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Posts tagged ‘Small Tragedies’

Apple (Burnt to a) Crisp

Burnt apple cobbler

I’m starting to think that many Chinese are onto something with their non-use of ovens. I’m about sick of mine because nothing but sadness comes out of it. Last week I bungled my attempt at a simple roast chicken (the skin wouldn’t crisp and the juices stayed bloody despite doubling the cooking time).

Sunday I tried making what I thought would be a simple apple crisp to get rid of a glut of on-the-verge-of-rotting apples given to James by his mom. I really hate unsolicited fruit (there were also oranges that already molded) and just don't enjoy it enough to eat a serving a day. Nature's candy, my ass.

This mishap was partially my own fault because after 45 minutes in the oven, the topping was still white and floury, no buttery crispness in sight. It was only after I took a dry test bite that I realized the mistake was not so much the temperature but that I’d forgotten to add a cup of brown sugar. Duh. In a last ditch effort to save the dessert, I rubbed the sugar over the top anyway and put it back in hoping for caramelization.

I think this would’ve succeed somewhat, and here is where blame is hard to pin down. James decided to take the pan out put it in the broiler. Despite not agreeing with this move, I then turned the knob to broil from 375. Within a minute, the treat had burst into foot-high flames rendering the entire thing charcoal black (once we were able to put the fire out). A total bust, which steamed me over the amount of time it took to peel and slice a million apples, not to mention the expense of wasted Plugra, pecans and hazelnuts.

Above is the salvaged version, after the blistered black top had been scraped off. It still tasted like shit and was dotted with persistent white floury patches. Just looking at the disaster makes me feel physically violent.

I say it was James’ fault for putting the dish in the broiler. He says it was mine for turning up the temperature. Really, I think I’m being punished for wanting to eat dessert. I try not only to minimize my sugar intake, but to keep it out of the house or else I'll pick at it all week (I'm still bummed over the ice cream maker downstairs that's only been used once). I had already made a minor health concession by making a pure apple crisp when I really wanted to make a version with a caramel layer. I'm definitely being punished.

Too Long To Twitter

El Bulli: "The demand that we have received at the first moment has again surpassed our limited possibilities for one season and we regret not to be able to full fill more reservation requests."

Well, duh, but it was worth a try.

I'm almost ready to be swayed toward this camp.

Never Say Never

I have to be careful about never because softening occasionally occurs. I resisted using the term blog for many years, until it became so pervasive that using personal website, online journal or just anything else sounded as antiquated as referring to an iPod as a Walkman (which I’ve been known to do unintentionally—at least I don’t call computers “the machine”). I held out on buying a cell phone until last August (I seriously use it like three times a week, kind of a waste) and at some point decided leggings weren’t the devil (but I still don’t believe they are a substitute for pants and these skintight shiny things must go away).

The only thing I can say with strong certainty is that I will never wear thongs (flip flops or flossy undergarments).

But I’ve caved on Twitter. I still think it’s asinine and do not understand why anyone wants to read non sequitur snippets from friends, family or strangers. I don’t really. Yet as each month seems to become more time-crunched, a sentence or two is sometimes all you can muster. I get that.

So, hidden halfway down my right-hand column is evidence of my potentially short-lived foray into microblogging. Tweet tweet. Please don’t hate me for succumbing.

Bulking Up For the Winter

Cip cocktail Why don’t run-of-the-mill grocery stores in NYC sell bulk food? This was literally keeping me awake last night. I yelled the question repeatedly from my bedroom into the kitchen where James was doing dishes and garnered no response until my third attempt got a ridiculous “It’s not worth answering.” That’s absolutely not true.

A million years ago when I first moved to NYC I was stymied by the Associateds, Key Foods, C Towns and the like packaging everything up for you in Styrofoam and cling film or plastic containers. What if I only wanted a handful of white mushrooms or half a cup of pecans? It seemed so wasteful to force large amounts of perishables on a shopper.

My genius idea would be selling fresh herbs in bulk. Of course, there wouldn’t be much profit in this business model. I can never use 20 thyme sprigs or even a whole cilantro bundle before it starts to go bad.

I’m still not sure if it’s a space and convenience issue; it’s just easier for a store to present you with ready-to-go items, if it’s hygiene like too many hands touching the goods, that people would just take food and not pay or that New Yorkers have a more difficult time than the average consumer with self-service (I tend to believe the latter having seen way too many jams and general cluelessness at the few stores that offer self-checkout).

My big scam when I was a younger teen and candy was enough to make my day, was filling my baggie with bridge mix and writing down the code for chocolate-covered peanuts, which were way cheaper. I only got busted once, which was no big deal because you could just play dumb. People were more trusting. This was during the era when stores would sell kids cigarettes with notes from their parents (I had a neighbor in high school who legitimately did this, the reasoning being that they had had drug problems and were in recovery and their family was happy to see them smoking as long as it meant they weren’t abusing other substances).

I’d forgotten about the lack of bulk food even being problematic until this weekend when I paid a visit to Wegmans in Woodbridge, NJ, a much higher class of grocery store than the already classier-than-NYC garden state supermarkets I normally patronize. The store is mammoth with spacious rows of anything you could think of (except corn tortillas and polenta in a tube it turned out—what’s up with the maize aversion? Maybe someone read The Omnivore's Dilemma one too many times) including a nice row of bulk food dispensers. You don’t even know the joy I derived from meting out the tiniest scoop of pepitas. It’s very satisfying to pay $1 and some change for what you actually need instead of $5 for a container that will just go stale.

I would’ve explored Wegmans further (and possibly found those corn products eventually) but I was running late to meet friends at Cheeseburger in Paradise just minutes away on the other side of Route 1. If you ever want live covers of all your favorite ‘90s hits (think Counting Crows and Extreme) and a signature cocktail composed of pina colada, rum runner, margarita, daiquiri and blue curacao layers, all in the same glass, garnished with a gummy cheeseburger on a toothpick and fruit wearing sunglasses (they’re called “garnimals”) show up at this Jimmy Buffet chain at 9:30pm on a Saturday.

Oh, and why don’t they sell bulk food in NYC?

Springing Forward, Falling Back

I know I am wasting my breath (fingertips, whatever) but I must break this too-busy-with-work-to-post dry spell to state the obvious: summer is not over until September 21st. Right? Why do people insist on using three-day weekends to mark seasons when Memorial Day and Labor Day are nearly a month from the beginning of summer and fall, respectively? The weatherlady on channel 772 (Weather Channel HD) just said "today is the official end of summer." I'm not clear if people don't understand the meaning of the word summer or official.

Leave the Driving to Us

This has absolutely nothing to with food, me, or any of my other favorite topics, but I’m unduly horrified by the freak who beheaded his seatmate, a total stranger, a carny, no less, on a Greyhound bus in rural Canada. Somehow I could understand it more if they knew each other. This is the kind of random violence that scares the shit out of me.

I’ve never taken a Greyhound and am now even less inclined to. I was scared off years ago by a coworker’s tale of a Portland-to-Seattle journey where a woman only wearing a t-shirt and nothing else came out of the bathroom smeared in feces, shot everyone a dirty look and shouted, “What?! Haven’t you seen a miniskirt before?” Priceless.

Now I’ll Never Taste a Blarney Blast

Sadmervyns

I would be sad about Bennigan’s closing (I’m kind of excited about a Ruby Tuesday getting blown up, though) if I’d ever been to one. I didn’t even know the chain was Irish-themed. I wanted to learn more about the Kilkenny Country Chicken Salad, but their website is already down.

Mervyns (no apostrophe) filing for bankruptcy, however, fills me with sadness. I haven’t set foot in one of the so-so Kohl’s-esque retailers in over a decade, and I know they closed all of their Oregon locations early last year so this shouldn’t come as a surprise. But I’ve always had a soft spot for the chain.

Any shop that still has a section called missy (which contrary to popular belief is not a euphemism for plus-sized. Missy just means the even 4, 6, 8, etc. sizes as opposed to the odd-numbered 3, 5, 7 narrower-cut junior sizes. And while I’m on this tangent, I was shocked at this letter in Time Out NY a few weeks ago from a girl who claims she never can find XS or size 4 at H&M. Are you shitting me? I even emailed the store when they first arrived in NYC asking why they didn’t seem to stock larger sizes even though I know for a fact they make clothes up to a size 16 since it’s clearly listed on in-store placards. I did feel a bit vindicated by the Time Out’s response: “We did a random, unscientific sampling of the summer stock racks at four Manhattan H&M stores, and size 4 was among the top three most populous sizes in each instance, while a mere 6.7 percent of garments were size 14 or above.” ) is good with me.

Photo of a 2005 Mervyns still using the '80s font instead of the current yet still '90s perky style from The Detroit News

It Doesn’t Get Juicier Than This

Juicers Strange that those “mandarin juicers” (get it?) from Alessi are just now causing a commotion, and at Pinkberry, no less. My sister sent me a blue one for my birthday at least five years ago and I never gave it a second thought.

But then, I’m not attuned to cartoony racial stereotypes. I had no idea that Speedy Gonzalez had been retired to the permanent archives either.

Personally, I’m more offended by the inexplicable glut of frozen yogurt shops in the city. I haven’t touched a dollop of the pseudo-dessert since the ‘80s TCBY craze and don't plan on starting now.

Why So Possessive of That S?

I’m not even close to a grammarian, mostly because my grammar sucks and I make up rules as I go along. I can't properly use commas for shit and for absolutely no reason whatsoever I’ve been doing the s’s (Thomas’s muffin) for years and then yesterday decided to stop.

With that said, the white trash S, adding an S or an apostrophe S typically to a proper noun a la Barnes & Nobles, makes me violent. I’ll admit that sometimes I catch myself starting to say things like Nordstroms and sometimes it slips out, but I can’t allow it in print.

I don’t know how many times I’ve seen steakhouse, Peter Luger, written as Luger’s (not being used as a possessive). I noticed it on TV this weekend and I just spied it on a blog seconds ago. It's so commonplace that I'm staring to wonder if I'm in the wrong and even more grammatically misguided than I originally thought.

Closer to home, I’ve even seen this site referred to as Goodie’s First. Frankly, I can let that one slide because a mention is a mention and I take what I can get.

Denim Shorts, You Com-Pleat Me

Highshorts
There was a time, oh say, two-and-a-half years ago when I was pointlessly outraged at the return of leggings. And yet I’m wearing a pair this very second. Apparently, some horrible fashions have ways of worming their way into our lives.

These high-waisted, pleated and bulging at the hip denim shorts are not one of them. Yes, I realize these are intended for young ladies, which I am not. But could any female, even one with the figure of a 10-year-old boy really pull these off? This pair is also quite frightening, especially if you even had the slightest hint of a paunch.

Who knows, though. Check back on me in 2010 and I could quite possibly be wearing the most stonewashed, pleated, high-waisted shorts you’ve ever seen. Um, but they'll probably come from Silhouettes or something.