On Claymation, Locally-Baked Goods, Kitchen Toys, Arroz con Pollo, and Yogurt Cake

Before the catch-up, the day's events:

• After watching a matinée showing of the hilarious, excellent Wallace and Gromit: Curse of the Ware-Rabbit, we walked to Williams-Sonoma, conveniently located one block east of the movie theater. I snapped up the jar of butternut squash purée I had come for (I'm planning to make one of three recipes for butternut squash soup tomorrow -- the dilemma!), a pretty wooden-handled utilitarian metal whisk, and a red silicone spatula. While there, we also got to sample mini pumpkin pancakes (the size of blinis) dolloped with a W&S-brand pumpkin spread, maple syrup, and cream cheese paste prepared in the store's demo kitchen. Results were yummy. Had serious thoughts of adding the pumpkin dough mix and spread to my purchases, then chastised myself for falling for gimmickry and lazy ready-mixes. Maybe next weekend.


• Sunday is farmer's market day on Lincoln Road, so the entire strip was lined with stands selling local produce, flowers, bread, honey, nuts, and the like. Brad can get a little impatient with stand-browsing, so we usually limit ourselves to looking at the goods on our way home or to a particular store or restaurant, as the case may be. But today an unfamiliar table loaded with towers of gigantic cookies and smartly-arrayed pastries caught my eye, and we just had to stop for a chat and some munchies. Apparently the goods are the products of the recently resurrected Blu Dog Bakery, which, up until just a few months ago, occupied a small storefront somewhere around 5th and Washington. They went out of business before I was able to sample their baked goods, but after tasting their ridiculously-proportioned chocolate-chocolate chip cookie pie, I am ever so glad they're back in action.


That mound of chocolate goodness is about one-third of the actual size of the chocolate chocolate-chip cookie, which is possibly one of the best cookies I've ever tasted. It's covered by a thin, flaky crust, with the meltiest, softest dough inside. The pastry in the foreground is a raspberry-cheese danish topped with almonds, which I'm saving for breakfast.

So those were today's food-related events. Lunch and dinner (which we affectionally termed "linner," as one meal comprised both) came courtesy of the best pizza in Miami, located at Spris on Lincoln Road, home of the skinniest, flakiest pizza crust anywhere. Mine was arugula, mozzarella, and bresaola (delicious Italian cured beef, similar to Spanish Serrano ham or a sturdier Italian prosciutto) with parmesan shavings, and Brad's was chicken, goat cheese, mozzarella, sundried tomatoes, spinach, and basil. Our weekly guilty pleasure.

Actually, there was a guilty pleasure yesterday, too. In the early afternoon, we hopped the bus Downtown and then took the MetroRail to Sunset Place shops in South Miami, a large shopping center featuring movie theaters, a Virgin megastore, and a Barnes & Noble -- large-scale shopping such as you don't see, due to restrictive commercial zoning laws, on South Beach. We spent most of our time at Barnes & Noble, where I acquired the November 2005 issue of my newfound favorite food magazine, Fine Cooking, and about five other gastronomically-themed publications. I'm out of control. Then we decided to eschew the tacky, overpriced, tourist-trappy mall eateries (hello, Don Shula's Grill), and decided to check out a tiny Japanese restaurant accross the street. It turned out to be a fortuitous choice: the food was absolutely delicious, the presentation impeccable, and the service lovely. It's a family-owned business, and it shows: the owner herself, a gracious middle-aged woman, offered us the check at the end of our meal and stopped to ask about our dining experience and answer our questions. For the record, I had an appetizer of ragoon (fried crescent-shaped dumplings filled with cream cheese, crab, and smoked salmon) and a volcano roll (a pyramid of crab, avocado, and cucumber rolls covered with small scallops and a spicy eel-mayonnaise sauce), all washed down with a Sapporo. Brad had a salmon roll wrapped in paper-thin cucumber strips and a standout chicken teriyaki platter, accompanied by a Kirin. I recommend the Japanese Palace highly, if you're in the neighborhood. I believe they also cater.

As for my cooking escapades of the past week, I suppose there were two noteworthy enough to write about:

• This yogurt-based cake. It is the perfect accompaniment for one's morning coffee, afternoon snack, or, in my case, hearty dinner. See, I don't know if it's the extra-virgin olive oil I used in the recipe, or that I should have reduced the amount, but my gâteau had a distinctive flavor of olive to it. My mom, who sampled the cake, said she loved it, that it reminded her of a typical bizcocho from Mallorca heavy on the olive oil. (My mom, who attended a French school in Barcelona, remembered fondly that she used to make this cake as a kid, and promptly asked me for the recipe. Thanks again, Chocolate and Zucchini! My mom is your newest fan!) I think the next time I make it, I'm going to add a bit more vanilla and rum, and considerably scale down the olive oil. As it is, the cake was a fantastic addition to . . .

• . . . the arroz con pollo (literally "rice with chicken") recipe I pilfered from the Fine Cooking website's recipe archive. This is a traditionally Cuban and Central American dish, and, since I do live in the Latin American outpost of Miami, I figured it was time I learn to make this comfort food staple. Plus, this recipe -- although compiled, presumably, by an American food writer named Sarah Jay -- seems pretty true to form. Anyway, I used chicken drumsticks, spicy turkey sausage, and Rolling Rock beer in my incarnation of this arroz con pollo. It was delicious and flavorful, but rather than the indicated 2-1/4 cups of water, I strongly, strongly recommend you use chicken stock or broth instead, as a basal touch of salty depth would have made the dish. But yes, it was delicious, substantial, and surprisingly easy to make. This is one even my boyfriend (!) asked to add to the repertoire.

So there you have it. Another week in review. As a sidenote, the soundtrack of late is Brian Wilson's newly-released Smile, the absolutely brilliant album he waited 35 years to record. Also, I just finished reading a kids' short story collection published by McSweeney's (of Dave Eggers fame) and benefiting 826 Valencia, featuring stories by Nick Hornby, Jonathan Safran Foer, and Neil Gaiman. Last week, in several short commute-induced gulps, I read Michael Chabon's new book, The Final Solution, wisp-short yet completely satisfying. I devoured it. Further proof of this man's utter genius and joie de words.

Ok, it's well past two in the morning, and in case you couldn't tell, I'm starting not to make much sense. So, in the spirit of Mr. Chabon's latest, I'll leave you in suspense with the following cliffhangers:

- Which of three butternut squash soups will Sylvia decide to use tomorrow: generic, cider-spiked Barefoot Contessa, or heavy-cream-and-apple?

- Will she succeed in her quest for the elusive Baking Pumpkin?

- And, if said Pumpkin is not to be found . . . what will be done with the two pounds of sausage in her fridge?

Sigh.

Recent culinary experiments & goings-on:

• Tonight, made a ground turkey adaptation of the Argentine-style burger featured in the September 2005 issue of Fine Cooking. Improvised a chunky, spicy salsa as an accompaniment out of diced cherry tomatoes, onions, garlic, a jalapeño pepper, and fresh cilantro, all drizzled with olive oil, white wine and balsamic vinegars, the juice of half a lemon (I am more partial to lemon than lime, in general), and a pinch of salt. Served the burger on a piece of grilled wheat toast covered with a slice of pepperjack cheese. We also munched on some vegetable crisps. Delicious, and yielded four burgers, so dinner tomorrow's a non-issue.

• Bought a small, handsome colander to use as a flour sifter. Was planning on using it for a couple of banana-cranberry loaves which have yet to materialize. Right now, my multitasking colander is keeping the potato peeler, vegetable brush, and other neglected cooking tools company inside a kitchen drawer.

• Made quesadillas based on another recipe from the September 2005 issue of Fine Cooking, which is fast-becoming my culinary bible. This particular recipe called for a prosciutto, jalapeño, and mozzarella filling, but since Brad is a little skeptical of unfamiliar cold cuts, I whipped up a fast chicken version for him. Marinated the chicken in olive oil, lemon, salt, pepper, Emeril's Chicken Rub (hey, it works -- I'm not ashamed), and Cholula hot sauce for about a half hour. Stuffed the fillings into folded-over whole-wheat tortillas and grilled with a dab of butter in a small frying pan. Coupled with mixed greens tossed in balsamic vinaigrette. My recipe tester gobbled up his three chicken quesadillas. Success.

• Made chili. (Is it obvious that I live with a Texan?) My best yet, and shunning those awful 99¢ McCormick chili-spice packets. In a deep saucepan simmered onion, garlic, red pepper, about one pound of ground turkey, cumin, coriander, chili powder, two large diced beefsteak tomatoes, a couple of teaspoons of tomato paste, salt, pepper, and a dab or two of balsamic vinegar for 25 minutes. Added a can of rinsed, drained red kidney beans and cooked for another 5 minutes. Sprinkled with pepperjack cheese, served with toasted wheat flatbread (mmmmmm...) and a side salad.

• Discovered store-bought Cantare olive tapenade makes an incredibly tasty, moist, and textury sandwich spread as an alternative to spicy mustard. It dressed my turkey lunch break sandwiches every day this past week.

• Somehow willed the Travel Channel (Tony Bourdain!) and the Food Network (FOOD NETWORK!!!) to appear on my television through my cable box. I will not ask any questions, and I will reap the benefits as long as the gastronomy gods see fit.

Hurricane Pizza



The past couple of weeks have been pretty eventful here in South Florida. We were barely missed by that hulking behemoth Katrina at the turn of September, and just this past Monday and Tuesday all of Miami-Dade and Broward counties were effectively shut down in preparation for Hurricane Rita, which luckily proved just to be an ugly tropical storm, but which is now barreling forth toward Texas at Category 5 force.

So it's been relatively difficult to think about food creatively, or even shop for bare-necessities food, throughout the hurricane-preparedness frenzies. Monday at noon, after Miami-Dade County announced the closure of its facilities, my office shut down, and as a foolhardy group of my co-workers made its way to have a celebratory lunch at Chili's (witness the peculiar spirit and character of the native Miamian), I packed myself into the S bus and made my way home to prepare. Stopped at CVS, which was nearly deserted, to pick up some meds and batteries, but figured water and electrical-outage food could wait until my mother was able to leave her office and take me along with her to Publix. The early-hours ghost-town CVS totally misled me.

Publix was an evil jungle at 4:30 p.m. when my mother and I set out to forage for supplies. Actually, the two Miami Beach Publixes were inaccessible, parking lots full and waited on by snaking lines of cars. A causeway and some 40 blocks away, the Downtown Publix was crawling with tightly-packed cranky people grabbing the closest thing, the darndest thing, anything within reach -- we're talking frosted cupcakes, boxes upon boxes of cereal (to be eaten, in the event of an outage, how? à la Ice Cube in Friday, with water?), ready-made hot dishes... Mom and I got the hell out of there and walked across the street to my old friend CVS, where I got the following crucial hurricane supplies:

• toilet paper
• Oreo cookies
• 6 one-liter bottles of Aquafina
• graham crackers

I am not a good maker of emergency lists, in the event of an emergency.

Anyway, so Rita passed through without much fanfare after all. Monday night, buried in our little studio apartment, we lived off of my mom's meatball stew (previously frozen and delivered in Tupperware) and the aforementioned Oreos; and Tuesday we braved the gusty, wet outer rings and made our way to the Van Dyke for overcooked calamari, gigantic comfort-food burgers, and the most gargantuan brownie sundaes ever recorded in the books (at least in mine). So we've completely been avoiding taking on the responsibility of food for several days now, which likewise reflects on the state of our fridge (poor, malnourished).

So tonight I decided to pull together a few odds and ends and throw them together onto a whole-wheat pizza crust in a nod to resourcefulness in the face of hardship, hurricane hardship, and laziness. The outcome is conveniently, alluringly pictured above.

While I George-grilled a chicken breast brushed with oil and aux herbes de Provence, topped the pizza crust with a store-bought red wine marinara (bertolli, not bad for prefab), slices of fresh water-packed mozzarella, dollops of ricotta and goat cheese, sundried tomatoes, fresh spinach, and manzanilla olives. When the chicken was cooked through, I cut it into small chunks and added it to the pizza. I sprinkled all toppings with grated Parmigiano-Romano cheese, herbes, and drops of olive oil, and slid the pizza into the oven at 450°F for about 15 minutes. The combination of toppings was delicious (fresh basil arranged on top just before serving would have capped off the experience, but none was to be had), but the pizza base was a big disappointment. The crust was chewy and rubbery all around, rather than being crisp on the outside and tenderly flaky inside, and the whole-wheat taste was overpowering and gluey. I definitely don't recommend, and I still strive for the heights of dough-crafting and pizza-making that characterize Spris. But that's a food review for another time.

I leave you heavy-lidded and with a belly full of hurricane pizza. Mmmm.

The Lasagna Chronicles

Today was the day: I made my first-ever lasagna. The results? Mixed, a little tough around the middle, and somewhat sloppy. I guess that's what happens when one gets a little too cocky too soon, self-declares oneself a cook, and decides to wing a recipe one has never attempted before. I'm afraid I'll have to call this attempt a learning experience and move on . . . at least after we've finished working our way through it, which will surely take a couple of days.

The Experiment. I chopped up three garlic cloves, one medium onion, and half a leftover yellow bell pepper (hey, I'm a gourmand on a budget). I heated up olive oil in a large, deep skillet, sautéed the garlic, and added the diced onion and bell pepper. As the vegetables cooked, I prepared roughly 1 1/3 pounds of ground turkey, sprinkling it generously with pepper, cumin, coriander, dried oregano and basil, and pinches of salt and red pepper flakes. We do like our condiments, and turkey needs all the help it can get. I stirred the vegetables in the pan over to the perimeter of the pan and added the seasoned ground turkey, turning up the gas accordingly. (South Beach cooks on gas stoves, by the way. Cheap, tasty, and efficient, if a wee bit hazardous.) After breaking up the ground turkey into smaller and smaller bits, and continuing to stir it often, I seasoned some 6 ounces of part-skim ricotta cheese with oregano and basil. A few indulgent pinches of grated Parmigiano-Reggiano and small chunks of fresh, water-packed Bocconcini mozzarella were added to the ricotta mixture, and the whole thing was stored in the refrigerator to await its turn at layering. Once the turkey was cooked through, I stirred in the (no longer) peripheral vegetables and added one large chopped beefsteak tomato to the mix. A can of Publix-brand tomato sauce (I know, I know, a real cook would've made the sauce from scratch -- gimme a break, I'm an amateur), a shot of white wine vinegar, and a couple of tablespoonfuls of brown sugar later, my meat sauce was bubbling its way to success. I let the sauce simmer for about 30 minutes while dealing with dirty dishes, unchecked e-mail, and various pending items, and then anxiously returned to put together my lasagna. And this is where the soufflé deflates, as it were.

If I haven't mentioned this before, my boyfriend and I live in a very small studio apartment with a very small -- though thankfully occupying a separate room -- kitchen featuring very limited counter and storage space. It follows, then, that we have precious little room for pots, pans, and, god forbid, cooking tools and gadgets. So for the lasagna, I used an 8" x 5" glass loaf pan inherited from my parents, which proved entirely too small. I sprayed the pan with Pam, a laughable concession to the fat and calories to come, and ladled some of the meat sauce to cover the bottom. I laid four overlapping sheets of wheat pasta over the sauce, ladled some more sauce over those, and spooned a layer of the cheese mixture on top. Layer one, and the pan was filled to the brim! I scanned the back of the pasta box for guidance: sure enough, I should have been getting four layers out of this deal. Oops. It was too late to part the oozy layers and start over, so I ventured bravely forth, placing four new sheets of pasta on the cheese layer and topping them off with the remaining sauce and cheese. I put my volcanic concoction in the oven, which I'd preheated to 400°F, set the time for 45 minutes (mistake number two, I believe), and hoped for the best.

In the meantime, Brad had come home from work, and we left briefly to run an errand at Radio Shack. When we returned a short while later, the ominous smell of burning food greeted us as soon as we'd opened the front door. I ran to the oven and discovered that the volcano had erupted, in the form of cheesy bits and saucy rivulets that had collected and charred at the bottom of the oven. Brad freaked out, worried the dripping cheese would start a fire, so I calmly poured a couple of cupfuls of water on the offenders, which accomplished absolutely nothing but made the both of us feel useful. Minutes later, the timer went off, and I decided it would be too much of a fire hazard to continue cooking the lasagna much longer. It was time to prepare the topper, the triumphant crust of broiled cheese that ultimately makes or breaks the lasagna, and so, after removing my molten pan from the oven, I coated the top of the lasagna with grated Parmigiano-Reggiano, chunks of mozzarella, and pats of butter. Ten minutes of broiling time later, the lasagna was screaming for release, coughing up these alarming yet insanely cool puffs of steam from its inner layers (or, more accurately, inner layer, singular). We let the lasagna sit for a few minutes while we tossed a couple of green salads and grilled some slices of sourdough five-grain bread on the George Foreman grill, also known as the studio-dweller's culinary savior, and hereafter referred to simply as "the George." Finally, and with pathetically subpar serving tools (a knife and spatula), we dug up two pieces of lasagna for our dinner, and got to the anticipated task of eating.

The meat sauce was subtly spicy, dense, and juicy, and the mixture of seasoned cheeses lively to the palate. I was about to declare my photographically-unworthy creation redeemed when Brad asked if the noodles were supposed to be crunchy. Uh oh. Indeed, the top layer of noodles was seriously undercooked towards the middle of the lasagna. The pasta box did instruct not to boil the noodles before layering, so the mistake was obviously mine, probably in undercooking the lasagna, or perhaps in skimping on the top layer of meat sauce. So we ended up having to eat around the undercooked noodles, which was pretty depressing. Still, Brad had a second helping, so noodles aside, it was pretty good. Better luck next time.

Quick sidenote. I'm lucky to work a four-day, forty-hour workweek, and today was my day off, so I went walking around Lincoln Road. Ultimate destination: Williams-Sonoma, where I picked up this adorable mortar and pestle set. I have to say I had my sights on this one, but at $16, my mini was the obvious winner. I will be crushing spices and thereby inaugurating the mini later on this week, so stay tuned if you like.

Also, let it be known that tips on lasagna-making and empathy with noodle-overcooking are always welcome, and much appreciated.

A Week In the Life

The story begins on Wednesday of the past week, when I came across and decided to accept the Wine Blogging Wednesday challenge posed by Chocolate and Zucchini. The task was to bake a rich, decadent dark chocolate cake and pair it with a complementary wine. Sounds like a delicious, common-sense combination, doesn't it? Well, apparently, wine and chocolate are notoriously fickle allies. Some people (extremists, I say) even believe a successful pairing can't be had, due to the overwhelming richness of both components.

I wasn't about to be deterred from my purpose, though -- no one's going to tell me two of my favorite edibles, both of which, happily, come in a wide variety of grades and styles, can't somehow be put together agreeably and tastily. So I went on a little Google crusade, and discovered that, as long as the chosen wine isn't overpowered by the chosen chocolate, the combination is likely to work. Thus, boiling it down to its most basic principle, sweet milk chocolate does well with sweet dessert wines (ports, sherries); and dark, bittersweet chocolate works best with dry, biting wines. Several websites made mention of cabernet sauvignons doing especially well with dark chocolates, so I made a mental note to pick up a cab at the liquor store (after, naturally, consulting the owner) later in the week to go with my attempt at her Melt-In-Your-Mouth Dark Chocolate Cake.

On Thursday night, there was a slight change of plans. Faced with the prospect of sharing a home with an entire 8"-diameter baked chocolate sin, and also because I like cooking for people and love my parents, I decided to bake the cake in time for Friday's weekly grocery-shopping trip with my mom so I could give her half for herself and my dad. I also decided to forego the Wine Blogging Wednesday experiment, because 1 bottle of wine + Sylvia + Brad + weekday = certain disaster. (Not to mention the budgetary concerns: like they say, good wine don't come cheap, darnit.)

So in the end, I just baked the following surprisingly quick, easy, and indulgently delicious cake:


Note: If and when baking this cake, make sure you let the butter and chocolate mixture cool sufficiently before you proceed with the sugar and eggs; otherwise, you might find your eggs will begin to cook separately in the warm chocolate. You have been warned.

Post-Script to Cake Anecdote: My parents were so completely taken with this cake, and impressed with my descriptions of its easy preparation, that my mom actually made her own yesterday. My mom, who usually hates getting down and dirty (with food-making, naturally) in the kitchen. Further still, she was determined to make her famous and much-missed meatball stew today. I am so impressed, proud, and, I have to admit, a little puffed up.

Anyway, back to the story. So Friday after work, armed with half a cake and a shopping list featuring the ingredients necessary to make this Franco-American take on chicken nuggets and fries (yes, this lovely website is currently my North star) and a turkey lasagna, I hit good old Publix with my mother. Now, a principal ingredient in the nugget seasoning is herbes de Provence, or herbs from the French region of Provence (here's a basic map), which are usually packaged together, and which were absent from the well-stocked shelves of the condiments & spices aisle. I knew that these herbes are a mixture of usually readily-available spices, including thyme and rosemary, but I didn't know the exact combination, which made me a little sad. So my mom -- did I mention how great my mom is? -- suggested checking out the stock at nearby Epicure, the local gourmet foods market. We piled our groceries in mom's car and headed off to our next culinary stop.

Epicure's luxe, minimal, specialized spice rack did indeed include a spot for "herbs from Provence," but said spot was completely empty. The only sold-out among dozens. Aaahhh! Undeterred, we sought out the help of a wandering employee, who shrugged off the spice vacancy. But as luck will have it, the owner, an elegant middle-aged American lady, happened to be standing an aisle away from us, overheard the conversation, and, after apologizing profusely, offered to photocopy the recipe for herbes out of one of her own books. A couple of minutes later, she emerged from the back offices with a triumphant copy of pages 278-79 in The New Food Lover's Companion, which explains that herbes de Provence is generally composed of basil, fennel seed, lavender, marjoram, rosemary, sage, summer savory, and thyme. I bought a little bottle of lavender, the only spice I didn't already have at home, and we left. I'm actually very happy they were out of the pre-packaged herbes, as I would otherwise have never met the charming owner of Epicure, or made off with a behind-the-scenes recipe. One more stone laid down in my path as a foodie.


OK, so this is what happens when you leave several days' worth of entries for one marathon post on Sunday night. Luckily for all involved, I'm almost finished. The rest of the weekend was more or less culinarily uneventful. Let's see: A versatile Publix whole rotisserie chicken provided dinner on Saturday night and tonight, and was served with (I have to admit) pre-packaged but righteous sour cream and chive mashed potatoes, steamed broccoli sprinkled with salt and olive oil, and slices of fresh-baked sourdough five-grain loaf patted with butter. This afternoon, I binged on cooking magazines at Books & Books, and also finally picked up a copy of Jeffrey Steingarten's The Man Who Ate Everything. Tomorrow I'll attempt my first-ever lasagna, which I am terribly excited about. -- But I'll reserve further details of books and lasagna preparation for other entries; wouldn't want to run out of material already!

La Ruta del Gazpacho

The New York Times structures a pilgrimage of sorts around the typical cold soups of Andalucía, Spain's southern region, in this article. Warning: expect your notions of gazpacho, and cold soups in general, to be battered about. Variations on the theme include the use of almonds, cherries, and pine nuts as main ingredients. Fierce.

Also, this week's New Yorker, dated September 5, 2005, is the annual Food Issue. Not to be missed. And speaking of soups, the magazine features an article on their Latin American counterparts in Ecuador; so, when you read these articles in conjunction, you get a nice bi-continental perspective on the dish. I like tying up my loose ends.

Banana Blueberry Bread
with apologies to The Best-Ever Vegetarian Cookbook's banana pecan bread recipe

• 1 stick sweet butter, melted or softened
• 1 cup light brown sugar
• 2 eggs, beaten
• 3 ripe bananas
• 2 cups self-rising flour
• about 4.5 or 5 ounces blueberries
• 1 teaspoon vanilla extract

Preheat oven to 350°F. In a large mixing bowl, combine the butter and brown sugar until creamy. Beat the eggs and incorporate them gradually into the mixture of butter and sugar. Add the hint of vanilla extract. Mash the bananas -- chunky banana bits work best with this loaf, so leave them in -- and pour them into the mixture. Fold in the flour, preferably sifting it with a sieve first (or, if restricted by the constraints of a tiny, understocked kitchen and matching budget, with a bowl and a fork). Once you have a nice consistent mixture, sprinkle in the blueberries and stir them in slowly, taking care not to squash them. Now take a nice loaf pan, like the disposable 8" by 4" I selected, and grease it up with a fearless chunk of butter, which will completely prevent the bread from sticking to its container. (This last step comes in handy for photo-ops.) Tuck away your bread in the oven and let it bake for about an hour and 15 minutes. Stick a knife or skewer into the bread when its time is up: if the utensil comes out clean, the bread is ready to go. Let it cool for a few minutes. Serve with blueberries, a dollop of fresh or whipped cream, and a cup of coffee. Feel free to substitute cranberries, pecans, or any other fruits or nuts for the blueberries as the mood strikes.

~ ~ ~

I've decided that food is probably the best framework around which to structure this blog. Cooking has always been a minor hobby for me, and since I've been doing quite a bit of it lately -- sandwiches get old, and going out to eat every day gets expensive, -- I thought I would document my culinary progress and subject people to it. You do get a recipe for your trouble, though, and the chance to comment on it or anything else in the process, which is a relatively fair trade, no?

Although I intend for this blog, in part, to be about food for food's sake, it also gives me the opportunity to rant about completely unrelated stuff, such as, but not limited to:

1. What I've been listening to recently
(The Cure,
Crosby, Stills and Nash,
TV On the Radio)

2. What I've been reading recently
(the New Yorker,
The Coast of Akron by Adrienne Miller,
Dwell magazine)

3. What I've been thinking about
(the devastated Gulf Coast,
a business plan)

4. What games I've been playing
(ROSE Online BETA,
Grand Theft Auto: San Andreas,
The Kingdom of Loathing )

5. and What games I'm anticipating
(Sims 2: Nightlife expansion,
Black and White 2,
The Movies,
Civilization IV)

6. What I've been doing
(bicycling,
redecorating,
sketching)

Oh, and every now and then, there is a pose with the results: