baking past my bedtime

So many new kitchen tools at my fingertips. Literally everything (except a wok but we have no room for a wok). Including by not limited to a mandolin. Finally, I have access to a mandolin. All the jars of jaggedy vinegared vegetables that have passed through my kitchens. All the uneven slices of potatoes and apples and other sliceable things. These persimmons won't know the struggle.

that time I almost killed the host

Currently obsessed with:

-tamarind, especially tamarind yogurt, especially tamarind yogurt with candied orange slices and pomegranate
-my backyard (that's not going to change)
-Imperfect Produce and not having to leave my home to go "grocery shopping"
-the idea of a flourishing herb garden now that I see it does, in fact, pour here

in other people's homes

Aside from the times I thought I wanted to run away from home, I never imagined myself homeless, but much to the dismay of one Wells Fargo lady, homeless I was for two months. And at a time when a new home was not quite in sight.

Casa de Amy. Holding down the fort while she was busy getting a terrible illness that affects ears in Spain. With vegetables from Audrey's mama's garden.

Things to note: one key opens her apartment. One key opens all the other doors... except other peoples' apartments. And the showers are absurdly loud. Her couch is super comfortable. And her parking spot is not behind the building.

cucumber mint salad - de-seeded cucumber with lemon-y mint, red onion, a heaping spoonful of sugar, half a heaping spoonful of salt, and a moderate spoonful of vinegar.

garlic fried Swiss chard with spicy roasted chickpeas over rice

basil and walnut pesto - two cloves of garlic, lots of basil, lots of roasted walnuts, handfuls of Parmesan, and enough olive oil to bring it all together - over roasted spaghetti squash

they see us rollin'

Summer Fave #2: rolling logs

Thank goodness I'm attracted to novelty and "weird" because I never would've ended up trying to befriend Abbey. And then I never would've ended up at Lake Wingra, attempting to run on a carpeted log (record = 25s). And then I never would've spent an entire smoldering hot but comfortably breezy Saturday watching competitive log rolling from 7 year olds to the elites. 

the value of punctuality

I used to pride myself on being the punctual friend.  I hated being late to things, mostly because FOMO.  And that awkward moment when you've walked into a room full of people who are already vibing.

Except after one too many embarrassing moments of pretend-to-be-locked-in-seriously-active-text-convo and/or pretend-to-be-incredibly-interested-in-any-surface-with-written-words, I think I've developed a reputation for being late.

And then, contrary to what you'd think, grad school has not improved my time management skills.  Sometimes I just forget to factor in time of transportation to my transportation method.  Things are made more complicated when I'm late to an event that requires you to bring something.  Because now there needs to be planning to plan for time.

So if you happen to find: friends who often gather for the sake of sharing meals... yourself pressed for time... and you are often late to potlucks, my only advice to you is to stash some fresh or frozen fruit in the cold box and make a cobbler... thing when the time comes.

Step one: rinse, cut, mix fruits of choice (strawberries and blueberries for me) and toss in a Pyrex glass that comes with lid because these things are great
Step two: mix up topping in separate bowl and pack it into a freezer bag with fruit and stick of butter
Step three: assemble at host's home and stick it in the oven while eating the apps and mains
Bonus: nice warm dessert for all
Extra bonus if you have the foresight to bring vanilla ice cream

fluffy and celebrations

Dear Best Friend,

I miss our laps around campus the most.  When the sun had set and everyone else was tucked away in their dorms, so we could freely exhaust all the topics while testing our entire range of emotions.  I can't really do that around here.  Downtown does not really facilitate wandering in PJs.  Or I guess I could... but I'd just look like I was doing the walk-of-shame at an awkwardly early time of night.

Anyways, I don't know how anyone puts up with me, but I really don't know how you put up with me.  Thanks for like five years of nomming and lazing around and coffee shops and being all around boring with me.  Thanks again for punctuating those times with dragging me out- would I have even learned how to socialize on my own?  Even though we are separated by 1135 miles. give or take, I'm not so convinced I haven't seen you in six months.  Also because I know I'll see you.  Somewhere.  Sometime.  After we both have more of our shit figured out.  Until then, I'll try to keep my text rants to a minimum.  To save it all for our next series of laps.  Hope you had an awesome birthday weekend with minimal drama and negative emotions.

As always, dibs on your pool house.

If you were within throwing distance of me, I would've made a substantial chocolate cake.  But since you are living it up in Boston, I'm going to honor you with this strawberry and papaya meringue nest I made and ate all in one sitting... because that's what I do.  And that's what you'd do.  And no judgment.  And that's why we're friends.

Just kidding.

We're friends because we hate the same things.

almond curd

yolks (however many for however large your meringue will be)

1/4 c sugar per yolk

almond milk

This is a work in progress because it turned out kind of grainy.  I mean, I still slathered it over everything and ate it by the spoonful when I ran out of things to slather it on... but I need to think more like a perfectionist.  Especially if I'm going to get through this next year.

Happy [belated] Birthday, Alicia.

Damn, you're so old now.

sense

smells

sights

sounds
feels
tastes

Madison Craft Beer Week has just concluded over here.

So I'm a little late getting around to making this, featuring Trader Joe's Stockyard Oatmeal Stout.
But it worked out nicely because it almost looks like a bouquet of roses.  Right, right?
Happy Mother's Day.

 I'm not really sure how to refer to cinnamon rolls when they look like cinnamon rolls, made like cinnamon rolls, but have no cinnamon in them... just "rolls" doesn't quite roll off the tongue.  Actually it sounds pretty gross.  R-o-o-o-o-l-l-l-l-l-l-sssssss.  Nope.

 We'll just call them Blackberry Ginger Coffee Stout Rolls (filling adapted from here with 1 t freshly grated ginger, lime instead of lemon, and no mascarpone).

And just to keep the tastebuds on their toes without overwhelming, I ate my rolls (yup, still sounds gross) smothered with thick but light almond curd.

angsty

So the name Tavi Gevinson was instantly familiar.  Rookie sounded familiar.  Familiar enough that I knew I wanted to see her talk at Mem Union.  Once I sat down, I realized I first saw her on Fallon - the source of most of my media/pop culture/world news/Hollywood/random funny event knowledge.  What a great reminder of how much lab life is slowly taking over my life - I haven't watched Fallon in forever.

I'm supposed to muscling my way through a paper right now, but I'm feeling inspired.  And not exactly by antifreeze proteins...  

Tavi spoke a lot about inspiration.  Actually I guess her entire talk was about inspiration.  Fangirling, to be exact.  So obsessive inspiration?  Religious inspiration... but not religious in the way it has to do with religion.  And I feel cliche saying that she inspired me, but she kind of did.  Not necessarily in what she's accomplished or what she's specifically said tonight or whatever, but more in her entire young 18-year-old life.

Her journals were the most inspiring.  Journals saved me in middle school.  I used to think I could write poetry.  Haha.  Ha.  I've since come to my senses.  But "poetry" turned into short one page stories which turned into thoughts and then longer accounts of my days.  I got worse and worse about keeping up with it as I got older because I could only find the time or patience or speed to write when anger or sadness or happiness was magnified.  And then my hands would cramp and spelling got harder and harder.  And then there's the issue with how I lack artistic ability.  I loved the pictures Tavi shared of her journals, almost envious, because they were exactly how I tried to create mine.  Messy, disorganized, chaotic, but with clear effort and purpose.  Colorful and feeling.  Creative.

My journals were always just lines of words, so it only made sense to keep documents on my computer.  I mean, why not when I could type as fast as I could feel?  Even so, there are large gaps.  Large gaps of times when I was content enough with things that I didn't need to release anything.  My journal-documents became heavy with despondency and boys and drama.  And then they became nothing at all because I poured all the despondency and boys and drama onto other people who tolerated me for whatever reason (much appreciation).  It's kind of sad to think about the last time I sat down in a coffee shop to pen my immediate thoughts (a long ass time ago).  Without this time, I'm limited and censored to what I'm not afraid to say out loud, and my walks to and from work get awfully introspective before it all disappears once I'm in the company of other people again.  I'm constantly impressed by people who can create because I let myself get too distracted too easily.

I need to start journaling again.

Everything she said was so relatable. 

She talked about the pressures we face to succeed in creativity and originality and groundbreaking information in a world where it seems like all the information is already out there.  How she initially saw her diagnosis of depression as a positive thing in the tortured artist sense.  I remember when I was a preteen, feeling somehow validated to write "poetry" because I had experienced something tragic, and then that it was somehow good for the sole reason that it was real.

She even talked about relatability.  How loving someone or something (being an ultimate fangirl) and relating to them or their work validates your feelings instead of taking away your element of uniqueness.  I used to write my favorite lyrics on sheets of colored paper and tape them all over my walls, first thing when I wake and last thing before I fall asleep kind of thing.  I'd read and reread these chosen lines, memorizing them, internalizing them, because it was unbelievable how some other person could string my feelings together so perfectly.  I think that's why Buzzfeed was so addicting before it got too repetitive.  How is another person capturing my most bizarre habits or obscure thoughts before I've even had a chance to formally process them?

She was an impressive speaker, and I spent most of the Q&A session trying to find her 11-year-old musings.  Girl, angsty or not, was more sophisticated and eloquent than my angsty pre-teen self.  I'm too embarrassed to open one of my middle school journals; I can't believe she had the guts to put it in the webosphere.

"Most of my world is a composite of other worlds."

-Tavi

Anyways, I've started reading Rookie.

And now I'm going to leave you with a picture of my fruit salad from February.  Grapefruit, kiwi, pomegranate, basil, tossed in lemon basil syrup.

my week in avocado

This avocado crisis is not okay.  

I mean, it's not like I eat this stuff everyday, but it's nice to know it's there (at a reasonable price) when I want and need it.

So I caved at Sam's Club, and got a bag of five, they all ripened at the same time, and I had avocado every day of the week.  

"Deep dish" caprese pizza with the same crust mix as this time that just definitely had to be used.  I only put "deep dish" in quotations because it really wasn't supposed to be that but I had a pie tin and much homemade tomato sauce (frozen, thawed, and pureed with Audrey's heavenly blender) and once I started assembling the pie, it just sort of happened.  Whole leaves of basil and lots of mozzarella thrown in there.  Ate half of it straight out of the oven with an avocado.  Ate the other half cold at 11pm when I couldn't sleep because I have no control over the temperature in my apartment.  Equally satisfying both times.

I've mentioned my obsession with caprese, yeah?  The best part (occasionally) about having to deliver a parking check to MPM every month is that if I go on Fridays, they usually have Einstein bagels - one of those food items I only indulge on when they are free at some event or seminar or whatever.  I always get an asiago one and a sweet one (cinnamon crunch from Panera, always and forever) if I can.  Well, I ate my sweet one at work and saved the asiago one for a special occasion.  This is that special occasion.
Fried egg, mozzarella, pretty and plump tomatoes, large basil leaves, and buttery avocado.  Doesn't even need a sauce or spread, but I drizzled a bit of cherry balsamic on top.  I acknowledge that cherry seems to be an odd player here, but it fit perfectly.  Mostly because you only need a bit for a tangy sweetness that complemented the tomatoes well.

If I could eat this thing everyday, I would.

Let me just introduce this mess by saying broken jasmine rice does not hold up well to longer cook times.  I think anyone could've told you that.  I should've listened to me when I told me that.  But it was the cheapest of the rices - what's a grad student to do?  Anyways, I attempted to make Spanish rice with tomato sauce, red peppers, and olives (would've been fantastic if I had capers and anchovies, but it's fine).  It was really just tomato mush.  Couldn't even pass it off as a risotto.  Maybe a failed risotto - the kind that would get me kicked off of Top Chef.
Well, point is, I ate that with an equally failed fried egg and some slices of avocado.  There might have been too many soft textures, but I might have not really cared.

Other times I didn't feel need to be documented:
avocado and Domino's - pizza and avo, never fails
avocado and Southwestern scramble - kind of obvious, isn't it?
avocado with salt and pepper
And to think my roommate was at a loss for how to use this alligator pear* outside of guacamole.  I'm not going to say that's absurd but...
*Yes, I did Wiki "avocado," and yes I did a kick out of this new fact I learned.

when you need a pick me up

 Loopholes to making a meal on the stove.  Like these sweet versions of crostini - pretty self explanatory.

If you ever want to force yourself to rethink your (processed) food choices, though... Salt, Sugar, Fat.  Makes me want to adopt a diet of baby carrots and spinach with apples for dessert.
It also makes me wish I had figured out what I wanted before applying to undergrad.  Remember when I said to ask me later if I regretted my decision (not really my decision) to go to Duke?  I'm currently on the regret wagon (like band wagon.. but.. not).  Mystic Universe willing, I won't be forced to decide between what I want and... what I also want (different reasons, of course).  But at the same time... it's nice to imagine myself in that situation.  Because it means I will have choices this time around.  And it means I will get to make my own choices.  So I won't spend three years + one class teeter-tottering between 'yes, this will all be worth it' and 'no, I think I would've been happier elsewhere.'
Pondering the age-old questions of happiness.  Where to find it, how to get it, who it's dependent upon, and why I never seem to stay at a good place.  I guess that's why I need my lemon crisps and canned peaches - for the times when it gets overwhelming.

balance...and staying awake

We're happy free confused and lonely at the same time.

Call this a post to remind myself to get it right next time.  Can't say pastry chef is an option for my future.
A baby wheel of brie ("mmmahhhughhhhgahhh brieeee" -my standard reaction) topped with balsamic-reduced figs, all snugly wrapped up in a flakey duck fat pastry.
Minus the minor issues of the pastry falling apart (too flakey?) and not browning to perfection.
Doesn't matter because figs and cheese is kind of my favorite combination.  Okay, that's a bold statement on my part, but it definitely goes in my top ten... twenty five? Fifty?  Top fifty, yes.

Making a list of all the things I will eat once my throat stops trying to rip itself out of my body.  Extra-strength ibuprofen, you are my friend.
It's miserable and magical...

day 3

FRUITS AND VEGGIES

Refreshing green juice aka spinach orange and peach blended and pressed through a strainer - it was quite an affair.  Well, I should confess I made this a week ago, but had the process of squeezing out all the juice not taken so damn long, I would've made a cup for breakfast (so went with five slices of watermelon instead - watermelon juice = best anyways).

Dinner was two large portobellos pressed mercilessly on the panini press until charred yet still juicy.  Sprinkled with S&P&redpeppaflakes over "caramelized" onions (reduced onion slices in about a centimeter or so of water with some shaoxin cooking wine, a touch of soy sauce, spices, and dried raisins/pineapples to impart sweetness without feeling guilty about adding brown sugar).  What I would've given to smother this in sauce, any sauce, and sandwich it between ciabatta slices with cheese, any cheese... oh god.

Dessert was roasted peaches and apricots with Thai basil (because I possessed no mint), vanilla, and lots of five spice powder.  Mm mm roasty toasty mushy fragrant sweetness.  Would have been better with butter (how do you vegans live like this?)

 So I think today went pretty well...
okay, minus the truffle I accepted from my postdoc (what?  she had a little pink box of German Lindt truffles... it was just staring at me as I copied pictures onto powerpoints at her desk...)

berries and things

I think I have this mild obsession with coffee shops - what better setting for a hint-of-romance fiction piece?

Also reigniting my previous obsession with names, finding the perfect name, googling origins and meanings.

Settled on Aiden and Ellie as my protagonists.

Break time because this memoir is stressing me out.

I think I want to develop an Australian accent.

Still counting down those days.

And fantasizing my own Lizzie McGuire-esque story.

Ha... yeah right.

But better than fantasizing about the selection we have here, I suppose.

I think I am going to fail this semester.

And I do mean fail.

Wtf Weather, only people are supposed to be bipolar.

I think I love cheesy songs.

Taylor Swift-esque songs but for boys.

"But I see you with him slow dancing, tearing me apart 'cause you don't see."

 Berries and crepes on a weekend afternoon.

Sliced up some strawberries.

Reduced some blackberries in balsamic vinegar and sugar.

Brewed a cup of thai tea with milk.

Reminds me of a coffee shop.

I think Spring Break can't come too soon.