Mommy lets me watch MTV: "Everlong"

This is the song I wanted to designate someday as our wedding song, set to piano or acoustic guitar. Now that I've seen the video, I think we'll go with Etta James, thanks. Videos by the Foo Fighters are notoriously slapstick so I don't know why I was expecting otherwise. In this one Dave Grohl saves the love of his life in various episodes by, apparently, hitting the perpetrators repeatedly with an enlarged hand.



P.S. Remember kids, you need to get engaged first in order to get married ;)

P.P.S. This one's circa 1997 from The Colour and the Shape.

Did the invention of cooking initiate the development of patriarchal society?

That's what Harvard University anthropologist Richard Wrangham argues, among other things concerning evolution and cuisine, in his 2009 book, Catching Fire (Basic Books). Witty, comprehensive, and highly enlightenting, Wrangham's book discusses the theory that our departure from primitive beings and speedy evolution into hairless, upright, big-brained humans is all due to the invention and diffusion of cooking. Hell yeah, people who can cook are AWESOME. But this is a bit more sophisticated than that, of course. At times Wrangham is hard to follow, but his ultimate argument is: globally speaking, the development of our physiology, our character, and even our society, is because of cooking and eating cooked food.

Now, I haven't completed the book yet (relax! I'm getting there), but I recently finished "The Married Cook", the chapter that discusses the origins of male and female bonds based solely on food: the necessity, gathering, and cooking of it. Wrangham explains the symbiotic relationship between hunter (the male) and homemaker/cook (the female) and how their codependency began. Apparently, our cartoons of cavemen dragging women around by the hair aren't that innacurate. Okay, they are, but the author argues that male dependency on the female's ability to cook and provide for him ultimately led to the socio-cultural acceptance of men as the dominant sex.

Wrangham writes:

"The idea that cooking led to our pair-bonds suggests a worldwide irony. Cooking brought huge nutritional benefits. But for women, the adoption of cooking has also led to a major increase intheir vulnerability to male authority. Men were the greater beneficiaries. Cooking freed women's time and fed their children, but it also trapped women into a newly subservient role enforced by male-dominated culture. Cooking created and perpetuated a novel system of male cultural superiority. It is not a pretty picture." -chapter 7, page 177

It was a bit unexpected, since a good deal of the discussion is centered around, well, NOT modern human history. But his connection of this theory to our social custom is fasctinating. I bet Charlotte Perkins Gilman, who the author cited often in this chapter, would have a thing or two to say about that!

Poo Cakes

Surely I'm not the only twenty-something that still giggles at poop jokes. If you're not, first of all lighten-the-fuck-up, and then check out this week's toilet-worthy disasters on Cake Wrecks (it's, of course, a blog devoted just to fugly cakes!)

Mommy lets me watch MTV: "I Think I'm Paranoid"

Version 2.0, the second album by Garbage circa 1998, brought Shirley Manson's electric power-moaning to life with songs like "Push It" and "When I Grow Up". "I Think I'm Paranoid" reveals a primitive anger and sexuality mingled with inadequacy. Her strapless dress and combat boots are killer, by the way.

A pumpkin adventure by means of stove and oven

It all began when I was pleasantly surprised by four perky sugar pumpkins at the landing of our stairs a couple of weeks ago, courageously brought home by Dan, who happens to work next to a preferred farmer's market of mine. I came upon a recipe for homemade pumpkin pureé that I found on Annie's Eats and had been dying to try a season without that canned stuff, for once. It was messy, dangerous, and I broke a good knife of ours trying to get the tops off the little suckers (as if I'd never made a damn Jack-O-Lantern before). But it was so worth it. Just from cooking two of the four pumpkins, I had made about 8 cups of golden pumpkin mush, bound for many tasty goodies for ME! And you too, of course. I was able to box it up in some tupperware and freeze it to hold on to it for a couple of months. Below are pictures from my weekend playing with pumpkin (except for the pureé pics; those are from last week :)




























Pumpkin cream sauce adapted from Streaming Gourmet: have it with thick spaghetti, rigatoni or penne. You'll be suprised how the tastes of pumpkin and parmesan mix so well. Like pasta alfredo, it's best fresh and not leftover. Next time I want to add a bit of pancetta to add a bacony kick.





Chocolate-chip Pumpkin Muffins from angry chicken: these are a must-try AND MUST EAT. The recipe incorporate whole-wheat flour, which I try to use in all my baked goods. Make-time is very fast and they bake in 20 minutes. Instead of using two eggs and two egg-whites, I just used three eggs (I HATE wasting perfectly good egg yolks!) I think I have to leave them in the oven a little longer next time... The ones I made are doughy, but the flavor is intense.

sips and nibbles

Some samplings of the nosh-spots I've visited the past couple of weeks:

Suspiciously quiet on Third Ave between 18th and 19th Streets is Ponty Bistro, which touts French, African and Mediterranean fusion cuisine on their website. The art on the walls signal a Moroccan vibe and funky orange pillows decorate the booth seats. Once for an after work snack I ordered their cheese plate and a kick-in-the-mouth martini. Their daily special is 2-for-1 (though at $12 it's more like 2-for-2) and they come in intriguing flavors: ginger, chocolate, passion fruit, raspberry, and apple. I've also been to Sunday brunch, where the talented/sexy duo Across Madison performs original tunes with trusty guitar and flute. I ordered the scrambled bruschetta (eggs on French baguette with goat cheese, cherry tomatoes and basil pesto), which was filling and fantastic. It came with warm hashed potatoes that they called home fries. Mr. Daniel got the maple crushed French toast that came with a sweet sugary Nutella. We were both happy and chewing and listening and smiling. The prices are fair but a bit high at dinner. My only complaint about the brunch bill was the $3 per cup of tea. Really? Oh, and Dan saw a cute little mouse under a table.

Last week I met Dan's Gram and Gramps for lunch at Jackson Hole, which is apparently a dive bar by night and decent Murray Hill burger place by day. Patty (aka Grandpa) worked up in the 40's for Bell Atlantic back when that was still around and he's been bugging me about this place since I've started working in the city two years ago. We met at the Third Ave joint, and it was just as Patty remembered: cramped, noisy, but extremely friendly and yummy. Both grandparents indulged in the daily special: cheeseburger and fries, while I chose a mushroom, broccoli, and onion sandwich with cheese. It was warm and steamy on a toasted bun, but I had to eat it like a casserole with a fork and knife. We were all fat and happy.

On a whim Shakira and I stopped at the Belmont Lounge on Irving near Union Square for a TGIF happy hour session. Inside it was sort of dark and intimidating, but Rihanna was on the speakers, so it was all good. we were seated outside in the "garden" that had to be navigated with care as it was crowded with twenty-somethings and flimsy wire tables. Happy hour specials included the basics: house wine, draft beer and well drinks. We each got a glass of Merlot and split the spinach & artichoke dip and root vegetable fries. The dip was cheesy, thick and irresistible. The fries were so-so; more like flavored, sticks of fried air. Service was a little slow and hard to grab as waitresses slipped in and out of the "garden"--only visible for a few precious seconds. We were presented with another round of drinks by accident because the "waiter doesn't speak English", and they were hastily taken off our table when I said we didn't order them. You just don't do that with wine--cheap or not!

Mommy lets me watch MTV: "Comedown"

This new series features a weekly video from my 90's alternative past (in which I still linger) before high school and TRL screwed everything up. This music is home to me: where I always involuntarily end up when I want to feel something.

Made famous by the Reese Witherspoon/Mark Wahlberg third-base-on-a-rollercoaster scene in, Fear (1996), Bush's Comedown is one of the precious relics that dear Mr. Rossdale decided to leave us before cruelly slipping into the wayside of SHITTY MUSIC. This single is from their first album, Sixteen Stone (1994).

Fat Italian Bacon

You can find pancetta at most supermarket deli counters for a pretty $10-$12 a pound, depending on the brand. It's a key ingredient to many Roman pasta dishes, lending a tangy bite of bacon that leaves you thirsty for more and more wine. I threw together a pretty succulent tortellini dish last week in which the bacony bits worked as a decent contrast to the oh-so-slightly bitter (and, you know, healthy) baby spinach.

Tortellini with pancetta and spinach:

• 1/4 lb pancetta (ask the deli-counter guy to cut in 1/4 inch-thick slices, and then when you get home, dice this up carefully. Pancetta is very slippery because of the fat content, so cut it slowly and carefully.)
• about 4 handfuls baby spinach
• 1 package cheese tortellini (I like Bertolli's whole-wheat.)
• 1 garlic clove, chopped
• olive oil
• pepper (you will NOT need salt - trust me ;)
  
• grated parmesan

To do:

• Put a pot of water on to boil, and add the tortellini when boiling. Prep a shallow saucepan by heating it up with a splash of olive oil.
  
• Once it's up to medium heat, add the garlic and diced pancetta, moving it around the pan with a wooden spoon, so that it cooks evenly. Keep it on medium/low heat as the pasta cooks.
  
• Drain the pasta when finished. Add it to the saucepan with the pancetta, lightly mixing it together. Add a little more olive oil.
• Set the heat to low. Add the baby spinach one handful at at time, letting each handful wilt before adding a fresh batch. Make sure to mix this up well.
• Add a bit of pepper, plate, and sprinkle well with parmesan.
  

TOTALLY BUONO!

What the awesome!? Fried Oreos

Today by chance we found ourselves in lovely Hoboken, land of happy commuters and good things to eat. On Washington Street people gathered for the Arts and Music Festival, where local art and food vendors of all types, sights and smells lined the sidewalks. There were at least ten booths filled with colorful doggie portraits(good thing I had no cash on me). Dan suddenly spotted the zeppoles and fried Oreo stand, and with childlike wonder, pointed at it and suggested we go try some. We never had before, despite all the ruckus about them down at Seaside and other boardwalks. Dan shelled out a few bucks for three, freshly pulled from the vat of hot oil and shaken in a paper bag with powdered sugar. It was drumroll time: Dan reached in and took a squishy bite.

It was love at first taste.

Of course I followed in suit, and gleefully filled my mouth with the soft and gooey thing. I couldn't believe the immediate happiness it brought me, and I looked down at the half-eaten Oreo-zeppole with pure incredulity. Did that just really happen? It had a plush and inviting texture and a mixture of childhood flavors that all mesh into a blissfull sweetness words cannot explain! In the frying process the cookie became moist and buttery as if it'd been dipped in warm milk. I was hooked, and shook my head in--I don't know--guilt that I've fallen in love with yet another baked good. Not just a baked good, but a FRIED baked good.

Anyway, now Mr. Dan is asking how I can make them at home. The Kitchn has an easy recipe for this, though we'll need a deep fryer. And I just don't know about that...

"I have a crush on..." series: Evan Rachael Wood

I've had the big-time hots for Evan Rachael Wood since the release of the cultish teen flick Thirteen (2003), which I watched almost every day during my summer break before my first year at Sarah Lawrence. Her performance as a wayward teen that becomes drug-addled and oversexed jived with my hope to study psychology or women's studies in the future (I studied the classics instead and segued into literature and Italian--woops). She struck me as a captivating vessel through which flowed so much anger, disarray, and brilliance. She's absolutely gorgeous, too, in case you didn't notice! Holly Hunter, another crush of mine, plays her (soooo sexy) mother, who attempts to protect her daughter from the dangers of a wild life while simultaneously trying NOT to oppress her. She fails, and watches as the porcelain-skinned Evan Rachael becomes an unmotivated, pierced, deflowered, wasted, wrist-cutting (did I leave anything out? Oh yes, anorexic.) little unfortunate girl.



Flash-forward to six years later (AGH!), and there I am, innocently watching the second season of my latest--and most embarrassing--obsession, True Blood. There she was, sucking blood from the femoral artery of one of her people-treats, Sophie-Ann, Vampire Queen of Louisianna. I almost screamed: "Wait. IS THAT EVAN RACHAEL WOOD!? YES!" Needless to say, she's on fire with fangs, blood, fucking sass, the whole bit. She's got an old-time charm about her (probably because she's like really, really old as vampires tend to be), that works like magic and keeps your mouth watering. Her eyes burn right into your brain, so much so that she doesn't even have to "glamor" you (oh God what a nerd I've become!).

I love you, Evan Rachael. But I guess Marilyn Manson, your fiancé, loves you more :(

Swallowing in Hollywood

• Our first night out was at the Saddle Ranch Chop House on the Sunset Strip, which was an easy break from my vegetarian tendencies (for which I'm mercilessly scorned by my dear brother). I picked a delectable chicken tortilla soup, which was spicy, crunchy and warm. The rest of our party ordered hardy steaks (extra fries and hold the vegetables, please), while I foolishly went with the fish tacos. This was a bad choice for two reasons: 1. I had never had a fish taco before in my life. 2. As Alex kindly pointed out to me, one should probably not order the fish tacos at a steakhouse. The taste was bitter, and of course, fishy, and the texture strangely chewy. That put me in my place. Luckily, we were granted free desserts that included cherry-flavored cotton-candy (that tasted like cough medicine), and then an awesome brownie ala mode. The steak-eaters were plenty satisfied, and I managed to keep my spirits up with a glass of red wine :)
  
  
  
  
• We were strongly encouraged by my father to try In-N-Out Burger, a staple of California fast-food. This was step II of my hiatus from vegetarianism (or even healthy eating) and my first burger in two years. The verdict? The combination of cheeseburger, chocolate shake, and french fry in my mouth brought back memories of childhood trips to McDonalds. Other than that, I felt slightly undernourished and burpy. The burger had a satisfying crunch from the lettuce, and an overall cheesy taste, but the patty was thin and unsubstantial. What saved it was their special sauce (russian dressing and mayo?) and the fresh-cut fries in ketchup. It was yummy nostaglia.
  
  
• One evening, Dan and I took our long-lost chum Erin, who lives in Fountain Valley, to the lovely O-Bar Santa Monica Blvd. This one was a straight-up Yelp success story. Our waiter treated us like an old friend, especially when he pointed out the sparseness--but amazing taste--of a grilled cheese appetizer that we ordered. Small though it was, one bite for everyone of the toasty tangy concoction was worth it. Erin ordered a chicken dish with rosemary, Dan (beyond doubt) the $13 burger, and I had penne with beef tenderloin. We were stunned, and our conversation changed from high-school gossip to the quality of our meals. My penne was hardy, but I nearly ate the whole thing. It was savory and not over-seasoned, with fresh vegetables (there they are!) and juicy stips of tenderloin. Our wine selections (Erin a Pinot Noir and me a Cabernet--Dan an Amstel Light?) went very well with it all. My only complaint was the dark ambiance which is supposed to, I assume, create an air of intimacy. Instead, I wasn't able to decipher anyone's facial expressions. We felt a bit distant...
  


• Joe and Al recommended that we try a Mexican place they liked, Borracho Cantina, on Sunset Blvd. The place was beautifully decked-out in a "Dia de los Muertos" theme and we sat outside, where heaters were strategically placed for diners (I'm sorry, but can you BELIEVE Hollywood needs HEATERS for outdoor dining!?). I ordered a red sangria that tasted like lime seltzer. It was gross and barely alcoholic! But the food made up for it. I ordered a plate of two tacos: one vegetable and one chicken. They both came topped with tasty cheese and avocados. I wolfed them down. The tortillas were different than any other I've had: doughy, fresh, AND you can taste the cornmeal they're made from. Much different than the plasticky soft-shells you find in New York Mexican. Once again the waiter brought over a free dessert of churros and chocolate sauce, which my brother slurped down with a straw. The busboy recommended that we try the tres leches cake, which was so strong and dense that we could only have one piece each (okay fine, I finished the damn thing when everyone else gave up). It was stupendous, and I don't think I've actually ever used that word, let alone for a dessert.
  

Palms, sun and sleeping in: California 8/26-9/5

Hollywood with my crazy loves

"The Mall" at Hollywood and Highland

Santa Monica Beach

In-N-Out Burger! My first burger in two years. Slight Indigestion.

La Brea tar pits

View from Mulholland Drive

Riding the Big Sur

Sonoma: Benzinger Family Winery, Viansa Winery & Vineyard

Freezing, Golden Gate Bridge

Approaching Alcatraz Island

In Muir Woods

A boost of Jovanotti

I haven't been feeling up to snuff at all lately, but Jovanotti's new (to me) song/video got me to crack a smile, however corny.

The antidote to stress

Ladies musn't whip each other

Check out this darling Austen/Palahniuk mashup.

Lives, distractions, cakes

Allora, mi dispiace che io non vi scriva di più. I must come clean, my friends. It wasn't a fatal case of blogophobia that's kept me from my laptop recently, but a series of interesting events ranging from summertime pastry-making, to acid indigestion (unrealted to said pastry), to a life-changing reunion.

• One of the ongoing projects in my life at the moment is finishing Michael Pollan's The Omnivore's Dilemma. When I told an officemate last week that I was getting near the end of it, he asked me what it was about--and that was an unexpectedly difficult question to answer.
  Here's how I would put it: Pollan takes us on a personal journey through the production of four different meals from the "ground" up: (1) a trip to McDonald's featuring a brief history of factory-farmed protein; (2) an industrial organic meal purchased entirely at Whole Foods, including asparagus grown in South America and a broiler chicken named "Rosie", raised on a certified organic farm; (3) a roasted chicken dinner (chicken is one of the main characters of the book) procured from Joel Salatin's alternative/chemical-free/non-industrial farm in Virginia; and finally (4) a feast of wild boar that Pollan personally hunts down in Sonoma, CA. The book opens with an enlightening and LENGTHY discussion on everything you might want to know about corn: it's ancestry, biology, sex, chemical breakdown, and effect on human life (corn is in everything, so corn might be God?). The book has a comfortable narrative to it, even while describing the slaughter of a factory-farmed cow. I highly recommend it.

• A couple of weeks ago, I had an iced coffee from a Dunkin' Donuts, and four hours later I felt the icy grip of death upon my abdomen. It really sucked. The next few days I felt pains in my lower chest that came in waves, that were worst during the night. It hurt to breathe, I was dizzy, and plain fucking miserable. I took off from work to go the doctor, and when I explained my symptoms to the receptionist, she told me to go to the hospital. "It's really not that bad!" I protested. She told me to go anyway, immediately, so I freaked, and called Dan.
• After an EKG, some blood work, a chest X-ray, and the obligatory preggo-test, the ER doctor (Edward Amores, or Dr. LOVE), determined that I was fine, un-pregnant, and in fact, too young and healthy to have a heart attack (though I maintain that a bloodclot could have been a possibility). At one point he told me I looked great (I didn't even have makeup on--swoon!). Dr. Love narrowed it down to acid reflux, and told me to start taking the wonder drug of our century: Pepcid AC. And since then I've been fucking fine.

• I've come upon several farmer's market temptations such as Jersey peaches and blueberries (Jersey being an ambiguous term), that I bring home, decide I don't particularly enjoy eating fresh, and bake in a cake. I based my blueberry peach crumb cake off this Peach Cake recipe from southernfood.about.com. Delicious, please! Make sure you have 2-3 ripe peaches and about a cup of blueberries (Jersey or not). Despite the heat, a girl must bake, so I proudly crank the A/C, KitchenAid mixer, and oven, in that order!

• And finally, Dan and dad are back together. Charlie and Dan hadn't seen each other in twenty-some years, until their nailbitingly long-awaited reunion last weekend. Dan also got to see his sisters, the gorgeous Stephanie and Laura, and Carolyn, Charlie's gracious wife. It might have been the most beautiful thing I've seen, ever. And I've seen a thing or two. Father and son are both thrilled to finally know each other again, and we inititated the reunion with, of course, a barbeque (the theme was chicken wings!), where we also got to meet Frank and Mike, the girls' adorable boyfriends. I look forward to more family gatherings with our new awesome family! An aside: to my chagrin, Dan is still not Italian. Instead, he's just more Irish and Scottish than we'd thought. Congrats.
  
  

I fell in love with an eggplant...

...at our farmer's market, DePiero's Farm in Montvale, a short drive from Westwood. It was one of many, yes, but I couldn't resist its taught, indigo skin and sublime symmetry. I also haven't yet taken advantage of the eggplant season, which is now nearing its end.

What better activity during a heat-wave than to crank the A/C, bake cookies (oatmeal chocolate-chip) and cook up some fresh veggies? I guess one could conserve electricity...

Stewed eggplant and cannellini beans with tomato and spinach:
1 small eggplant, diced
1 can cannellinni beans, rinsed
1 15oz can diced tomatoes
2-3 handfuls baby spinach
1/2 white onion, diced
1 large garlic clove, diced
Olive oil
Butter
salt, pepper, red cayenne pepper, basil

Brown the diced eggplant in a frying pan over medium/low heat, with a goood amount of olive oil. Push around the pieces with a wooden spoon (preferably) so that they cook evenly, and don't overcook to mush. Set aside when done.


Add oil and butter in a medium saucepan and set to medium heat. Add onion and garlic when hot. Sauté for about 3 minutes, then add beans and diced tomatoes. Cover and let stew for about 10 minutes, stirring occasionally.

Add eggplant and mix together. Lower the heat, but let the mixture stew for another 5-10 minutes. Add baby spinach one handful at a time, and cover while each batch cooks down. Mix everything together and add spices to taste. Turn off heat, cover and let sit for 5-10 minutes.

Serve with crusty bread, pasta (I suggest rigatoni), or rice.

The novelistic dog diversion

Check out this darling piece published by Slate last week, that my co-worker sent to me. It's on the role of the obligatory dog bark in a moment of great tension in the modern novel. As a lover of both barks and books, I do appreciate the recognition the dog's voice gains here for its purpose in contemporary fiction, albeit brief.