$20
So we all know that being out on your own for the first time is hard. Money never seems to be available, you are always scraping the bottom of the barrel. For the past week I have literally been eating whatever is not encrusted with freezer burn and the least stale crackers I can find. Last Friday my lunch was edamame and cheez-its. However, on Sunday I finally went down to the mailbox and got my mail. My mom had sent me my absentee ballot and some other odds and ends. Among all the envelopes was a $20 bill with a post-it that said “Fun Money!” I cried, and promptly went out and bought a bacon cheeseburger. Thanks mom!
Got bacon?
It’s been weeks since I’ve had the pleasure of a turkey, bacon and avocado sandwich from my favorite deli. Today, I fulfilled my craving—well, part of it at least (Kim made me share my sandwich with her. Argh.
Caketastrophe!
Hi everyone,
I am James’ co-blogger! I share the obsession of both food and reality TV (which I like to call “trash TV”). I find that I talk about them in conversations like they are people that I know. Example, “OMG Kinley has the most annoying laugh.”
I am currently in Oklahoma. State of the best fried food ever! I am a grad student at OU working on my MLIS. In order to keep my sanity I find food and the dramatic lives of people I don’t know to be extremeley soothing. My form of Zen, if you will.
I really love to bake creating fluffy cakes and chewy cookies, and having people tell me what a wonderful baker I am, is a euphoric experience for me. Imagine my culinary devastation when I had a caketastophe . This summer I was commissioned to make a red velvet cake for my father’s birthday. This was a seemingly easy request. I am always bragging about how wonderful my cakes are. I got the ingredients and was ready to bake. However, I was in a hurry and had to make it in someone elses kitchen. I mixed up the cake and everything seemed fine. When I pulled the cake from the oven the edges were singed.
“Don’t panic” I told myself. “You can cut off the edges.”
I cut off the burnt edges still convinced that everything would be okay. My time was running short I did not wait for the cake to cool completely. This is a major baking faux pas. When I came back into the kitchen to make sure that my cake was ready to go it had literally imploded on itself. Frosting, aided by the Fresno summer, was flowing like lava through the cracks in the cake. I had to pitch the whole thing!I had to get a Vons ice cream cake instead. Needless to say my family ribbed me the whole night about the missing cake.
Megan
Tales from the kitchen: burnt popcorn
My wife loves popcorn, and loves to make it on the stove. She’s been known to flavor the snack (which sometimes serves as dinner) with a variety of ingredients: salt, Parmesan, Tapatio, chocolate chips.
Now, we’ve all burned popcorn at some point, even if it was in a bag in the microwave. But Kim doesn’t like to be outdone (it’s a pride issue, and we’re working on it together), and she proved this last weekend.
I was out of town, so I can’t vouch for her description of the incident, but she called me in my hotel in Dallas to let me know that she had just put out a grease fire. Normally, she explained, she puts the lid on the popcorn while it cooks; this time, however, she had to walk away for a minute, and she left the pot uncovered. When she returned, she found flames crawling up the hood and cabinets (again, this is her description).
This being her first grease fire, she wasn’t sure of the proper procedure for putting it out, but she knew not to throw water on it. I keep a fire extinguisher in the pantry, but evidently we have a larger one in the hall closet, and like a cavalier soldier she pulled the pin, braced her stance, and fired upon the offending flames.
The first shot was on-target, but it wasn’t lethal. She fired again, effectively smothering the fire; at this point I picture a proud grimace across her face.
To clear the remaining smoke from the air, Kim turned on the whole house fan. Only, the air wasn’t filled with smoke, it was filled with powder from the fire extinguisher. And after only a few spins of the fan, that powder had found it’s way onto every exposed surface (and a few unexposed areas).
She spent the next four hours or so cleaning up the mess, and after a week or so to rest, she can now laugh about it. I just wish she had taken a few pictures.
Lazy afternoon
It’s Sunday, which means that I’m spending my afternoon on the computer, with the television feeding me background noise. With so many choices, it’s hard to decide on what to watch. Alas, I’m stuck on VH1.
- Rock of Love Charm School
- As if I hadn’t seen enough of the Rock of Love girls when they were
stripping forfalling over Bret Michaels (who?), they’re back en masse, and as classy as ever. It’s not that I find any of these women attractive (okay, maybe one or two have nice “features”), but I must admit I love the drama. And the outfits. And Sharon Osbourne. - The Pick-up Artist 2
- I stumbled on this gem during the first season, and for some reason I couldn’t look away. Perhaps I related a little too much with the cast. This season, though, I’m not sure the hopefuls are quite as desperate, though I have no doubts they’ll pick up a few pointers from Mystery (Mr. E—gag). With all of his pet phrases, it looks like I might have to do a bit of reading up myself.
It looks like a marathon of Trading Spouses is lined up for the rest of the afternoon, so I’ll have to find the remote soon…
On Poverty
I warned you that the tone around here would get serious from time to time. Today is Blog Action Day, which, in addition to giving us a reason to post, is cause for reflection.
Truth be told, this blog exemplifies the excess that Westerners (Americans, especially) are so highly favored for around the world. In case that statement isn’t clear: I’m admitting that television and foods made primarily of sugar and butter are not essential to life, though they certainly make it taste better.
While we (okay, I) enjoy many frivolities, others throughout the community, the state, the country and the world go without necessities. Food. Clothing. Shelter. Dignity and respect.
Poverty is a serious subject, and it hits us all differently. I grew up with limited means, and while I may not have been dressed in the label du jour, I always had clothes. While I might have eaten an absurdly imbalanced diet of frozen burritos and frozen dinners, I always had food. So to think I can fully grasp the severity seems a bit absurd.
While political candidates will use their platform to debate root causes of poverty (and anything else that draws attention), I point to an organization that is focused on a solution: Kiva.
I’d like my alcohol to go, please.
I was in Baton Rouge over the weekend, and though I couldn’t find a drive-through daiquiri shop (trust me, they exist), my sister and I were able to walk out of a bar with these tiny cups.
We thought the barkeep was supposed to place tape over the straw holes, but when he didn’t, we didn’t object.
If you’ve never seen a wall of spinning daiquiri mixes—15 flavors, at least—I recommend finding one next time you find your way to south Louisiana.
Funniest. Rant. Ever.
My coworkers and I share a refrigerator with dozens of employees. Rarely are there conflicts, though many people (myself included) tend to forget they placed something in the fridge, only to remember after it has turned black with mold.
A good friend was the unfortunate victim of a refrigerator bandit, and penned the note below (click on the thumbnail for the full letter) in outrage. He had the good judgment to subsequently throw it away, going against my advice to post it for all to see. Please don’t tell him it’s online.
What would you do if someone ate your food?
I’m not as fat as I once was
Tomorrow morning I will arrive in Baton Rouge. It’s been three years since my last visit, but that was for relief work after Hurricane Katrina hit; this time, I’m there for my aunt’s wedding (the back story behind which is a separate post).
Once the wedding date was set, I knew I had to commit to resuming my diet. Not only will I see family I’ve been disconnected from for years, I’ll see my grandmother, who bought me a suit (it’s a grandmother thing) five years ago, only to see me balloon 50+ pounds two years later. I’ve lost most of that weight through gradual life adjustments, but I have to wear that suit on Saturday.
So, after a couple of days of starving myself and eating nothing that couldn’t fit through a straw, I’m ready. I weigh as much, if not less, than I did upon graduating college—while that’s still more than I weighed when the suit was bought, it puts me in the wearable-without-awkward-glances-because-the-suit’s-still-a-bit-snug range. Yippee.
And how do I plan to celebrate? Well, if you’ve ever been to south Louisiana, you already know the answer: fried food and drive-through daiquiris. And bread pudding. And maybe pralines (oh, I hope there’s pralines).
Giving thanks where it’s due
A Sunday school teacher once encouraged me to write to God, thanking Him for the things He’s provided. While I’m not sure where my letters were sent, I figure that if He’s got a mailbox, He certainly has Internet access by now, and a letter online will get to Him much more expeditiously.
Dear God,
Thank you for Costco salmon burgers. I realize that you did not personally create these delectable and healthy patties of flaked wild Alaskan salmon goodness, but you created Costco, and they package them into a frozen Ziploc tube-like bag.
Kind regards,
James
While the majority of future food-related posts will focus on sweeter foods, I’ve denied myself of such treats for a few weeks (in hopes of wearing an old suit at an upcoming wedding); were it not for salmon burgers, I may have starved.