That which we call a rose...

At one point or another, it seems there is a discussion on most food forums concerning what name to give the people who frequent them. A descriptive term for those who spend an above-average amount of time thinking about food, writing about food, cooking food, searching for food (like driving 60 miles round-trip to buy imported tomatoes), researching & reviewing food and debating food-related topics (such as what name to call themselves).

"Life's splendor forever lies in wait about each one of us in all its fullness, but veiled from view, deep down, invisible, far off.
It is there, though, not hostile, not reluctant, not deaf.
If you summon it by the right word, by its right name, it will come."
-- Franz Kafka (1883-1924)

Foodie -- Commonly used, but the general opinion is that this term, for a myriad of reasons, is objectionable. I tend to utilize it for lack of anything better.

"There is the name and the thing; the name is a sound which sets a mark on and denotes the thing.
The name is no part of the thing nor of the substance;
it is an extraneous piece added to the thing, and outside of it."
-- Michel de Montaigne (1533-1592)

Gourmet -- When a word such as this is printed on the labels of cans of cat food, its meaning has been seriously compromised.

"It is pitiful when a man bears a name for convenience merely,
who has earned neither name nor fame."
-- Henry David Thoreau (1817-1862)

Gourmand -- This can have the same definition as gourmet, but it can also mean a "gluttonous eater". Watch what you say or you'll insult your French tante!

"“Must a name mean something?” Alice asked doubtfully.
“Of course it must, Humpty Dumpty said with a short laugh: “my name means the shape I am — and a good handsome shape it is, too.
With a name like yours, you might be any shape, almost."”
-- Lewis Carroll (1832-1898)

Gastronome -- The official definition: " A connoisseur of good food and drink". Does anyone else get the mental picture of elfin statuary residing in one's digestive tract?

"What is it? a learned man
Could give it a clumsy name.
Let him name it who can,
The beauty would be the same."
-- Alfred Tennyson (1809-1892)

Gastronaut -- A clever variation and would anyone like some Tang? Plus, a good name does not need explanation.

"I wrote my name upon the sand,
And trusted it would stand for aye;
But, soon, alas! the refluent sea
Had washed my feeble lines away."
-- Horatio Alger (1834-1899)

Gastronomist -- A number-cruncher with acid reflux.
And the related, Gastronomer -- A guy who looks through a telescope who also suffers from acid reflux.

"My name is Legion; for we are many."
-- Mark 5:9

Bon Vivant -- Definition: " A person with refined and sociable tastes, especially one who enjoys fine food and drink." And some people think "Foodie" implies elitism?!?

"Even today a crude sort of persecution is all that is required to create an honorable name for any sect, no matter how indifferent in itself."
-- Friedrich Nietzsche (1844-1900)

Epicure -- Isn't it that hair-removal device that painfully rips out body hair?

"Their Name Liveth for Evermore"
-- Rudyard Kipling (1865-1936)

Epicurean -- The deluxe model of the above device?

"The more specific the name, the better the wine."
-- Frank Schoonmaker, Frank Schoonmaker's Encyclopedia of Wine

Connoisseur -- Too encompassing. One can be a connoisseur of anything: wine, reality television, shoes, 80's new wave bands from England...

"O thou invisible spirit of wine, if thou hast no name to be known by,
let us call thee devil!"
-- William Shakespeare (1564-1616)

Cognoscente -- Well, at least it is not a French word... but also not very specific to food... (Definition: "A person with superior, usually specialized knowledge or highly refined taste; a connoisseur.")

"A name? Oh, Jesus Christ. Ah, God, I've been called by a million names all my life. I don't want a name.
I'm better off with a grunt or a groan for a name."
-- Bernardo Bertolucci (b. 1940) from Last Tango in Paris

Fooder -- Fan's of Gene Roddenberry's Star Trek cannot abide to be described by the older and more popular "Trekkies". The preferred term is "Trekker". I am happy to be known as a birder, dancer and gardener, but fooder? It just does not work.

"To understand a name you must be acquainted with the particular of which it is a name."
-- Bertrand Russell (1872-1970)

Foodist -- I simply cannot help but think of a naked, snobby person being hand-fed grapes.

"Who hath not own'd, with rapture-smitten frame,
The power of grace, the magic of a name?"
-- Thomas Campbell (1777-1844)

Food-lover -- Dog-lover, cat-lover, horse-lover, but food-lover tends to bring to mind the movie 9-1/2 Weeks...

"A good name is better than precious ointment."
-- Ecclesiastes 7:1

Foodman -- Foodwoman? Foodperson? Foodtron? The politically-correct police are now at the door...

"Name, no, nothing is nameable, tell, no, nothing can be told,
what then, I don't know, I shouldn't have begun."
-- Samuel Beckett (1906-1989)

Foodites -- Jane Austen fans are called Janeites (because Austenites sounds too much like the residents of the capital of Texas). So would that make someone who only cooks food over a wood fire in Trenton a luddite foodite New Jerseyite?

"There is all the poetry in the world in a name. It is a poem which the mass of men hear and read. What is poetry in the common sense, but a hearing of such jingling names? I want nothing better than a good word. The name of a thing may easily be more than the thing itself to me."
-- Henry David Thoreau (1817-1862)

Foodnatic -- Hmm, not bad, but then I start to think of the Phillies mascot and thinking of the Phillies makes me loose my appetite (can someone please tell those ballplayers they need to use an epicure on all their excess body hair?!?).

"In real life, unlike in Shakespeare, the sweetness of the rose depends upon the name it bears. Things are not only what they are.
They are, in very important respects, what they seem to be."
-- Hubert H. Humphrey (1911-1978)

I give up! Until someone comes up with something better, Foodie will just have to do.

"... By any other name would smell as sweet."
-- William Shakespeare (1564-1616)

Foam, Feathers & Fabric -- The Decision

Ta-dum...

One 86" long and the other 70" long. Fabric similar to above, but with a more subtle pattern and in a dusty darker green color (and more of an Art Nouveau/Arts & Crafts look to it). Will arrive ~September.

Relieved. Poor. Giddy. Tired (still). Happy.

Foam, Feathers & Fabric

I have fallen into the black-hole of furniture shopping and I cannot escape its gravitational pull...

After going to a local sampling of South African wines on Saturday, we decided to check out a furniture store in the same shopping center. We wanted to get ideas for the new dining room table RWT is building. In addition to the table, he will also (eventually) build a china cabinet, sideboard and 12 (maybe even 14) chairs. He already has 10 of the chairs in various stages of completion... here are 5 of them:


So we were in the furniture store surreptitiously measuring dining room tables and checking out their mechanics, when a saleslady started talking to us. After a few minutes of asking her questions that we already knew the answers to ("Gee, is this wood cherry?", "Will it get any darker with age", "So you can put leaves in and make this table bigger?" and so on), we decided that she had both knowledge and good taste. So I did it. I asked her if they had any tight-back leather couches (I have been searching on and off for the ideal leather couch for over four years now). And that brief, simple question was my undoing.

Well, they did have a tight-back leather couch in one of their catalogs, however, it was just not quite what I was looking for (much to RWT's chagrin because, by this point, his alcohol-induced, shopping good humor was beginning to wane... little did he know... it was only all just beginning). While the saleslady was flipping through another catalog looking for more leather couches, I saw it -- what appeared to be the perfect upholstered couch!

Oh no! I thought I had firmly decided on leather couches for the living room, but this couch... a tight-camelback (our current couches have loose pillow backs and I am not about to spend another 15 years straightening pillows), gracefully curved, sweeping arms (and not too freakishly long like mine), and no skirt (so it will not turn into a repository of tennis balls and hair tumbleweeds -- both property of the dog). It could be the one. And did I mention that it is on sale?!?

Being the cautious, overly-sensible people that we are, we were not going to let a pretty picture lead us into any rash decisions -- we're not furniture sluts, after all! We went home to think about it.

As soon as we walked in the door, I went to the manufacturer's website and downloaded their full .pdf catalog of upholstered items (and found another somewhat similar couch, but with a bit more of an air of elegance and refinement), I looked at other manufacturers (where I discovered a couch that, on Friday, I would have ecstatically said was the Holy Grail of leather couches, but now....???), I inundated unsuspecting friends with pictures of couches and I grilled poor RWT on his thoughts and feelings about all the couch possibilities... "Do you like this one better?" "What about this one?" "Do you like it better than the other one?" "Better than this other one or that other one?" After RWT simply refused all further queries and threatened to stop talking to me about anything, I just sat and stared at pictures of couches.

This morning dawned with nothing decided. Only more questions... "Should we buy a couch now at all?" "Is it too much money?" "Should I keep those new dance shoes or send them back?" We went to another furniture store to scope out couches there. Yes, that leather couch is exactly what I've always wanted in a leather couch... tight, low back, square arms, proportional, comfortable, the perfect color. But what about that upholstered couch?!? The couch. Back to the first furniture store we went. The more questions asked, the more questions arose. To quickly, it was time to go to our dance lesson (and RWT breathed a sigh of relief).

And here I am. No closer to a decision. Tired. Frustrated. Off to bed. I have to get up early tomorrow to fit my workout in before we go back to the furniture store... [to be continued]

Sugary Nirvana

Big day today... possibly buying new couches for the living room (I will write about that saga later) and then the dance lesson this evening (I had nightmares last night involving my dance teacher, so you know I am excited about it!). In the meantime (for those who don't already know this), here is the explanation for my unnatural obsession with pralines...

First off, y'all must promise to pronounce the word properly. The first syllable is "praw" like claw, not "pray". Prawleens. Soft sounding, inviting, seductive. Saying PRAY-leens makes you sound like a Texan, or worse, a northerner.

My grandmother from “"Missoura" naturally pronounced it correctly and she is also the one who turned me into a praline fanatic. When I was little and my grandmother actually lived down a path through the woods (but I never saw any wolves on my way there), she would receive a tin of pralines every Christmas from some distant relative still living in the south. She'd take one praline, precisely cut it into eighths and then give one little sliver to each of my sisters and me. That would be it for the day. No more. "“If we were good"” she might give us another tiny piece on some other day. Oh, to have such a wonderful taste of candy, but only just a taste.

As an adult, I searched for pralines like the ones my grandmother would receive every year. Unfortunately, most were either too hard like brittle or too chewy and gooey like caramel. Then, on a business trip to "Norlins" (New Orleans), I did finally find the elusive “perfect” pralines. Tender with itty-bitty sugar crystals, firm but melting in the mouth, and filled with big, flavorful pecans.

I must have eaten a dozen just that day! Whole pralines. All to myself. Huge mouthfuls, not tiny little smidgens. Mmmmmm. All I wanted to eat without limit. Heaven.

Since then, I'’ve learned to make pralines myself, but only for the holidays, special occasions and when I am feeling especially weak (like last Wednesay) because I have absolutely no self-control when it comes to pralines! (And can you guess what I will eat for breakfast this morning?!?)

Hey! You talkin' to me?!?

Confrontation. Ugh.

While I have strong opinions about a lot of things (if you had not already noticed), I do not always voice them, especially in group situations. I like to think (perhaps delusionally) that this is because I am assured enough in my self-worth that I don't need to argue my point to be able to stand behind it with confidence. However, sometimes I start thinking about all the other possible reasons I keep quiet when those around me are speaking up...

1. My mother was very old-fashioned/old-country in some of her beliefs -- especially those concerning "appropriate" behavior for women. She was raised that ladies "should not be a bother", so many times she would just hold her tongue rather than saying what she was thinking. When I was a teenager, my mother would storm around the house, muttering and totally pissed off whenever my father was late for dinner (which was pretty often). My dad would finally breeze in, oblivious to the time, look at the set dinner table and say with genuine surprise: "Oh! Has dinner been waiting long?" To that my mother, who had just been going on and on about my father's inconsiderateness, absent-mindedness and lack of respect, would look my father in the eye and oh-so-sweetly say, without the least bit of sarcasm: "No dear, I just finished making dinner this very minute." I am lucky in that my mother never, ever expected me to emulate her behavior, but I fear that some of it inevitably rubbed off on me.

2. I am the youngest of three girls, my sisters are 6 & 7 years older than me and they are also just as opinionated (if not more!). As a result of being the baby of the family, I was rarely granted the privilege of having an say on most matters (in fact, my sisters sometimes still act that way!). So due to the need for any hope of family harmony (iffy, on a good day, with three sisters), I learned rather early on that I could have my own opinion, but I just could not expect to have the opportunity to share it. Even now, if they are jockeying for attention, I usually just sit quietly and watch.

3. For over 38 years I have been a clergyman's daughter and for 14 years a military wife. Both require a definite need for restraint in social situations. People seem comforted by the expectations of how people in certain circumstances should behave and going against their preconceived notions is not always the most prudent course of action. So when I was a child, I held my tongue not to embarrass my father and as an adult, I do the same for my husband. Which leads nicely to the next reason...

4. My mother-in-law is a woman of strong emotions and is not always the most adept at hiding them. As a result, RWT grew up amidst some pretty spectacular public scenes with his mother at the center of the maelstrom. Just the slightest whiff of calling undo attention to oneself is enough start RWT cringing with dread. So there are times when I make the choice to put my husband's comfort and peace of mind first and just be quiet (although he learned very early on in our marriage never, never, never to utter the phrase "settle down" -- it is a big, red, emotional push-button for me that immediately results in the exact opposite reaction, one of exponential proportions!).

So this blog has really turned into a great place for those thoughts and opinions that I so often keep bottled up in my head. And, upon further reflection, it is truly amazing I ever voice any opinions at all!

Where is the line?

[Caution: More foodie stuff! But don't worry, RWT & I have our first private dance lesson this Sunday and I'm confident that it will start some non-food-related thoughts swirling around in my brain.]

In reading my foodie forum this morning, someone posed the question: "Is it possible to take food too seriously?" That led to a discussion of food snobbery which reminded me of an experience had by someone who once ate a dish, liked it and then had mixed feelings once he found out the "secret ingredient" was Miracle Whip (the whole discussion can be found here).

So using the Miracle Whip incident as an example... theoretically speaking, you make the dish and as one of the components use:

-- Fresh eggs, gathered just that morning from free-ranging chickens, first-press olive oil, the finest imported mustard, sea salt from the shores of Brittany & cane sugar, all whipped together until they form a nice emulsion.

-- Organic eggs from Whole Foods, organic safflower oil, organic mustard, sun-dried sea salt & minimally-refined sugar, all whipped together (by hand with a whisk) until they form a nice emulsion.

-- Eggs from the grocery store, Wesson oil, mustard, salt & sugar, all whipped together until they form a nice emulsion.

-- "Gourmet" mayonnaise from Dean & DeLuca

-- Hellman's (or Best Foods for you west coast readers!) brand mayonnaise

-- Miracle Whip

So at exactly what point does it become unpalatable?

Another example... Jose Andres, (Bon Appetit "Chef of the Year" winner) at his restaurant Oyamel, takes pork rinds, crushes them and sprinkles them over the top of an avocado-filled sopa. Or at one of his other restaurants, Cafe Atlantico, he does a similar thing with corn nuts. Oooh... ahhh... But what about when Suzie Homemaker crushes up canned fried onions and sprinkles them over her green beans?

However, I realize that we all have our baggage from past experiences, expectations and egos to consider. My grandmother was an atrocious cook and frequently cooked a dish containing eggplant cut into rounds. To this day, my father will not eat eggplant if it is cut into rounds, no matter how it is cooked (but if it is cut into sticks or diced it's just fine). My mother-in-law does not like tomato-based pasta sauces because they remind her of when she was poor and could afford nothing else. And when my oldest sis was out visiting last fall and we went to CityZen, it would have taken nothing short of food-poisoning to convince her that our meal there was anything other than perfect because she is such a huge fan of Thomas Keller (the chef at CityZen previously worked at the French Laundry for Keller).

These types of things color our perceptions of what we eat and not necessarily on a conscious, controllable level, it is just part of one's personality. I like to think that a truly talented cook/chef can make delicious food with all different types of ingredients (not just the best-of-the-best stuff). And if the result tastes good, then it tastes good. Nothing more, nothing less, or else, IMHO, the food is being taken too seriously.

[BTW -- I have a quiche recipe that calls for mayonnaise (but not Miracle Whip). It always grosses me out a bit while making it, but that quiche sure does taste good! And, no, I usually do not tell people that it does contains mayo unless they ask.]

The Challenge

Reading a thread about where to buy quality meat on my favorite foodie forum (DR.com, the link can be found under "Links" on this page), made me start thinking again about the whole "is it worth it" issue regarding buying only the best-of-the-best ingredients for cooking.

Perhaps it's due to being a transient military person often living at the ends of the earth or from growing up in small, podunk towns, but I cannot fathom driving 50 miles to buy dry-aged boutique beef at a far-flung grocery store. My approach to cooking is to make the best of what is available locally. That includes sometimes not cooking a certain dish or abruptly changing the menu because a special ingredient suddenly appears at my local store (fellow military commissary-shoppers will totally relate to this phenomenon!).

I feel that in most cases, once I finish cooking a recipe, adding all the appropriate spicing and tweaking the ingredients as needed to get the most of them, any "special-ness" or lack thereof is either drowned-out by other flavors or is no longer discernible. For example, the soon-to-be-famous imported vs. domestic canned tomato debate... My approach: Are the tomatoes too acidic? Add a pinch of sugar to the sauce. Are the tomatoes already rather salty out of the can? Don't add as much salt. Too watery? Cook the sauce a bit longer. Hardly rocket science.

I do take exception to this approach to cooking when an ingredient is served essentially unaltered and is the main component of the dish. RWT and I don't eat steak, so specialty meats are pretty much a non-issue for us. But I am sitting here as I type eating pralines for breakfast (mmm, the breakfast of champions!) and I will go out of my way to go to Trader Joe's (which is only about 5 miles from my house, so not too far out of my way) to buy nuts. Why? They are cheaper and better quality than what can be found in most grocery stores. For walnuts in brownies, it does not really matter as long as the walnuts are not totally rank, so most any walnuts will do. But for pralines... flabby nuts will result in mediocre pralines. Toasting the nuts will help some, but fresh, non-soggy pecans are essential for top-notch pralines because there are so few other ingredients/flavors present.

There are also the occasions where I really need a specific, non-substitutable ingredient and acquiring it has lead me into some great experiences. When we lived in the boondocks of southern Maryland, I started vegetable gardening mainly because I could not buy Italian parsley down there (even after a 10-minute argument with a grocery store produce manager that Italian parsley and cilantro were really not the same thing!). I also perfected making bagels while living there because decent ones were simply unavailable. Both are skills that I am thrilled to have learned!

However, I must admit that I will occasionally break my pattern and go out of my way to buy something high-end. But I usually end up regretting it later. For my foodie forum picnic last weekend, I went to Trader Joe's and bought some Neiman Ranch bacon for the BLT spread I was taking. But after combining the bacon with arugula mayo and oven-roasted tomatoes, I'm really not sure than anyone could taste the difference between sustainable, small family farm, deep-bedded pig, apple-smoked, pricey bacon and Oscar Meyer bacon.

So for now I will continue to keep the mileage low on my beloved old Celica, enjoy the extra free time and accept the challenge to make great meals with rather pedestrian ingredients -- just don't tell the food snobs!

You Spin Me Round Like A Record

Well, at the moment, I am certainly feeling more Dead than Alive...

Just got back from our Ballroom II class and tonight was learning the hustle. No, not the line dance hustle that they tortured me with in 7th grade P.E. class , but the partner hustle dance (it is, although some vehemently disagree, somewhat like a variation of swing). Neither RWT or I had danced it before (needless to say, we are not *that* old!) and, like all new dances for us, it is a challenge.

During class when we were doing the hustle to "Sledgehammer", RWT said he is sure he's going to hell for dancing the hustle to 80's music. But for me, I am already in hell for attempting the 1.5 turn that our teacher said is the hallmark of hustle. Blech.

I had a nasty inner-ear infection when I was a freshman in high school and ever since then, I have some balance issues and get dizzy really, really easily. Just watching other people ride the teacups at Disneyland makes me want to hurl my churros. And I cannot even watch RWT play Nintendo or PS without getting ill (although the old 2-D Nintendo games are no problem).

I fear that doing this 1.5 turn for hustle may just be the death of me. Probably the most irritating part of it all is that I cannot practice my turns for more than 5 minutes or so before start feeling so sick that I need to sit very, very still and close my eyes. Arrgh! So here I sit... dizzy, nauseated and frustrated. I think I'll go to bed and hope the world stops spinning right round round round...

[Interesting discovery while at dance class... for the 1.5 turn, the ladies are supposed to put their left arm up in the air while spinning. Our teacher told us "be sure that it is all the way up with the inside of the elbow against your ear". Upon doing that, I noticed that, unlike all the other women in the class who's elbows were by their ears or at the very highest their temples, when I extend my arm my elbow is about an inch above my head!!! Aaack! I'm a freak of nature!]

Sixty-two miles and no tomatoes

It is a good thing I don't own a gun, because today I would have certainly used it! No, not to shoot an actual person, but maybe their car... or at the very least put some serious fear into well-deserving, self-aborbed, self-important yuppie-scum.

I had to go out to suburban northern Virginia this morning (in the rain!) in search of D.O.P. San Marzano canned whole tomatoes. Why? My foodie friends and I are having a tomato tasting on the 4th of June to determine if fancy imported tomatoes are really worth the hassle of seeking out. So off I was to Wegmans.

Wegmans... similar to Central Market in Austin. Or a Whole Foods on steroids. However, it always just strikes me as a soul-less place, like the McDonald's-owned Chipotles -- good food, good quality, but somehow lacking a sense of reality. As if it has been Disney-fied... everything is just too nice, too neat, too attractive. And the whole Wegmans' experience is not helped by the hoards of clueless people standing in the middle of the aisles apparently waiting for divine intervention.

So first I went to the Fairfax store. Nope, they don't even have the imported tomatoes (but what can one expect from Fairfax?). Then a trek across wet, poorly identified backroads between Fairfax and Sterling. I managed to successfully navigate the huge new interchange which has sprung up since the last time I was at that Wegmans (do that many people go there?!?) and drive into the parking lot to see... a school bus! No-no-no, please tell me no... Yes. A school field trip to Wegmans. Cute little 3rd/4th grade-ish children in adorable blue plaid school uniforms. These kids are right next to our nation's capital, the Smithsonian and surrounded by historic battlefields, sites & buildings, but where do they go? Wegmans?!?

After successfully navigating the touring tots, I located the canned tomato aisle. Aaack!!! The D.O.P. (which stands for something in Italian that basically means that the contents of the can are certified to be real San Marzano tomatoes grown in the appropriate region of Italy) tomatoes were all sold out. Yes, they had them on sale and there were no more to be had. I even asked the partially-coherent customer service chick who called someone to ask about them (or at least, she pretended to call someone!), informed me that all they had would be out on the shelves and offered me a rain check for the sale price. To which, I was a bit less gracious in my response than I should have been.

My current thinking -- there is no way in the world that any canned tomato could possibly taste good enough for a return trip out to suburban hell. Maybe the tomato tasting will prove me wrong and, if it does, I suspect I'll be looking for a mail-order source D.O.P. San Marzano canned whole tomatoes.

Experience Required?

Way back when I worked for the Navy as a paints & coatings expert, I would have long debates with my boss about whether one needed first-hand, hands-on (hmm... trying for another descriptive containing the word "hand", but failing... losing my grip? ;-D ) experience to really understand something. I always took the position that, while it certainly adds to one's knowledge, actually experiencing something is not always necessary to fully understanding it.

But now I find myself on the other side of the argument. Why? Nougat. Specifically French (or Italian, depending on the geographical, political & ancestral perspective of who you ask) nougat. White, tender, chewy nougat filled with nuts (most commonly toasted almonds) and often tasting of honey. Think of the "Big Hunk" candy bars of your youth (or at least my youth... I have not seen them in forever. But that may merely be due to modern technology... I pay for my gas at the pump and rarely venture into the Big Hunk's native habitat -- the inside of a gas station/convenience store). Or a more upscale version -- the Provencal Nougat bars at Trader Joe's (but also located near the cash registers... Is there some special connection between nougat & cash? Or is it the cashiers?).

Anyway, I've been attempting to make my own nougat at home. But my problem is, that while I have a pretty good idea what an Americanized version of nougat tastes like (tough research, but someone had to do it!), I've never eaten real French (or Italian, with the same disclaimer as above) nougat. How tender? How sweet? How honey-y? How nutty? How chewy? Does it contain cocoa butter?

So what am I to do in a case like this? I've asked all the people I can think of who may have possibly experienced the "real" stuff to describe it to me and the best answer I've received is: "I know it's good when I see it". I am torn between locating a source of imported nougat (but then there will be those who argue that it never, ever tastes the same after being shipped...) and just trusting my own palate. Maybe I should develop a recipe that I like and call it MKT-Nougat and pretend that it is my own creative take on nougat... And then I can roll my eyes and oh-so-tolerantly remark on the quaintness of those who prefer old-fashioned nougat.

Boy, if my old boss could only see me now!

Flour so deep there are white footprints across the carpets!

Okay, here I am writing when I should be sleeping... but I think if I tried to go to sleep right now, I'd just lay awake thinking about what I could be writing... so this will be the test... will I be able to sleep once I get all of this out of my head?

(I am exhausted from only getting 5 hours sleep last night, so a warning --clever writing will not be my strong point tonight!)

Busy, busy baking day today. Tomorrow is a picnic for my foodie group (DR.com) and I've spent the day making a bunch of bread. I've become known as a bread person and that is not necessarily a bad thing. As far as having some sort of reputation, it is a rather benign one. The only real downside is the pressure to provide good and interesting breads at events such as this (especially since there will be people attending who know good bread from mediocre bread).

I estimate that I've used 10-15 pounds of flour today. Sourdough deli rye (with onions & caraway), Pain de Mie (a buttery sandwich bread baked in a lidded pan), baguettes, S.F.-style sourdough (which I'll take only if it turns out well -- sourdough is tricky this time of year because of the ambient temps in the house, but that is also a topic of its own!), Pain a l'Ancienne (a really cool, no pun intended, cold fermented bread) and rosemary-topped fougasse (a fancy-shaped foccacia). As RWT would say: "too much". Yes, over the top as usual, but that is me and, with this group, the majority of the people are also type-A and won't see anything unusual in it (at least I hope!).

And although RWT thinks all bread needs is a good slathering of unsalted butter (we're patriotic in our butter preference and prefer good 'ol American Land 'O Lakes) and I could easily survive on a diet of plain bread and water alone, I've also made some toppings... mortadella mousse, blue cheese/chevre/cognac/spiced walnut terrine and an MKT-original recipe "BLT" spread (arugula mayo, chopped oven roasted tomatoes & crumbled crispy bacon). Then there are the back-up spreads of lemon/herb/garlic cream cheese (I'd have preferred to use chevre, but I was out of it) and some roasted eggplant with basil & garlic (I had toyed with the idea of making calzones for the picnic and this would have been one of the fillings). Yes, having "back-up spreads" is pretty out of control, but I at least I'll be able to sleep and not lay awake worrying about my arugula mayo turning into green slime as it sits in the refrigerator overnight. And even if it does, I picked up some back-up arugula on the way home from the party tonight. Okay, I am out of control. Gracious, will this only get worse as I get older?!?

And speaking of the party tonight -- I took two french apple (the kind with the struesel on top) pies to our neighbor's 60th b'day bash (potluck appetizers & desserts) at a local parish hall. I waited far too late in the day to make the pies (busy making bread, back-up bread, spreads, back-up spreads, back-up back-up spreads -- you get the picture...), but was able to throw them together (including making the crust from scratch) in about 45 minutes (yay for me!). Normally, the pies should cool for 2 hours after baking, but I set an electric fan next to them on the counter and with that got them cooled down in 1 hour & 15 minutes. (And we were only 15 minutes late to the party -- and that was due to waiting for the Pain de Mie to finish baking.)

At the party, RWT quickly sated himself on the sad selection of appetizers (it appeared there was a deviled egg theme that everyone but me knew about...) and than asked if I cared if he got a slice of my pie that I had out on the dessert table. I thought it was a great idea since I had not cut the pie and I know how people can be shy about taking the first slice of something (but never RWT's problem!). As soon as RWT got his slice, one of the resident gray-haired church ladies reprimanded him for eating dessert when people were supposed to be eating the appetizers! Too funny. I am really tempted to start going to that church for the sole purpose of sitting in her spot in her pew. (Fellow Episcopalians out there will know how we get about "our" seats in church and for those non-Episcopalians -- no one has assigned seating, but everyone always sits in the same exact spot every service -- a social minefield for the newcomers!). But no matter at what point of the evening that one ate the pies, they went pretty quickly. The first pie was gone sometime within a half an hour after the "official" dessert eating started (I was talking with neighbors and did not pay much attention to it) and the second pie was gone within 10 minutes of my putting it out. Sort of incredible that something that took 3.5 hours to create could disappear so quickly. However, I'm very glad it was appreciated (although nothing beats a piece of apple pie for breakfast, mmmm....).

Well, I was going to write about my current candy quest (I am thinking of calling it "A Study in Sugar & Nuts"), but I am getting really sleepy so that will have to wait for another day. Will this blog endeavor work in clearing my over-active mind and will I be able to get some much-needed REM tonight? I'll let you know that later also!

When Worlds Collide

I was watching "All My Children" (taped on my old VCR, as hard as our family has tried to drag us into the 21st century by giving us a Tivo for Christmas, we still need something to use in the basement, perhaps another Tivo is in the stars for us?) as usual this morning while doing my thrice-weekly workout and a couple of the characters were discussing spaghetti puttanesca. While spaghetti puttanesca is in itself delicious and worthy of its own discussion, it was amusing in this instance because (if you don't already know) spaghetti puttanesca translates roughly into streetwalker's spaghetti (supposedly named such because its strong flavors where favored by the streetwalker's "clients") and the soap character (Erica Kane) who loves it is your typical soap opera female villain who many could refer to as a whore. Intentional choice by TPTB (TPTB = The Powers That Be, a soap forum acronym for the soap writers)? And if so, how many viewers got the inside joke?

That got me thinking of how many people only know a certain side of me. For example... there is the foodie side that knows trivia about pasta sauces and the soap-watching side who has watched Susan Lucci play Erica Kane for over 20 years. But there is also the gardener, the sci-fi geek, the crazy rock scrambler, the ballroom dancer, the Cubs fan, the birdwatcher and so on and so on. I have a few close friends who might know most of my different facets, but other than my husband, RWT, I don't think there is anyone who knows it all. (And please, I certainly don't think I am unique in this. Everyone has parts to their personalities, loves, passions, obsessions that most people never see.)

But what about when those facets are juxtaposed? Personally (hmm, I guess that everything I write here is from the personal viewpoint kind of goes without saying...), I think it is totally cool when it happens. Initially, it can be a bit disorienting, but after the initial surprise fades it always amazes me that someone else has the same odd-ball tastes that I do! Another example -- there was an episode of Futurama (oh, how I miss that show!) where they combined Iron Chef with Star Trek. Brilliant! Genius! But really, how many people in the world like Japanese TV, food stuff and sci-fi? Well, at least two... me and Matt Groening (the originator of Futurama). But is that it? Or are there lots of us? Does a predilection for one thing somehow predispose me for one for something else?

On the dance forum I read (www.dance-forums.com), many people who are into ballroom dance have also been into showing horses. So why is that? Many of the founders of eGullet (a large foodie forum) are into sci-fi. Hmmm. Maybe there is a correlation. There's a lady on my favorite foodie forum (www.donrockwell.com) who is also into baseball and gardening (and I think she is an Episcopalian too). So maybe I am not so odd in my tastes after all? And maybe that is why I find it so cool when these things happen -- while I enjoying thinking of myself as unique, it is also comforting that I am not totally alone.

Why?

Throughout the day (and sometimes, unfortunately, night), I am plagued with random thoughts/observations/questions which suddenly pop into my mind.

And many times, if I let these thoughts reside in my brain for any length of time, they whirl around and around, growing in size to F4 tornado proportions and eventually evolve into an obsession that blocks out all other rational thought. So to avoid that (and to get anything productive done), I usually write out these thoughts and dump them on innocent and unsuspecting friends and acquaintances.

Then a venerable friend suggested that my writings were being "wasted" by one being sent to one person only and should be shared with many (or he is merely sick of receiving my unbidden correspondence). Hence this blog. I can "download" my thoughts and only inflict them on you, the willing reader!