tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-82924877120005639382024-02-20T02:35:37.591-08:00Bored, Tired & Hungrymust I really explain?ajhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10519452672408935465noreply@blogger.comBlogger10125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8292487712000563938.post-45586144960487151762009-02-14T19:12:00.000-08:002009-02-14T19:28:04.371-08:00last year's candy<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana;">While you're out at some fancy restaurant, gazing into the eyes of your beloved and hoping to get her drunk enough to get laid, know that I'm at home packing boxes for an impending move. In the process I've found time to make some important scientific junk food discoveries!</span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana;"><br>In the treat basket that hides out in the pantry I found 2 year old chocolate covered espresso beans, looking rather scary - probably still edible, but they looked sad, so they got the boot. Right next to this were two boxes of Sweetheart candies vintage 2008. Curious to see if Sweethearts grow stale, I tried a whole box and much to my sweet tooth's delight I happily report that these things have a shelf life like a Twinkie.<br><br />Happy Valentine's Day!<br /></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div></div><br><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/laundrysoap/3280515550/" title="sweetheart by laundrysoap, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3144/3280515550_c5f75912f9.jpg" width="430" height="364" alt="sweetheart" /></a>ajhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10519452672408935465noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8292487712000563938.post-76905663654760737462008-11-27T22:30:00.000-08:002008-11-28T06:38:44.075-08:00Celebrating Thanksgiving<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana;">Last year at this time I was sitting in an apartment on the Upper East Side eating meat pies from the Down Under Bakery, thankful to have seen the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade and Central Park up close earlier in the day. This seems to have kicked off a new tradition of non-traditional turkey day festivities...<br />This year I found myself imitating a lounge lizard - napping on and off throughout the day to dress late in the afternoon for the final seating at Palate in Glendale where I dined solo on of all things goat! <br />The meal was fabulous and not at all lonely as diners around me, plus the wait staff all joined in conversation at one point or another during the 2 hour meal. I left stuffed and thankful...</span><br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/laundrysoap/3064539209/" title="celery root soup by laundrysoap, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3192/3064539209_0f69202cf3_m.jpg" width="150" height="150" alt="celery root soup" /> </a><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/laundrysoap/3065378832/" title="oxtail agnolotti by laundrysoap, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3282/3065378832_1113733266.jpg" width="150" height="150" alt="oxtail agnolotti" /><br /></a><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/laundrysoap/3065378070/" title="Save a turkey - eat goat by laundrysoap, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3283/3065378070_102682d64b.jpg" width="150" height="150" alt="Save a turkey - eat goat" /> </a><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/laundrysoap/3065378018/" title="pumpkin pie + spice cream by laundrysoap, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3017/3065378018_0437fd76b4_m.jpg" width="150" height="150" alt="pumpkin pie + spice cream" /></a><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/laundrysoap/3065377942/" title="un cafe by laundrysoap, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3295/3065377942_2ac6dae52c_s.jpg" width="75" height="100" alt="un cafe" /></a> <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/laundrysoap/3064538819/" title="a little atmosphere by laundrysoap, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3019/3064538819_1f3950de94_t.jpg" width="75" height="100" alt="a little atmosphere" /></a> <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/laundrysoap/3064538631/" title="guy in dress by laundrysoap, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3287/3064538631_8d3a5c8684_t.jpg" width="75" height="100" alt="guy in dress" /></a><br /><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana;">first course:: Celery Root Soup<br />second course:: Oxtail Agnolotti<br />main course:: Slow Roasted Goat with Endive<br />dessert:: Pumpkin Pie + Spice Cream<br />all the rest:: Coffee, lots of wine, candles and some guy in a green dress</span>ajhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10519452672408935465noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8292487712000563938.post-24686431150351839342008-01-21T19:37:00.000-08:002008-03-14T06:57:33.341-07:00dish pan hands<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">If it's possible for a kitchen to be a reflection of the life being lived in it, then mine is screaming of unfinished business. We needn't get into the messy particulars of the life, for now I'll leave this as a story about doing the dishes...<br /><br />7AM Sunday morning - dishes from yesterday are stacked on the side of the sink, waiting patiently for a bath. And this scene distresses me. To the point where I ignore the pile and begin making coffee. But as the coffee brews, I find myself filling the sink with hot soapy water, washing last's night business, while silently vowing to stop "the dishes can wait" nonsense. I will turn over a new leaf, I will clean up the kitchen each night so that in the morning I'm greeted to order and clutter free counter tops. I will end my mostly hate relationship with washing dishes. Clearly, I have not had coffee.<br /><br />I play games to make myself do the dishes. Fill the sink, eat some chocolate. Scrub the pans, have a glass of wine. Mostly I cheat. Not to win, but to get out of what I view as tedious housework: the shit jobs that no one else wants to do. The reason why Josephine Garis Cochran invented the dishwasher - well that and she was tired of the servants breaking her fine china. Unfortunately for me, I have no one else to toss the job to. And no one to stop me from eating chocolate, drinking wine and dancing to loud music when I might just be rubbing the plates clean. The only "dishwasher" in the place is me.<br><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana;">Being American, I want to blame someone else for this. It must be the result of having to do dishes as a child I reason or the fact that every damn cooking show I watched did this really great trick with the dirty pots and pans whereby they were placed on a shelf out of view. Think about it, you're 6 and you see the pots and pans get carried off camera - who knows, maybe to get thrown away? Maybe to begin a second career in a film featuring pans with caked on gravy and yesterday's eggs. But certainly not to get washed, because hey they would have shown you that wouldn't they? Yeah, that's it. I'm blaming the Galloping Gourmet and Julia and some guy I remember as Chef Roy. If only they had spent time extolling the virtues of sudsing up a pan. Being up to your elbows in Palmolive.<br><br />Bob Blumer playfully addresses the subject of dishwash loathing in his cookbook <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">The Surreal Gourme</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">t -Real Food for Pretend Chefs.</span> Actually he got a friend to give his take on making the process a rewarding one. It seems the author himself feels no more excited about cleaning a dish than I do. And while the advice in his book sounds reasonable, I have yet to get "zen" or find dishwashing to be an art form.<br><br />But then last night, some kind lady shows up in the kitchen sporting yellow gloves. She cheerfully cleans up the dishes from the days food adventuring AND puts them away. This cannot be me. I'm still the kid who would rather eat liver than wash a dish - no truly this is a ghost or just a plain figment of my imagination. Still the counter is clear this morning.<br><br />Tonight, the same odd lady with the yellow gloves showed up for duty about an hour or so after the evening meal. She scrubbed the pots clean, scoured the plates and bowls and silverware. Handled the wine glasses deftly, washing and drying them without breakage. I didn't hear a peep out of her. The whole thing took about 20 minutes, the washing part that is. I think she left them to air dry, which means I must participate in some way by at least putting the clean dishes away.<br><br />Which is to say my business is still unfinished.ajhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10519452672408935465noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8292487712000563938.post-87250224871349565022008-01-14T19:09:00.000-08:002008-01-14T20:07:05.942-08:00not so still life in the kitchen<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">The marquee outside this establishment might read, "Messes Made Nightly" if I lived in a theatre or a bar maybe. It seems something is always boiling over or spilling or breaking in the kitchen. Not that I've anything to do with this. </span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><br />Tonight, it's the rice liquid burbling down the sides of the pan like it is trying to escape the heat by sliding overboard. A dish of salt gets knocked over, grains falling to the floor to join the bread crumbs that landed there when toast had to be excavated from the toaster.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><br />All is not doom and gloom. Here now are some scenes of food less tossed, and messing that turned into meals. </span></div><br><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/laundrysoap/2194433214/" title="carrots at rest by laundrysoap, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2072/2194433214_ba8a2beed1_m.jpg" width="240" height="180" alt="carrots at rest" /></a><br><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/laundrysoap/2194433410/" title="homeburger by laundrysoap, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2062/2194433410_c720f6f29d_m.jpg" width="240" height="180" alt="homeburger" /></a><br><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/laundrysoap/2157335862/" title="German pancake and bacon by laundrysoap, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2271/2157335862_2874384384.jpg" width="240" height="180" alt="German pancake and bacon" /></a>ajhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10519452672408935465noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8292487712000563938.post-54259859465294596992008-01-01T20:49:00.000-08:002008-01-01T20:56:40.123-08:00hello good luck<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">New Year brought in with the help of the good luck black-eyed peas, some pinto beans and the ham bone from the ham that keeps on giving. </span><br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/laundrysoap/2157335364/" title="ham bone and black eyed peas by laundrysoap, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2009/2157335364_49dd673d42.jpg" width="397" height="500" alt="ham bone and black eyed peas" /></a><br /><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana;">I'm already feeling lucky...</span>ajhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10519452672408935465noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8292487712000563938.post-12306301081349680672007-12-19T19:51:00.000-08:002007-12-19T20:12:05.170-08:00hammin' it up<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana;">Today's question: how many ways can a cook disguise, revise, redo, elevate, reheat, or re-serve yesterday's ham? <br><br />But first, a little background story...April 1997 Saveur magazine runs a story about dressing up a cheap smoked ham by slowly cooking the crap out it, while also glazing it up to be so amazingly delicious that it becomes the show stopper at all cocktail parties. Our little stay at home cook finds this story fascinating and promptly files the idea of said ham in her pretty little brain, while simultaneously forgetting which magazine she read it in. Years pass, parties are thrown and opportunities to try the ham are lost, as the article cannot be found.</span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana;"><br />Yet the idea of the ham remains. In fact our cook is so sure that she must have this recipe somewhere that one day she quietly sits looking through all the food zines she has kept, when viola! The article reappears. This time she marks the spine with a note that reads "The Ham Recipe Is In Here"<br /></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana;"><br />And finally on a rainy Tuesday in December, some 10 years or so later the recipe is tried - the ham is indeed delicious and the question posed at the beginning of this tale still remains.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana;">What does one do with the leftovers of a 10 pound ham? Send in your favorite recipes for using up yesterday's ham - I'll try them - if I like them, you get a mention here.</span></div></div>ajhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10519452672408935465noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8292487712000563938.post-46602752188339361532007-12-18T13:39:00.000-08:002007-12-18T14:24:55.313-08:00waffle iron grilled cheese<div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">Today's theme is the illogical, the inane, and the oh hell, why not, let's try it? It is raining, it is freezing inside this apartment and short of wanting to build tents out of blankets like when I was five - the day screams for a cooking adventure.<br><br />I never had an Easy Bake Oven. The excuse my mother gave my sister and me had to do with the expense of the miniature cake mixes, the cost of light bulbs and the possibility of an electrical fire. Oh, and I'm pretty certain she threw in a bit about not cleaning up after ourselves. For this, I was probably marred for life and now blame my fascination with devising multiple uses for kitchen utensils on this missing childhood toy. Take my waffle iron for example. Hasn't seen a waffle since I've owned it, but it has in recent months become the new grilled cheese/panini press. </div><div><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/laundrysoap/2120024042/" title="waffle iron grilled cheese by laundrysoap, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2347/2120024042_fbc72bf7b7.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="waffle iron grilled cheese" /></a></div>ajhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10519452672408935465noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8292487712000563938.post-29163579653028512632007-08-06T22:16:00.000-07:002007-12-18T18:52:53.063-08:00Burger safari no.2<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">It starts out as a quest for the perfect burger. Well not really. I intended on turning the leftover steak from the previous night's kick ass meal into mini sliders with a side of Asian coleslaw. Instead, a message on my answering machine beckons me out for a burger.<br /><br />My neighbor, the one who so graciously listens to me during "My Real Breakup" has decided that since our last burger outing- whereby we foresake free tickets to the Fray in favor of chasing a good hamburger- should continue the safari. I can't say no.<br />It's an adventure bigger than inventing a new recipe or sitting at home trying to write the perfect resume. I need this burger.<br /><br />Without hesitation I call back to say I'm in. Oh and to ask "Where are we going this week? He replies simply, "The York." I don't ask, I just agree to meet in five minutes. Five minutes later we are off - Burger Safari no. 2<br /><br />The York, on York is a cool space. With its safety glass paned windows that open to the street; distressed brick walls, exposed wood beam ceiling; light fixtures ala Thomas Edison with rusty wire coat hanger like chandeliers; all anchored by an L-shaped bar in the center of the room. Booths to the left and back side of the bar, plus metal bar stools at tiny cocktail high tables along the outer walls contribute to an old woodshop sort of feel without the sawdust. The menus, large chalk boards hanging on walls opposite the bar, list the beers, the wine, the food. It works.<br /><br />And so does the burger. My neighbor proclaims it a good rival to the burger at Father's Office. I can't compare as I haven't had FO's creation yet. But I can say this York burger is delectable and the fries spot on.</span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/laundrysoap/2120024000/" title="the york burger by laundrysoap, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2045/2120024000_b87e760c26.jpg" width="500" height="396" alt="the york burger" /></a></span></div>ajhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10519452672408935465noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8292487712000563938.post-74384318867717741652007-07-15T21:15:00.000-07:002007-12-18T14:22:32.021-08:00party of one, again<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana;">There comes a time in every woman's life when a relationship goes to Hell in a handbag. I'm experiencing just such a time now. Suffice to say said relationship is not coming back anytime soon, nor do I expect a postcard. Actually, I'm thinking may it rest in peace. The relationship that is. I have other thoughts for Mr. X-boyfriend, none of which are family friendly at the moment.<br><br />Surprisingly just a mere week and a half since the alleged split I've quit getting misty eyed thinking about all the time I've wasted. My apartment is cleaner than ever. I've seen my parents more in the last several weeks. Spent time with friends whom Mr. X didn't want to hang out with. But I'd be lying to say its been a cakewalk. I've felt the usual sadness and emptiness that any breakup brings.<br><br />While I could drown my sorrows in chocolate or a stiff drink - I've instead turned my attention back to the kitchen.<br />Experimenting with tastes and worrying about pleasing no one. I don't have to have dinner on the sofa by five o'clock (yep that's right "Xman" preferred eating with his plate balanced on his chest while lying on the sofa like a goddamn otter floating in a stream) - I may dine at eight on the balcony with proper silverware and linens - eat eggs for dinner if I so care.<br><br />I think in this empty space I may just find heaven. Hell can keep the handbag.</span>ajhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10519452672408935465noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8292487712000563938.post-39958750387773335522007-07-11T21:12:00.000-07:002007-12-18T14:27:32.690-08:00fatigue and coffee<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana;">One can't complain too much about temporary employment that provides a machine dispensing 6 types of coffee drinks plus hot chocolate with "real" milk. (Honest to god, that is what the button next to this selection says) But still, I can say that I'm bored - unchallenged by most of the paper shuffling that I'm charged with shuffling. This causes me to drink more coffee than usual. It also makes me want to eat all day long and eat nothing of great interest.<br><br />I eat when I'm bored. And I'm bored with eating. To lift a phrase from MFK Fisher I think I may be suffering from "gastronomical fatigue."<br><br />Even coffee can't cure that.<br> <br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/laundrysoap/761678046/" title="Photo Sharing"><img src="http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1302/761678046_d59c308dcf.jpg" width="500" height="364" alt="coffee at the office" /></a>ajhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10519452672408935465noreply@blogger.com0