Dog, Interrupted

Here's Bartlett looking a bit like Taylor Lautner mid-metamorphosis.
No, I haven't seen any of the movies. But I did see Toy Story 3 today and it was super great.
Bartlett has metamorphosed into a good dog! She is able to stay home alone for over three hours while the two of us go out and take in some adult doings — like watching Toy Story. (The truth is, I have barely left her in over 10 months; maybe five or six times.)
Well, she's ready now. She stays in her mesh playpen with the zip-on roof (she is a good jumper and could easily scale those prison walls). We put her food, water, chew stick and toys in there, and she just lies on the blanket and goes deep, coma deep, for the whole time. The other day I actually had to wake her up when I got home.
She can still be a twitchy mess. Sometimes she just needs to run in frantic circles for no reason at all.
But my observation is that she is becoming reasonable. She will come away from the fence (there's a dog next door) when I call, now. A little liver treat helps. She will wait, most of the time, when we implore her to. She will allow us to attach the leash, and she will even pee and poo while on the leash. These are all such important Real World skills.
She has always been a nice dog. Now, she's a friendly dog. A little too bouncy around new people, but she's mellowing.
Gah. It has been a trial.

I Eat Small Corn

"Cornfields are the scariest things on the entire fucking face of the planet. I don't mean that in a Joe-Pesci-being-clubbed-to-death-with-an-aluminum-baseball-bat kind of way, and I don't mean it in a butchering-hitchhikers kind of way. I don't even mean it in an alien-autopsy-remains-used-as-fertilizer kind of way. I mean it in a Big-Corn-Archer Daniels Midland/Cargill/Monsanto-genetically-modified-high-fructose-ethanol kind of way. Corn is a fucking nightmare. A thousand years ago it was a stem of grass with one scuzzy little kernel; now it's a bloated, foot-long, buttery carb dildo."

From Generation A by Douglas Coupland, Scribner 2009

Soup Pride

It's a brave soul who would sample this neon concoction.
But it was so unexpectedly good.
I mean, I've made chilled beet soup before, with yogurt and sour cream (using canned beets, plus their liquid). It was fine, but not nearly as deeply magenta, nor as deeply satisfying as today's version.
This one used two roasted beets, several huge glugs of buttermilk, a little grated onion, and some secret flavorings. They were salt, white pepper, ground cumin, a teensy flink of cinnamon (teensy) and a shake or two or three of dried dill. This was pureed in the blender and left to develop in the fridge.
I thought it was too oniony at first, but it mellowed out amazingly after an hour or so chilling.
What did we think? It was as complicated and enchanting as a good piece of boutique 80% chocolate from Venezuela, though, of course, no taste of chocolate. It just had a wonderfully intricate flavor structure, a little sweet, a little earthy.
It was very filling, but you wanted to scoop up every drop. That good.
Would I eat it again?
Yes, but not right away. Although I'm realizing today, Pink Saturday, is stunningly the perfect time for it.
So PINK.

Bye-Bye, Birdie

Remember those old toys, the birds that would continually bob into a glass of water?
I thought they were called "Drinking Bird." If you Google that, you'll get all the hits you need.
Turns out it is called "Dippy Bird."
What is the purpose of this inane post, Cookiecrumb?
Well, I can't help thinking Gen. Stanley McChrystal looks like a Dippy Bird.

Boo?

Who is this little monster invading my plate?
Looks like Casper the Tranny Ghost, in his orange satin Zac Posen sheet.
But of course, you and I know it is a smear of delicious grease. Grease this gorgeous could only have come from sausages (and certainly not all sausages), or Buffalo Chicken Wings.
And your clue, dear reader: Look at Casper's eyes. What could have made those succulent white dots, tasting of buttermilk and blue cheese?
Yes, I majored in Subtlety. If I also show you this picture of celery, you'll be 100% correct when you guess wings.
So good. So easy. I always thought they were deep fried (and they were), but you can roast them in the oven for a perfect effect. Juicy, crispy. Just read the recipe on the Frank's label.
Greasy, hell yeah, but half the grease is butter, and butter is good.
I daresay there is no vegan version of buffalo wings, but I'll bet there's a vegan sausage. I wonder if the grease is orange. If there's any grease.
What a nice cultural excursion we've had today, from gender expression to fashion to grease to vegans.
Boo!

Do Your Best

Come on, crazy aloha shirts, squinting from sunscreen in the eyes, showering off the brilliant, productive sweat of hard work, popsicles, that first red tomato.
Bring it on.
Please, please, please, please, please, please, please, please, please, please, please, please, please, please, please, please, please, please, please, please, please, please.
Do your best.

Scintillas in the Mist

I have never taken a steamy photo before now.
I've framed and shot steaming dishes, but the result is usually too skimpy to even resemble steam unless I tell you to look for it.
Yesterday I got this heavenly photo, but in retrospect I wonder if it might have been my lens that got steamed up.
I should tell you briefly what it is, because it was so delicious, it got me steamed up too.
Come on, won't you please try cooking this just once? Halfway through my meal, I got a HungerSurge™, and steamed through the rest of the food on my plate. So yummy.
It's Ma Po Tofu, but instead of minced pork, we used braised, chopped beet greens (a splash of water, a little butter, stir, cover, real quick actually). Cook the tofu cubes the usual way, but pull back a bit on the hot bean paste. Don't use ginger at all. Add little clumps of maitake mushrooms, and then finally, stir in the drained beet leaves.
Beet greens have their own quirky, dark flavor, and they played very nicely with everybody else in the playground.
This dish needs, craves, white rice. I like rice, but I've never had a meal where everything on the plate was in such harmony.
You're not even going to try making it, are you?
Hell, if I was Elise, you would.

Hummus and What?

Did you hear all the uproar about that company blending hummus with guacamole, or peanut butter, or... To make it seem more palatable than a tub of ground garbanzo beans, I guess.
I love hummus, and I'll take it plain. Garlic is implied, also oil and tahini. Lemon, of course. That's plain. Even a shake of hot pepper is OK with me.
Yes, I winced when I read about the peanut butter hummus (but come on, tahini is basically sesame seed butter).
Yet I'll admit I cringe-admired a fellow blogger's exploration into hummus with blendered asparagus. Mostly cringed, but there was a lot of seepage over into the "appreciate" lobe of my brain.
Cranky and I have been using hummus for a dipping sauce with artichokes for a few years now. Lately we have been stirring in yogurt, almost 50-50, to lighten and dairy it up. Yummy.
Then yesterday the seepage lobe of my brain said "minced cucumber!" Wow. A lyrical, summery lilt of a flavor suggestion. But alas, no cucumbers chez us. Wouldn't that have been good?
Cranky tendered a tender idea (I've found he can be scared of talking about food in front of me). Minced tomato (and not too much). We had a beautiful dark red globe, fresh from the market. (Yes, possibly hothouse grown, but so what? Really tasty, and I think I want to get a little greenhouse.) Totally, yes, Cranky.
This was like lumpy silk. Soft, shimmering, bumpy tiny bites here and there. Flavor, texture.
It was really that good or I wouldn't be telling you.

Beeyotch

This dog? This dog?
She is my ten-month-old Manny Jack. Very sweet, nice, loving.
But, man, she will not look at the camera.
Last night she slept all the way from 9 PM to 7 AM. Eureka!
Today she demonstrated that she knows "WAIT"! She had an unripe pear in her mouth, and we both know that gives her the creepy poops. She waited! I got the shriveled pear. (I think we may be having a bad pear year. Ever heard of fire blight?)
It has taken me a long time to love this pup, even though I loved her from the first day we got her. She is DIFFICULT. But I loved her.
I love her extra special more, now, that she's maturing. Whoo. Difficult dog.

Toad and the Goal

I know this is wrong, so wrong.
But we didn't have any idea who was going to win the soccer match today, England or America.
So we fudged. Hedged. Smudged.
We made a Toad in the Hole, the classic British dish of Yorkshire pudding baked with sausage inside. But we used hot dogs. Yankee dogs. Smeared with mustard, and then covered with the batter. Baked. Puffed. Et.
The batter was made with non-gluten flour, so it behaved a little differently than I'm used to. Still, I liked it. It was fine. I might pull the pud out of the oven a little earlier next time (and there will be a next time), because the puffing didn't materialize to a fancier's fancy. But it tasted great, great. Mate.
There was a salad to compensate for the animal grease (I cooked the pudding in bacon fat). Of course, the salad was dressed with vegetable grease (olive oil). Not a problem; we are judicious.
All in all, a very fine lunch.
And the U.S. and England tied the game, 1-1.
We all win.

Thanky, Cranky

Hell, I could make this without a recipe.
If I ever made it.
Ever since Cranky and I discovered a reliable recipe for Ma Po Tofu, Cranky has whipped out batch after batch. Sometimes with pork, sometimes no.
This batch was decorated with bits of maitake mushrooms, and it's the Grand Winner. Vegetarian, if that matters, and dancing with elusive, satisfying flavor.
And lately, all versions without a recipe.
He has also experimented with various textures of tofu, and we like "medium" best.
Then rice; gotta have rice. Which I don't cook, because I've never figured out the rice cooker. (I know! Dump contents, push button, wait.)
I should learn how to do this stuff.

The Girl with the Open-Face Sandwich

I admit, I've been devouring Stieg Larsson's damn trilogy about the tough little girl-grownup, Lisbeth. Fast-paced mystery, intrigue, plotting. Great characters. The writing? OK, so-so, but it carries you through the fast-paced mystery, intrigue, plotting and great characters.
Oh. And for some strange reason, Larsson keeps writing about what the characters eat.
Let me tell you, this is not a food book.
Sandwiches and coffee, that's about it. It's Sweden, right?
Yes, it turned me on.
I don't drink coffee, and I wasn't going to start. But suddenly I needed bread, herring, cheese, pickles. Caviar? Probably not. But those are the basics. Had to have 'em. (And really, would you ever, in your life, crave a fish, cheese and pickle sandwich? Didn't think so.)
I couldn't find pickled herring. Settled for local smoked sturgeon (OMG, OMG). A brick of Swedish fontina cheese. A jar of American hamburger pickle slices from New Hampshire (really nice).
I hope my friend Ilva is not reading today, but I assembled a tasty snack. It will be culturally skewed, I know that, but it was my little fan-club approximation. Had to have it.
Verdict? So good. Fish and pickles! Wow!
Now I feel like going out and KICKING somebody.

Foos Kabobs

The latest Williams-Sonoma catalog arrived the other day, and there are some really, really stupid things in there for stupid, rich foodies.
Flexible skewers? {speechless}
A meatball grill basket? Yeah, a wire mesh contraption that flips open to reveal 12 meatball-sized indentations. After you grill the meat, though, they'll be only half the size they were when you put them in raw.
A bottle of creamsicle-flavored ice pop mix; just add milk and cream? $10 for 8 ounces, enough to make nine ice pops (using the Zoku Quick Pop maker, $50). People! Orange juice. It doesn't cost a lot. And you don't really want to freeze this Zoku device for at least 10 hours before you can begin, though you must. Nine pops will take three passes through the three-pop Zoku, which just might still be cold enough for the third batch.
But my favorite is this Calphalon pan for Foos Kabobs™, $130 ($100 online). You place the pan over two stovetop burners (and I thought kabobs were grilled outdoors; hm). It has slots along the sides of the pan to safely wedge your skewers into place, leaving enough airspace below them and the pan for you to be able to turn them now and then for even browning.
I'd have a couple of beers and be turning like crazy.
"My tomato murdered your green pepper. Score!"
Chandler and Joey would love it.

You Know What's Happening?

I'll tell you what's happening.
Gluten gut.
Several weeks ago I got the OK from the doc on eating gluten. I told him I felt much better when there was none in my diet. He said, whatever, but you're fine.
So, because foods with gluten are soft and dreamy and comforting, I gradually got back into bread, noodles, the wrong kind of soy sauce, pizza.
I thought I was getting away with something, because I suffered no ill effects.
Until this week.
I'll spare you the details (although you might think it's funny that my gut sounds like there's a freight train running through it; it feels like it, too).
D'oh!
I got this great d'oh moment yesterday, reading Shauna's ode to Gluten-Free Awareness Month, in which she generously includes people who aren't diagnosed with celiac disease — maybe just gluten-intolerance.
Double d'oh, because I'd already read her post a week or so earlier, and still blithely went ahead poisoning myself with toast and gravy and hot and sour soup. Because the doctor said I could!
I'm waiting for the knots to unkink in my belly. And then I'm having some white beans and kale for lunch.