Pontificum Scriblerus

My life is a veritable ant farm of activity, especially as of late. As of late, it is as though someone stuck a stick right in the middle of the antfarm, and all the the little ants are going around absolutely crazed trying to figure out what to do about the stick and how to get rid of the dead bodies. It's total overload, inspiration wise. I want to write and write and write, the graphomania is just gurgling and bubbling over the top, but which thing gets the honor of becoming a story? I start something in my head, and immediately forget it, and have it replaced by something else. I need an out! Remember before fellowship, when I had interests and friends who were not yet abandoned and who also had interests, and sometimes those interests resulted in delicious dinners? I seem to recall I used to cook and be not bad at it, according to some (awful, according to others, but I think those others had inferiority issues of their own). Well, first year has ended, and I've been ...

Well, aside from the narcissistic nature of the previous story (I mean, seriously, 2000 words about a case of food poisoning?), there are also some cultural gems to be had and learned in there. I think I need to emphasize them. Please go back to tushenka. You can see, that the first time I mention it, I made the word a link. Mostly, when I was looking for a website to link to, I was just looking for an appropriately gory picture of tushenka, and didn't actually read the content. Today I went back and read it, and it's just fucking hilarious!!! So, because I'm such a nerd, and it's 11:30 on a Friday, and I'm too weak to be out, but too well to be passed out, I actually found and used an insta-translator, and translated the page for your entertainment and pleasure, my English speaking friends. But also, and especially, my RUSSIAN English speaking friends!!! Just goes to show, nothing is as good when taken out of context!!! Never mind that I'm now crying whi...

Well, I've gone and done it. I've upset my mother in the potato post, by calling her thick-legged proletariat. Thus, I hereby retract that statement. We were NEVER proletariat. In fact, I believe, we were quite refined, with a set of behavioral rules and a well defined social etiquette. Talking about food as a topic, for example, was in very poor taste. Checking out what someone else was eating was not nice, and noting that it looked gross was just rude. Now, I think beets are good. Tasty root vegetable, sweet, crunchy, happily colored. Around here people are put off by them because they're pink. And when I used to bring borscht, the traditional beet soup, for lunch, invariably, there would someone who'd look in my tupperware, and go, "ewww, that's pink, what is that?" What is borscht? Well, that would depend who you ask. Every cook has a recipe of their own, and every region has their own signature way of making it. For example, the Ukranians make it with...

Ok, I actually made these on Sunday, and then again on Tuesday. Take the average and you have Monday. Baking is a mystery to me. There so many pans, and so many ingredients... it's uncharted territory. Of course, I used to know a chef, who, upon hearing this, scoffed, and said, "Baking is easy. Very little 'feeling' involved in baking, and definitely no 'art.'" Unfortunate me, can't even handle the easy stuff. What he said... Perhaps for some that's true. But these were baked with much feeling; a feeling possibly close to hubris. While I realize that muffins are quite possibly the easiest thing to mix up and throw in the oven (evidenced by the fact that even I did it successfully), I still felt like I was soaring up to the sun when the warm scent filled my kitchen. It was also a birthday brunch, and I was told NOT to make eggs, in light of the fact that over the last 2 weeks, we ate 2 quiches and 1 Spanish tortilla. I wanted something different, un...

Today, I thought to myself, what is this, with the quiche, and the Morroccan lamb, and the empanada? All these things are nothing but Western bourgeoise idle fat layering. Let's not forget from whence we came. We, the thick-legged proletariat. And so, I called my connection to my roots: my mother. I asked her a very important question that amused her to no end, because the answer should be obvious. I said, "Mom... How do you boil potatoes?" Insert laugh track here. But you must understand. When I was little, potatoes were a staple. The women would put a giant aluminum pot of potatoes on the stove, steam up all the windows, create a starchy haze in the kitchen, and invariably, allow the water to boil off and burn the bottom few spuds - so a potato just doesn't taste right to me without a little burnt taste to it... Anyway. You could eat them for dinner, for lunch, for breakfast even, or just cold as a snack. And if boiled properly, they lack that floury quality of a ba...

The pseudo-chef in me has no official training, but learned from the hard knocks school of living on her own since age 19, and Mom's kitchen. Mom is what every home chef should aspire to be, because she barely uses recipes; rather throws together something that sounds good - and it's always good. Once in a while, though, she'll find an actual recipe she likes, and then modify it to fit her own kitchen. Then, I come along, steal that recipe, and pretend like it's my own. So, here you have it: Ersatz Morroccan Lamb (adapted from Cooking for Two , stolen from Mom) about 2 lbs of lamb (the recipe says, stew, but we use shoulder chops which are more tender, just cut them into bite size pieces, and whatever you can't get off the bone, throw in as well, for flavor) 1 onion, finely chopped a little oil 1/2 tsp cinnamon 1/2 tsp ground cloves 1-2 tsp sugar salt and pepper juice of half a lemon 1 Tbsp water a fruit - this time around I got lazy and threw some canned peaches on...

It was a happy series of events that led towards this time zero: the Incredibly Impressive Induction of the Impanada. (ok, it's Empanada, but I wanted to keep a theme). The events were such: 1) We went to Taberna de Haro and had empanada there, and I thought, this right here? Should be ridiculously easy to make at home. 2) We went to B&G oysters and both thought, we don't eat enough fish. 3) As a result of #2, we went to Wulf's fish market, and purchased mucho fish, including chunks of fresh tuna and swordfish, supposedly for a homemae paella (that would be all him!), or maybe Marmitako (about that, would be another post), neither of which we got to over the weekend. 4) I bought puff pastry for some reason, and it was starting to atrophy from disuse. Time zero: I decide to make an emapanada. I have no idea how this is done, and I don't feel like researching recipes. My MIL and husband both are full of tips, but neither are around to help me make it. And, of course, ...