What We Want

What we want
is never simple.
We move among the things
we thought we wanted:
a face, a room, an open book
and these things bear our names—

now they want us.
But what we want appears
in dreams, wearing disguises.
We fall past,
holding out our arms
and in the morning
our arms ache.
We don't remember the dream,
but the dream remembers us.
It is there all day

as an animal is there

under the table,

as the stars are there.

by Linda Pastan, from Carnival Evening

Bake - ATION Cake

a G rated piña colada

takes 10 on a trip to contentment

Ingredients:
1 2/3 cup sweetened shredded coconut
½ cup unsalted butter, room temperature, plus extra for the baking dish
1 ½ cups all-purpose flour, plus extra for dusting
½ teaspoon baking soda
½ teaspoon salt
1 cup superfine or baker’s sugar
3 large eggs
1 tsp vanilla
1 cup sour cream (not light)
1 can (20 ounces) of crushed pineapple in juice, drained

Directions:
1. Preheat the oven to 350º. Spread coconut on a baking sheet. Bake until lightly toasted and toss occasionally (about 6-8 minutes). Set the toasted coconut aside. Butter and flour an 8” square baking dish.
2. In a bowl, whisk together all the flour, baking soda, and salt.
3. With a standing mixer on high speed, cream the butter and sugar until the mixture is light and fluffy. Add one egg at a time and then add the vanilla. Reduce speed to low and alternately add dry ingredients and sour cream in three additions. Mix until just combined. Don’t overmix!
4. Now scrape down the sides and carefully incorporate the crushed pineapple and a generous cup of toasted coconut. Spread the batter into the prepared baking dish. Bake and, after 62 minutes, sprinkle the remaining coconut on top of the cake. If the coconut begins to darken too quickly, cover the cake with foil. Continue baking until a toothpick comes out clean or nearly clean (your total bake time will be about 70 minutes). The cake should be very moist. Let the cake cool for 15 minutes and then you may cut pieces from the pan. This cake will keep for about 3 days if you wrap it in plastic and leave it out at room temperature. A dollop of homemade whipped cream would be the perfect accompaniment.

recipe by Cristina Paul

Blah-Blah-Blahg: Food For Nought

I'm trying to find the metaphor for my newly broken toe - which kind of resembles an overstuffed, blue sausage. What am I possibly supposed to learn from a Capture The Flag injury? That's right - I broke my big, right toe while playing a peurile game at a barbecue in Griffith Park. Is the lesson not to drink Korean beer in a red plastic cup so as not to tip off the suspicious park ranger? Or is it never to wear mustard yellow pants - probably constructed in a sweatshop in a land far far away? Perhaps the information I'm supposed to glean from this splendidly-timed corporeal injustice is that my mental state of imbalance has comedically manifested itself as a physical pain which I can no longer ignore. After having my left toe run over by a shopping cart earlier tis year (toenail is slowly growing back) and my right foot stomped on by an unidentified stiletto on two separate occasions (visits to the physical therapist were actually pleasant), I believe some force is trying to send me a message. I have not yet deciphered the meaning. So if you or a loved one have sustained similar injuries and have a clue as to what this is all about - leave a comment. Or if you have any suggestions besides elevating and icing the foot - fill me in. As for now, I am TOE-tally mystified but will continue to count the shades of cool colors (by cool I mean the opposite of warm) on my big toe. Miles Davis ain't got nothing on me. The back of my toe is especially psychedelic - sort of like one of those tie dyed shirts we all made as kids.
Here's a much improved pic of my gnarly toe.

Other feet have scuffed these wooden floors

the fallen leaf envies fruit on the branch
old love letter in the drawer
itches with envy at the weight
of newly-penned passion on the table top
always a struggle in the comparison
but two needs one to come before
larger, smaller, brighter, sweeter
forgotten sweater in the closet
(did I forget a sweater in the closet?)
things remembered laugh at Easter
they are, it is, they are
barking up the same tree
retreating to the same brown bed

by Cristina Paul

Romesco Sauce

because old-hat hummus has worn out its welcome

Serves 3-4 as a sauce for meat or 6-9 as an appetizer with flatbreads, crackers, veggies, and such

Ingredients:
1 ounce dried, seeded guajillo pepper (about 1 inch of 1 pepper) or 2 chiles de arbol
4 Roma tomatoes
1/4 cup best-quality olive oil, divided
1/2 cup roasted and salted Marcona almonds
3 water crackers or 1/2 slice of toasted country white bread with crust cut off
3 cloves garlic
1 teaspoon kosher salt
2 teaspoons sweet paprika (preferably Spanish)
1 teaspoon of champagne or red wine vinegar (a mix of both is best)

Directions:
1. Set the oven to broil. Cover the peppers with boiling water and allow to soften for 30 minutes and reserve.

2. While the peppers are softening, halve the tomatoes lengthwise and place them, skin side up, on a foil-lined baking sheet. Brush 1 tablespoon of oil over the tomatoes and broil the tomatoes until the skins begin to darken and crack, about 5 minutes. Cool on their tray and set aside.

4. In a food processor, coarsely chop the nuts, crackers or bread, garlic, and salt. Add the pepper, tomatoes, paprika and vinegar and process to a rough paste. Slowly pour in remaining 3 tablespoons of olive oil in a steady stream and process until just combined. If served as a dip, you may want to drizzle extra olive oil on top and sprinkle on some extra paprika. Add a dash of cayenne pepper if you’d like more kick. Set out flatbreads, crackers, chips, or pita and watch the sauce disappear.

***The food section of The LA Times just ran a recipe for romesco sauce; I like mine better, insofar as all the ingredients are actually available at most markets, it’s less labor intensive, and it tastes divine.
****If you don’t have a brush to brush the olive oil onto the tomatoes, an even better alternative is a sturdy sprig of rosemary.

Recipe by Cristina Paul

Blah-Blah-Blahg: Food For Nought

Hunting for duplexes, much like searching for a mate, inevitably forces one to compromise. And hunting for property in L.A. really puts the AYYYYY in compromAAAAYse. So while cruising relatively undesirable neighborhoods, with scrawled notes in hand, I noticed something about the places my brother and I had been looking at. Some of the duplexes were like ugly girls with nice clothes on, and these didn't bother me. Other properties were pretty girls with haggard clothing, they had real "potential". Some were just ugly girls with ugly clothes. Now these properties truly had nothing to recommend them. I wondered who resided in them and said a tiny little prayer - for myself - in hopes that I wouldn't suffer from night tremors because of the indelible mark the pooplexes had left upon my consciousness.

When I returned to my own rabbit-hole, I fitfully sharpened all of my knives and felt much better, resolving to look again... next weekend.

Here's just one of the portraits of modern decay. You'd think the realtor would have at least removed the rickety shopping cart or righted the teeter-tottering sign post for the picture.

The Man Next Door Is Teaching His Dog to Drive

It all began when he came out one morning

and found the dog waiting for him behind the wheel.

He thought she looked pretty good sitting there,



so he started taking her into town with him

just so she could get a feel for the road.

They have made a few turns through the field,



him sitting beside her, his foot on the accelerator,

her muzzle on the wheel. Now they are practicing

going up and down the lane with him whispering



encouragement in her silky ear. She is a handsome

dog with long ears and a speckled muzzle and he

is a good teacher. Now my wife, Millie, he says,



she was always too timid on the road, but don't you

be afraid to let people know that you are there.

The dog seems to be thinking about this seriously.



Braking, however, is still a problem, but he is building

a mouthpiece which he hopes to attach to the steering 

column, and when he upgrades to one of those new



Sports Utility Vehicles with the remote ignition device,

he will have solved the key and the lock problem.

Although he has not yet let her drive into town,



he thinks she will be ready sometime next month,

and when his eyes get bad and her hip dysplasia 

gets worse, he thinks this will come in real handy.

by Cathryn Essinger from My Dog Does Not Read Plato