Back to Work

First off, raise a glass in memory of Donald Westlake, whose work I've touted here repeatedly. In reading the obit, I discovered that he wrote an average of something like four books a year. I still recommend him, and I'm seriously bummed that this means no more Dortmunder novels.

Friday I had lunch with a new person at work, someone on whom I intended to rely for a bunch of things (things that are actually in her sphere of responsibility). Turns out that's likely not going to be possible, as she does not have the skills necessary to do her job. To her everlasting credit, she is the one who has figured that out--within days of starting the job, a few weeks ago--and she is trying to figure out wtf to do about it. She can't just quit without another job, but she's pretty sure (and I concurred, based on what she told me) that she's headed for failure in this one. The problem is, her boss explicitly told her she didn't need to know X or be able to do Y--but she does, in fact, need to know X and be able to do Y.

Her boss is just clueless about this, and I knew (knew, knew, knew) this would happen with this job, and warned my own boss about it when the hiring process began. I tried to be helpful, and made several suggestions about paths she can take, but I didn't try to reassure her that, oh, everything will be fine. I think she felt better just having her sense of things validated, and perhaps having someone else who knows the situation. It may also mean that my boss and I are screwed on some things, and I gave him a confidential heads up today.

Some good food got made last week. I needed to have some pork on New Year's Day, to assuage my grandmother's superstitions (as transmitted by my mother). Friend had pork chops and pork tenderloin in the freezer, and got out the chops, so I grabbed some cookbooks and rummaged around, trying to come up with something. I ended up modifying (of course) a recipe from one of the Silver Palate cookbooks. Okay, what I made was REALLY different from the original recipe, but it worked nicely.

I trimmed the fat from the chops and set it aside, then cut the meat into small chunks. I marinated the meat chunks in red wine, with a couple of splashes of balsamic vinegar; chopped figs; chopped prunes; dried cranberries, some molasses; fresh thyme; pepper; salt; and a little honey. It only marinated for a couple of hours--all day might have been even better. And I'd put fresh sage in it, as well, if I had any. I put a little olive oil in an oven-proof pan and rendered the pork fat in it, then removed and tossed the fat. I browned the meat, then removed it and sauteed half a large onion (the other half went into the beans) and threw in a minced clove of garlic as well. When the onions were soft, I dumped everything back into the pan--meat and marinade--and added some wild turkey stock, probably about 12 ounces. The stock was frozen, so I melted it and brought the whole thing to a boil.

Then it went into a 350-degree oven for an hour and quarter or so with a lid on it; I stirred it once in awhile. I eventually took it out, took off the lid, and threw in a little more red wine, then stuck it back into a lower-heat oven, because we were slacking and things didn't happen all that quickly. It ended up cooking for about 2.5 hours rather than 2, but it was extremely tasty--I would like to do it again, with venison, perhaps. It was good with the rice and beans, and i would have liked it with polenta or with a different grain as well. It was very intensely flavored, and it tasted rich, even though it wasn't all that fat-laden.

Back at work today, I started trying to deal with the huge pile of crap that I must complete in the next six to eight weeks. It's going to be ugly, and the aforementioned issue is going to make everything potentially much worse. But, eh, whatever. I'd intended to come home and finish up at least one of the two side projects I need to finish this week, but instead I worked out, hacked up a pineapple and a grapefruit for my week's worth of fruit salad, and made some rice for my lunches this week (I already have the stuff that's going to go on the rice). The other stuff can get done tomorrow.

Kind of a boring post with which to start off a new year, but, hey, it's all I got.

Answers and Links

1. Most surprising pleasant thing:
I have a hard time picking just one--there have been quite a few, as I think about it. I'd say the two top ones are (a) how quickly I found a job, such that I didn't have to implement any of the backup plans at all and (b) how much I'm enjoying baking and cooking again. I applied for the new job on January 3rd and started on February 19th--long before I had to start thinking about what-ifs or start to panic. And the baking and cooking, well, it's interesting how the changes in my life have affected that, but it's a longer post.

Most surprising unpleasant thing:
I really don't have all that many unpleasant things, and even fewer surprising ones. I'd say the most surprising one is the collection of minor bodily complaints that have plagued me off and on this year--the persistent SI pain; the apparent inability to drop some weight; the dragging-on of menopause; and, to be completely trivial, the greying of my hair, which has accelerated such that I'm now about 2/3 grey. None of these is particularly serious, I should add, or even all that unpleasant.

2. New foods? Got rid of foods?
I've had way more beets and kale this year than ever before--I've probably had more beets in the past six months than in the last six years put together. I've experimented with more grains, too, but I've been doing that pretty steadily for about 15 years.

I haven't really gotten rid of baked goods, but I'm eating way less of them than when I worked at the bakery. I miss the bread, though, and have decided that needs to get back into the mix.

3. Risks:
I suppose it was a risk to quit the bakery job before having anything else full-time lined up, but that didn't feel all THAT risky. As y'all know, because you were able to read my minute-by-minute account, I planned it and strategized it to within an inch of its life, and the bakery clearly had become untenable, so leaving didn't feel any riskier than staying. And I'd say it has worked out.

4. Performance?
Hmmm. I saw so much--open-wheel racing; baseball; hockey; music--it's hard to pick just one. So, let's see, I'll say Dweezil Zappa at a teensy venue and Mickey Hart at a street fair.

5. Habits:
Exercise. That's been the biggest change in habits, and I'm still not entirely happy with where I am with it. I waffled from joining a park district gym to walking to nothing, until I bought the rowing machine, and that has been extremely helpful. As noted, I'm not working out as much as I'd like, but I'm getting better. I miss yoga quite a big, but I seem to do absolutely nothing to get it back into my life. And I still miss handball. I guess the short version is that, now that I no longer play a sport, I'm trying to figure out how will I get exercise in ways that are reliable, that I'll actually do, that are sufficient, and that I actually enjoy. Partly it's that I played handball for about 15 years, so it was a pretty firmly entrenched habit, and I didn't have to think about it much, just go do it; I added yoga into the mix about halfway through, and that fit in with my living situation and so on, and, again, didn't require thinking. I've had to rethink everything, plus I'm older, plus I live in a different section of the city.

Meanwhile, kstyle's answers.
and Ann's.

Year-End Questions

If you answer on your blog, I'll post links here.

1. What was the most surprising pleasant thing that happened to you this year? What was the most surprising unpleasant thing?

2. What food(s) did you start eating this year that you haven't eaten much before? Did you stop eating something, or dramatically reduce your intake? Why?

3. What risks did you take? How did they work out?

4. What performance (music, dance, movie, theater, etc.) did you most enjoy this year? (If you were doing the performing, then which did you most enjoy doing, and which did you most enjoy experiencing?)

5. What habits are you trying to change? What's encouraging, motivating, and/or inhibiting you in your efforts? Did you add any new habits that feel like they're becoming part of you? Did you drop any that you'd like to resume?

Bringing the Weird

Yes; yes; my life IS, in fact, weird; it's no wonder it functions as Larry's reality show.

I managed to get some work done yesterday, which is good, but I also won the "How Many Excuses up with Which Can You Come So You Don't Have to Exercise?" contest, so less good on that. But that's not why my life is weird.

First, I got a nice holiday card/handwritten note--from my ex-sister-in-law. I have neither spoken to nor otherwise communicated with her in, let's see, nearly three years, so I found that very touching. Seriously: she has absolutely no reason to do that except genuine goodwill, and I appreciate and honor that. And, really, I always liked her a lot, so I will take this opportunity to send a note in return.

Second, I had dinner tonight with Chuck and CK, and we had a good time. Or, I did, and they sure seemed to, so everybody wins. Despite that, it doesn't feel "normal" to be doing these things. Good, on some level, but not . . . usual.

He told me that he's going to need to move, to save money on rent, and one of the options is to move in with a friend--one who lives close to Friend. Chuck studiously avoids talking much about Friend; I avoid it because I can see that it often sends Chuck into a not-good place and I don't like the nasty that sometimes comes my way as a result.

Hey, if it's okay with Chuck to run into Friend at the train station or on the bus, it's none of my business; I'm just not entirely convinced that it's going to be okay with Chuck. Otherwise, I don't have an opinion unless/until it makes Chuck wacky or unpleasant to deal with. I have had enough unpleasantness and drama (as has he, I'm sure), so I'm a little uneasy about a situation that may well increase the occurrence of those things, but he's the one who has to figure it out.

Part of the crunch is that he is paying, in addition to the things for which I also pay, like rent and utilities and such, for insurance for him AND CK, AND child support, AND half of CK's tuition--basically, those latter three things add up to a second rent, and it's killing him. And CK's mom gets to declare CK as a dependent on her tax return, every year.

Although of course I think Chuck should pay his fair share, I think CK's mother is unreasonable, and I think that Chuck isn't willing to take a stand with her, and that combination costs Chuck dearly. When we were together, there was more wiggle in his budget, but now there isn't any. Take the insurance: it's in their divorce decree that Chuck has to pay for CK's insurance, which is fine. However, Chuck works for a small company, so he is paying a buttload for insurance; mom works for a bigger company, and the additional cost of insurance for CK is probably somewhat less through that route, and I know that Chuck would happily pay her for that cost. CK is still insured, it costs Chuck less, everybody wins. But it would not occur to her to suggest it, and she most likely would not go along with it if Chuck suggested it, because . . . He Owes Her. In her mind, anyway.

Don't get me wrong: I don't think he should fight over every fucking cent; that's a nightmare that drains the soul and the wallet. But he does everything for her that he can--replacing her water heater, which probably saved her close to a grand; putting up and taking down her pool every year; doing all of the transporting of CK--and she is still an asshole about nearly everything. (I asked him tonight if he could talk to her about the insurance thing, and he circumspectly noted that they're not talking about much of anything right now. I didn't ask for details--not least because CK was there--but I was around for enough of those times to be able to fill in the blanks.) She is selfish, and self-centered, and full of shit, and she has no fucking clue; she acts as though Chuck Owes Her, because she didn't get the perfect picket-fenced life she expected as her due and expected him to provide. (Unfortunately, he buys into that, at least emotionally, way more than is good for him, but trying to change those kinds of emotional habits is difficult, at best.)

In some ways, her craziness probably makes me look positively rational. And, to give him his props, he has tried to find amicability with me, and we seem to succeed more and more often. It's painful for him (and for me), in many ways, but we both continue to grope for some kind of peace, in large part so I can maintain some kind of relationship with CK. I really don't want to go down the path of venom and hatefulness. I find it morally distasteful, I don't like how it makes me feel, and I don't like what I know about how it makes him feel. We've both been through enough shit; why bring about more? We spent a lot of time together, and we still know each other very well, and that can actually be a source of fondness and amusement, it seems. It's definitely bittersweet, but I look at the choices, and bittersweet seems like a fine alternative. He has said that he would prefer to have nothing to do with me, and maybe that's true; certainly it would be easier in many ways. But it would also end my contact with CK, which has always felt wrong to me, and, I think, to Chuck, as well. I'd like to think that it's good for CK--frankly, I'd end it in a minute, despite the pain to me, if I thought it was bad for CK.

I'd like to think that, overall, it's the best alternative for everyone concerned, of the available choices, despite the bitter in the bittersweetness. Neither Chuck nor I is consumed by the bitter, at least not most of the time. What's the point of carrying the anger and the bitterness around? He has continued to try to move in the right direction in his own life (in ways that I'm not going to detail here), as have I. If we'd been able to do that six or eight years ago, maybe things would have been different, but (a) it's not clear to me that he or I COULD have done that six or eight years ago, and (b) "different" does not necessarily mean "better."

Then again, that whole concept of better/worse doesn't work for me very well. I had to figure that out when my sister died, and again when I couldn't find an academic job, so this time was more like remembering than figuring out. That is: would my life have been different if my sister hadn't died? Of course; absolutely. Would it have been better? Well, it would have had her in it, which certainly is a big "better," but overall? Who the fuck knows? Would my life have been better if I'd gotten the tenure-track job at the small liberal-arts college? Different, for sure, but better? No way to know; what would that "better" look like?

Essentially, it seems fruitless to me to compare my current circumstances to some imagined parallel alternative. One cannot change one thread or one row in the knitting; the whole tapestry has to change, or the whole sweater has to be unraveled and reknit, and one still must make the best of whatever the circumstances are. There are other kinds of changes that might well cause more change--and identifiable harm--than others, of course, particularly if they're changes that cost money one doesn't have. If people slip below a certain level of financial wherewithal, then everything really goes to hell in a handbasket, and that did not happen to me--partly out of my own hard work, but also partly out of luck (e.g., in not getting injured; in getting enough work on the side), and partly out of having friends and relatives who could help if things were desperate.

All of which made it difficult to know what to say when Chuck would ask me if I'm "happier" without him/with Friend. It sometimes seemed Chuck thought I was holding back somehow (i.e., that I really am "happier with Friend" but just didn't want to tell Chuck), but I wasn't--I really don't know how to answer that, and I really don't look to Chuck or to Friend or anyone else for my happiness. Is my life "better"? Than what? Than if I had a teaching job? Than if I had a bakery? Suppose I had been denied tenure and couldn't find another job? Suppose the bakery drained my life savings and failed, or I got sick or injured? I regret not getting the chance to try those things, but I don't fool myself into thinking that success was guaranteed in either case--neither was failure, of course, but you have to remember both alternatives when you do the if-onlies.

Eh; enough philosophy for this morning. I have some work to do, to which I'll get eventually, but this morning I'm going to Whole Paycheck, the bakery (I have yet to find bread anywhere that comes close), the camera store (to get a charger and a USB cord for the camera I found), and to Peet's for more tea. The weather absolutely sucks--it's warm, but it's raining, a lot (I hope Friend's basement isn't flooding . . .). Still, the trip will enable me to putter even more tomorrow, and do laundry and baking at will. And I must work out. (Overall, I've been doing moderately well with that: the rowing machine right in the middle of the living room makes it hard to ignore all the time, so I do manage to get on it. Not as often, or for as long, as I would like, but I'll get there, and I don't have to go to a separate place to get exercise, so I'm still very glad i found this thing and bought it.) Time for errands . . .

Reasons Why Top Chef Annoys Me

1. It's bad television.
There actually are several pieces to this, but it can be summed up by noting that the suspense is so fucking manufactured as to make me want to smack somebody. And even this is annoying on several levels, but I don't want to get too carried away with my outline formatting here.

First off, I really fucking hate reality shows--there's the putting-writers-out-of-work thing; there's the manufactured bits pretending they're not manufactured; there's the notion that this is in any way whatsoever "reality"; there's the scripting and editing; there are the premises of many of the shows. Most important, though, there's the completely overwrought drama of the whole thing.

People, it's a show about cooking. Noone is going to cure cancer. Noone is going to invent anything useful. No lives will be saved. Someone will almost certainly Learn Something, because the moral seems to be that One Must Learn From One's Experiences. Which, yes, I get, and even agree with, but I don't think the things one should learn are the lessons I hear parroted on these shows, or at least not on the few that I've seen.

The other part about the drama is that it's just bullshit. Seriously. (I find things like "Survivor," which I've seen once, and the one with the teams trying to get from one place to another, which I've seen once, even more tedious than the ones I've seen more.) Did I mention it's a cooking contest? It's basically a Pillsbury Bake-Off each week, and the contestants have tattoos and creative facial hair rather than aprons and pumps. Think about the good suspense/drama that you've seen--I'm thinking now about something like "Hill Street Blues," or even "M*A*S*H" in the good years, or "Northern Exposure," or any of a zillion different shows. They were suspenseful and dramatic because you came to like and know the characters. I realize that the producers of these shows are creating characters from their contestants, but see above, re: actual writers and the producers versus whoever is "creating" the characters, or, at least, characterizations.

And that kind of points to the real tension here. All of us have suspense and drama in our lives, except it is often messy, and it often doesn't fit neatly, and we don't always learn the right lessons from our experiences (or learn any lessons at all, for that matter), and shit just happens, and most of it is tedious to people who don't know us (and probably to some who do). Some of it seems good; some seems bad; some is just . . . shit. But that kind of actual life doesn't really fit into "reality" shows all that much, though it occasionally breaks through.

Instead there's all this manufactured drama about the undercooked egg, or the raw scallop (yes, Jamie gets on my nerves, plus, can she cook with anything other than scallops?), or the extra mushrooms, all these long serious faces, and tears and hugging, and discussions among the judges in serious tones that make it sound like it's Life Or Death, rather than a cooking contest.

Also, the long-drawn-out pauses? The huge commercial breaks at Crucial Moments? Yeah, I suppose that latter one is understandable, but the former is really fucking annoying. I'd much rather they have more in-depth discussions, discuss the dishes or cooking theory or whatthefuckever in more depth, rather than long pregnant pauses before someone is told to pack his or her knives. It's really a wasted opportunity to put actual, real drama in the show; instead they replace it with the aforementioned pregnant pauses.

Let's hear the judges having a longer discussion; let's have more of the contestants discussing what they tried to do with a given dish, BEFORE the judges' panel, maybe even with some honesty about what they think worked and what they think didn't work; maybe even, if you want to add some drama, have the contestants judge each other's dishes in some way that doesn't get someone thrown under the bus. All of those options would provide real information, and, at least potentially, real drama, instead of the crap. A final note to the producers on this: little segments on this or that person's life history do not turn people into Characters. I'd rather hear about dishes that so-and-so tried and loved; that worked really well in the restaurant but that the staff hated for some reason; that the staff loved but that didn't work, and why not. Quite frankly, that would give me more insight into what the cheftestants are thinking than little tidbits on this one's gay, that one's flirting, the other one's old.

2. There's no joy.
Fuck; there's not even humor! I realize that humor, like drama, comes in part from the characters, and it's difficult to do that on a show like this, but there is no humor at all. There's a lot of sturm und drang; there's tense nail-biting; there's stress and tension and flinging things around the kitchen, but don't these people ever fucking laugh? Stefan and Fabio seem to laugh once in awhile, or at least make jokes, but no one else does. Don't they enjoy what they're doing?

I can't quite figure this one out. I don't know about places like Charlie Trotter's or Everest (the latter of which is a silent kitchen, which means the only thing you say is "Yes, Chef"), because, hey, the bakery was not those places, and the joy there may work differently. But every place I've ever worked has . . . some kind of happiness and laughter around it. Bossman regularly cracked me up, as did Phil, because they're both genuinely funny people.

But there was also joy. I don't know how else to put it. There's something just about taking water, sugar, butter, flour, yeast, and salt, and making beautiful, delicate croissants. Yes, it was grinding and grueling, but even in the middle of that we managed to laugh with each other, and, more to the point, there's a love of at least aspects of the doing. And there's also a joy in the rhythm of it all, of stepping in at just the right moment to help Phil toss the baguette dough through the one-way sheeter (thereby saving him 15 or 20 minutes), then stepping back into whatever I was doing; and a joy in the barely literate dishwasher figuring out what I needed or didn't need and doing that for me, without my asking; and the joy of making good products and getting them out the door in time, of improvising when necessary, even when it's incredibly difficult and frustrating. (As an example: I went by the bakery today to get some baked goods, and found out that the freezers broke, so they had product sitting outside to keep it cold, and probably crammed into the downstairs freezer as well. It's the day before the busiest day of the year, and the freezers broke?!? Oy. Hard to find the joy in that, I know, but you just figure something out, because what else can you do?)

Which leads to the next point:

3. Being a chef is not only a solo gig.
Most of the competitions out there emphasize solo performance, as does this one, but cooking in a professional kitchen (or baking in a bakery) is a dance with many. Some of it is purely practical: everyone cannot have his or her own dough sheeter, for example. Yes, everyone has his or her own responsibilities, and someone who cannot perform is a drag on the whole system, and this is probably even more true in a restaurant, where people have particular stations. Yes, for the Really Big restaurants there is a visionary of some kind, someone who is doing a lot of the creating (though I would argue that part of what the visionary is doing is the marketing of the personality of the chef, not just creating "signature dishes"). But you had better be part of a team, or the whole production system will fall apart.

The Top Chef competition eliminates much of this aspect. The chefs sometimes work in "teams," but they typically still seem to produce their own items as members of that team, rather than working together or collaborating to produce a product or series of products. The two major exceptions were when the chefs were divided into two teams to produce Thanksgiving dinner for the Foo Fighters (although they still each produced their own dishes) and when everyone pitched in to help Hosea and Rahdika overcome the fact that their meats had been in an open--and therefore insufficiently cooled--fridge overnight and could not be served. The latter was just a random occurrence, but it was closer to what probably happens than any of the other more staged bits.

4. Being a chef is not only a solo gig, part 2.
The really big part of how it's not a solo gig, however, is the part where one does not just instantaneously produce The Perfect Dish. It does not happen that way. Think about how the Brazen Tart describes the dessert creation process at one of the top restaurants in this city. Think about the way we play with recipes and ingredients and write about it on our blogs (and you guys do, too). Think about how Bossman worked on formulae for his competition--over a period of a year, fer chrissakes--and how he and I both worked on items for the store. Although we might well have come up with something that we could sell the first time around (Bossman isn't big on tossing out product if someone will buy it), we'd still continue to work on it until we got it right. The competition completely eliminates one of the major major aspects of creating product--the iterations, and reiterations, and rereiterations, until the people involved feel like it's good, reproducible, and salable. I find that process to be quite interesting and fun and challenging--I liked it in school, for that matter.

How this plays into the competition is to make what they produce LESS interesting, IMHO. Tom was having a hissy fit last week about how everyone is doing "safe" stuff, and he has a point, but, dude, the way the show is set up encourages that to some extent, and the way the challenges I've seen are set up reinforces it even more. There is no time to fuck up or rethink or recover if something didn't work. Think about Eugene's soup for Martha Stewart: he had to use cornstarch to thicken it, because he didn't have enough time to let it reduce; everyone hated the cornstarch. Well, okay, yeah, I would rather not use it, either, but he had an hour to produce a fab dish for Martha, from scratch. Think about the salad that Ariane won with--not terribly interesting or exciting, but they had to come up with a dish they could produce reliably and teach on TV in 2.5 minutes. That isn't going to encourage creativity, sports fans.

On one hand, he says the point is to "win." Well, yes. So doing something interesting or risky that might not work the first time, that might need tweaking but that would rock the second or third or fourth time you tried it, isn't going to be an option when you have a total of five hours to come up with, shop for, prep, and prepare a dish. Sorry, there, Tom, but no. If you really want people to do interesting things, you have to give them the opportunity to (a) fail the first time and (b) incorporate feedback and criticism into the second (or third) time. THAT would be an interesting challenge: make a dish that meets X criteria, with the knowledge that everyone will give you feedback and you will have to incorporate the feedback into a second round of making that dish. In fact, every goddamned challenge should have a variation on that theme in it, not just the judges'-table-you-suck-or-you-rock aspect.

What would be interesting about that is how people would incorporate that feedback, quite frankly. Jamie, for example, and the blonde with the bangs (Melissa?) are really fucking annoying about that. Plus, I think that feedback thing would call out Jeff (who gets on my last fucking nerve), because he doesn't seem to think anyone has anything useful to say to him because He Is A Kitchen God. Yeah, okay, dude; did you see the part about it's just a cooking show?

I chalk all of my complaints up to a failure in conception. That is, no one is exactly clear on what a "Top Chef" actually is. What are the rules? Winning the most competitions? Not getting eliminated? Getting lucky with a particular dish when your strongest competition happens to fuck up? Those are not useful rules, and they especially are not rules that anyone could use or incorporate. compare this with What Not to Wear.

At least with WNTW there are distinct rules that the hosts try to teach, complete with explanations about why the hosts think those rules are good things. You can disagree with the rules--which I have done--but the rules are clear. The other thing with WNTW that's sort of interesting is that there's a certain lack of judgment-dispensing that's kind of refreshing. They don't tell someone OMG you're a total frump or a total slut or whatever; they say, given your body, and given the image you want to present, here are ways you can do that that will work better for you. (Aslo, on WNTW the "suspense" or the drama is manufactured sort of naturally: when the person's friends and family see her for he first time.) The same was true with "Queer Eye for the Straight Guy," which I also kind of liked.

Basically, both WNTW and QEftSG provided the participant as well as the viewer with relatively clear rules to follow, along with some rationale for doing so. Those shows were/are the equivalent of teaching someone to fish in his or her own particular pond. Top Chef is more: make fish for me! in an hour! while hopping on one foot! Which isn't that interesting, no matter what you do to tart it up.

But I'll probably watch future episodes. And be annoyed.

p.s. Larry is right, on some level, in his comment below (which I tried to say, but blogspot foiled me), except that, just looking at the recipe, I knew that it would be too greasy and too sweet, even for PB cookies, so I tried to rectify that, and I'll do so again, even if I use the chopped peanuts that Epiphenita reminds me to use.

e.t.a.: Okay, I changed the title, because some of you may not want big cursey words right there in the title, especially if the title shows up on your blog (*coughkstylecough*). You're on your own for the rest of it, though.

More Bitching about Family and Cookies

Well, I've been writing posts in my head, anyway, even if they haven't made it here.

I made peanut butter cookies yesterday, from the Cooks Illustrated baking book, which you would expect to be good, given the yammering they do about The! Best! Recipe! Evah!!! And, yes, I did change the recipe a little (reduced the butter; added a little applesauce to make up for that; subbed honey for the white sugar and reduced the amount, but left the brown sugar as is; didn't have a cup of peanuts, so just used two cups of peanut butter, though the peanut butter was made from just peanuts, so should have affected texture more than taste; and added chopped chocolate), but I was still completely underwhelmed by these cookies. They were still WAY too sweet, for one thing, and not nearly peanuty enough, for another, so they were kind of a fail. They're edible, and still cookie-ishy, so people will consume them, but I really rather hated them. I know, I know; y'all are looking at that list of changes and thinking, well, of COURSE they didn't taste the way the recipe promised they would! But the two biggest problems with the flavor--the sweetness and the peanut flavor--should not have been affected by those changes--should have been unaffected, or even improved by it, perhaps.

So I'll keep working on that recipe, too, because I want some peanut butter cookies, damn it. In rummaging around on epicurious, however, you'll note that there are many recipes, but none that everyone seems to like, even the ones from Bon Appetit and Gourmet and such. The other thing about the recipes is that they all have a ton of butter, on top of the peanut butter, and a couple even have oil AND butter, which, I don't know, sounds wrong on so many levels.

Meanwhile, my mother continues with her but-you'll-be-aloooooone-on-CHRISTMAS lament, which is getting on my nerves. I've been trying to be patient with her about it, but it's starting to bug me. I explained that I have to work on Friday, which doesn't stop the lamentations--what's Friend doing? why didn't I "come home"? but you're going to be aloooooone--and I really don't know what to say. I have pointed out that I really do not give a good goddamn. I've noted that I have to work on Friday, and thus couldn't travel anywhere anyway. All to no avail. She persists in complaining/whining about how I'm going to be alone, which is a state that does not disturb me in the least. If she said that she missed me and she wished I could be there, I'd actually be more okay with that, because that's an expression of her feelings about the situation and about me, but she can't or won't come right out and say that, so she instead expresses dismay at a situation that does not dismay the person who is actually experiencing, i.e., me. (Expressing her actual feelings is not something at which my mother excels.)

The other thing that bugs me about it, but that I do not have the heart to mention, given her and my father's current health situations, is that not once in the past 30 years has anyone visited me for the holidays. Never. Not when I lived an hour and a half away; not in the 22 years I've been living in this city. Never. Chuck and I traveled there for Christmas more than once, including once with his son, and I have gone to them many, many times. But there has been no reciprocity, number one, and, number two, it was legitimate for me to be here when I had a husband or husband-to-be, but not when I am (wait for it!) alone. I will not even begin to try to explain this to her, because critiques of patriarchy are not something she has ever understood, but also, and more importantly, because she cannot visit me for the holidays now. They have talked about visiting next summer, and may actually do so--dialysis is certainly available in this city--but she hates cold weather and would be nothing but miserable if she were here now (did you notice the -20-something wind chills yesterday?), and managing dialysis in a different city and bitterly cold weather and not being around her only grandchildren is a bit much to ask of her. Still, I do wish she'd quit nagging about what I'm doing (or, rather, not doing).

I've been busy at work, and I still have several things I must accomplish before the end of the year, but I must also admit that I have not been terribly motivated some days (like today). Some of it is that I really do want (a) some time off and (b) a substantial raise, but I don't see either of those things coming my way any time soon. Other days I do manage to get some stuff done, but, really, did I mention some time off? I will get some this week and next--we get off for the eve and the day, for both Christmas and New Year's--so I can get some chores (like laundry) done, and also just kinda do nothing much. I have some side work to do, too, which means a couple of nice checks after the beginning of the year. The editing has been slow since July--only two jobs, including the current one--but I'm assuming it's merely a question of timing rather than a sudden decision that I suck. And, really, much as I enjoy the extra bucks, it's been nice to have a break from it, and after paying off the student loan. It'd be nice to get some work after the first of the year, admittedly, but my situation is so much improved from last year at this time. Tomorrow will feature some actual work--or it had better, anyway--as well as some meetings and such. Plus? Warmer! And, if I get it together, tomorrow I will bitch about Top Chef for your entertainment.

p.s. Get well, Brazen Tart!!

Trading Places

Of the things I should have done tonight--work out, or edit, or, preferably, both--I have done none, opting instead for sitting on my butt and eating cookies. This is not a useful state of affairs, of course, but is the one with which I find myself faced. Because I am a slug.

I spent a fair amount of time today in meetings, or on phone conferences, all of which was tiring and some of which was tedious, and some time on the phone trying to figure out whether my dad should go into a clinical trial. I found the trial, and I think it might actually be a good fit for him, as his bladder cancer keeps recurring and there isn't anything else out there for him, except removing the bladder, which, really, isn't an option that I think he would enjoy. So I've talked my mother through the clinical trials process, and talked to a study coordinator (although not the one with whom they would deal), and I think they're going to go check it out. I emphasized that he doesn't have to agree to anything, that he doesn't have to sign anything, and that they can ask any questions they want, and I pointed out that the drug they've been waiting for (a) still hasn't cleared the FDA, even though their last info suggests the manufacturing difficulties should have been cleared up 9 months ago and (b) only works 20% of the time. Thus, this clinical trial may be the only other thing my dad can try. We'll see what happens.

It is definitely nice to have experience that's useful, not least because I've been feeling rather useless lately. Yes, I know I do Good Works and all, but when push comes to shove, I'm doing almost exactly the same work I was doing in 1986 when I quit my job to go to graduate school. I'm probably making a little more money, but not a lot, and I'm certainly not doing anything now that I couldn't have done then. Yes, the intervening years have provided enough other experience so I'm doing it better, but almost any experience will do that, if you're paying attention. Certainly cheers ME right up to think how I've spent my time and what I have to show for it.

On the other hand, at least I didn't try to sell a Senate seat for whatever I could get for it. I waded through some of the transcript from the press conference that Fitzgerald held this morning, and various other news bits, and it's truly amazing; the guy seems to be a seriously delusional psychopath. Now, it's true that the kind of money he wanted is peanuts compared to what the Wall Street guys take home, but, in my mind, that just shows even more how incompetent Blago really is. (That is, if he were smarter, he could BE one of the Wall Street crooks, but he's only a two-bit political hack.) The other thing, though, is that the Daley machine has learned not just how to keep its own hands clean but also how to pass the patronage around to racial and ethnic groups that once were excluded from city largesse, while Blago is in it for his own profit rather than for patronage or a machine, per se.

Is the Daley patronage machine the best way to run a government? Nope; not by a long shot. I work with city workers on some contracts, and some are competent and some not so much. I did a stop-smoking group with city workers a few weeks ago, and the tales they told in the 10 minutes before we started the group made me annoyed, because it's such a waste of money (and, ultimately, talent, if the cushy jobs are going to incompetent hacks).

But I don't see things changing in this city any time soon, so my desire is that the patronage be distributed reasonably fairly; that competence is a necessity in the places where that matters the most; and that the city provide the basic services (water; firefighting; policing; trash removal; school system; other public services) equitably and competently. If there's a layer of cost on top for patronage jobs, well, okay, just make sure they don't do too much damage or cost too much money, or get in the way of the people who are actually doing the work.

Anyway, the Governor does appear psychopathic: he knew there were wiretaps, fer chrissakes, and he continued to negotiate! He seemed to think he could get away with all of this, which, to my mind, is where the delusion comes in. The transcript of the press conference is interesting (and it makes me lurve Patrick Fitzgerald all the more): Fitzgerald seems truly taken aback by the whole thing, and appalled, not in that Inspector Renault "shocked, shocked" kind of way, but genuinely gaping in wonderment at the chutzpah of the guy.

I don't care how squeaky clean your political arrangements are, we all tend to look more favorably on people who come with a recommendation from someone we know, and on people who have something to offer (though I do mean that broadly, not just in the mutual backscratching kind of way). We do favors for people--hire their sons or daughters, perhaps, or spouses--and expect favors in return. I've never personally been in a position to be on either end of that, but I'm neither surprised nor appalled to know it exists; it's the way of the world, and, like anything else, it can be used for, and can work for, either good or evil. But this shit? This is a whole other level of WTF, so I do hope the guy goes to jail for a long fucking time. If he's guilty, of course.

Another Post About Food

Jesuschristonapogostick.

Yet another outbreak of the What You Eat Is Wrong Wars, over at Twisty's site. Here's the latest comment, as of now:

a deep respect for the animals they hunt and eat

So murder is A-OK as long as you “respect” the person you murder? Care to try that in a court of law? Oh no, of course not, we’re talking about killing “animals” here. Othering is a tried and true foundation for all manner of discrimination. Bravo.

If you go to the original post and the comments, you'll find a few comments by Yours Truly (though, I guarantee, I'm done with that particular thread). The point, though, is that I am damnsickandtired of hearing how whatever the fuck I eat is Wrong, Immoral, and Not Feminist, Plus Other Species Are The Same As Humans and You Are A Murderer If You Don't Agree.

There are multiple paths, people. I understand the vegetarian argument, and the vegan argument. I do not happen to agree that they are the only moral arguments, but I recognize the spirit behind those arguments and I respect them. Hell, I will even cook by them, if you have dinner at my house. In return, please acknowledge that I have thought about what I eat, and how, and respect my choices as well, and stop regarding my conclusions as the choices of one who is insufficiently evolved. kthnxbye.

Meanwhile, today I edited for awhile, then embarked on a cookie-baking marathon. I redid the almond cookies, except this time I toasted the almonds first. I also reduced the amount of egg whites, because I didn't have quite enough eggs to do everything I wanted to do, but the cookies still came out okay; toasting was a Good Thing. Another white or two would have improved things somewhat, but not enough such that anyone other than me and the Tart and other graduates would have noticed. I reduced the sugar, too, and tried to remember to add some lemon extract but forgot until it was really too late.

I remade the chocolate cookies, and I was less unhappy with them this time. I cooled the chocolate a bit more, and I chopped the toasted hazelnuts a bit more (the original recipe does not include hazelnuts, but I think they make an otherwise very boring cookie much much better), and paid more attention to the shaping, and, all in all, they're much better than the last batch. (Again, mostly to me; everyone else seemed to like the first batch just fine.)

The ginger cookies (a.k.a. Ginger Bites), well, they're still a work in progress, but I'm closer. I left out the chocolate this time, and increased the ginger dramatically (i.e., more than doubled it), and added both orange peel and orange juice, as well as some cinnamon and molasses, and a little more butter. I like the flavor, but the texture still needs a little work.

Finally, I adapted the Cooks Illustrated Black & White Cookie recipe--reduced the butter; replaced the sugar with honey--and added rosemary, lemon peel, and dried cherries. These were a nearly complete success. The shaping needs some work, but I was extremely pleased with the flavor. The flavorings really work well together, and I will make these again.

I had some meditations on whether/how my pastry school and bakery experience has affected my actual baking, but I'm tired and want to sleep, so they'll have to wait.

Tonight's Dinner

For tonight's cooking adventure, you'll need a bunch of kale (about 3/4 pound, before cleaning), a can of beans (Great Northern, in my case), a large can of tomatos (Muir Glen organic peeled chopped; fire-roasted would have been fine, too), an onion, some garlic, olive oil, and balsamic vinegar. Wash the kale and spin it dry. Heat some oil in a big-ass pan (I use a mondo stove-top stainless steel wok) and throw in the chopped onion. Set another pan of water on another burner at whatever temp you need it to be so it starts to boil in 15-20 minutes. Smash and throw in the garlic with the onions. If you're using fresh herbs, throw them in now, too. (Sage would have been nice, but I didn't have any.) Cook that for awhile, until the onions are soft and starting to brown a little. Chop the kale and throw it in; cook it for 10 minutes or so (kale takes awhile, so you have some time here; it's not like spinach). Throw in the can of tomatos and the can of drained beans, some salt and pepper, and whatever spices you want (I had oregano and parsley) and a splash of vinegar. Let it cook for awhile, basically for the time it takes to cook the pasta, stirring occasionally. Your water should be boiling by now; throw in the pasta. Cut and grate a hunk of cheese (this will go on top of the final product, not in the mix). I also threw in a half a bag of frozen spinach at this point, just because. That batch of vegetables made enough for four sizable servings for me (I portioned and froze the leftovers); you could probably get 5 or 6 out of it, depending on your taste for these things.

But you probably knew all of this already.

As you all know, I have pretty wide-ranging tastes. Nevertheless, I have become enamored of kale, which I probably hadn't had until a couple of years ago, and last night I had beet greens for the very first time. I've also come to like beets way more than I did as a kid, probably because roasted fresh beets are a different thing than canned pickled beets. As for new grains, I had tried quinoa years ago (and liked it, though I don't cook with it much), but hadn't tried to cook farro until I finally found it in the store last winter. (Loved it--can't wait to cook it again.) And I've done more with barley, too.

I don't have a point here, really; I'm just kind of musing on the stuff I eat. What do you eat that is a departure from what you grew up eating or what you used to eat? How did you add this or that to your diet?

Beet Red

I read, in several of my cookbooks, that one can eat the beet greens as well as the beets. After today's trip to Whole Paycheck, I decided to test that statement, and discovered that, yes, one can, and they're tasty. What I did: Roast beets, which will take a half hour to 45 minutes; after they cool, slice thin and julienne; rinse greens thoroughly and spin; remove the rib, then chop the greens; heat some olive oil, toss in some garlic, then the greens, then the roasted beets; saute for awhile, with a splash of balsamic vinegar and sea salt and and a little bit of butter (I'd've added pignoli, as well, if I'd had any) dump over whole wheat pasta, with some cheese. I would substitute farro or rice, except that I love pasta so very much.

Now I just have to remember that I had beets for dinner, else I will be surprised when I arise tomorrow and perform the morning ablutions. I also bought some kale, with which I'm going to make a soup that involves beans and tomato paste and sage and I don't know what-all; I don't have any sage, so it'll have to wait until tomorrow.

I had hoped to do more baking today, but, alas, that did not happen. Neither did rowing or showering, both of which were also on the list. I tell myself that it is good for my skin/hair to not shower all the time, but by the time I end up showering, I am less convinced this is true. In short, i start feeling seriously skeevy, even if I do nothing more strenuous than sitting around on the couch or buying groceries or having dinner with a friend (the last of which I did do last night, and it was good to see her).

Can you tell that I'm enjoying cooking again? I'm really glad to have that pleasure back in my life; I forgot how much I missed it. Or, more likely, I was just blocking it out, from exhaustion. As I did Tuesday, today I went to the WP near the bakery, and I was a little surprised at how visceral and negative my reaction was; I could practically feel the bile rising in my throat. I probably should think about this a bit, because it's not entirely clear to me just what is causing that reaction. Fear, is my guess--the fear that I felt at the time, about what was going to happen, about what my options really were, about what I was going to be able to do next, about what was going to happen with Chuck. I ended up just trying to swallow all of that, or put it aside, or something, because there was absolutely nothing else to be done about it; it felt as though none of it was in my hands at all. Eh; no need to dwell on it.

This weekend feels like it has been much longer than four days. Speaking of plans, it'll be nice to shower regularly and have regular conversations with actual people (other than my mother).

Righteousness

Incidentally, this continues to crack me up. Someone in a Pandagon comment referred to it the other day (and I don't remember the thread, or I'd cite it), and it is just priceless. It's worth reading all of the comments, at least until you get to the one that describes how the Pistol Boob came about.

Marathon Woman

I spent a good part of yesterday with the television on--and, not just that, but tuned in to "What Not to Wear." They were having a marathon, and I actually knew someone on one of the episodes (she was one of the coworkers who has left), though I didn't see her yesterday, and it's completely mindless and i was puttering around baking and thus didn't have to pay close attention. Whatever. It was interesting, in a sort-of-train-wreck kind of way.

On one hand, let's assume that everyone wants to present himself or herself in a good light; we all want to be "attractive," in some sense of that word. I'll even grant that many of us, probably most of us, choose at least the occasional piece of clothing or style of dressing that does not present us in a particularly flattering manner. The single biggest mistake I saw people making is wearing clothes that do not fit properly. Most of the women profiled on the show--and it is always women--are normal-sized, some even tending to be significantly larger than what we see in the media, but there's not a lot of fashion or style advice out there for normal people. (Not that I would really know, in that I don't shop in stores or read the publications that sell clothes. I get a lot of catalogues, so I see what's being sold in that way.) The women were an interesting mix, as well: a firefighter from California; a single mom from Virginia who wants to sell real estate; a campaign lawyer from Chicago; a court reporter from Florida.

A lot of the suggestions were helpful, although, perhaps because of the similarities in body type among many of the women, there was a striking similarity to the suggestions. In most cases, you could even see how the women could translate at least some of what they were learning back in to their normal lives: wear this type of fabric, or this type of cut, rather than that one; emphasize this feature by wearing this type of garment; draw attention to this part by doing that thing.

But.

(You knew that was coming.)

If I never hear the word "feminine" again, it will be too fucking soon. I do not regard "feminine" (or "masculine") as a desirable state, nor as something to which one should aspire or devote any effort. Seriously, people--the world will be a better place if we dump that word and all of its brethren (or sisteren, as the case may be). The show with the firefighter was the most severe offender, not surprisingly, as it was all about how she could get rid of her superhero t-shirts and she could stop buying her clothes in the junior department (both of which are true statements, actually) and Be More Feminine when she's not on duty. Several of the dresses they picked out WERE flattering on her, and she might well want to wear them, but it is not about "femininity" per se. Although, of course, for the patriarchy, it is always precisely about the femininity.

The other thing that was getting on my last nerve--and, of course, it was not unrelated--was their insistence on putting everyone in heels. Not necessarily high ones, but heels. I categorically refuse to wear them--and I cannot imagine men agreeing to wear some article of clothing that caused similar pain and inhibited mobility in similar ways. And that's the essential point here: Yes, fine, those strappy little heels may make the line of her leg look longer, but they also prevent her from walking quickly--or running, if need be--and they are bad for her feet, legs, and back. They are a FAIL.

I think that's the difference between heels and makeup. I could easily argue that makeup is a waste of time and money, that it sucks money out of women's wallets that they could spend on their retirement funds, etc., and there's some truth to that. For better or worse, in addition to being a way to play with one's appearance and with decoration, it's also a nod in the direction of patriarchally approved looks (and all women have to make some of those choices, give some indicators that they are Compliant or suffer the consequences), though, as those things go, it doesn't cost that much time or money. More to the point, makeup may be wasteful or pointless, but it does not cause physical harm. It does not keep the wearer from walking or running; it does not cause bunions; it does not cause backaches or foot pain. Makeup could be compared to shaving facial hair. Most men spend some time shaving or grooming their facial hair; some men look good with beards or mustaches, and other men not so much. Either requires some effort, on a nearly daily basis.

Another thing on the show was the hair. Every single woman who had long hair ended up with her hair chopped off. Of course the stylist made them look good; that's not the point. The question is, what does it take to maintain that hair? How much time each day? How much time at the hairdresser? How much money? The answer to all those questions is: a lot.

The thing with clothes is that we have to wear them. It doesn't take any more effort to buy or wear flattering clothing than it does to buy or wear unflattering clothing. With hair, though, some styles require way more effort and expense and upkeep. The firefighter was a good example. She has really beautiful hair (she had it long), and I really didn't think the cut they gave her did any more for her than the way she had been wearing it, and it will require more upkeep, what with the trimming and shit, and it will be more difficult to get it out of her way when she's working, because the shorter bits are too short to be put into a braid or ponytail. Show her ways to arrange it when she wants to dress for something other than fighting fires--fine, no problem. But why give her a cut that is going to be a complete pain to maintain? Personally, I'd want a style that can look acceptable with minimal effort all the time, rather than one that either looks great (with much effort and expense) or ragged and unattractive.

And, really, that's what was at the heart of the whole thing that eventually started to bug me. We all want to wear things that make us look good, and we don't always have the best ideas about what those things are. Fine; I'll accept that. But there are considerations other than how things look, and the thing to do is to take those considerations into account, not dismiss them as fear of expanding one's horizons or whateverthefuck. The Gendertest comes in handy here, too: can you imagine asking a member of the opposite sex to do whatever it is you're suggesting, at the frequency and expense you're suggesting, and having that person comply happily and willingly?

Comb one's hair? Sure. Get it cut occasionally, so it's not too ragged? No problem. Spend some time grooming the face, either with makeup or shaving? Okay. Wear clothes that are of a color and cut that are flattering? Also okay. Wear footwear that hobbles you and causes pain? Not so much. Institute grooming routines that require a lot of extra time or money or both? Also not so much. I'm willing to devote about a half an hour a day to this stuff--including the shower. Winter takes a little longer, because I have to grease my whole body or it flakes away to nothing and because I have to wear more clothes so I don't freeze my ass off. But that seems to be a reasonable amount of time, and my (relatively limited) experience suggests that it's about what men spend, too.

Anyway. My ranting is fading here. I've decided I have to actually leave the building today. (My friend has a cold, so we're theoretically getting together tonight instead of last night.) I did laundry this morning, which was the first I left my apartment since Wednesday night; baby steps, people.

Bzzzzz

Must eat something not made of sugar!!

Better yet, must work out and not eat anything for awhile (2-3 days, perhaps?).

The ginger cookies are better after having sat for a day; more orange is my prescription, and they're not as nicely shaped as I might like, but they're pretty good. The chocolate cookies are okay; I'm glad I threw in the chopped toasted hazelnuts or I would have found them rather bland in that overwhelmingly chocolate kind of way. The almond cookies are the stars so far: it's basically egg whites, almonds, and sugar, with a little vanilla and salt (and, in my case, a touch of orange extract). I will totally make them again, any time I have leftover egg whites. I will make them a bit smaller, and will put citrus extract in them every time, perhaps even a little teeny bit more than this time. I have not made the rosemary cherry things yet, not least because I need milk and cake flour to make them, and I have none of the former and only v. v. (v.) old of the latter.

I tasted things as I went along, because I have never made the almond or chocolate cookies before, and, as long as I'm overdosing on sugar, I figured I might as well retaste the ginger as well. Thus, I have had, as noted, way, way too much sugar today, and it's not even noon yet. Also? Haven't showered in a few days.

Thus, the working out thing must occur next--will burn off some of the cookies, and can be followed by a shower.

I do hope my friend from the old company calls today, as promised. I had dinner with Chuck and CK Wednesday night, and have spoken with my mother and, briefly, with a friend in California, but otherwise have mostly heard my own voice inside my brain. Which, really, not all that interesting.

Speaking (a day late) of things for which to be thankful, it occurs to me that this is the first time in, oh, four years, perhaps? where I am employed full-time AND getting paid, with a comma in every paycheck. The past two years were at the bakery; the year before that was when I was in pastry school and working part-time and rarely getting paid (I think I had applied for unemployment already), and the year before that I had probably missed a few paychecks, so it has been quite awhile. No wonder, despite the turmoil of the past three or four years, I'm somewhat less tense.

Obligatory Thanksgiving Post

Here's my profound thought for the day: While we definitely learn from our parents, we don't necessarily learn what they think they're teaching.

I talked to my mom this morning, and we exchanged our typical Thanksgiving greeting (and I quote: "Gobble gobble") and discussed their meal. She's doing much of the cooking, and apparently did a lot of it yesterday, alternating cooking and baking with resting, as she had dialysis in the morning. She made her pumpkin pie yesterday (in the background, I could hear my father complaining good-naturedly that There Is No Mince Pie, his annual lament since my maternal grandmother died 15 years ago), the turkey was in the oven, my sister-in-law was bringing something (I forget what), and mom is doing some investigating with the nephews w/r/t christmas presents.

Of course mom also had to ask what I'm doing, to which I said, nothing, which happens to be true. (I did work out this morning (while watching Top Chef, more on which later), and I made one of the cookies on the list.) In response, she kind of . . . whimpered? Made a pitying noise? I don't know; hard to characterize it precisely. I laughingly said, I wish you wouldn't do that--has it it occurred to you that I might actually like this? And, of course, she cannot comprehend that in the least.

This gets to what I have learned. My mother of course wants me to be happy--what parent does not want that for his or her child? My mother, though, wants me to be happy in the ways she thinks I should be happy, not necessarily in the ways that actually make me happy. Of course those categories overlap in places, but so much of what I want is not what she wants for me, and, even after all these years, that disturbs her. I can articulate this now, obviously, but when I was 15, I knew it to be true but could not put words to it, which merely added a whole other layer of angst to the usual teenage thing. (The way I put it at the time was that my mother did not understand me--and, I added then, there is no way a 15-year-old can say that and be taken at all seriously. I knew it to be true, in a deeper way than is true for nearly every 15-year-old, and the subsequent 35 years have borne me out on this, but, as noted, 15-year-olds in general cannot expect that statement to be taken as anything other than Rebellion & Angst.)

What I learned, then, was to figure out what I want, and, as an extension, what the people around me want, as best I can. Not what I think is best for them (although I may well have opinions on that matter), but on what they want. It's true that good friends can help us figure out (a) what we want, or (b) whether the path we are taking is one that is likely to lead to a place we want to go. Very good friends can even help us see when what we truly want is at odds with what we are saying or acting as though we want. When push comes to shove, though, people want what they want, and what they want is not necessarily going to be the same as what you want. That is the essential bit my mother has never entirely understood, not least because so many of the people around her want pretty much the same things that she wants. The things I have wanted are so far removed from her world that she really cannot understand why I would want them or how I could be happy with what I have. On the other hand, she loves me deeply, and wants me to be happy, and that is enough for me.

As for the cookies, well, i tried the slightly revised ginger ones first, and--despite have bought oranges expressly for the purpose of putting orange peel in the cookies, forgot to put the orange peel in. I realized this after one tray had gone into the oven, so I grated peel into the rest of the batter, and it helped, but I am still not entirely satisfied with them. They do not suck, but they still need work. I also toasted the hazelnuts and skinned them, and I made some dinner, but I didn't do anything else much today. I have three more days to bake more cookies, do some laundry, and see a friend from the old company who is in town this weekend. There also will be lounging.

As for the christmas presents for the nephews, I am going to send some DVDs ("Whale Rider" will be one of them, as will at least one of the Blue Man Group DVDs) and possibly some books; I'm open to other suggestions. (I refuse to send gift cards to them.) I hope to have everything within a week or two. Because I am a pain in the ass, I am going to mail everything in such a way that a signature is required. Why would I do this? Because I did not get so much as a telephone call from either of my nephews for their birthday presents this year, and had to inquire of my mother whether they received the gifts. Yes, I could have called my brother, I suppose, but I was too annoyed to do that. (My brother and I exchanged birthday phone calls in July but otherwise have not spoken to each other this year.) Thus, someone will have to either be home or make a special trip to pick up the packages, in order that I can be sure they received the gifts without having to involve my mother in this transaction.

I am torn about all of this. I have realized that I am holding on to resentment about my brother and sister-in-law not bringing my nephews to our wedding. Well, that's not exactly it: it's more that my brother has never brought my nephews to see me. The older one is nearly 12, the younger one is 9, and they have never been here. They have been to Florida, and North Carolina, and Florida to see my SIL's family, but they have never been here. Indeed, my brother has been to visit me exactly twice in the 22 years I have lived here: when I got my Ph.D. and when I got married.

The thing is, I have gone to some lengths: I have visited my family maybe 30 or 35 times since I moved out here (seriously; that's not an exaggeration); I designed and made the birth announcements for both of my nephews; I have sent them gifts for birthdays and christmas; and Chuck and I visited multiple times, including at least twice, possibly three times, with CK, including a christmas trip one year. In return, I get . . . nothing. No phone calls, no thank yous, and certainly no visits. It is not clear to me why I should continue to expend a lot of effort on a relationship that apparently is of no importance to my only remaining sibling and his children.

This causes me great pain, of course, as I love them all dearly. I should add that I actually don't expect them to visit right now, because my brother is suffering greatly at work; the auto repair business is not one that is exactly booming. And I don't share much of it with my mother, either, because it pains her as well. I do ask about my nephews, and she tells me all about them.

I don't really know quite what to do. I get tired of making all the effort, and I certainly don't do that in any of the other relationships in my life. Ah, well, I'll think about it. I'll perhaps try to visit my parents at some point, and we'll see what happens then.

Meanwhile, I hope you all had lots of good food and no drama, and that you have off tomorrow, and that you're surrounded by love.

Lackamotivation Lament

I braved Whole Paycheck tonight (and a visit to (another) Peet's for more loose tea--where I also found that I can bring back the opened can of the one I hated and they'll exchange it for me! yay Peet's!), and of course ended up buying things that were not on my list: extra butter (on sale, and it freezes, so why not); confectioner's sugar (organic & on sale, and I know I am completely out of it); a bottle of wine; a square of fig and almond pate-like stuff; lemons (because I haven't yet figured out the entire recipe for the rosemary cherry cookies and lemon might be handy, or else for the almond cookies); and some malted barley syrup. That last one is because I am vaguely thinking of trying to make some kind of malted chocolate flavored thing; I even found a cookie recipe pretty quickly when I got home.

This all started because my boss, who always has a bunch of candy in his office, had Whoppers last week and I was reminded how interesting that malted flavor is (and then I asked the google about malted milk, which was also interesting). I always liked Ovaltine, for example, and I realize now that it was the malted flavor. Plus, malted barley is part of the beer-brewing process, and the beer tastings I've been attending have helped me recognize the toasty malty flavor in a different setting. So I set myself the challenge of baking something with it; we'll see what I come up with. I do like experimenting with different sugars--honey, of course, is my favorite, but maple syrup and molasses also have made appearances.

Not that I know many people who will be interested in tasting my creations, at least not at work. There may be a few adventurous palates there, but I haven't seen much evidence of it, at least not by looking at what people eat for lunch. That may be an inaccurate barometer, of course, but when I see a lot of frozen meals, a lot of fried crap from the local lunch joints, and a lot of boring sandwiches, well, call me a food snob, but I don't think there will be much enthusiasm for cookies made with crystallized ginger and chunks of chocolate, or fresh rosemary and dried cherries, or barley malt syrup and whatever the hell else I toss in. I could be wrong, though.

Speaking of molasses, one of my favorite things is shoo-fly pie. If you haven't been in parts of the country where Amish or Pennsylvania Dutch immigrants settled, you probably have not tasted it: it's basically a molasses pie with a crumb topping. If you make it the way I like it, the bottom of the pie is gooey, and the flavor is dense and rich. Much as I love the stuff, I'm not entirely happy with the crust (which is just a basic pie crust), and I've been wondering if there's a way to improve on it. I don't want to just make a cake out of it, because part of the wonderfulness of the pie is the gooey part, and that'll just stick to whatever it's baked in if there's no bottom crust to it. That project will have to wait, however, because I don't really have any ideas about what to do with it, and I don't have any molasses, for that matter. But I'll tuck it away in the recipe-generating part of my brain and figure out something.

I have had no other motivation tonight; didn't even row (though I did lug groceries from hither to yon). I didn't have much motivation at work, either; I hacked through one of the budgets I needed to submit, but otherwise could. not. do. anything. I have piles of things to do, mind you; if I hadn't been such a slug, I might have eased my burden considerably. But it all felt like Big Projects, and all I wanted was to not be at work. I could spin a story about how starting anything means I'll forget where I am after four days off blah blah blah, but it would be all bullshit; I just didn't feel like doing the things that needed doing.

Mostly, I need a couple days off, but that's coming up, so yay. One thing that was a little strange tonight was the grocery trip, because I went to the WP near the bakery, i.e., I took the train trip I used to take to work, and it was surprisingly shudder-inducing.

Anyway, I need to go to sleep. Remind me to rant about how fucking tired I am of hearing executives and republicans demonize unions. It is getting on my last fucking goddamned nerve.

Cookie Project

Yesterday my mom was musing on what kinds of cookies to make for the cookie party they have at their housing development association (or whatever you want to call it--it's like condos, except they're houses, but not all connected townhomes or something) party. In a fit of madness, I offered to make some for her and send them along (I know; what was I thinking, exactly?). She's sufficiently adventurous such that she requested that there be no chocolate chip cookies, no nut cups, no oatmeal cookies--i.e., she doesn't want the same things that everyone else makes.

The list (which, me being me, could change) so far is: the ginger cookies with chunks of chocolate on which I've been working (I'm going to add some orange peel this time around); double chocolate cookies with hazelnuts; almond cookies from Marcella Hazan's cookbook; and some kind of rosemary-dried cherry cookie, either biscotti or a not-too-sweet sugar cookie. (I'm thinking about using the black-and-white-cookie recipe from Cook's Illustrated's baking book.) That last one might have some lime or orange in it as well. The fun thing is that I know she'll like most of them (unlike my boss, who (a) doesn't like ginger and (b) doesn't like rosemary in desserts).

I did manage to get my stuff yesterday (and saved 20% on the whole bill, thanks to an online deal from the Container Store--if you're considering some reorganization projects, go to the website and get the coupon); I may even start the Kitchen Reorganization Project today. I am not, however, enamored of the loose teas I got from Peet's. The assam is okay; I think I need to brew it a little weaker. But the Russian thing? Ew. It's got a very smoky flavor, and I'm not liking it much, so I'd be happy to send it along to any of you who like smoky flavors. I know that I brewed that too strong, too, but I tried watering down some leftovers today with more hot water, and still kinda ew.

Anyway. Enough dithering; I want to do at least a little something productive today.

That was Weird

Okay, so, this morning, I wake up around 6:40 to an incredible sunrise. As I'm sitting on the edge of the bed, watching the show, I vaguely remember a few dreams, one of which includes a professor I knew in grad school but whom I have not seen for, oh, 6 years? I rarely remember ANY dreams, so that's kinda unusual, but whatever; let's move on here. I putter around, and decide to go to Peet's, have a cup of tea, and then go to the Container Store, so I have the bits I need for the Kitchen Reorganization Project.

I'm sitting at Peet's when I see the above-mentioned professor drive through the parking lot, park, and come in to Peet's.

I'm sorry, but that's just weird. I don't remember my dreams, as noted, and I haven't seen or heard from or thought of this person in YEARS, and then I dream about him and he shows up. Turns out he was in the grocery store near where I used to live yesterday, with his partner, and she wondered if I was still living in the neighborhood.

Yes, I know, it's all coincidental, but it's still pretty fucking weird. I do not attribute any specific meaning to any of this, I should add, but it's still . . . weird.

The Lamentation of the Mother

My mother has begun one of her Holiday Laments, the subject of which is How Terrible It Is That I Am Spending the Holiday Alone. The Lament annoys me greatly, because I enjoy spending holidays alone and don't particularly find it lamentable. I enjoy good company, too, when the opportunity for that arises--full-on family gatherings, such as I had with Chuck's family, or, years ago, with my family, or smaller gatherings, with only one or a few other person(s). The nice thing about the alone thing is that I can set my own schedule and do what I please. Next week, for example, I am going to reorganize my kitchen, a task that desperately needs doing (and first I have to get to the Container Store or BB&B to get some organizing bits, but I should be able to do that tomorrow or Saturday or Sunday). I may go out to dinner on Thursday; there's a restaurant practically across the street that changed owners and such and is open on Thanksgiving. Or I may not; we'll see what I feel like doing.

I've also enjoyed big crowds, on occasion: one year I made dinner for all of Chuck's family, which involved several special-diet variations. I enjoyed it tremendously, and I appreciated their willingness to come to our house. (This is a sore point for me, as my family has never--and I do mean never--come to my home for a holiday meal of any kind. Not that I'm bitter about this at all.) The point is, it feels to me as though I have managed to find a way to be happy with where I am. Yes, it's true that I worry about being alone all the time when I'm 85 or something--or even 65--but there isn't anything I can do now to keep that from happening, if it happens, in the future. Thus, the Lamenting irritates me.

I am looking forward to getting my kitchen in better order. My efforts to clean the bits and pieces of food from my cabinets has been successful, despite the tomatos and beets and batch of chicken stock I've added to the freezer. I have some canned beans and tomatos, some scraps of cooking and baking ingredients (pectin, gelatin, assorted types of chocolate), coffee beans (which I don't use; I go to Starbucks most mornings, but I don't believe I've ever made coffee in this apartment), and a few other odds and ends, but that's about it. I DO have a ton of equipment, though--pans, pots, lids, gadgets, tools; all that stuff. That is what's most disorganized right now, and that's what I most want to put into some kind of order that makes it available and accessible; I don't want to have to engage in a major excavation in order to find or use a particular pan.

Once I get through the rest of it, I'll talk someone into taking me on a major grocery shopping expedition. Or not. I I like having a few things around--pasta, cans of beans and tomatos, frozen veggies--so I can whip up something quickly, but I don't want to get back to a situation where I have a container of some item purchased in bulk that then sits on top of my refrigerator or in my cabinet for months (or years).

On the other hand, winter is basically here, which means having some kind of stew or soup to take to work is a good thing, especially if I get it together to start baking bread. Or maybe I'll try some new recipes; I'm usually up for that.

I do notice that I'm cooking again. When I was in grad school, and both before and after that, I did a lot of cooking, especially of things that could be portioned and used as lunches. It was cheaper, obviously, and the experimentation was useful; one of the huge advantages of living alone is that you can try wacky experiments and no one else has to know if they fail. With Chuck, things varied a little, but we really didn't cook dinner together all that often, except when CK was with us, and the foods he was willing to eat were limited and there wasn't huge experimentation going on. But we were both using the things kept on hand, and we'd go through periods where we tried to bring our lunch more.

When I was working at the bakery, the idea of trying to cook or bake something other than the simplest thing I already knew how to make just made me very very tired. Seriously; just thinking about it made me tired. I'd get it together to cook at Friend's house, a little, but usually only a part of the meal. Yeah, there was the occasional exception, but on an everyday basis, forget it.

Now, though, I find that I want to bring lunch, and I even want to start trying new recipes again. Not to mention there's no longer an endless supply of baked goods available, which is probably a good thing. (Certainly the endless supply had something to do with the weight I regained; here's hoping the rowing machine and bringing my lunches can have something to do with losing it again.)

First, though, I need to organize my tools and equipment so I can get to what I need. Now that I think about it, that's probably part of what has changed: I added significantly to my store of stuff when we got married and when I was in pastry school, so I have more of it around than I did when I last lived alone, and I have less space available than when we lived together. More stuff plus less space equals need for organization.

Boddhi Tree Musings, Part 6

I realized Saturday morning that my apartment had, once again, turned into a godawful pit, and, by the way, the rowing machine, though reassembled, had not been filled with water. I set about cleaning things up, filled the machine, puttered around. Somehow I managed to stay up until midnight last night, but I couldn't tell you what I was doing; a lot of nothing, I believe. I don't even wander the 'tubes much at home, because my connection has become tediously slow.

So I got all of that crap done, even made some lunch for the next two weeks. As part of my continuing project to clean out the cabinets, I used an old pilaf mix, threw in a bunch of extra brown rice, and then threw in a can of garbanzos--on which Chuck had written a September '05 date, which should tell you how old those things were. (I used to stock up on beans and tomatos when they were on sale, and we got in the habit of writing the date we purchased them on the can, so we could rotate our stock.) That was a little weird, I must say, because I couldn't help but be reminded--as if I need reminders--how different my life was then.

I was expecting to see Chuck today, and CK; they went to visit Chuck's family and he was supposed to call when they were coming back, and see me on the way home, but he never called and didn't answer his cell when I called him; same thing happened two weeks ago. Two weeks before that, I wasn't available on the night they were free (I originally thought I was and then had to cancel, so I was treated to a snide remark about how disappointed CK would be). Thus, it's been at least two months since I've seen CK, and I miss him. I'm losing hope that I'm going to be able to maintain any kind of relationship with him, and that makes me very sad.

Anyway. I don't want to go there tonight.

Remember I told you about the group I did the other night? Afterwards, my friend and I were going to grab some dinner and then she had another group to run. We had about a 2.5-hour gap, which should have given us plenty of time. Except we went south instead of north, so we ended up being rushed. We did manage dinner, but the trip was an object lesson of sorts.

You need to know that this friend is an insane driver--extremely impatient; always drifting into the lane to the left or the right to see if there's a place to zoom ahead; speeding whenever possible; railing about the stupidity of other drivers and complaining about how they DON'T GO AS SOON AS THE LIGHT TURNS GREEN; zipping into bus lanes and passing on the right. She had gotten somewhat better about this, largely because she started leaving earlier and allowing more time, and was therefore running late much less often, but our escapade the other night put her over the edge. I would say that we took the wrong turn in part because she was doing her usual trying-to-get-ahead thing, and then neither of us noticed that we were headed in the wrong direction (and both of us should have).

Basically, she threw a tantrum. I always found this unattractive in children, but it's particularly unattractive in adults. I just sat back--because what could I do, really--and tried to gently point out that she was making herself miserable, i.e., it wasn't the traffic or the other drivers, it was her reaction to them, and that we were still getting to spend time together, even if it was in the car rather than in front of a beverage and some food. But she could not hear any of that, at least not for more than 30 seconds at a time. She'd try to stop, and then she'd start in again, weaving and . . . tantruming. (Entertainingly, I just got an email from her, asking me to do a group Wednesday if I'm available--"if I'll ever get in a car with [her] again!" That is, she is not entirely unaware of her own behavior.) Once we got to the restaurant, we had to eat quickly, but the food was very good and it worked out fine, and she didn't bring the tantrum with her.

It was very interesting. Parts of it were completely unpleasant, of course; I really, really hate when people are driving like that (Chuck had his moments like that, but he has gotten MUCH better). It's not safe--I don't care how good a driver you are. And, really, how terrible other drivers are is a very boring conversation. But the other thing that was interesting to me is that it really was a buddhist object lesson: you cannot change the traffic, and you cannot change your mistake of going the wrong way, you can only change your reaction to those things.

Now if only I could use this knowledge at work a little more often . . . I'm working on it, though. It's not that I throw tantrums, but I have been pointing out when my boss wants me to be doing two Very Important Things simultaneously. Pick one, I tell him. And there are definitely times when I am impatient. The organization has no infrastructure, and, Boss's Boss's desires notwithstanding, one is not going to magically appear overnight; the Keebler elves do not work in our building. But it's exactly the kind of work that I like, and I have, once again, lucked into having an extremely good boss, and still with the commas, and still no sacks of flour, so it's nearly all good.

Fights with Demon Nicotine

This week is galloping along. In addition to the salary allocation task (which is nearly complete) and the analysis of the financial reports task (to which tomorrow will be devoted), I have disrupted my work schedule the past two days to do guest speaker appearances at stop-smoking groups. The person who ran the group I was in 20 years ago became a friend and has her own business running these groups these days. (I was in group number 11; she's now up around 280 groups.) She does eight sessions with each group, and session seven features people who have quit; she usually tries to include at least one recent quitter as well as someone who has quit for a year or more. When I can, I fill in whenever she needs someone; that used to happen more often, but, now that she has run so many groups, she has much less trouble finding people to speak, and I'll often go several months between appearances. When I was at the bakery, I did very few, because taking off during the day cost me money and my schedule was obviously less flexible.

For some reason, she didn't have anyone for Tuesday or yesterday, and I'm running the session for a group next week. (I've done that multiple times, as well.) I'm happy to do it whenever she needs me and I'm available, so she uses me as her backup; I consider it my 12th step. ("Having had a spiritual awakening as a result of these Steps, we tried to carry this message to alcoholics, and to practice these principles in all our affairs.") When I worked with the junkies and alcoholics, I came to believe that there is an aspect of this step that is really quite important, and I am quite serious when I tell her this. I don't know that I would characterize my experience as a "spiritual awakening," but I don't need to quibble with that; I do think the willingness to carry the message to other people is important. I do not proselytize--the people in these groups chose to attend, and usually paid money to do so, so it's not as though I'm grabbing people off the street. That is, they have decided, more or less, to quit smoking, and they're trying to figure out how to do that.

Anyway, Tuesday's meeting was pretty nondescript. It was six people, I think; I said my usual pieces, more or less, answered questions, tried to respond to any concerns I sensed, but everyone seemed to be doing pretty well. (Nearly all of them were using chantix, or whatever it's called, which, despite its occasional side effects, is apparently nearly a miracle drug when it comes to smoking cessation. I quit cold turkey--from 2.5 to 3 packs/day--so I can't speak as much to that aspect of the experience.) I connected a bit, and they were perfectly nice people, but they were not struggling with quitting, particularly. I regard it as important to reinforce what they're doing, and I was happy to do that, but it didn't seem like I was doing much more, or other, than reinforcing. (Which, hey, whatever--the important thing is that they're not smoking and aren't going to go back.)

Wednesday's group, though, was much larger, maybe 16 people, and much more varied. It was a very, very blue collar small manufacturing concern. The company is going smoke free as of January 1, and they offered the group to employees who smoke to help with that transition. About a third of the group was hispanic; another 25% was black; one person was slavic or russian or polish, I think; everyone else was working-class white, so far as I could tell.

For the guest-speaker session, my friend starts the group as always: she goes around the table and each person talks about how he or she is doing. Are you still quit? If you haven't quit, how are you doing? Are you struggling in some way? What challenges or difficulties are you dealing with? (For example, many people really, really miss smoking when they drink alcohol or coffee.)

As she was doing that part today, I could sense that she had really lost the group today, though I wasn't sure why. (She knew it, too--and she's been doing this long enough to know that that just happens sometimes.) Then she introduced me, and I did my thing. I have a mental list of, oh, 20 to 30 tidbits, mini-stories, some of which I always tell and a few of which I pull out in response to a question or issue someone raises. It's a quasi-improvisational riff, really, and my years of doing this has helped me figure out which stories are likely to resonate with a particular person or group. So I started talking, doing some of my usual spiel, and it slowly became apparent that I had completely drawn the group in. Not everyone spoke--most didn't, actually--but . . . I had them.

It was quite powerful, and even kind of moving. Several people came up to me afterwards (which rarely happens, even when I know I've connected with a group), and I hope that some of what I said will enable the few people who are still clinging to a few cigarettes find a way to let go of them. It's also interesting to me that I am able to connect with people across a huge spectrum of socio-cultural experience. (One of the more entertaining experiences was at an all-black church on the south side of the city--and not the rich part of the south side--and I did that gig alone. When I walked in to the building, someone immediately saw me and said, oh, you must be here for the stop smoking group. Not surprisingly, they assumed that some middle-class white girl didn't just happen to wander in.) I think it's probably my own background, in combination with the rather substantial variety of work experiences I've had. It's definitely fun, though.

My rowing machine is still not completely reassembled, however. I started in on it Monday night, and actually got the difficult parts done, I think (I'm still not entirely sure I've reconnected the belts and pulleys correctly), but I still need to reattach the footboard. No, it won't take that long, and no, I haven't really gotten any exercise (I've been too busy to walk to or from work, as well), so it really must become a priority. Tonight, perhaps, even though today will likely be another long slog through the organization's financial reports.