disappointed by the messy bun and glasses but she did NOT disappoint by addressing the crowd and informing us that she "wished she could say 'it's cocktail time in here' but come in and see the beautiful holiday decor." I figured that if she didn't hot roller her hair, she probably didn't do those tablescapes herself either so there really wasn't too much lost by not getting a wristband.

By the time I hit up Williams-Sonoma, all the disappointment faded into non-existence because I saw this in the display window:

YOU CAN MAKE TINY CAKES THAT LOOK LIKE PERFECTLY WRAPPED GIFTS! I didn't buy them, and okay, my encounter with S. Lee wasn't exactly face-to-face but I'm still pretty sure 2009 is going to be my year.

Here's hoping that your new year is also filled with the analogous novelty bakeware and food network stars that are relevant to your life.

With love and pastry,
Piefinger

Probably One for Twitter

Do you guys think we have a new area of our brains that our grandparents don't have or can't access where all our usernames and passwords reside? How can we all be so good at seeing a login in page and knowing all the codes to get in there? Maybe you guys keep the same names and passwords for everything...Or maybe your grandparents have really good memories and do all their banking online.

Rant - Top Chef

For a couple of days now I have had this one lingering item on my to-do list. Somewhere buried underneath the more obvious and immediate things like "take out recycling" to the get-to-it-when-I-get-to-it "have mole removed" and finally the things that are less of a to-do and more of an outcome like "grow out nails" which will really only happen if my to-do list also includes "stop biting them", I keep meaning to write about the dessert situation on Top Chef.

This is the fifth season of the show so I have to assume that all the current contestants have watched it prior to being ON it. I would then also assume that if they intended to win they must have at least considered the sort of kiss of death moves that losing chefs made in seasons past, right? RIGHT? THEN STOP MAKING PARFAITS AND CRISPS AND FAILED PASTRIES THAT YOU CALL "RUSTIC."

I realize that these people are sous chefs and caterers and owners of restaurants and probably have always focused on the techniques and flavors and presentation of mains and proteins and sauces. But the fact is that EVERY single season a handful of contestants are faced with having to whip out a last course or a wedding cake or something and EVERY time the home viewer has to listen to the confessional interview that's all, "I'm not really that INto dessert," or, "I have never been a sweets person but I do have to make a final course. So we're going to do something REALLY fresh and make a savory sorbet!!" They always use yuzu or ylang-ylang or lavender or some ingredient that would be far more at home nestled in the exfoliating micro beads of a Dove body wash, and claim that they "just wanted to do something light to finish off the meal instead of something too sweet or creamy that would weigh you down."

Bullshit. Bring on the sweet. Bring on the creamy. Learn to bake just ONE thing. That's all they really have to do. Just have that one thing in your back pocket that you know will always impress and always turn out. It just seems like good strategy to me. If you have never made rose infused creme brulee, then don't try and demo it in a two minute segment on live TV. Stop trying to make s'mores fancy, they don't need it.

Have a no fail cake. Present elegantly and with no-nonsense. I have worked in restaurants long enough to know that what people truly want at the end of a meal is a slice of pie, a piece of cake, or some good but plain ice cream. If you have to sit and describe to them the "deconstructed tart Tatin trio with a shooter of creme anglaise" they lose interest. Even the foodie ones.

I also know that the art of pastry or a profession in dessert is very much focused on perfection. Precise presentation, interplay of varying textures, ease of service. You can't really make many desserts to order, so they require a lot of planning and skill. Baking is not about tasting and testing as you go along until it is right. If you mess it up, you won't know until it's done. It's chemistry really, and I hated chemistry so I feel for the people on the show but I don't have 100,000 dollars at stake. LEARN TO MAKE A DESSERT.

I also hate it when there is just one sushi guy, you know? And he makes like cooked sushi, and dessert sushi, and puts nori in everything. We geeeeetttt ittttt.

Potpiefinger

A few months back I went out for a most delightful brunch at Lucia's in Uptown. We got a sunny table in a cozy corner, had a buttery current scone and some not too bitter espresso drinks and THEN started thinking about what to order.

I used to be really big into breakfast food but after making millions of over medium eggs and my patented bacon waffles (those were mostly for me) for customers at the Red Rose Diner, lunch has become more of my jam. And I am hungry for it all the time. So when our server told us there was a chicken pot pie on special, I had to have it. It was very simple and delicately seasoned and none of the ingredients in the filling were too mushy or too crisp. Best of all, instead of a heavy crust, they topped the ramekin with a flaky round of puff pastry.

I did my best to re-create this beauty two nights ago. I cheated and used the pre-made rounds but I have, in the past, been known to make my own puff pastry. Okay, it was just once and it was NOT easy. This pastry is very impressive and versatile, but I warn you, only undertake this endeavor if you have a lot of time on your hands because you can never be too far away from your dough during this process.

Puff Pastry from Epicurean

2 cups all-purpose flour
1/2 teaspoon kosher salt
1 pound cold unsalted butter, cut into 1/4-inch cubes
1/2 cup ice water
Flour for dusting

Directions:
Combine the flour and salt on a work surface. Scatter the butter cubes over the flour and then toss together until all the cubes are coated with the flour. Shape the mixture into a mound and form a well in the center.

Pour the water into the well. With your fingertips, as though you were tossing a salad, work the water into the flour-butter mixture until a rough dough begins to form. It will look like torn and knotted rags. Gently press the dough together so that all the dry flour is absorbed.

Form the dough into a rectangle about 6 by 8 inches and 1 1/4 inches thick. Wrap the dough in plastic wrap and refrigerate for 1 hour.

On a lightly floured work surface, roll out the dough into a 7-by-16-inch rectangle about 1/2 inch thick. With a short side of the rectangle facing you, fold the dough as you would a business letter: fold down the top two-thirds toward you and then fold the bottom third over the top. This is a single turn.

Give the dough a quarter turn so that the open seam is on your right and the closed seam is on your left. If necessary, lightly flour the work surface so the dough doesn't stick. Repeat the rolling and folding process; this is another single turn. Wrap and refrigerate the dough for 1 hour.

Give the dough 2 more single turns, rolling and folding each time and making sure to give it a quarter turn between the 2 turns so the open seam is on your right. Wrap and refrigerate for 1 hour.

Once more, give the dough 2 single turns, folding and rolling as before, and refrigerate for 1 hour before rolling out as directed in individual recipes.

*The purpose of all this turning is to get the fat and flour to make several layers on top of one another. The water hangs out in between these layers and evaporates as the pastry bakes. This is how you achieve the very airy and flaky texture.

Ladies Brunch Burger

Even for Paula Deen, this is way over the top.

I love that she follows this up with a yogurt parfait.
Some sad, insatiable part of me really really wants a bite.

French-y Vinegar Crust

Looking back over my sad amount of posts for November, I realized I haven't done an actual recipe post for awhile. I accidentally used bread flour in my Thanksgiving pie crust and they turned out disappointingly tough even with the high fat to carb ratio. But don't worry - there were six of them. Anyway, here's an alternate, French style pastry that doesn't use any lard or butter but still turns out flaky. It's much lighter than a traditional crust but still very flavorful. This is enough for two 9 inch crusts.

3 cups all-purpose flour
1 1/2 teaspoons salt
3 tablespoons white sugar (I use baker's sugar because it's really fine)
1 cup Crisco
1 whole egg
1 teaspoon white vinegar
5 tablespoons ice water


In a large mixing bowl, combine flour, salt, and sugar. Mix well, then cut in shortening.

In a small bowl, combine egg, vinegar, and 3 to 4 tablespoons of water. (The amount of water you use will depend on the amount of moisture that's already in your flour. You can always add a little more ice water if things don't seem to be sticking properly.) Whisk together, then add gradually to flour mixture, stirring with a fork.

Mix until dough forms a ball. If at this point the dough is still crumbly, add one more tablespoon of water.

Wrap dough in plastic wrap and refrigerate for 10 minutes.

Happy Birthday, Willabee

She is one. I can't wait to see some walking demonstrations tonight. Lil' homies.

I Finally Learned How to Make a Screen Shot

Much like last year in the week before Thanksgiving, I responded to the "please help" email sent out by this year's host pretty late in the game. So, once again, I am doing cranberry sauce. Cranberry sauce is the thing that everyone forgets about. Cranberry sauce is the other dad from My Two Dads. Determined to make this year's relish an unbelievable standout, I started doing some image search based recipe hunting and came across a bunch of pictures of aspics. I started to think that maybe Thanksgiving is a time that we can be glad for foods that have gone out of fashion. Like aspics:

If you can't quite make out the text at the bottom of the recipe card there, it says "ring around the tuna" so I can only assume that aside from green olives and congealed gelatin, this particular aspic also includes fish. Aces.

I have long held the belief that, no matter how Alaskan or Lutheran or whatever you claim to be, foods made with poison or whipped blubber and dried berries just shouldn't be consumed in modern times. While I understand and appreciate that food is a part of our shared history and is one of the ways we maintain our traditions, I also understand that recipes from the days of yore were super disgusting. For most regular folks (and many of the rich ones too), fresh food just wasn't available and thus the food that was on hand had to be preserved by some extra foul methods. As a result, some really gnarly crap went down many a gullet.

You've all read books that take place on the high seas and talk about everyone's gout and scurvy from poor diet. Or you've at least seen parts of the awesome PBS series "1900s House" or "Manor House", both of which discuss the cuisine of the times in depth, so I won't cite any of the tired old examples here. Anyway, it's obviously no longer the case that you can't just go and get any variety of fresh produce year-round so just give it up.

That said I am really looking forward to Thanksgiving which is pretty much a feast of historical foods and the traditions we keep alive by serving them over and over each year. Including cranberry sauce, which incidentally, I will now secretly call Greg Evigan sauce.

On a side note, I did some very quick research to see if I could come up with the names of some of these popular foods from the way back to give this post some validity, but then I found this and was laughing so hard that I just gave up.

Oh, you will have to click to enlarge. Or embiggen.

Finish the Analogy

I realize Halloween has come and gone, but help me out here.

This year's Sarah Palins and Dark Knights are last year's Amy Winehouses. What were the Amy Winehouses of 10-31-06?

I Expect Some Comments

I spent the better part of last night making about 100 beet pierogies stuffed with various things. Well it wasn't only ME making them:

It was a whole assembly line wherein I was on sausage stuffing duty. Really. We had a big poster up with Mao on it reading "WORK IS FOR EVERYONE" or something like that. The best part of doing a cooking party is that later on it turns into an eating party. Unfortunately before you eat them they look like this:

But SWEET FANCY MOSES they are tasty.

Uhh...NACHOS Anyone?

I fear I am becoming an As Seen on TV Lady, or at least I fear that my inevitable descent into an ASOTVL at the age of fifty-five will be extremely fast.

So far I now own Debbie Meyers green bags (which I definitely endorse and have saved me money on my produce)...

The Tobi steamer handheld model (which is only okay but worth the twenty bucks if you both hate ironing and cannot figure out how to best clean your upholstery)...

And Sham-Wows...

I have not yet tested the Sham-Wows because my sister ordered them for me as a birthday gift and they are still in the package at her house. I will provide a detailed testimonial as soon as I recieve them/spill a 2 liter of Coke on my rug.

Then the other day, literally in the midst of my usual struggle with SaranWrap, I saw Chef Tony endorsing yet another ASOTVL product I want to own:

Yes, yes. I saw that "Z" in the product name. But seriously. They make a vaccum tight seal on any size bowl or pot or whatever and you don't even have to transfer your leftovers to tupperware or cover with useless cling wrap! The next thing you know I will be making exclusively half-moon shaped foods in the GT Xpress Cooker.

I don't care. I still love this guy:

Everybody Loves Applebutter?

You really only have to watch the first 25 seconds.

(Mostly I am just super jeals that she has that Kitchen Aid standing mixer in like 12 different colors. Oh and obviously because the impression is UNCANNY.)

PorticOH MY!

I have a new crush in the world of architecture everybody, and I'm not talking about gadrooning or flushwork. His name is Joshua Prince-Ramus and he is chiseled from marble (which, ironically he does NOT work with). Observe:

His resume is pretty impressive and he has many Ivy league degrees and his own growing company and he's like 38 and again, may I reiterate, that he looks like this:

AND he designs these:

Finally, someone to replace my former architectural crush, Apollodorus of Damascus.

This is a really special day.

Of Christmas Yet to Come

I turned 26 last week.

When I imagined 26 as like a 13 year old, and I don't think I really imagined 26 at all before that, I figured by this age I would be settling comfortably to my grown-up lifestyle. A subscription to Atlantic Monthly, a collection of boucle sweaters, a roll top desk, coffee mugs hanging on hooks beneath a shelf displaying decorative cooking oils, etc. My concept was material in nature and decidedly based on the sitcoms of the mid-nineties. I don't recall as to whether there was a significant other in the picture but I know for sure there was a dog.

What I actually have are Victoria's Secret catalogs (they have a style of pants that fit me, okay? They are of course called "Carmen fit") flooding my mailbox, many many hooded sweatshirts (which I wear to work and which recently prompted a Lund's employeee to ask me if I had "just gotten done with class." Fair enough Lund's guy because I was also wearing a Taylor Swift t-shirt), a desk recovered from my sister's garage (which I do love), and one shelf that I recently put up to display my decorative cooking oils. So...self-fulfilling prophecy.

But for real, I think that with each passing year I understand that THIS (whichever year) is not THE year where I figure everything out and understand the concept of escrow or finally quit biting my nails and that they may never just *happen* in the future. All you can do is try and do things for yourself that you have never done before and see how it works out. And that, even in small ways, is what I intend to focus on this year. I definitely tend toward indulgence rather than commitment or abstinence so I don't want to go over the top and decide to start by...you know...giving up dairy or something.

Speaking of which, I had an email exchange today wherein I was describing the events and funny quips from the birthday dinner my parents threw for my sister and I this weekend, and informed all my friends that my nephew J is lactose intolerant. My roommate wrote back to me saying that she felt for him and also that upon first glance she thought I was announcing that J was Lacoste intolerant. As in having an aversion to overpriced alligator polos.

Sarah Haskins is Hilarioso

Historical Burrrrnnn

I am so looking for a chance to use this. It came out of my mouth today while I was listening in on two co-workers talk about their unsatisfactory interactions at car dealerships.

Co-worker S. to co-worker I.: "...so I drove that stupid Volkswagen back to the lot and told the guy I wanted bumper-to-bumper and free car washes for six months or I was walking! And you want to know what he told me? He said that wasn't the original deal! Can you believe that? Of course it wasn't the original deal or I wouldn't be in that mess of a car!"
Me(giggling): "You should have told him 'Listen up, I'm F.D.R. and this is the NEW DEAL.'"

I SO hope I can tell somebody off using that line in the very near future.

Pat. On. Back.

Out of the Bag

I have really fallen behind in my posting this month. I am pretty sure the only people that actually CARE about my negligence are my real-life friends. The people that I talk to daily and see between one and three times a week. Sometimes more depending on what is on TV. Regardless, I am going to try and step up my game for the remainder of August which should be made infinitely easier now that my beloved new compy has finally arrived.

Oh, don't worry. I didn't actually get it in purple.

This past weekend, I trekked down IO-WAY to visit my old college roommate. She had a whole slew of crap for me including my Christmas present from last year which was a cast iron fondue set and was, indeed, much too heavy to ship. But the best thing, the thing that I didn't even know I missed or needed, was an old purse that she had been holding ransom for well over three years. She refused to send it to me until I came down to visit her so above and beyond spending some quality time with her, this was my reward.

Here is a list of all the crap that had been lying dormant that I found inside the bag:
- 64 cents and approximately a dollar's worth of South African rand. Well according to 2005 exchange rates anyway...
- A Subway Club card (a program now defunct) just one stamp short of a free sandwich
- The St. Paul Public Library card that once belonged to my eleven-year-old charge when I was a nanny. I used hers to check out a bunch of stuff for myself that summer so I wouldn't have to pay the late fees off of mine.
- A receipt for a purchase I made (by way of personal check of all things) for an item listed as "ICE TECHNO TRIP'D OUT PIN". I have absolutely no idea what this was/is or why I spent $8.80 on it. Were we attending a rave? The date on this receipt is 2/28/05.
- My old boyfriend's business card which he had made up for his summer-long landscaping venture. I remember thinking how cool and professional and responsible he was for having business cards and NOT realizing how easy it is to just print some up. It's not like you have to register as David Winters, Esquire in order to go to Kinko's. Oh well, it was probably to his benefit how much that impressed me.
- An old fishing license.
- A ticket stub from The Streets concert at The Fine Line from 06/04/04. I did not attend this concert.
- Jeff Cincoski's senior picture wherein he is riding in a tiny Radio Flyer wagon. On the back it reads "I'm sorry for trying to spread all those horrible lies about you."
- A business card from a man named G. James Olsen. As a job title he has written with bullets under his name "Author. Pneumatologist. Provocateur."
He also should have listed "Drunk" as my friend Laura and I found him wasted in the middle of the day at the University Club. He was wearing a polo shirt with a gold tiger embroidered on the pocket and sizzled at us through his teeth to get our attention. We had a cocktail with him and his son (who, incidentally, was in a terrible band that played at my college)and after his son left, he told us in a hushed tone that he was a witch.
- My Couch Potato License, cleverly issued to Emma Roids.
- A receipt from a grocery store in Decorah where I inexplicably spent $2.76 and got a dozen eggs, a quart of milk, 2 lbs. of carrots, and a bunch of parsley. That seems wrong, right?

I also had two old IDs in there. One with a fabulous picture that barely looks like me and one wherein I am 17, wearing a turtleneck, and have clearly not yet discovered tweezers. It's a time I still cherish, no matter how unfortunate.

Kids Love Their Savoy Cabbage

This is just my favorite thing ever.

Sandy is Back Up to Her Old Tricks

This weekend I took a break from my regularly scheduled Olympics-watching to visit the Semi-Homemade kitchen and boy am I glad I did. It appeared that Ol' Sandy was inspired by the Olympic events that are considered to be, how shall I say, lesser. The ones that aren't often in the foreground. Whose athletes are not pictured on the cover of Men's Health. Mostly, because they look like this:


That's right. I'm talking about table tennis. You know, ping pong. Sandy was showing us new, easy, and creative things to spice up your boring old typical ping pong party. Oh, have I not yet mentioned that the episode was called Ping Pong Party? Well it was. I don't know who has Ping Pong Parties these days. It sounds to me like something Betsy, Tacy, and Tib would do after reading Ivanhoe, wrapping sandwiches in plain brown paper, and twisting their hair up into rag curlers. All I know is that no one finishes up an intense game of competitive ping pong and reaches for one of these:


A Butterbeer. MMM...feel the chunks start to rise in your throat. This reminds me of that SNL fake commercial advertising cookie dough that is sold in Gatorade-like containers. They show marathon runners taking a swig of thick, cold cookie dough after the race which makes me feel like I need to swallow down all my excess gag saliva just thinking about it. ANYway this is what Butterbeer contains if you want to make it:
1/4 cup sweetened condensed milk
1/4 cup butterscotch topping
2 tablespoons whipped butter, room temperature
1 1/2 cups vanilla cream soda

My favorite part is the whipped butter.

But it gets so much better. Whilst looking up the recipe for the Butterbeer, I came across another semi-homemade delight:


I'll give you a second to say "what the fuck?" before you realize that this is a baked potato made out of ice cream. In the case of one special reader, this baked potato ice cream is a very exciting hybrid. Since it represents the marriage of two of her favorite things, I already know she won't think this is...really, really stupid. Which it is.

If you want to see more (and better) examples of this type of thing, with funnier writing go to cakewrecks.blogspot.com because I am tired.

I Should Have Known by the Quotation Marks

Well following a recipe for Jeanne's "BEST" lemon bars, so far has not turned out favorably. The filling is sticky, too sweet, not lemony enough (overpowered by the shortbread crust), and didn't get like a little fluffy. They are not the "BEST". They are not even just regular best. Please send me the actual best recipes for lemon bars.

The Fairy Feller's Master-Stroke

Two weeks ago I saw Mama Mia! I know that sentence makes it look like I am still so excited about my theater-going venture that I feel compelled to use an exclamation point, but if you are in the know, watch Bravo, or have ever looked at the back of an ABBA album, you understand that this is not the case. Yes, I did go to the movie opening night, and yes it was the same night that The Dark Knight was released, and yes I enjoyed a meal at The Olive Garden beforehand, but this does not, in fact, make me a fanatic. That said, I did cry a little and deemed it a delightful summer romp that did a great job of not taking itself too seriously. I also thought Pierce Brosnan was terribly miscast.

The movie made me feel many things:
1. Amanda Seyfried will no longer be known as Karen from Mean Girls
2. Amanda Seyfried has an amazing rack and made a beautiful movie bride
3. I want to have an adult daughter
4. I want to have an inn in Greece

But mostly, I was struck by what a great idea it is to create a show out of music that already exists and started brainstorming about how I could cash in on it. All you have to do is write the story that frames the music and it doesn't even have to be very good or even particularly feasible. (As my friends pointed out, Meryl and Amanda could have probably just taken a LOOK at the potential fathers to, at the very least, narrow it down to two.) I have decided that the music of Queen is the perfect fit. It's already pre-chorally-arranged and the tone of almost all the music lends itself to explosive dance numbers. This way, casting lots of extras to fill the stage will be a snap.

I'm thinking it's the story of one man. He's a staunch and savvy business man. The opening provides exposition on his life and is set to "Under Pressure." Somehow he develops a meth habit (we could go on a D.A.R.E. tour. They still have D.A.R.E. right?) that gets out of control. The soundtrack to his downward spiral is "Don't Stop Me Now." Somewhere along the line he falls for the wrong girl. She is glamorous and rich and older than him. She might be played by Diane von Furstenburg (she doesn't have to sing and can provide costumes). He sings "Killer Queen" whilst lounging around her impossibly luxe apartment. He steals money from her. Then...SOMEthing happens...
Anyway he ends up in the gutter. Big company number: "Somebody to Love". He has a turnaround and the show closes with a blissful and rousing rendition of "You're My Best Friend." The audience joins in. Awards are won.

There are still details and logistics to figure out of course, but I assume one of my sisters would do the choreography, the other would do the vocal direction, and my brother could get together and lead the instrumentalists. I would be the visionary so all we need are rights to the music and financial backing. I plan to unveil it in my elementary school's rec center summer of 2011. Tickets are a $100 bucks (roughly) and we will hold a meat raffle at intermission. There is a possibility you will be badly burned or lose an eye during the performance. FROM HOW REAL YOUR TEARS ARE.

Smell Ya Later

WOW I just have to say that, so far, today has been exceptionally smelly. Maybe it was the early morning, disgustingly humid air that brought out the worst in Northeast and downtown Minneapolis but my bus just smelled straight up of urine. And the guy next to me was like convulsing with laughter at whatever he was reading so I kind of leaned under him to try and see the dust jacket and make note. You want to know what it was? A Midsummer Night's Dream. I mean, yeah, it is categorized as a "comedy" but it's like a study in comedy. It's comedy for people who don't watch TV. Plus, really? I mean I appreciate the mirth and the myth and the fantasy of the writing but like, laugh out loud on the bus funny? I just don't think it's what Bottom and Robin Goodfellow originally intended.

Somewhere around Dunn Brothers smelled just like old potato salad, and then I was hit my the overwhelming stench of like, a dog's ear, you know? Like something that smells like it is waxy and cavernous and INside. SICK! People always say that they love the smell of the air after the rain. But to me it does not smell fresh and washed away. It smells like all the smelliest smells that have been hiding under the blanket of dryness have released themselves from the earth and come out to play with their other, dirty-little-kid friends.

Not to mention the worms. You can talk about Easter and rebirth and buds on the trees all you like, but this is the reason I don't like Spring in general and crave the Fall all year round. Even when it is Fall.

Anyway, as sort of a disclaimer, I would like to say to the people that I work with at my full-time job who might read this blog, per yesterday's post I do not plan to quit.

But I will probably quit my restaurant job. I have never quit a job before and would like some tips on how to make it a little bit dramatic. I plan on, at the very least, a strongly worded letter to my new manager listing my reasons for quitting.

What I don't want to do is sing a little song about it like when Johnathan Schaech (?) quits The Wonders in That Thing You Do. My roommate feels this scene is "embarrassing."

It's Enough To Drive You Crazy If You Let It

In an effort to prepare for an upcoming karaoke outing, I listened to the song I plan to sing approximately ten times on the way to work today.

The song is 9 to 5 by Dolly Parton and it's a karaoke song that I have never performed before. As much as karaoke is still fun when it's kind of shitty, I prefer to rock it and not be caught with my proverbial pants down. So if it's a song I don't know THAT well, I like to give it a listen just to know if there is some crazy high chorus, or like, a beatboxing section that I am going to be completely thrown off by. The event for which I am preparing is just a night at The Vegas Lounge. There's no honor, no glory, and no cash prize. There are mostly drunk middle-agers that won't even perk up an ear for a youngin' unless they are singing Crazy by Patsy Cline (which I often do). But this weekend, some very special drunk middle-agers will be in the crowd, my friend Brett's parents, and I want to impress the hell out of them so they tell all their hunting buddies how Brett's cosmopolitan, Minneapolis friends are "just so talented."

But something happened that I wasn't expecting. Let me walk you through my growing ire with each reprise of the song.

First time through: "Man this is a good song! It's been such a long time since I've seen this movie...I wonder if that's what kind of ushered it the chic secretary blouse or if the blouse came first. I really wish I would have gone to Dollywood when we went to Tennessee. Maybe next summer..."

Second time: "Okay gotta get serious about learning these lyrics. They go by kind of fast and they are POIGNANT so you'll want to be sure and spit them all out and - oh hey! She just said 'out on the street the traffic starts jumpin' and THAT'S what's happening to ME right NOW. This applies so much to my life! It's my anthem! 'HEY PEOPLE OF DOWNTOWN! I AM A WORKING GIRL!' - maybe not such a good idea to announce to the warehouse district..."

Third time: "I have to try and remember to do that pretty little upswing she does on 'the tide's gonna ROLL you away' part and to not rush it. I feel so bad for her. No one knows how smart she is. NO ONE BUT ME. She is just a step on the boss man's ladder but he would never get to where he is without her. No one in country music would be where they are today without HER. She can accompany herself on her NAILS for pete's sake! HOLD ONTO YOUR DREAMS DOLLY - don't let them go and watch them shatter."

Fourth time: "Basically I have this memorized. With the help of screen lyrics I should be fine. But what is MY dream? Am I really going to spend all my life putting money in his wallet? Don't I deserve a fair promotion? WILL I EVER MAKE IT TO OPRYLAND?"

Fifth time: "I'm quitting my job."

Nutter Butter

One of the challenges in making pie wherein custard is the star, is simply striking the right balance between the richness of the custard and the thickness and consistency of the crust. This recipe is a great one to try if you are making a fruit and custard tart.

BONUS: Adding nuts is also a great way to lower (slightly) carbs if you are cooking for people who care about that shit. They probably won't want custard though either. In the case of these kinds of guests, fill the pie with sausage. Anyway...

Almond Pie Crust from Chef de Cuisine - makes one 9 inch pie crust

3/4 cup flour
1/4 cup sliced almonds
1 teaspoon sugar
1/4 teaspoon salt
2 tablespoons chilled butter
1 tablespoon cold water

For this you really want to use a food processor or you will spend all your time trying to get the nuts to break down uniformly.

Start by preheating your oven to 425 degrees.
Blend first 4 ingredients in food processor until nuts are finely ground.

Cut butter into pieces and add to flour mixture. Process until it resembles coarse meal.

Add enough water and blend until dough clumps together. Wrap in plastic and chill for at least 20 minutes.

Roll out on a lightly floured surface and transfer to tart pan with removable bottom. This last bit is important as this particular crust is not as sturdy as other all flour-and-fat one. Freeze crust in tart pan for about 30 minutes.

Pre-bake crust for about 15 minutes. Cool, Reduce oven to 325 degrees. Bake crust until lightly brown.

Spoon vanilla custard in bottom of crust, cover with fresh fruit, and glaze.

As the Teen Girl Squad would say "SOOoooOOO GOOD!"

No, Rose, The Katzenjammer Kids

You will be missed, Ma.

New Five Year Plan

Well I found out that the winner of the annual Pillsbury bake-off gets A MILLION DOLLARS and now my life is ruined. Today I am grocery shopping and I am going to buy every product they have with the doughboy on it and force feed my over the top creations to my roommate until I make it, sliding in on a stick of butter leaving a glorious sugar trail, to the competition in Dallas.

Here's how it works. There are seven categories including crap ones like Mexican Favorites, which never get the grand prize, and one sponsored by GE that I totally don't understand. To get to the competition, you have to be one of one hundred finalists in your category and that admission is based on your recipe alone. Once there, you get three hours to make three versions of your recipe and then you pick one to present to the judges for tasting. Each category winner gets 5,000 dollars and then of those seven people, one person gets a MILLION DOLLAR prize. This year's winner, Carolyn Gurtz, was from the peanut butter category:

Her recipe includes chunky peanut butter, sifted flour, MSG, angel tears, and white guilt.

Carolyn Gurtz has probably been entering and winning competitions like this one since before I was born so I already know that I have hurdles to overcome.

But then I remembered that I once met Mr. Pillsbury himself.

The circumstances of my meeting him are another post entirely, but he has a house in Wayzata which is filled with little embroidered pillows that say things like "happiness is marrying your best friend". He also has major eye boogers. But that whole house just makes you want to die it's so flippin' cute. Mrs. Pillsbury, who is still really a stylish and sassy old lady, has a bath in her home office and it is surrounded with pictures of her children and grandchildren. She has a little greenhouse full of orchids and at some point the two of them purchased a questionable metal sculpture from their son's artist friend and plunked it in their gorgeous front yard. They are one of the original Minneapolis power couples. I tibbled from my glass of wine and had the following exchange with Mr. Pillsbury:

MP: "So you're a Smithie are you?"
Me: "Actually no, I went to school in Iowa. I went to Luther."
MP: "So you know old Westie Noble do you?"
Me: "Well not so much personally but sometimes I see him picking up trash around campus using a fifty dollar bill as a glove."
MP (unfazed): "Now what do you do?"
Me: " I uh...welll-"
MP (grandly): "My family was in the flour business."

Yes Mr. Pillsbury, I hear it was quite the racket. Now give me a cool mill for my Orange Dreamsicle Crescent Roll Nut Delights so I can pay off my student loans and the debts of my family, buy myself a modest home and then an amazing cabin, and put the rest into an aggressive growth mutual fund.

Tut Tut, Looks Like Rain

I really don't like my Tuesday/Friday morning bus driver. He takes too many liberties with the little microphone up front. For example he likes to tell us on Tuesday that we are "almost halfway through the week folks....there's only a couple more of those work-a-days left and you already put Monday behind you! It's Tuesday, folks, TUESDAY!" I just want to listen to CSNY and read the back section of my alumni magazine in peace so that I can make note of what CRAZY names people who are like two years younger than me have decided to name their second son. That I could do a whole post on.

Anyway, Takes-up-two-seats (which is the public transport Indian, sorry, Indigenous Peoples, name I assigned to her) LOVES him. I am not such a big fan of Takes-up-two-seats, because, as her name suggests, she is kind of inconsiderate. She is also EXTREMELY chatty, but only with the driver and the driver alone. This is another thing that bugs me about TUTS: stop distracting the damn driver! I know he is probably tired of announcing the same streets in the same order every day but I'd still like to arrive at the oft-puke-ridden corner of Washington and Hennepin in a single piece.

For the last three days TUTS has been describing to our different drivers, all the OTHER drivers that she doesn't like and whom she "may have reported". Each driver, all other passengers, and probably TUTS herself know that these threats are empty but I still don't appreciate the frequency and the vehemence with which she continues to threaten this. On my last day of riding with her (she will soon have her truck back, she tells the driver), I plan to present TUTS with an oversized tote bag in which she may transport the eight other small bags which she usually carries and which spill out across, at the very least, two of the bench seats intended for elderly and disabled people. This is my gift to future riders and drivers alike, but still doesn't ensure that she won't still sit in the middle of the bench and cross her legs towards the front of the bus, continuing to fulfill her destiny and TAKE UP TWO SEATS.

She makes me miss the Jimmy Lemon Lady.

Joe Mande, Don't Get Auf'd

Another season of Project Runway, another contestant that looks like a gay version of the missing link between my friend Joe Mande and Chris Kattan. This is Joe:

He is a talented writer and comedian living in New York City and we had many classes together in high school. During the last season of Project Runway, a lot of Joe's friends (and some strangers) went out of their way to tell him how much he looked like and reminded them of the contest winner Christian Siriano.

Maybe it's hard to see the similarity if you have never met Joe in person or heard him speak, but believe me it's there. The girls that I watch PR with also went to school with Joe and as we recognized Christian to be the gay Joe, we gained affinity for him and cheered him on to victory during the last season. Based on this fact alone, I have chosen my season five winner and it's Daniel Feld:

He was the one that made the cup dress in the first challenge. As with any reality show, it's hard to keep all these "characters" straight until a couple episodes in so my screening group assigns quick and easy nicknames to their favorites.
Daniel=Joe Mande
Korto=Jennifer Hudson
Jerry (auf'd)=Uncks, which was derived from Uncle Jerry, which is NOT a nickname
Blayne=Orangeface
Suede=NEXT TO GO

I am excited to see what happens.

Gayblescapes

A few nights back, confronted with a particularly lame late night cable lineup, I watched a segment of the E! True Hollywood Story of Rachael Ray. At first I thought, "really scraping the bottom of the barrel for new programming E!" which is true. I can't really think of a less, like, salacious person to do an hour-long special on. But the particular part of this episode of THS that I happened to catch focused mostly on the woman who started this community: http://community.livejournal.com/rachael_ray_sux.

I know. It's fair, it's warranted, and as Rachael herself is quoted in response to the website, "you can't please everyone". But I feel like this woman is about three years too late for this. Rachael Ray hatred is passe. It's like complaining about telemarketers or getting all up in arms about novelty rap or Lynne Spears' tell all book. I admit that a few years back, my sister and I would cringe at the mention of EVOO and sammies and whatever but today we will both tell you that when we cook a big meal that involves the peeling of many things, we use garbage bowls. Rachael Ray is like a barnacle. A barnacle that is so far on the underside of the ship that you can sail along effortlessly day-to-day and not even notice her. Plus I think her new hair cut is cute.

Anyway, this all got me thinking about two things:
1. Which Food Network star truly deserves an hour long special on E!? and
2. If forced to create a whole online community around a TV personality (besides Tyra, obviously)that I pretty much despise, who would I pick?

The answer to both of these questions is Sandra Lee.

Or rather, at least for question 2., my answer might be Sandra Lee's tablescapes. This is because no matter how stupid I think their concepts are, I have to respect the empires that these people have managed to build. Even if I think Tick-Tock Clocktails (an actual drink from an episode of Semi-Homemade) are the most retarded things on the planet and are essentially Cosmopolitans served with a watch, I would trade my own job for hers any day.

But the tablescapes, sweet baby Jesus, the tablescapes. Observe:

As if you couldn't already guess, this is Sandra's Nutcracker Christmas tablescape and it doesn't leave any room for food. There is always an INSANE amount of crap involved in these elaborate themes and it makes me wonder what her attic or separate storage facility looks like. Her tip for tree decorating? Terrific Tip: Make the tree twinkle with glasses hung like bells. They don’t need to match – wire a variety of cocktail glasses, wine goblets and champagne flutes to the branches, plug in the lights and see it glisten. Guess what? It looks like total shit!

It's also begging for a child to walk by and totally cut themselves on. Happy bloody holidays! See? Even the Nutcracker Prince in the background is looking on with a watchful eye thinking "what did that crazy bitch try and make with all her extra glassware now?"

Here is her suggestion for the kind of people who might host a Casino Night:

What dude is going to want to swill beer and bet his last student loan payment under a chandelier made of cards and poker chips? The only things that fit in here are the shot glasses.

I also love how her sets are totally matchy matchy with her outfits. I think I'll just leave you with this final image of complete obsessive compulsive behavior.

A Skinnier Pie or What to Make When You Have Run Out of Dairy

Let's get one thing straight. When it comes to baking, I don't really advocate for cutting calories, or making Sandra Lee style shortcuts. If you are going to heat up your house and have a dessert it might as well be the real deal. That said, sometimes you just don't have shortening in the house. That happened to me a couple years back while staying with my hippie friend Lora. She didn't even have butter, but she did have the internets(go figure)so I tracked down this "healthy" alternative and it made a pretty decent crust.

Olive Oil Pie Crust
2/3 cup of olive oil
2 1/2 cups unbleached flour
1/2 tsp salt
1/2 tsp baking powder
1/2 cup ice water
1 egg
1 tbsp of vinegar

The first thing you'll want to do here is to measure out the olive oil and stick it in the freezer until it is almost frozen. This way the fat you are using in the recipe mimics the action that cold butter or lard would normally have in a recipe like this.

Combine flour, baking powder, and salt in a bowl and stick THAT in the fridge too. Measure out the water in a big Pyrex measuring cup and beat in the egg and vinegar. Guess what? You can stick that in the fridge too. If you have a marble rolling pin, put that in the crisper - just for kicks.

When oil is of the right consistency, cut it into the flour mixture. Working quickly, mix until it forms uniformly course crumbs. Add the liquid ingredients gradually, tossing lightly with a fork, until dough sticks together. If dough is too wet add a little extra flour. Roll out onto floured surface. Use as you would use any regular pie pastry.

This recipe make enough for a 9" double crust pie. This dough is fairly easy to work with, but is best not overworked.

Before baking the pie shell prick all sides, bottom and edges of crust. Add pie plate, weights, or dried beans in center to reduce shrinkage. Bake at 400 degrees F about 10 to 15 minutes.

Your Piece of the Pie

This is a breakdown by percentages (which may or may not add up to 100%) of all the tasks I performed during my work day today.

Searching for images of interracial couples - 13%
Eating pineapple and passion fruit sorbet - 4%
Organizing office ride share for work party tomorrow and responding to emails - 9%
Trying on silly hats and making the subsequent photos of said activity into a slide show (to be later set to music) - 24%
Editing - 17%
Coveting dress by Original Penguin on Overstock.com - 2%
Triple-checking correct measurement of "virtual" pressure ulcers - 9%
Conference call - 12%
Having very pleasant interactions with salespeople and fellow customers alike at downtown Macy's - all the rest %. Not to mention- the most favorable.

Please breakdown your day for me. Pie chart preferred.

He Thinks He's People

I believe in God, but I have never thought for a second that we didn't come from monkeys. I still don't understand why so many people think that these two theories/beliefs are mutually exclusive but that's not really the point. The point is that you need to meet Nyota. Nyota is the bonobo chimp pictured above and he is proof, at least to me, that monkeys are people. Why? Because in the midst of my research about primate retirement centers (more to come on that), I started reading about Nyota. First there is this kind of a reductive profile on him.
Name: Nyota
Birthday: April 4, 1998
Favorite food: Bananas
Favorite game: Watch tv
Favorite toy: Bubbles

My internal monologue:

Wait, wait, waaaaiiitttt. Bananas? TV? Bubbles? I mean he's a little bit younger than me but this pretty much is what my Facebook profile says. Or if I haven't included on there how much I like bubbles, I'm about to....make note on my hand of that annndddd READ ON.

Then I got to the part that says "recently Nyota has shown interest in learning stone tool knapping, fire making, and painting." I was an anthropology major in college. This doesn't really mean anything except that I hung out with lots of stoner artists and took a lot of classes that no longer apply to my life. Nyota's recent interests essentially describe my scholastic experience and for my ethno and experimental archaeology class I did a little stone tool knapping myself and guess what? It's really fucking hard! Oh hey! Make this sharp, functional rock tool out of a rock and the only tools you have at your disposal are rocks themselves and other tools made out of rocks. It is worth 75 percent of your grade. When you are done, you should be sure to check ditches for deer carcasses because next week we have to make needles out of bones so that you can sew together some cattail reed mats and ribs really work best...

Now here is where we kind of start to veer off into separate directions. "Nyota's lexigram utterances have always been unusual and distinct. Most recently, a common expression of his is "QUIET THINK" which we translate into "Let's have some quiet time together."

While I do consider some of my utterances to be unique, I rarely have the expression of "QUIET THINK" on. The one I more often wear is, well, "GREASY FACE" and practically all the time "WAITING TO TALK".

I wondered if any of the other monkeys fit descriptions of the people in my life. I think this one might be my friend Sarah Korsch:


His name is Kanzi and this is his profile:
Name: Kanzi
Birthday: October 28, 1980
Favorite food: Onions
Favorite game: Chase
Favorite toy: Red ball

Now Sarah, before you get mad I think you should know that, "If there were a superstar within the bonobo community, Kanzi, which means "treasure" in Swahili, would certainly be it."

I am going to take a page from Nyota's words and work on "QUIET THINK" for at least the rest of the day.

Oh Like the DYNASTY

Update: THIS is a Tang horse. I was thinking either that it was kind of like Lik-a-Maid but with Tang or it would just be a horse covered in vaginas. Boy was I wrong.

Affectionate, Attentive, Divorced, 5'8"

Since those in the 55+ age group don't really understand how to manipulate social networking tools, or believe that maybe they are too educated for match.com, they, much to my enjoyment, still write personal ads. My friend Nick showed me that the very best ones can be found in the back of The New York Review of Books.

I could go about trying to write a fake ad that exemplifies how hilarious these are, but I know it would just fall short. Better yet to give you excerpts and let you see how many super attractive, super old, retired astrophysicists who read The Economist live in the Boston/NYC area. The answer is: A LOT. And they are all seeking same.

Here is a fairly typical one listed by a man:
"INTELLECTUAL ODYSSEUS (Ph.D., 66) seeking California Penelope to share the arts and life with."

It's short, to the point, non-specfic, and totally dorky.

The ones from women, on the other hand, are like completely out of control and very, very long. Here's a good one (and this is just part of it):
"Flexible definition of high art: The Sopranos on A&E, Martin Puryear at the MoMA, Grand Marnier soufflé in the Dordogne. Emotionally open and alert. Movies, meals, biking through the Cape Cod dunes; anhingas and flamingos in Florida, red-tailed hawks over Columbus Circle, Tang horses at the MFA. Stylish and heartfelt; outgoing and thoughtful. Boston/Cambridge, often visits New York. Seeks smart, warm guy, 55–68."

First of all, what are Tang horses? I know I could just look this up but NOT knowing what they are disqualifies me as a candidate for any of these singles, so I think I prefer to remain in the dark about it.

Secondly, I guess it's possible to find someone else who likes eating souffle with emotionally open widows but you would think these ladies want to leave more options open...which leads us to the age ranges.
Here is a smattering of the age ranges listed:
"55–72"
"47 to 64"
"52–66"
"55–68"
"49–65"

I'm not kidding. I cut and pasted these in. So, "stunning European novelist" if you found a guy who is in to improving rusty French, Kendall Square movies, and the Fore Street Cafe but he was 73 and not exactly financially solvent, you wouldn't throw caution to the wind and invite him along to test drive Astin Martins on your next trip up to The Cape?

Ich don't think so.

Cheez-it

I think that I have had two pieces of soul-stirring apple pie in my life. One was a perfect crumble top made by my friend Peter's mom who is a serious Becky HomeEcky, and the other was a slice I ordered at a New Jersey diner and came with a piece of sharp cheddar cheese melted on top.

While this was hardly a new idea, I latched on to it and found a recipe for a version that incorporates the cheese right into the pastry. I think this is best when combined with fairly sour apples like Granny Smiths, but it would also be great as a pot pie crust. You could also use the scraps for various other fatty appetizer things. They would make awesome pigs-in-a-blanket.

Cheddar Cheese Pie Crust - yields two 9 inch crusts

3 1/2 cups all-purpose flour
1 cup shredded Cheddar cheese
1/2 cup unsalted butter, room temperature for blending
1 1/2 cups Crisco
1/2 teaspoon salt
2 tablespoons granulated sugar
1/2 cup ice water

Sift flour and set aside. Then cream Cheddar cheese and butter together with a hand or standing mixer until smooth. Stir the Crisco into the cheese mixture until it's just barely combined. Start to slowly cut the sifted flour into cheese mixture by hand until mixture is crumbly.

Next, dissolve salt and sugar into ice water. Add the water slowly to the cheese mixture and use your hands to combine all together until firm ball is formed. Do not over-mix. Divide dough into 2 balls, seal in plastic wrap, and chill for at least 30 minutes before rolling out.

When chilled, roll each ball out to about 1/8-inch thickness on a lightly floured surface, to a size 2 inches larger than the pan into which it will be fitted.

This crust does tend to be more finicky because of the texture and the combination of shortening and butter. It's important not to overwork this one or it will not come out flaky. I like to bake the bottom shell first at about 375 degrees for 8-10 minutes so that the cheese in the bottom crust browns evenly with the cheese on the top crust.

The Late Greats

Following in the footsteps of his father, my nephew became a published poet this week. His work will appear in a literary magazine for kids, but I am leaking it here on piefinger because I am just so proud.

Also, the poem is kind of genius.

"I love The Bible
This I know
Cuz I love Jesus
Head to toe"

Just so you know that he isn't some weird prophetic religious zealot, I also heard him cry out at his brother as they were wrestling "OOOWWW! My little lady lumps!" So he's getting a healthy mix of Sunday school and top forty hits.

Slip Sliding Away

Certain gene pools will give you good teeth, predispositions to sickle cell anemia, mid-digit hair growth, or two different colored eyes like Kate Bosworth. I inherited a shelf ass. Like, shelfier than most. So shelfy that my brother once tried to sit on it. So shelfy that my sisters (one of whom is pictured above, alongside my shelf ass, wearing stage makeup) mused about me having my own TV show where I was a "butt-ler" and did things such as serve tea, churn butter, and sort mail with my ass. So shelfy that I once broke a porch swing, ripped right through a lounge chair, and got stuck on a waterslide. All in one summer.

This is not going to be a Tyra-esque story about how I learned to "embrace my booty" (Which, by the way, was the theme of one of her recent episodes. Way to make a great leap ahead for all womankind, Tyra. So revolutionary! You're right THIS is what we should be concerned with). No, this is about how I managed to get stuck on the waterslide.

Since I was about nine or ten, I have been one in a group of four or five friends who makes the annual cabin retreat up to Bay Lake for an extended weekend of boozing and wheelchair racing. The boozing wasn't until college, but the wheelchair racing is a tradition firmly rooted in the past so we try to keep it alive as much as possible. This trip often includes a jaunt into the nearby city of Brainerd, and on more than one occasion has included "disguising" ourselves as guests at the resort across the lake. This way we could use their steam room, kayaks, and giant floating trampoline.

On this particular visit, while in our early teens, Britta and I somehow caught the unwelcome and relentless attention of a lonely/diabolical nine-year-old girl. She followed us into the gift shop, to said steam room, around the indoor pool, by the lockers, to play pinball, and etc. We tried to lose her by swimming out farther than any pre-pubescent should be able. Nothing worked so we resigned to the fact that she'd be toddling after us all day and that would be the price we'd pay in exchange for her silence. Having grown up a little sister of her own, Britta was very good at negotiating this.

Being sort of late in the day, the beachfront had pretty much emptied. Free of little kids, aside from our own special tagalong, Britta and I had unfettered access to all the things that teenagers should be too cool to play with or on, but which were still extremely fun. This mostly meant the crap waterslide that spat you out into the shallow water.

Britta went down first, I climbed the ladder behind her, and Dobby the house elf was about one second behind. I positioned myself excitedly as Britta shot out into the water and squirmed to give myself a push from the top of the slide. I believed this little move is what locked me in place so solidly.

I tried again.

Nothing.

From behind me came Dobby's little voice, "You can just go ahead. She's already done! She's out there! In the water!"

Me: "I can see her. I know. I'm trying herrrrreeee."

Dobby: "I've been down it like ten times. It's not scary! Don't be scared!"

Me: "I'm not scared. I'm just stuck. Now if you want to be helpful, you could go fetch me some olive oil or perhaps some butter...."

Britta: (laughing uncontrollably from down below)

In the end, I was glad to have Dobby there. Had she not been anxiously awaiting her turn down the slide, I don't know how I would have gotten that extra little push that eventually sent me down my one and only turn on that slide.

Only in Dreams

Thank God.

Like My Pizza is the Only Pizza That Matters

As I look to the post below I notice that Christie Brinkley, like Melissa Joan Hart, has what my mom would classify as a lazy eye and what she calls lazy eyes are not really lazy. The following is a conversation I once had with her on this topic:
Mom: "Do people ever say you look like anyone famous?"
Me: "The only one I ever get is Melissa Joan Hart, you know from Sabrina the Teenage Witch."
Mom: "OHHhhhh yeah. I can see that. You know, because you both have a lazy eye...."
Me (incredulous): "What?! I do NOT have a lazy eye!"
Mom: "Well you know what I mean. Kind of sleepy...like a little twinkle in them."
Me: "Mom, having a lazy eye is VERY different than having a twinkle."
Mom (faraway): " *magic*..."

Well I'm kind of loathe to do this so early on in my blogging endeavor but I'm going to go ahead and link you to a craigslist posting that sends me into giggleville every time I read it. Mostly because I identify with it. A lot.

http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/aaa/425529349.html

That's Not Her Style

MyHeritage: Celebrity Morph - Old photographs - Pedigree

Please, please go to My Heritage and make one of these of your very own. Then post it somewhere so I can figure out how much of this is based on the particular angle of you face in the picture that you upload. 100% you say? Oh, okay. Because that is the only way to explain me morphing into Uptown Girl. I wish I had access to more hilarious, large, front-facing pictures of myself here at work, but I just don't. If I did, I would make a morph of me turning into Markie Post, Clarissa Darling, or Smurfette.

A big nod to Maven for this tip.

Begin at the Beginning

Part of the idea for this forum was that it would also include recipes. There are a bunch of sites out there that do this better and more prolifically than I have, can, or ever will. Whatevvvvvs. This is the recipe for the most basic pie crust I make. It's the first one I ever used and the one I go back to the most because I always have the ingredients around, you can control the level of moisture in it even in humid weather, and it barely shrinks when baked.

I also like it because you don't need any fancy equipment to make it. I do like to use a pastry cutter if I have one handy because it helps you work quickly so that the butter doesn't start to melt and ruin the texture of the dough. If you have a food processor you can pulse the butter, flour, salt, and sugar together very quickly before sprinkling the water over it and kneading by hand. My favorite method when making Pate Sucree is to simply cut the very cold butter up into small pieces and rub it into the flour. This gives the dough the most even distribution of fat and makes it easy to roll. It also means that as the pastry bakes, the butter will melt through it uniformly, making a very flaky crust.

Pate Sucree
1 crust about 9 inches (recipe is easily doubled)

1 1/4 cups flour
1/4 teaspoon salt
1 tablespoon sugar
8 tablespoons (1 stick) unsalted butter, cold and cut into pieces
3 or so tablespoons ice water, ice strained prior to sprinkling

Use one of the methods mentioned above to combine dry ingredients with butter. Sprinkle 3 tablespoons ice water over top and incorporate until dough forms. Press into discs and wrap in plastic wrap. It's very important to let this dough rest at least 30 minutes in the fridge (ideal) or 10 minutes in the freezer (if you are in a rush).

Sprinkle work surface with a scant amount of flour. The tendency here is to use a generous amount so that your dough doesn't stick. DON'T CHASE THAT FEELING. Your dough will become tough if it absorbs too much flour. But you should be fine.

Once you've rolled it out about a quarter of an inch thick, roll the round gently onto your pin and lay it in a buttered tin or glass dish. You don't need to press the dough into the corners of the dish, it's best to let it settle naturally.

Prick the bottom all over with a fork and brush with egg yolk after trimming the excess from the edges. Press all scraps together and keep in the freezer in plastic wrap for up to a month. You can use this extra dough for decorative cutouts or lay small rounds over the back side of the cups of a muffin tin to make little fillable tart shells.

Bake unfilled shell at 425 for 7 minutes, decrease heat to 350 and bake for an additional 5 before filling. This way you guarantee a non-soggy bottom, which no one likes.

Crying on Command

Okay, the subject of this post may lead you to believe that I can cry on command. I should probably tell you right now that I can't. And in my particular line of work, I'm not really called upon to do so. Ever. Still, I used to practice this skill as a child. Partly because I had some aspirations to act on stage and partly because I already spent a lot of time talking into the mirror working on my impression of Neve Campbell's character from Party of Five. She cried, or near-cried, in practically every episode so I got a lot of time in furrowing my brow, making ugly chin, and saying "Griffin" in a halted voice while waiting for the tears to start flowing. Sometimes they would kind of well up but would stop as soon as my brain went "yesssss....victory over Julia Salinger..."

There are many other things that will ALWAYS move me to tears though. I mean real things which I would never abuse or manipulate in like a quest to cry but events which, as they happen, make tears unavoidable. These are things like seeing your own mom cry, or singing "Were You There?" on Good Friday. But if ever I am in the mood to cry just for pure old-fashioned catharsis, I don't need anything fancy, or even particularly deep. The following is a list of what I keep in my emotional reserves...or channel surf Nick at Nite or ABC Family for:

1. Little Women - the scene where Beth dies. Also the scene where sick Beth (or the Beth that you "will find much altered") gets the piano. Claire Danes can ugly cry like nobody's business and her quivering chin is so large that it practically makes tears of its own. Also the spit bubble inside the corners of your mouth? Nice touch, Danes.

2. Sister Act 2, Back in the Habit - the last song. I just sincerely feel proud of those kids. Even when they are wearing overalls and crop tops and Guatemalan knit hats and Cross Colors. My friend Sarah's little sister Jessie states that people doing things in unison is what tends to set her off. I couldn't agree more J-Man. This scene is perfectly illustrative of that.

3. Stepmom - the conversation Jackie and Isabelle have over drinks at that ridiculously inviting-looking bar. I kind of don't like that what they are talking about is a thirteen-year-old girl's future wedding but still, C'MON "my fear is...she won't" gets me every time.

4. The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air, "Papa's Got a Brand New Excuse" - the scene where Will's dad leaves him again and he talks about all the things he learned to do without him and then collapses, crying, into Uncle Phil's arms. His backwards hat falls off. I lose it. This is just good TV acting, people.

5. Anne of Green Gables - Matthew dies.

This is all I can say on #5.

Jalapeno

One of the greatest benefits to not owning a car and not driving at all, is that I walk a lot. I wish I could say that this was an earth-conscious, go green kind of decision or that I have made a commitment to taking a thousand steps a day toward better health, but really neither of these things are true. I walk out of pure necessity. Riding a bike makes me sweaty, and, let's be real, Rollerblades are for tools. Or dads. I won't even get into how Segways are stupid so I am left with my own two feet.

If I did bike, or roll, or drive to work every day, I would have completely missed out on the opportunity to engage in one of the most mystifying relationships I have ever been in. With a hawk.

There is a little bridge on Washington Avenue that I walk across twice a day, every day. I believe all the strangeness I have witnessed on this bridge is in large part due to the fact that this bridge is situated above train tracks and across from a strip club. One day I found a huge ball of synthetic hair in the sewer grate there, and a piece of shit too large and too familiar to have come from a dog. I also once peered over the edge of the bridge just in time to see a homeless man puking. All these things happened before 9:00 AM.

Several weeks ago I was bopping down Washington, listening to my ipod as I often do, when I saw the outline of what I could, with certainty, identify as a bird of prey. My dad is a dork and a bit of an amateur ornithologist, so as I neared this thing I got very excited. It was a hawk. Right there in the middle of the warehouse district. And it wasn't moving. Even as I moved very close this hawk just continued to look me right in the eye and remain perfectly still. It was winter and there was no one else around, so I felt like maybe I was about to die. Die in some very literary, magical realist fashion. It turned out not even to be a bad omen to the day I was about to have so I put it out of mind.

That night as I walked from my office back to my bus stop, I crossed the bridge and saw a half-empty bladder of that liquid nacho cheese they put in dispensers at concession stands. It's a weird thing to see on the street anyway but weirder still was that the next morning, it was gone.
The synthetic hair - still there, but the half-empty bladder of nacho cheese - M.I.A. I had two thoughts at this point:
1. This could explain why that one dude was throwing up.
2. If it was the hawk (which is what I wanted to believe), why would he take the bladder and not the huge ball of synthetic hair which would make a very comfortable nest?

That evening I crossed the bridge excitedly, and looking for signs, feeling like I could DEFINITELY talk to animals. I got nothing. As I continued down Washington I happened to look up. There in the sky, very near Sex World, I saw the hawk WITH THE NACHO CHEESE BLADDER CLASPED SECURELY IN HIS TALONS. It appeared that no one else noticed this, and that he was putting a show on solely for me, which I appreciated.

I thought of the people in their cars on their evening commute potentially having, what they would assume to be bird shit, plopping on their windshields and arriving home to smell that it was actually drops of liquid nacho cheese. How did it get there?

The answer: Jalapeno.