Showing posts with label culinary adventures. Show all posts
Showing posts with label culinary adventures. Show all posts

Thursday, July 30, 2009

Our Heroine, After Much Soul-Searching, Has Decided To Convert...

...from Dunkin Donuts to MacDonalds coffee. This decision will shock you all, enfuriate some, and delight others, but I must assure you, it was not a decision I made lightly, in fact, I have been considering this conversion for many months in my secret heart.

As I sit typing this, I am sipping on a steaming hot cup of McD's coffee, and I must confess it was this very thing - the consistent steaming hotness of their coffee - that first began to lure me away from the coffee of my youth, which is pretty spotty about temperature.

The other thing that played a role was the influence of my brother's father-in-law, a man I greatly respect in all things, but especially in matters of coffee (he brews an amazing cup), who told me several months ago that he had converted from DD to McD and had no regrets, except for the fact that McD's smells like grease and ground beef so he can't sit and read the paper there in the morning. But we agreed this was a minor theological point.

Finally, my travels within Spain played a role, as the people of this great country introduced me to cafe con leche, a drink which I promptly adored and began brewing at home, and which, over time, has gradually changed my palate to prefer a bolder coffee taste.

So that is it, good friends, I am a McDonaldsite now. I appreciate everyone who has stuck by me during this difficult time, and I will remember you all as I embark on this next, exciting phase of my coffee drinking life.

Friday, July 10, 2009

Our Heroine Is Not a Drinker


...so I admire perseverance in drinking more than most. To wit, I had to record this giant (empty) Spaten mug that my friend's hubby enjoyed with us during a sunny outing at Zeppelin Hall. I forgot to add a pen for scale, but trust me, it was large.

He who drinks beer sleeps well.
He who sleeps well cannot sin.
He who does not sin goes to heaven.
Amen.

Unknown German Monk

Tuesday, June 30, 2009

Ah! Sweet Cafe Con Leche of Life, At Last I've Found You

Morning perfection...

The only thing missing from this picture is the steamy goodness rising from the top.

Wednesday, May 16, 2007

Our Heroine Asks a Culinary Question

What should I prepare for tonight's penultimate-episode-of-Lost party? Past Lost parties have featured such diverse and slightly inedible snacks as:
  • Swedish meatballs (I burned the bottoms)
  • Cheesefries with bacon (bacon = undercooked due to misread recipe)
  • Fudge brownies (awesome, but, seriously, how much talent do awesome brownies take? an orangutan could manage awesome brownies so long as someone set the oven to the right temperature for him)
  • Chili (slow-cooker version, a bit dry)
  • Supernachos (awesomesauce! but I cheated and ordered them in from Rachel's Taqueria)
  • Buffalo wings (natch, from Domino's)
  • Oatmeal Nutcake (my signature cake, delicious, but too fussy for a Lost party, like eating petit-fours at a tractor pull)
  • Fried ricotta fritters (usually amazing, but pre-Lost I burnt the outsides and the insides were runny. Still, it was fried cheese, so, totally edible)
  • Patti LaBelle's mac-n-cheese (Thank you Miss LaBelle, for my one unqualified cooking success. If this recipe was any indication, I should add 3 cups of cheese, a pound of butter and two cups of cream to every thing I make moving forward).

If you have suggestions, please leave them in the comments box.

Also: props go to my amazing friend kherman for gamely eating whatever I put in front of her this season. You're a true kindred spirit!

Saturday, May 12, 2007

Our Heroine, Like Sartre, Seeks a Single Recipe Which Will, by Itself, Embody the Plight of Man in a World Ruled by an Unfeeling God...

...as well as providing the eater with at least one ingredient from each of the four basic food groups.


We have been lucky to discover several previously lost diaries of French philosopher Jean-Paul Sartre stuck in between the cushions of our office sofa. These diaries reveal a young Sartre obsessed not with the void, but with food. Apparently Sartre, before discovering philosophy, had hoped to write "a cookbook that will put to rest all notions of flavor forever." The diaries are excerpted here for your perusal.

October 3
Spoke with Camus today about my cookbook. Though he has never actually eaten, he gave me much encouragement. I rushed home immediately to begin work. How excited I am! I have begun my formula for a Denver omelet.

October 4
Still working on the omelet. There have been stumbling blocks. I keep creating omelets one after another, like soldiers marching into the sea, but each one seems empty, hollow, like stone. I want to create an omelet that expresses the meaninglessness of existence, and instead they taste like cheese. I look at them on the plate, but they do not look back. Tried eating them with the lights off. It did not help. Malraux suggested paprika.

October 6
I have realized that the traditional omelet form (eggs and cheese) is bourgeois. Today I tried making one out of cigarette, some coffee, and four tiny stones. I fed it to Malraux, who puked. I am encouraged, but my journey is still long.

October 10
I find myself trying ever more radical interpretations of traditional dishes, in an effort to somehow express the void I feel so acutely. Today I tried this recipe:
Tuna Casserole
Ingredients: 1 large casserole dish

Place the casserole dish in a cold oven. Place a chair facing the oven and sit in it forever. Think about how hungry you are. When night falls, do not turn on the light.

While a void is expressed in this recipe, I am struck by its inapplicability to the bourgeois lifestyle. How can the eater recognize that the food denied him is a tuna casserole and not some other dish? I am becoming more and more frustated.

October 25
I have been forced to abandon the project of producing an entire cookbook. Rather, I now seek a single recipe which will, by itself, embody the plight of man in a world ruled by an unfeeling God, as well as providing the eater with at least one ingredient from each of the four basic food groups. To this end, I purchased six hundred pounds of foodstuffs from the corner grocery and locked myself in the kitchen, refusing to admit anyone. After several weeks of work, I produced a recipe calling for two eggs, half a cup of flour, four tons of beef, and a leek. While this is a start, I am afraid I still have much work ahead.

November 15
Today I made a Black Forest cake out of five pounds of cherries and a live beaver, challenging the very definition of the word cake. I was very pleased. Malraux said he admired it greatly, but could not stay for dessert. Still, I feel that this may be my most profound achievement yet, and have resolved to enter it in the Betty Crocker Bake-Off.

November 30
Today was the day of the Bake-Off. Alas, things did not go as I had hoped. During the judging, the beaver became agitated and bit Betty Crocker on the wrist. The beaver's powerful jaws are capable of felling blue spruce in less than ten minutes and proved, needless to say, more than a match for the tender limbs of America's favorite homemaker. I only got third place. Moreover, I am now the subject of a rather nasty lawsuit.

December 1
I have been gaining twenty-five pounds a week for two months, and I am now experiencing light tides. It is stupid to be so fat. My pain and ultimate solitude are still as authentic as they were when I was thin, but seem to impress girls far less. From now on, I will live on cigarettes and black coffee.

The Jean-Paul Sartre Cookbook
by Marty Smith, Portland OR
from Free Agent March 1987 (a Portland Oregon alternative newspaper),
Republished in the Utne Reader Nov./Dec. 1993

Tuesday, April 3, 2007

Our Heroine Has a Culinary Adventure

So, I recently made the decision that Spring '07 was going to be the "Spring of the Sandwich". I have this notion that I have it in me to be a sandwich wunderkind, whipping up exotic crostini and panini with nonchalance and savoire faire.

Unfortunately, against this notion of mine, the prosecution can now point to Exhibit A: tonight's French bread filled with cannelini beans and sardines.

There was so much in the recipe that was good, like creamy butter beans, onions sauteed in chili powder and paprika, crusty french bread, lemon and fresh parsley. I don't know where I went wrong. Oh, yes, I do. Do you notice what is missing from the above list of "good"? That's right. Sardines. Those bleedin' sardines just beat every other sandwich flavor into a bruised, whimpering mess. I felt like I was eating tuna right out of the can, like a crazy cat lady. Crazy cat lady, I've no need to tell you, is NOT the response you want to a fancy sandwich.

Honestly, I am not sure if this recipe can be saved (I'm tempted to try it once more with half the called-for sardines), but I am not giving up on the platonic idea of the sardine. I am confident that I can love the anchovy and the sardine, given the right combination of ingredients and some whiz-kid preparation (much the way my friend SLB taught me to love the brussel sprout last year).

My immediate plan is to jog to Subway for some palate-cleansing Diet Coke, right from the healing soda fountain. My long term plan is to try again with some sardine-infused fragrant Thai rice. You have to love the Thai use of the euphemistic "fragrant," by which they mean, "reeks of canned fish."