"Faith" is a fine invention
When Gentleman can see—
But Microscopes are prudent
In an Emergency.
by Emily Dickinson
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
Root Veggie Roast
Makes 6 to 8 servings
INGREDIENTS:
6 ounces grated pecorino romano, manchego, or other salty hard cheese
1 tablespoon finely chopped fresh herbs, such as thyme, chives, and sage
1 tablespoon extra-virgin olive oil
1 teaspoon coarse salt
1/4 teaspoon freshly ground pepper
1/2 pound golden beets (about 1), thinly sliced
1 pound sweet potatoes (about 1 light and 1 dark – what most people call a yam), thinly sliced
1/4 pound large parsnips thinly sliced
1 cup leek, thinly sliced
2 large garlic cloves, thinly sliced
Assorted fresh herbs (optional)
DIRECTIONS:
1. Preheat the oven to 350 degrees. In small bowl toss together cheese and chopped herbs; set aside. Using a non-stick spray or olive oil spray, coat a 2 qt. rectangular baking dish. Mix half of the cheese and all of the other ingredients in a large mixing bowl. Try to evenly coat the veggies with oil and cheese. Arrange the veggies in the prepared baking dish. Sprinkle on the remaining cheese.
2. Cover with foil. Bake for 45 to 50 minutes. Remove foil. Increase oven temperature to 400 degrees. Continue baking, uncovered, 15 minutes or until cheese is melted and starting to brown.
3. Remove from oven. Sprinkle additional fresh herbs. Let stand 10 minutes.
**The beet is in the amaranth family. The most recognized variety is the red root vegetable known as the garden beet. However, other varieties include the leaf vegetables chard and spinach beet, as well as the root vegetables sugar beet, which is important in the production of granulated sugar.
*The color of red beetroot is caused by betalain pigments. Most other red plants, such as red cabbage, contain anthocyanin pigments. The composition of different betalain pigments can vary, giving breeds of beetroot a different degrees of redness. Thus, beets range in color from yellow to a familiar deep red. Betacyanin in beetroot may cause red urine in some people who are unable to break it down. This is called beeturia.
Recipe by Cristina Paul
INGREDIENTS:
6 ounces grated pecorino romano, manchego, or other salty hard cheese
1 tablespoon finely chopped fresh herbs, such as thyme, chives, and sage
1 tablespoon extra-virgin olive oil
1 teaspoon coarse salt
1/4 teaspoon freshly ground pepper
1/2 pound golden beets (about 1), thinly sliced
1 pound sweet potatoes (about 1 light and 1 dark – what most people call a yam), thinly sliced
1/4 pound large parsnips thinly sliced
1 cup leek, thinly sliced
2 large garlic cloves, thinly sliced
Assorted fresh herbs (optional)
DIRECTIONS:
1. Preheat the oven to 350 degrees. In small bowl toss together cheese and chopped herbs; set aside. Using a non-stick spray or olive oil spray, coat a 2 qt. rectangular baking dish. Mix half of the cheese and all of the other ingredients in a large mixing bowl. Try to evenly coat the veggies with oil and cheese. Arrange the veggies in the prepared baking dish. Sprinkle on the remaining cheese.
2. Cover with foil. Bake for 45 to 50 minutes. Remove foil. Increase oven temperature to 400 degrees. Continue baking, uncovered, 15 minutes or until cheese is melted and starting to brown.
3. Remove from oven. Sprinkle additional fresh herbs. Let stand 10 minutes.
**The beet is in the amaranth family. The most recognized variety is the red root vegetable known as the garden beet. However, other varieties include the leaf vegetables chard and spinach beet, as well as the root vegetables sugar beet, which is important in the production of granulated sugar.
*The color of red beetroot is caused by betalain pigments. Most other red plants, such as red cabbage, contain anthocyanin pigments. The composition of different betalain pigments can vary, giving breeds of beetroot a different degrees of redness. Thus, beets range in color from yellow to a familiar deep red. Betacyanin in beetroot may cause red urine in some people who are unable to break it down. This is called beeturia.
Recipe by Cristina Paul
Monday, January 26, 2009
Blah-Blah-Blahg: Food For Nought
I recently rubbed elbows (knees?, foreheads?...) with the most bizarre assembly of humans, and perhaps aliens, EVER! I attended a recent Stumbling Towards Ecstasy event. Now, the name of these free-movement fests should have tipped me off on the unfettered fanaticism of spirit involved in this type of social gathering. But... they're within walking distance of my house. So I thought, what the hey? I'll try it. These hippie-cum-new ager-cum-lost soul-cum-21st century guru amalgams of music, movement, singing, and everything else that would appall the middle-American are held in Masonic Temple. Who is in charge of renting THAT space? It's either a brilliant money-maker for the Masons, or something for which they will be punished by allowing outsiders to deliriously change the psychic energy of the space each Saturday and Sunday.
I should've known what I was getting into when I was greeted by a woman dressed in all white. In my opinion, the only mentally sound humans who wear all white are milkmen and dogcatchers (and do they even exist anymore?). Anyhow, this woman glowed with happiness as she buzzed in front of her computer creating the playlist of the afternoon via iTunes. Every now and then she'd pull a microphone out of thin air and say something that sounded like a poorly translated adage on a fortune cookie. Otherwise she just sighed into the microphone, knowing that her sighs would TOTALLY create a spiritual playground for the crazies in attendance.
I guess, though, that I too am a crazy because I was there. When I saw young people, older people, a man in a wheelchair, a woman in a turban, and more people wearing all white literally climbing up walls and softly touching each others' fingertips and swaying in sync I was kind of weirded out. But everyone seemed happy. I guess I felt what an unbeliever might feel walking into a congregation that does the whole touched by the spirit, talking in tongues type of thing.
I won't say I was converted, but I will say that I started dancing. I don't want to toot my own horn... but TOOOOOOT! (That wasn't me, that was just a residual ecstatic yowl that hadn't been released at Stumbling Towards Ecstasy). I'm a good dancer. Some of the music was really good music. So I figured, I paid my $15 bucks - I'm gonna get my money's worth. So I ended up dancing up a storm with myself, dodging the approaches of random strangers to join in their stumbling toward pregnancy and other exchanges of bodily fluids and uncouth caresses. At one point though, I caved and danced with the most incredible, gay black man whose skin shone like a gleaming seed pod against his... all white pants. Afterwards, he made his way around the large room that kind of resembled a high school gym. But he came back every once in a while and beamed, "You're AMAZING! YOU are amazing!". And you know what? I felt amazing. Even after my feet had blistered and my neck hurt from so much vehement jumping and stretching, I sang out on my walk home. My roommate accompanied me and we skipped. I felt as if I had little wings on my feet for the rest of the day. So if you want to scope some REAL WEIRDOS and you are not opposed to acting like one yourself I highly recommend checking out stumbling towards this scene. The worse that could happen is you get an idea for a documentary or short story while listening to one of the characters play their harmonium and touch themselves with the secret pleasure of a cheshire cat.
I should've known what I was getting into when I was greeted by a woman dressed in all white. In my opinion, the only mentally sound humans who wear all white are milkmen and dogcatchers (and do they even exist anymore?). Anyhow, this woman glowed with happiness as she buzzed in front of her computer creating the playlist of the afternoon via iTunes. Every now and then she'd pull a microphone out of thin air and say something that sounded like a poorly translated adage on a fortune cookie. Otherwise she just sighed into the microphone, knowing that her sighs would TOTALLY create a spiritual playground for the crazies in attendance.
I guess, though, that I too am a crazy because I was there. When I saw young people, older people, a man in a wheelchair, a woman in a turban, and more people wearing all white literally climbing up walls and softly touching each others' fingertips and swaying in sync I was kind of weirded out. But everyone seemed happy. I guess I felt what an unbeliever might feel walking into a congregation that does the whole touched by the spirit, talking in tongues type of thing.
I won't say I was converted, but I will say that I started dancing. I don't want to toot my own horn... but TOOOOOOT! (That wasn't me, that was just a residual ecstatic yowl that hadn't been released at Stumbling Towards Ecstasy). I'm a good dancer. Some of the music was really good music. So I figured, I paid my $15 bucks - I'm gonna get my money's worth. So I ended up dancing up a storm with myself, dodging the approaches of random strangers to join in their stumbling toward pregnancy and other exchanges of bodily fluids and uncouth caresses. At one point though, I caved and danced with the most incredible, gay black man whose skin shone like a gleaming seed pod against his... all white pants. Afterwards, he made his way around the large room that kind of resembled a high school gym. But he came back every once in a while and beamed, "You're AMAZING! YOU are amazing!". And you know what? I felt amazing. Even after my feet had blistered and my neck hurt from so much vehement jumping and stretching, I sang out on my walk home. My roommate accompanied me and we skipped. I felt as if I had little wings on my feet for the rest of the day. So if you want to scope some REAL WEIRDOS and you are not opposed to acting like one yourself I highly recommend checking out stumbling towards this scene. The worse that could happen is you get an idea for a documentary or short story while listening to one of the characters play their harmonium and touch themselves with the secret pleasure of a cheshire cat.
Friday, January 23, 2009
In Passing
From a half block off I see you coming,
walking briskly along, carrying parcels,
furtively glancing up into the faces
of people approaching, looking for someone
you know, holding your smile in your mouth
like a pebble, keeping it moist and ready,
being careful not to swallow.
I know that hope so open on your face,
know how your heart would lift to see just one
among us who remembered. If only someone
would call out your name, would smile,
so happy to see you again. You shift
your heavy parcels, hunch up your shoulders,
and press ahead into the moment.
From a few feet away, you recognize me,
or think you do. I see you preparing your face,
getting your greeting ready. Do I know you?
Both of us wonder. Swiftly we meet and pass,
averting our eyes, close enough to touch,
but not touching. I could not let you know
that I've forgotten, and yet you know.
by Ted Kooser from Weather Central
walking briskly along, carrying parcels,
furtively glancing up into the faces
of people approaching, looking for someone
you know, holding your smile in your mouth
like a pebble, keeping it moist and ready,
being careful not to swallow.
I know that hope so open on your face,
know how your heart would lift to see just one
among us who remembered. If only someone
would call out your name, would smile,
so happy to see you again. You shift
your heavy parcels, hunch up your shoulders,
and press ahead into the moment.
From a few feet away, you recognize me,
or think you do. I see you preparing your face,
getting your greeting ready. Do I know you?
Both of us wonder. Swiftly we meet and pass,
averting our eyes, close enough to touch,
but not touching. I could not let you know
that I've forgotten, and yet you know.
by Ted Kooser from Weather Central
Rosemary Cupcakes With Chocolate Butterecream
Makes 24 cupcakes
These cupcakes are best eaten on the day they are made. The frosting can be made ahead and refrigerated. However, the frosting must stand at room temperature to soften before use.
INGREDIENTS:
For Cupcakes
3 cups unbleached all purpose flour
2 cups granulated sugar
3 teaspoons baking soda
1 1/4 teaspoon fresh, minced rosemary
1 teaspoon salt
16 tablespoons unsalted butter (2 sticks), room temperature
1 cup sour cream
3 whole large eggs plus 2 large egg yolks, room temperature
3 teaspoons vanilla extract
For Frosting
18 tablespoons butter
2 cups confectioner’s sugar
pinch of salt
1 1/4 teaspoon vanilla extract
8 ounces of semisweet chocolate, melted and cooled
2 tablespoons cocoa powder
INSTRUCTIONS:
1. For Cupcakes: Adjust oven rack to middle position; heat oven to 350 degrees. Line two cupcake tins with cupcake liners.
2. Whisk together flour, sugar, baking powder, fresh rosemary, and salt in bowl of standing mixer fitted with paddle attachment. Add butter, sour cream, egg and egg yolks, and vanilla; beat at medium speed until smooth and satiny, about 30 seconds. Scrape down sides of bowl with rubber spatula and mix by hand until smooth and no flour pockets remain.
3. Divide batter evenly among cups of prepared tins ( you may want to use a 2-ounce ice cream scoop). Bake until cupcake tops are pale gold and a toothpick or skewer inserted into center comes out clean, 20 to 24 minutes. Transfer to wire rack; cool cupcakes to room temperature, about 45 minutes.
4.For Frosting: In a standing mixer, beat butter at medium-high speed until smooth, about 20 seconds. Add confectioners' sugar and salt; beat at medium-low speed until most of the sugar is moistened, about 45 seconds. Scrape down bowl and beat at medium speed until mixture is fully combined, about 15 seconds; scrape bowl, add vanilla and beat at medium speed until incorporated, about 10 seconds, then reduce speed to low and gradually beat in chocolate and cocoa powder. Increase speed to medium-high and beat until light and fluffy, about 4 minutes, scraping down bowl once or twice.
5. Spread frosting onto cupcakes, garnish with a bit of rosemary and enjoy!
Recipe by Cristina Paul
Thursday, January 22, 2009
Blah-Blah-Blahg: Food For Nought
Definition: when one has got the goody shivers AND one's nipples are hard
Example sentences (these are all true BTW): During a recent visit to Chez Panisse, I ate the cinnamon braised goat and immediately got shibbles.
I've never been patriotic, but I got a serious case of shibbles while watching Obama's inauguration.
Saturday, January 17, 2009
Proposals
Mistaking me for someone else, he asked me to marry him. This has
happened more than once. The first time, I was eighteen and the boy had
a diamond ring in a box. It was the Fourth of July, it was dark, he said, Happy
Independence Day. Of course, the ring was too large and slipped right off
my finger into the grass. (It belonged to someone else: the woman he
married, eventually.) And when I was twenty-one, that redhead, sloe-eyed
and slinking out of his grief, said he'd imagined I'd be his wife. But he was
mistaken. It wasn't me. Then a drunk who drove too fast, who threw the
proposal over his shoulder like some glittering, tattered scarf. I staggered
out of his car, saying, No thanks, No thanks, No thanks. And the man over
eggs one morning, in the midst of an argument, saying he planned to wait
for spring to ask for my hand, then he never asked. (So of course, I married
that one for a while; spent years convincing him I was not his cup of coffee,
not his girl.) And in Prague, on a bridge called the Karlův Most, a stranger,
a refugee, who mistook the way I stared at the river for thinking of suicide.
Who mistook my American passport for his ticket out of there. And
others-the man whose children grabbed the food off my plate, called me
her; the man in Chartres Cathedral humming the wedding march into my
ear. And tonight, at dinner with friends, happy, discussing their wedding
plans, a man I've known for a couple of hours turning to ask me to marry
him. I don't know who they think I am. Do I look like a bride in these rags
of wind? Do I look like the angel of home and hearth with this strange green
fire in my hands?
by Cecilia Woloch, from Late
happened more than once. The first time, I was eighteen and the boy had
a diamond ring in a box. It was the Fourth of July, it was dark, he said, Happy
Independence Day. Of course, the ring was too large and slipped right off
my finger into the grass. (It belonged to someone else: the woman he
married, eventually.) And when I was twenty-one, that redhead, sloe-eyed
and slinking out of his grief, said he'd imagined I'd be his wife. But he was
mistaken. It wasn't me. Then a drunk who drove too fast, who threw the
proposal over his shoulder like some glittering, tattered scarf. I staggered
out of his car, saying, No thanks, No thanks, No thanks. And the man over
eggs one morning, in the midst of an argument, saying he planned to wait
for spring to ask for my hand, then he never asked. (So of course, I married
that one for a while; spent years convincing him I was not his cup of coffee,
not his girl.) And in Prague, on a bridge called the Karlův Most, a stranger,
a refugee, who mistook the way I stared at the river for thinking of suicide.
Who mistook my American passport for his ticket out of there. And
others-the man whose children grabbed the food off my plate, called me
her; the man in Chartres Cathedral humming the wedding march into my
ear. And tonight, at dinner with friends, happy, discussing their wedding
plans, a man I've known for a couple of hours turning to ask me to marry
him. I don't know who they think I am. Do I look like a bride in these rags
of wind? Do I look like the angel of home and hearth with this strange green
fire in my hands?
by Cecilia Woloch, from Late
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