My new obsession

*sigh*

Great. A new unhealthy food to crave fortnightly.

Ileana introduced me to the sheer bliss that is Elotes Locos this week. The name basically means "crazy corn" and it had been on my radar as "something to try" for a while, so it was very convenient that she decided to make it for one of our "Hang Out and Cook" nights.

(Note: I think I may already be over my Quotation Marks Quota for this blog entry.)

Imagine corn-on-the-cob. Go ahead, close your eyes and picture it floating in front of you.

Wait a sec. You can't continue reading with your eyes closed. Just picture it floating above your computer.

Now take that imaginary corn-on-the-cob and smear it with mayonnaise. WHOA. Crazy, right? Don't be scared though. NOW sprinkle with/roll in grated parmesan cheese. Traditionally, I don't think that's the exact cheese it's made with, but Ileana is Salvadorean and made it with Parmesan, so I figure it can't be TOO off base. Still delicious. Finally, sprinkle it with cayenne pepper and/or chili powder.

AWESOME.

I wish I had photographed it before I began gnawing on it like it was my only life-support.

It looked something like this...

...Only ours had steak knives poked into the end because we didn't have any corn-cob holders. So we ate them off of said steak knives.

And then Matt cut his hand open.

But that's another blog.

Totally bogus, duder.

Sorry, I just watched "Bill & Ted's Bogus Journey" for the first time. 

I'm majorly bummed (sorry again!) because Vanessa at What Geeks Eat just announced that she's going on hiatus. Anyone who likes food should troll through her archives and, not only ogle her drool-worthy creations, but enjoy her fun, casual and very smart commentary. I was bummed enough when her stint on Accidental Hedonist came to an end, and now I'm double-bummed. Believe you me, I'm going to be checking weekly, just in case she comes back unexpectedly.

I'll miss ya, V!

FYI, some great recipes coming up on Hungry Girl as we inch toward the winter holiday season. Keep checking in there, if you don't already! 

Impulse buy? I don't think so.

So yesterday, I made the glorious mistake of accompanying Matt to Target.

Guys, I can't fucking RESIST Target.

At any given point, there's something in some department that I will decide I desperately need. This time, it was the shoe department.

"Oh Dana, that's such a stereotypical girl vice! Can't you talk about something else more interesting than--"

Shut up, you!
Who was that anyway?
Anyhow...
I found these boots.
Damn them. They were adorable and exactly what I'd been looking for for a while.
Black.
No heel.
Not suede or anything too porous.
Not too fancy.
Not too slutty.
Not shit-kickers.
Not Uggs. (Ugh!)

They were perfect.
Damn them.

But I refused to make an impulse shoe-buy, especially not in front of my male companion.

So I went back after work today and got them, giving myself the excuse that I needed Dran-O to try and work out the ever-growing clog problem in the apartment's bathtub. Here they are...


I'm ALSO stoked because I got a couple of components to throw together with this frozen puff pastry I've had around since Election Night and try to make into a successful and economical dinner.

OH! And the best part of all this? It was kind of like I didn't spend anything at all. See, I used the Visa rebate card that AT&T sent me after purchasing my new cell phone... so the money I SAVED on my phone went to a totally worthy cause.

My feet.
Hell yeah.

A little slow on the cupcake uptake...

Just a quick note!

I know I'm probably the last person on the planet Earth to have seen it...
(aside from my charming viewing-companion)
...but Forgetting Sarah Marshall is really damn good.
I mean, REALLY.

That Jason Segel. He's goin' places.

I'm a believer slacker really optimistic demi-slacker.

Man. I think that writing and cooking all day at work have made me want to do it less and less in my free time. Kinda sad, but I am getting, you know, PAID to do it, so I can only sniffle so much.

Currently, a large swath of my free time is being consumed by thinking about/seeking out/creation of Christmas gifts. I've only gotten started on the "projects", have already had to cancel my debit card once because of suspected fraudulent charges, broken the needle on my Hello Kitty sewing machine, been mildly side-lined by a thumb injury, and gotten wildly side-tracked at JoAnn Fabric's crazy-amazing sale, which left me wanting to make a bunch of clothes for myself. Between that and the bajillion Thanksgiving/Christmas/general "Winter Holiday" pieces I've written for work over the last month, I'm burned out on the holidays. And Thanksgiving is still a week and a half away.

Balls.

Well, that's an exaggeration. (From me? Really? You don't say!) I AM still REALLY excited about all the neat gifts I'm hand-crafting for people this year and the thought that's going into anything I'm actually purchasing. Plus, I am DEFINITELY excited about my Thanksgiving "big meal", which I'm planning out in a more balanced manner than last year's. Last year, I did it all from scratch. It was exhausting and it took most of the day. I tried to space part of it out and made my butternut squash gnocchi ahead of time, making a metric crap-ton of the damn things the weekend prior and then freezing them. However, it all fell apart (quite literally) when I failed to recognize the importance of boiling the little buggers (the cooking process that solidifies the dumplings) and went straight to frying them in a pan of sage brown butter sauce and onions, which caused them to merge into one large (although not bad tasting) mushy clump of stuff in a pan. *sigh*

This year is all about balance. All around. Time, taste, health, low-fattitude, etc.

Two years ago, I made a duck. Yummy, very fatty.
Last year, I roasted a chicken and made a tasty pan gravy. Totally delicious, but you know Matt and I picked those bones clean.
This year, I'm going to make actual turkey, but just the breast. Turkey breast is very healthy and good, lean protein. THAT"S RIGHT! My job's comin' home with me! I'm going to season it in a vaguely sweet-n-spicy way, so as to go well with the dish this year is really all about.

Corn Bread Stuffing with Shrimp and Andouille.

Yeah, baby.

Now, I may be good and lighten it up by using a Chicken Andouille that I've seen at Trader Joe's, but this is the big-ticket item on this year's Thanksgiving table. I figured since I was being traditional and making turkey, I'd get back to my untraditional roots by overshadowing the bird. I WILL be making this piecemeal, the cornbread next Tuesday and assembling it Wednesday night (the recipe says I can!), so that on Thursday I can just bring it to room temp and throw it in the oven along with the turkey, which will have defrosted the day prior and marinated overnight.

Along with these, I'll throw together a couple simple sides.

There's a great sounding Caramelized Broccoli recipe I've been ogling for eons. And... I'm going to let HG affect my meal once again and make a batch of our beloved Miracle Mashies, a dish I honestly can't believe works, but it does. I LOVE my mashed potatoes. I eat crazy, vulgar amounts of them when I have them. Therefore, since I plan to make a big pile o' mash, I may as well do myself a favor and lighten the damn things up a bit. Plus, I can't imagine I'll be able to live without gravy, so I'll throw together a quick pan-job to throw on whatever/everything.

For dessert, I'm looking at something fruit-based, mostly because a) I made a pumpkin pie from scratch a month ago and it was exhausting and b) I can't imagine I'll want anything as rich as chocolate/cream/pecan pie. I'm eyeing a Pear Pie recipe I found online, because it's similar to Apple Pie but not as damn boring. I fully intend, though, to buy pre-made pie crust.

The last time I attempted pastry, it wound up so thin because, sadly, one of the things that makes a natural-born pastry chef are naturally cold hands. I don't have 'em. Even still, I may end up dunking my hands in an ice bath before working with my store-bought pie dough. Anyhow, I'll make that in the morning, so I can chill for a while before getting cooking again.

After plotting all this out, though, I ran into a dilemma. In my zeal to craft and ingest this cornbread stuffing full of sausage and seafood, I had forgotten one thing: corn-corns. I'll back the train up for a second to catch up anyone not in the know (i.e. pretty much everyone)...

When I was a kid, my dad used to collect antique cookware, especially anything cast-iron. He had the coolest pieces hanging on the wall in our kitchen, which I now look back upon as something vaguely unsafe for a family with two kids in elementary-school. It also stands to reason that the walls in most of that house, made of a rough-hewn, very splintery type wood, were neat looking but, seeing as you couldn't touch them lest ye be slivered, were probably not the wisest decor with children around... but hell, I made it out alive. And I learned that I would rather dig out my own splinters than have a parent prod me with a sewing needle doused in Ambasol... but I digress. Like, a lot.

One of the most notable pieces in Dad's collection was a cast-iron pan with 7 indentations in the shape of small ears of corn. Using this, he would make cornbread biscuits we called, natch, corn-corns.

Well, about a month or so ago, I was leafing aimlessly through (since I typically never buy anything from) the Crate & Barrel catalog when I saw it.



OMFG. It's the corn-corn pan.
So, I got it.
And I had been 100% planning to make freaking corn-corns on Thanksgiving, but I got sidelined by that crazy devil stuffing!
*sigh*
So, I had no choice but to include a light lunch in the plans. Store-bought butternut squash soup, doctored up with caramelized onions and whatever-the-crap-else I feel like adding, and corn-corns.

Breakfast is going to be a strong cup of coffee, I'm predicting it now.

Oh, and Matt's bringing the can of cranberry sauce. That's my baby!

Shoppers Fatigue: A Very Real Affliction

Characterized by feeling that something looks fantastic on you which quickly dissolves the second you return home, relax for a bit and try on your new purchase.

When you put on whatever article of clothing you misguidedly bought and glance in the mirror, looking at an image of yourself wearing a horrified expression and something wildly unflattering...

That's when you know.

You've been a victim of Shoppers Fatigue.

Shoppers Fatigue is generally followed with Buyers Remorse. Can be remedied by returning whatever stupid garment you bought; may require a whole new shopping trip.

Look out for the signs and don't let it happen to you.

Yea, noise? Then I'll be brief.

Oh WaMu. You and your devil-may-care bank nickname and usage of "sure" and "no thanks" in place of a simple "yes" or "no". I'm gonna miss you. Don't let JP Morgan Chase get all up in your business.

And I AM GOING TO SEE SOMEONE WHOM I ADMIRE VERY MUCH IN A COUPLE OF DAYS.

(That didn't really need to be in caps, but I felt the need to express my excitement.)

Charlie Kaufman is doing a Q&A following the screening of his new movie, "Synecdoche, NY". I am going to do everything in my power to ensure that I am THERE.

Alright. More later. Matt's leaving town, so I'll have more boredom/blogging time over the next week.

POSTSCRIPT: Well, THAT was a lie! And CK rules.

I swear, I've got taste. I swear.

I look around my room these days and, more often than not, I find that I have allowed 2 piles of stuff to build up. One in front of my dresser, generally consisting of various bags and discarded clothing items that couldn't be bothered to make it to my laundry basket; the other around my desk chair, made up of magazines, catalogs, shoes, junk mail and anything else I can arrange my feet to avoid. Also, my desk seems to accumulate drink containers at an alarming rate.

Now I JUST rectified this situation last weekend. Wait, it wasn't last weekend because I was gone then. It was two weekends ago, but the point is that it hasn't built up for THAT long (in Dana Mess Time). Also, I wasn't even around much in the last couple weeks. I work all day and frequently do stuff weekday evenings too and was GONE last weekend so WHY can't I seem to keep my personal area maintained?

*sigh*

Part of it may have to do with the fact that even when everything is "put away" in my room, it still looks like a cluttered mass of boxes and randomness.

I'm trying to resolve not to live like a refugee, but apparently it's difficult.

That wasn't what I meant to write about at all incidentally. I was going to mention my recent desire to actually acquire things that I think will benefit me, be they books, artwork, classes, whatever (and also a demi-promise to support artists I admire by actually purchasing their material, no matter how famous and well-off they already are). I treated myself to a couple of CD's, one of which I had just been talking about to a couple friends 2 days prior. We were talking about Liz Phair, I mentioned that I only had Whitechocolatespaceegg (which is a great album!) and Dirk said I should definitely get Exile in Guyville, that I would really like it. Fast-forward a couple days later, I'm standing in Borders, frustrated (but not surprised) not to see Amanda Palmer's new disc in the racks. Luckily, "Palmer" is pretty close to "Phair", so I saw and I grabbed. Leaving the Music department, the Ting Ting's album caught my eye and, as I have been meaning to get that for some time, I snagged that too. And upon reaching the checkout line, I was faced with Steve Martin's new autobiography Born Standing Up. It was one of those days. I stood in line, panicking a little at the thought of buying ALL THREE when I had a moment of clarity. I asked myself, "Will getting these things improve me in any way?" and I decided, "Yes."

Exile in Guyville is great, despite the fact that my computer refuses to acknowledge it.

We Started Nothing is fun, quirky music that has a great dance beat with a layer of something else going on.

Born Standing Up is terrific. I've always loved Martin's writing and this is no exception.

I'm very affected by my surroundings, so I feel that adapting them to feel like I'm in MY space is important. However that's currently limited to marking my territory with flip-flops and copies of Entertainment Weekly.

UPDATE, THE NEXT MORNING: Just noticed that I blogged on a Saturday night. Who does that?

Fo' Reals.

Man, having a full-time job is, like, time-consuming.

I mean, doing what I get paid to do at work AND doing things I want to do in my off time... It doesn't leave much time for this.

Blogging was WAY more accessible when I had a job that drove me to it through boredom.

I've also developed some hobbies.

One is theoretically designing my apartment.
This can take as much time as I feel like putting into it. It doesn't matter. I'm not going to do any of it any time soon and I'm probably going to get a whole new pack of ideas in, like, two days.

Another is making clothes.
No shit, I seriously made a shirt this weekend. That's it in the picture. A few weeks ago, I also made that skirt out of an old pair of jeans and turned a t-shirt into a halter-top. I hemmed some pants this weekend too. I AM A MACHINE. And, you know, so is my sewing machine.

Read a book the other day.

Made an impromptu basil aioli from scratch too. It didn't break or anything. I was pretty stoked.
(Foodies know what I'm talking about.)

I want to start writing more too.
Not blogging.
God, no.
REAL writing.
I got my confidence all bolstered by the lone sketch I contributed to DK's recent show (people liked it!), so I'm probably going to try and hack out a few more for the next go-round. Goooooooooo me!
(That was exhausting.)

I'm also thinking of taking another class.
Comedy, that is. Although there is a belly-dancing class I've been eyeballing for a year or so.
Seriously.
No, I figure that since I'm not currently in a show (sweetmammajamma!), I have a regular schedule (hotjambalaya!) and actual disposable income (straightdownthegarbagedisposal!), now is for shiz the time to better myself. I showed a little sack when I took an improv class at the UCB, but I took that class instead of one at the Groundlings because a) it was cheaper and b) I didn't have to audition for it which ix-nays any possible chance of rejection. Thing is I didn't feel I learned that much there. Like, it was GREAT to kick my ass and make myself get out there and do SOMETHING, but I almost feel that my teacher (a VERY sweet person) was almost too nice and didn't kick my ass as much as I may need. Now that I have the money to actually take the Groundlings course AND have a teeny bit more experience doing improv, maybe I can fully sack up and audition for the class I maybe should have taken before.

I've been going to see other people's performances. Feeling pretty good about that.

I've helped out in some Elders sketches, which was way fun. I really wanted to hang out and drink that sangria Dirk made on the Didyaknow day, but alas! I had to go douse myself in sweat and glitter.

I'm also going to be a guest judge for a live-band karaoke contest at The Derby next week. That should be interesting. Hopefully more interesting than disastrous.

Wow.
Little hungry now.
See you at the fridge.

Writing it down so that maybe it will happen

This is more of a reminder to myself than anything. Maybe a bit of a declaration of intent so that, you know, I already said I was going to do it so I better at least give it a shot.

I'm going to attempt to make clothes.
Yeah.
Gettin crafty.

There's this awesome mint green Hello Kitty sewing machine, a bit smaller than a standard sewing machine, nicely portable, good to store and fucking adorable. It also got really good performance reviews, so this only justifies my desire to purchase a mint green sewing machine with a cartoon cat emblazoned on its casing.

Plus, I've been finding all these sweet websites on how to make things, providing patterns for cute clothes and such. I've been thinking about the sewing machine aspect of this for a while merely for use during DK Sweatshop work. I think that trying to make my own clothes would be bad-ass and empowering and thrifty and artistic and, quite possibly, a total train wreck which ends in me only using the sewing machine to make pirate sashes and genie belts. Even still, not a total loss.

I'm going to make clothes.
It's not going to be Project Runway up in my apartment...
(More like Project Run Away! Hey-Oh!)
... but I think I'll give it a shot.

I don't get it!!!!!

I never really wanted a Facebook page to begin with.

You see, I'm a staunch fan of the MySpace. I got into that about a year before the damn thing blew up and everybody and their moms got profiles, so I was really happy when it got more popular and I began connecting with people I hadn't heard from forever.

Apparently this wasn't enough for some people.
So I was bullied into getting a Facebook account.
*sigh*
I just. Don't. Get it.

Now with MySpace, sure, there's a fair amount of vapid spamming and people trying to collect friends like the Hungry Hungry Hippos, but you can typically avoid that. People send you messages, comments and event invitations. Cool. Fine, I can handle that. The bulletin system is good because if you want to ignore the damn things, you can. If someone sends too many stupid ones, you have the option to delete them from you friend list on the spot! Instant retribution! You can also personalize your page with a little creative HTML code and don't have to rely on a bunch of applications to fill up your space.

Fucking Facebook? I get hardly any ACTUAL messages or comments from my Facebook connections, who are a group that varies from old college professors to good buddies from school in Hong Kong to a guy I've known since I was about 4 but haven't seen in the last 8 years. I just got a friend-request today from a guy that I know went to my high-school, I was never really buddies with and of whom my strongest memory is him squirting Elmer's glue up his nose in 2nd grade. I added him anyway though. Why? Because I know he will never ACTUALLY attempt to contact me. I never hear from ANY of these people! I'm sure this is partly because I log on about once a month, but this doesn't stop them from "poking" me, sending me "drinks" and "plants" and any number of invitiations to take a quiz or join a group. Allegedly, I'm a Zombie, a Vampire AND a Slayer. I don't think I should be able to be any of these things.

Now one might read this and just feel that I'm being an anti-social Facebook user. This is probably true but in all fairness, Facebook pushed me away. If it wasn't cluttered up with so much stupid, I might give it the time of day.

If you want me, I'll be on MySpace changing my song, updating my preferences and sending personalized messages. And feeling very smug about it.

Intrigued? Then click on it, dammit!

DK's comin'. Hide your heart, girl.

(What?)

Things I've missed out on

All these years.
*sigh*
In the 22 years since its release, I had never seen "Pretty in Pink".
Turns out I really like it. The only thing I didn't like about "Pretty in Pink" is Andie's shoddy treatment of Duckie. I gotta say, I have a bit of a retroactive crush on Jon Cryer circa 1986. This is not much unlike when I was 5 and, thanks to re-runs, had a thing for Davy Jones of The Monkees. But come on! How can you not love a man who appreciates Otis Redding?



Even Annie Potts looks a little turned on.

I've also been watching The Mary Tyler Moore show (thanks Hulu!) and appreciating the genius that is Valerie Harper.

Big goal of my life

I want to be interviewed by Jon Stewart.

Someday.

Don't blog your eggs before they hatch...

... That's how the saying goes, right?

Anyhow, I know I shouldn't get excited and talk about things before they happen. That's why pregnant women don't go around saying they're pregnant until they're 3 months in. No one wants to have to tell the world about their miscarriage.

However, I'm so excited right now I could bust. I've got a career opportunity on the horizon that I'm only hoping isn't too good to be true (and that I also hope doesn't reject me for being an actress). I also may have a free fancy dress on the way to my abode. Plus, I just wrote my first sketch for my kick-ass comedy group Dynamite Kablammo, and it was pretty well recieved. Maybe it'll even make it into the show! Crazy.

I'm going to stop there because I feel like going into more detail on anything will surely jinx me. I don't want to have to blog about my career miscarriage.

But just know... I'm having an incredible day.

If blogging paid, I'd do it all the time.

But for now, it doesn't. So I will continue to defend my sporadic posting by saying,
"Get off my case!"

*ahem*

Anyhow! What I REALLY want to document at this point in time is the well-thought-out and delicious birthday foods I made for Matt. His birthday was, well, 2 weeks ago. I'm nothing if not not prompt.

Good, I'm glad you're going with me on this one.

Anyhow, I planned to start out with a lovely romesco sauce/paste/dip along with a par-cooked filone from Trader Joe's, baked to crispy completion. However, though I made the romesco, I forgot to serve it. It was going to be a leisurely appetizer as I finished my cooking, however since I got caught up in my runnings-around and Matt was accepting his birthday wishes from his legions of fans followers friends and family, it fell by the wayside and was instead served with chips at the party later.


Official Recipe: Roasted red pepper-Cascabel romesco sauce
May 28, 2008, LA Times
Total time: 45 minutes
Servings: Makes about 2 cups

2 dried Cascabel peppers
1 large red bell pepper
1/4 cup hazelnuts
1/4 cup almonds, blanched and peeled
4 Roma tomatoes
1/4 cup plus 2 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil, divided
1 ounce good-quality country white bread, sliced, crusts removed
3 cloves garlic
1 teaspoon sea salt
1 teaspoon sweet paprika (preferably Spanish)
2 tablespoons sherry vinegar (preferably Jerez)
1 tablespoon minced flat-leaf parsley

1. Place a rack in the upper third of the oven and heat the oven to 375 degrees. Stick a fork through the Cascabels and place tines-down in a bowl (to keep the peppers submerged). Cover with boiling water for at least 30 minutes to soften, then stem, seed and set aside.
2. While the Cascabels are softening, roast the red pepper on a gas stove or under a broiler. Place the peppers in a plastic bag or in a bowl, covered with plastic wrap, and cool. Peel, stem and seed the peppers (don't rinse); set aside.
3. Toast the nuts separately in the 375-degree oven until golden and aromatic, 8 to 10 minutes. If the hazelnuts have skins, cool them and remove their skins by rolling them in a kitchen towel. Set aside the nuts and increase the oven temperature to broil.
4. Halve the tomatoes lengthwise and place them, skin side up, on a foil-lined baking sheet. Coat the tomatoes with 1 tablespoon of olive oil, then broil the tomatoes until the skins begin to darken and crack, about 5 minutes. Cool on the baking sheet, then peel, core and set aside.
5. In a skillet, heat the remaining tablespoon of olive oil and fry the bread until golden brown. Cool and set aside.
6. In a food processor, coarsely chop the garlic, salt, fried bread and nuts. Add the peppers, tomatoes, paprika, vinegar and parsley and process to a rough paste. Slowly pour the remaining olive oil in a steady stream and process until combined.

Changes I made:
- I couldn't find cascabels, so I just used hot red pepper flakes.
- My almonds were not blanched, had skins and they turned out fine.
- I left the crust on my bread.
- I mistakenly bought cooking sherry and not sherry vinegar, so I used 1T of sherry and 1T of rice vinegar.

It was still delicious.

Next! For the main course, I made Top Chef winner (YAY!) Stephanie Izard's beer-challenge winner mussel dish, grilled corn on the cob with chile-lime compound butter and the aforementioned bread.

(photo to come!)

Official Recipe: Steamed Mussels with Cilantro Vinaigrette & Grilled Bread

Prep Time: 30 minutes
Serves: 4-5

Cilantro Vinaigrette:
1 egg yolk
1/4 cup white wine vinegar
1t Dijon
1 1/2 cup canola oil
1 cup cilantro leaves
1/2 jalapeno, seeds removed
1t honey
Salt and pepper

Changes: I used olive oil and only 1 cup. It was plenty.

Steamed Mussels:
2T butter
1 bulb fennel, thinly sliced
1/2 small onion, thinly sliced
3 cloves garlic, minced
1 lb PEI mussels, cleaned, debearded
4 oranges (juice 3, segment one)
Salt and pepper to taste
3 bottles, hoegaarden

Changes: I added an extra 2 T of butter when I put in the orange juice. Also, I only used 1 bottle of Hoegaarden, but it could have used 1.5. Three is just too much damn liquid.

Directions:

Cilantro Vinaigrette:
In blender, blend yolk, vinegar and Dijon. Slowly drizzle in canola and season with remaining ingredients.

Steamed Mussels:
In saucepot, melt butter. Add in fennel, onion andgarlic and sweat for a few minutes. Turn up heat and add in mussels and orange juice; season with salt and pepper. Cover and steam untilmussels open then add in hoegaarden.

To Serve:
In bowl, add mussels and broth. Drizzle with vinaigrette and garnish with orange segments and some chopped cilantro and scallions. Serve with warm grilled bread.

Changes: I didn't grill the bread but rather gave each person a big chunk from which to tear off pieces to dip into the abundant broth.

Very, VERY tasty. This, folks, is why she won this season. Because she's awesome. You'll end up with extra vinaigrette, but I've found it goes nicely on chicken and on swiss chard. And the Hoegaarden goes SO nicely with the citrus/herbal flavors of the dish.

I pretty much winged it on the compound butter. I started with half a stick of room-temperature unsalted butter, added some pimenton and a healthy sprinkle of cayenne, the juice of a lime and some sea salt to taste. Roll it into a little log with plastic wrap and throw it in the fridge to firm up. I'm looking forward to using this on fish and chicken too.

The corn... follow any online grilling instructions. I'm getting lazy right now. I think I cooked them for about 25 minutes. I was peeved that I couldn't find corn on the cob with the whole husk intact at any stores, They were all trimmed and with one side exposed to show off their kernels. Hussy corn! Haven't you ever heard of an air of mystery? Anyhow, I had to wrap it in tin foil because my hussy corn had lost its clothes.

So there was much beer and bread and corn and tastyness. And then there was the cake.

TO BE CONTINUED

Somebody get me a toothbrush STAT!

I am a huge proponent of online TV, especially since I moved away from the comfort of cable and Tivo. This is my new security blanket because I can't remember when anything is on to save my life. My favorite TV show always starts at least 15 minutes after I think to turn it on. Plus, with my boring, do-nothing job, it's good to be able to re-allocate my TV watching to a time when I am forcedly immobile.

I nearly lost it today.

Now I understand that they sell ad space during the online streaming so that they can make money to spread around (whooo WGA!). HOWEVER, they show the same exact commercial each "break" for the entire show. I can usually cope with this. But when you're airing the same commercial, twice back-to-back per break, for a 2 hour program that occasionally glitches so that you have to go back and watch the commercial break AGAIN, you'll see that ad a good 40 times.

I just got done watching a program sponsored by Crest Pro Care, whose mission in life seems to be to make me terrified that I have gingivitis. To be fair, they had 2 ads they rotated but they were so similar that they were damn near identical to my simple mind. They had 2 good looking (but not so good looking that you question their intelligence) people playing dentists, warning that your toothpaste doesn't guard you against gingivitis, listing off a few vague symptoms which are enough to make me question my mouth after a couple airings. By 3/4 of the way through the show, my stomach acid was churning in fear that my teeth were silently rotting out of my head as my gums bled and receded until they no long support my teeth which just flop out of my festering mouth.

I think about how disgusting people are in this world and I figure that surely I, who try to keep my teeth clean, am not on the low end of the mouth-hygiene continuum. And even if it turns out that I DO have gingivitis, how bad can it be? Can't I mouthwash it away? Or floss it off or... something... OH MY GOD, I'm going to need dentures! They're all coming out, I know it! It's gingivitis, the silent killer. That's what they call it, right?

When I see certain commercials too many times, I start to worry that the universe is trying to tell me something. Like if I see too many pregnancy test commercials, I become verrrrry concerned. A whole lot of Jenny Craig ads make me second-guess the In-N-Out burger I was planning to ingest. Multiple viewings of girls riding bicycles and hawking Valtrex leaves me staring at everybody I know with nothing but suspicion. So maybe someone out there is dropping me hints, like "I know that you've been saying that your gums bleed when you brush because of your new toothbrush, but really. You've had the thing for 3 months now. Pick up some floss. Throw in a bottle of Listerine, just for me."

Is this some new paranoia-marketing technique?

If so, it's fucking working, because I'm getting my ass over to Rite-Aid toute suite after work.
*rocks back and forth in chair*
Prevention is the best medicine. Prevention is the best medicine.

NOTE:
It's good to see that I'm not the only one who puts myself through this shit.

nataliedee.com

Update 6/18!

Today's episode of Hell's Kitchen is brought to you by Monistat.
*sigh*

I'm intimidated by winos.

Not those kind of winos.

The fancy kind.
Like in Sideways.

While wasting time at work, I stumbled upon a comic that reminded me of this dream I had last night. I was at some kind of friggin wine tasting with a bunch of snooty types. Some upscale-boho looking broad (who looks, now that I think about it, a lot like Charlotte Gainsbourgh) starts offering me cheeses, which of course I like, and then she's all, "That goes so well with this wine here blah blah", to which I say, "Awesome" because wine's right up there with cheese.

Then she starts in on, "This Loigdfsigfdkmkf offering is from the Mngkliuykxz region. Do you know where that is?"

Slightly-buzzed Dream Dana mumbles, through a mouthful of cheese, "Erm... no."

CG's snooty wine-enthusiast doppelganger then fruitlessly tries to prod me into coming up with the answer. "Its from the Kuhloduy by the Ljhlfsduyojmjg Mountain range... in Australia... do you know what state?... New South Wales...?"

"Ohhh. Okay."

The dialogue wasn't important, but it continued with her describing the wines and asking me what I tasted and me feeling very uncomfortable and making shit up.

Despite all this, I still really want to head home and have some friggin wine and cheese.



Thanks for reminding me about my lame dream, Toothpaste For Dinner.

Return of the Grill: Dana Strikes Back

I got my replacement burner for my little grill!

I may try to fire it up this weekend, just so I don't blow a gasket if it doesn't work on Matt's birthday. The last thing that dude needs is me fuming about how the birthday dinner I carefully planned doesn't taste the way it was supposed to, like when I had to make my grilled shrimp dish in a frying pan.

I ACTUALLY have back-up cooking plans for anything I'm planning to make on the grill. Which isn't that much, really. It's not that big of a grill.

Meanwhile, I think some beef is in the near future...

Mom was right... or was she?

I've conceded that on a handful of topics of debate from my childhood, my mom was right.

She wouldn't let me eat the turbo-sugar cereals (unless we were out somewhere; once in a while wasn't going to send me into kiddie diabetes) and actually had a grams-of-sugar-per-serving rule. Over 10 grams and no way was she buying it for us. We could whine all we wanted, but all she had to do was point to the nutritional info box and I knew I didn't have a prayer. Years later, I don't even like that crap. I can't even eat it. I can barely handle sweets in the morning, let a bowl of sugar-frosted Froot Loops. In the long AND short run (because really, the last thing I needed as a child was a sugar buzz), it served me well.

Same went with peanut butter, but to less of an extreme. My mom always bought the natural stuff, the kind you had to stir with a knife because it would seperate. She got that because that's what she liked and the only reason I ever asked for anything other than that was, like any good consumerist American child, commercials. I'd see the ads where the moms (wearing way too much makeup for breakfast) would spread a creamy dollop of Jif on a slice of spongy white Wonder Bread (another just victory on her part; I eat wheat bread now like I did back then). The pliant peanut butter looked so smooth unlike the tempermental all-natural, which if not treated with care was near liquid for the first half of the jar and damn near unspreadable at the end. Of course, now what sits in my fridge (yup, gotta refrigerate that stuff) but a jar of Trader Joe's unsweetened, salted natural PB. I could eat it by the spoonful, I love it so much. The stuff Matt buys tastes like frosting to me.

Now all of this is not to say that I don't like sweets. I just think my early upbringing did a lot to curb my sweet tooth and sugar tolerance.

HOWEVER

I do recall a needless tidbit of info that was tossed my way "for my own good". I already mentioned the wheat bread, which I protested once the media taught me that the pretty TV children ate toast as white as snow. One other such society-driven request, inspired by picky kids at school, was to have my crusts cut off. It was my least favorite part of the bread and I saw plenty of my cohorts with neatly-edged sandwiches. My mother told me "no" (fair enough) but it was because "the crust is the healthiest part of the bread" and therefore she would not cut it off or permit me to leave it on the plate.

Now, I was a pretty rational kid. Had she told me, "No, because that wastes food," I think I would have accepted that. She raised me Catholic, so I knew all about guilt. Heck, guilt was her chief bargaining chip in getting me to do what she wanted.

The points here are:

If you don't start eating excessively sugary foods, you won't miss em...

Your mom was probably right about a lot of things...

But you should still look back and review the things she told you.
Just to be sure.

In closing, I would like to point out that my mother did slip in her vigilance as we got older. I recall coming home from college to find *GASP* Uncrustables, the disgusting little pre-made sandwiches filled with that frosting peanut butter and gooey grape sludge, made from white bread, cut into a circle with nary a crust in sight and *sigh* individually wrapped in plastic for further convenience. My sister's, she told me.

My sister always did like to fight the power.

Lo, and she said, "No fair!"...

... and there was much complaining.

So, I recall mentioning previously how very excited I was to be getting a grill for myself with which to cook all manner of meat and veggies in the splendor of the outdoors. And I got that grill. Oh, did I get that grill.

I picked it up on Thursday, along with a little table to put it on. However, I decided to spray-paint the table and, after seeing what a toll the blazing sun was taking on the paint job as it dried (bubble bubble bubble), I realized that putting the grill on it would probably fuck up the paint job. It's cool. I like that table regardless.

Back to the grill. I had decided that Saturday would be my grill's inaugural meal. I found a super looking recipe for shrimp marinated in lemon juice, basil, garlic and whatnot. This was fortuitous since I had only Friday picked up a brand new basil plant brimming with enormous leaves which needed plucking and subsequent eating. I got the goods to make my shrimp dinner (along with asparagus to slap on the grill) and then... I headed to the box to put the grill together.

Now this is technically a travel grill but I like it because it's compact and self contained enough to be stashed away in my closet. There were many little screw attachments and handles to be put on, burners to hook up, this and that. It took me a good 2 hours, but I finally got it together. All the pieces were there.

Hot damn.

I went off and prepped my food; cleaning, chopping, marinating, etc. Once all this was done, I grabbed the little grill and a propane tank and hauled them outside to fire that bad boy up.

As I began to screw the propane bottle on, I recognized that something wasn't right. It didn't seem to be getting much tigher. Then it happened. The threaded piece attaching the gas regulator to the burner straight up FELL OFF. Bad weld or bad adhesive or something, but it just was no longer attached.

Now I don't know if it was the heat of that day or phantom fire from my non-functioning grill, but I swear I felt flames, flames, flames . . . on the side of my face!

So. Mad.

Anyhow, I emailed my problem to the manufacturer and hopefully they will send me a new goddamn burner. You know, in like A YEAR. Greg suggested that I just take it back to Lowe's, but then they'd give me a whole new grill and then I'd have to put the whole fucking thing together again. And that shit ain't happening.

So, grilling's out for now.

New Shameless Plug

Wait a sec! It's my blog! Why should I feel shame??



Yup, I play a drag queen. A singing, dancing, kicking drag queen.
Should be fun.

Recent Movie Rundown #1

I'm just going to smash through a handful of the movies that I saw recently.
Alright!

Iron Man
Hot fucking damn! So good! I thought it was well made, well cast, well acted and well balanced all around. Well! Robert Downey Jr. is walking sex in an iron suit as Tony Stark. And of course he's smart, witty, and charming without being that "good" of a guy. Gotta admit, there's something kind of hot about that. I also especially appreciated that neither of the two main female characters (Pepper Potts, Stark's loyal assitant and Christine Everhart, the socially-responsible journalist) were idiots. Sure, the journalist sleeps with him... but come on! Did you see him? Plus afterwards, she doesn't merely act bitchy because he blew her off or act too nice to him because they had a fling: she's all business all over again. And that girl plays hardball. I'm just glad to see a superhero movie that doesn't have that vapid chick who is the love interest then gets herself into some stupid scrape and needs to be rescued.
*coughmaryjanewatsoncough*
Regardless, the movie also provides an even balance of action scenes to plot setup. What's the point of fighting if we don't care about the people in the fight? In this way, I liked how the movie allowed the viewers to discover the characters. The film starts with a very in-your-face opener, only giving you a few lines of slick dialogue to establish that everyone thinks Tony Stark is the coolest guy ever. And then... well, I'm not into spoilers, but it's cool that you get to go back a few days and see what the guy is really like before you start to feel too sorry for him. Also, the build of Jeff Bridges' villain ensures that the audience is totally on Tony's side before the big final battle. Attaboy, Mr. Favreau. You done good.


Baby Mama
I went through a rollercoaster of emotion before even seeing this movie. I found out that Tina Fey and Amy Poehler, two of my favorite people I don't know, were doing a movie together and I could have bought my ticket right then. I was planning to see it opening weekend but then... well, I didn't. I'm cheap and lazy and I found out that Creative Screenwriting Magazine (good people, good podcasts) was screening it. However, it wasn't until then I did any research into the writer/director. Michael McCullers is the mind behind the second and third Austin Powers movies and Undercover Brother.
Oh god. Oh god god god.
What have my girls gotten themselves into?
DESPITE MY TREPIDATIONS, I totally enjoyed this movie. Sure, it's not breaking too much new ground (aside from the fact that no one really makes female buddy comedies) in terms of the material, the jokes are a little mean but more legitimately funny than anything, and sure, I could take my mom to it, but it's not a "mom movie". I liked it and so did the two guys in their late-twenties sitting with me. More than anything, I LOVED that they didn't have one of those terribly drawn-out and painful birthing sequences, where the pregnant woman looks on the verge of death, some douche in a lab coat yells "Push!" and whatever supportive person next to them repeats "You're doing great, you're almost there" about 8 million times and, you know, that's not entertaining! Kudos, Baby Mama, for realizing this. Now go kick Knocked Up in the balls.

Son of Rambow
I saw this a while ago. It's really good. I don't have the energy to write too much about it because I'm thinking about The Dark Knight trailer (omfgkljdhf&$@!!^). The kids in it are fantastic first-time actors, and by this I don't mean that they are good for first-timers. I mean they are good AND first-timers. That settled, it's a sweet film following 2 young misfits who bond over a love of First Blood and decide to make their own movie. Sure, you have your stereotypical kid-movie plot devices (controlling parent influence), but this movie adds an odd religious-sectarian twist to it. I feel that more joy went into the process of making this film than The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, Garth Jennings (of Hammer and Tongs)'s previous endeavor, and that sense of fun comes across.

Put it on bread and I'll probably eat it.

I've recently become obsessed with sandwiches.

I definitely go through phases with my food. Last year, I went through a big eggplant/red pepper phase (which will probably come back as soon as I get my GRILL). For I while, I was really into soup. Right now, my thing is sandwiches.

First, let me put in a plug for one of my favorite websites, Chowhound. It's a message board system where people will send in questions, comments and reviews on local eateries and food establishments. Go, quick, check it out and then finish reading this.

...

I know, isn't that cool?
Anyhow.
I kept coming across discourse concerning what was the best sandwich in LA, the most frequently cited being The Godmother from Bay Cities Italian Deli in Santa Monica. Now, my personal favorite sandwich from the LA area is the Medianoche Preperada from Porto's Bakery in Burbank (or Glendale). Then I came across 2 other frequent entries: the Bahn Mi Special at Sandwich Express in Reseda and the Pastrami at Langer's Deli west of Downtown.

Well, shit. If people are saying that these are the best sandwiches in LA, I must have them! In my face! And subsequently, my stomach!

Before I launch into my 3 proposed acquisitions, I should tell you a bit about my beloved Medianoche Preperada.

The sandwich: served hot; roast pork, sliced ham, potato croquettes, swiss cheese, mayo, mustard, pickles on a sweet roll. A symphony of tastes and textures, from sweet to salty to tangy, mushy to meaty to crunchy, and of course, a bit greasy. My comfort food of choice.

So, my first target was The Godmother. I work in West LA, so it wasn't too much of a stretch to head out to Santa Monica. After perusing Chowhound, I had learned that the place is perpetually packed, so I thought ahead and emailed in my order. A lovely system and I encourage everyone to do it, because the deli counter is a frigging zoo.

The sandwich: served cold; a classic combination of top-notch ingredients. A lovely but not excessive amount of salty italian deli meats (mmmmm), their freshly-dressed hot peppers (available in "mild", but why bother?), veggies and... the bread. OH, the bread. Such bread. Such flavorful, chewy, wonderful bread. I could eat a loaf a day and not get sick of it.

Verdict: Awesome. Best italian sub I ever had. BUT... having had so many italian subs before, the Medianoche Preperada has a certain air of specialness that the Godmother can't compete with in my book.

Next came the Banh Mi Special. I had been reading about banh mi for a while and recently discovered that there is a treasure trove of banh mi shops in Reseda, just west of my locale. Last week, the opportunity presented itself to me in the form of my friend Cassie's piano recital. In Reseda. Guess I know where I'm going for dinner.

The sandwich: served cold, but not too cold; bbq pork, ham, pate (!!!), dressed carrot and daikon, cilantro, jalapeno, and thin-sliced cucumber, mayo on a freshly baked baguette. The French influence in Vietnam really shines through in this sandwich.

The Verdict: I now understand why there seems to be almost a sub-culture of banh mi addicts on Chowhound. That's one damn good sandwich. In my head, my rating seems to be which sandwich I'd be willing to go out of my way for. I have gone out of my way for the Medianoche (although don't let myself too often), I'm already planning to make a special trip out to Reseda so that Matt can try the sandwiches, but The Godmother might be reserved for times I'm in the area or going to the shop itself (there's a nice specialty grocery shop in there). I'd rank the Banh Mi Special between the two.

Someday soon, I'll get out to Langer's for that pastrami I've heard so much about.
Until then, here's my newest at-home sandwich creation.
(I ate it before I could take a picture.)

- par-cooked baguette from Trader Joe's (I could live on these)
- avocado, sliced
- tomato, sliced
- jalepeno, seeded and sliced thin
- extra sharp cheddar cheese, sliced
- egg
- sea salt & freshly cracked pepper (I've gone highbrow)

Alright, finish cooking your baguette according to the instructions. Also, boil a pot of salted water. Not a rolling boil, just barely.

When the bread is done (LEAVE THE OVEN ON!), saw off a hunk the size of the sandwich you want and split it in half lengthwise. Take the bottom piece and lay out your sliced cheddar. Arrange your jalepeno slices on top of that and put it back in the oven to get melty. Pull it out when things look adequate. Lay the slices of tomato on top of the cheese and jalepeno.

Take your egg, crack it into a bowl and slide it into your (gently!) boiling pot of water. That's right, you're poaching an egg. Let it cook until the whites are nice and opaque and set. Lift it out using a utensil with slits (You don't want to pour water on your fancy sandwich, now do you? If you do, gross.) and place the egg on top of the tomato slices. At this point, I like to break the yolk to ensure equal distribution across the sandwich. Just smear it across. Lay your avocado slices on top of the egg, sprinkle with salt and pepper, top it off with your top bread and put it in your face hole! Preferably with some white wine. That's a damn good lunch, vegetarian even. You vegans can stop your whining. There's nothing here for you. Move along.

Aaaand now I'm hungry again. Awesome.

Time of the season

About this time every year, I start itching to grill. 90% of the recipes I get from my 8-bajillion newsletters involve a grill in some way and it gets me going. Then I remember one crucial problem.

I don't have a grill.

Now, last year when this came up, I had mentioned to my roommate how cool a grill would be. He agreed and bought a little Weber charcoal grill. Eventually I decided to borrow it and grill myself up a lovely steak and some veggies. Then I remembered one more crucial problem.

I suck at lighting charcoal.

Let's backtrack even more to the summer before my senior year of college. I was living in a house affectionately called the Bat Cave, not because of any resemblance to Wayne Manor or die-hard love of the Caped Crusader. It used to have bats. That's all. One of my roommates, Katie Bouma, had gotten it into her head that we should grill out. She got some steaks and asparagus, dragged out the Lil Smokey and attempted to light the charcoal. I was there assisting/eagerly awaiting food.

We spent a good long time trying to get those coals lit.
A very long time.
We spent a very, very long time and a lot of lighter fluid trying to light those damned briquettes.
Eventually we got to the point where we could cook beef without having to classify it as "very thick carpaccio". But it took forever.

Flash-forward to last summer. I read the instructions on the bag of charcoal and, despite following them to the letter AND the fact that they were treated with lighter fluid, I still couldn't get them going above the temperature of my space-heater. When my roommate came home, he worked some voodoo on them and miraculously got it going properly, for which I repaid him with dinner.

The thing is that I moved last fall and though I very well could borrow my old roomie/still buddy's grill, I have no desire to do battle with briquettes every time I want to get a good char on my food.

My point is, I'm getting a grill.
A GAS grill.
Though I know I should learn to master properly lighting charcoal, though I know it provides that wonderful smell that makes you think of cookouts from your youth, though I know it's really not that hard... I don't want to. Charcoal grills take a long time to get going, you have to lug around that stupid bag of rocks it calls "fuel", they produce a huge amount of ash which inevitably gets everywhere. I'm getting a nice little portable gas grill that I can stick in the closet when it's not in use with a cute little propane tank that sticks off the side like a gimpy arm.

And hopefully I will use it.

Menudo. Now I double-hate you.

I almost feel embarrassed writing this blog.

Which is why I'm writing it. I was going to pretend this never happened, but I need to accept that it did and that I am not quite as bad-ass as I thought I was.

*sigh*
I'll stop being cryptic.

So, I take a lot of pride in the fact that I will try eating just about anything once. I like to order that thing on the menu that doesn't have much of a description. I like to go for the House Specialty, whatever that may be. Try new things! How bad can it be? What doesn't kill you makes you stronger. Come on, you pussy, it's only food!

I read too much Anthony Bourdain.
And now it has bitten me in the ass.

The problem is that I clearly haven't retained enough of the knowledge I've gleaned from my inordinate amount of reading about food. The special of the day at Bronco was a word I had heard before, not only as the name of a shitty Latino boy-band, but also as a food.

It was "menudo".
(Those of you who know what this is can shut the hell up and quit LOLing.)

I knew the word in the context of being a food, but I couldn't recall for the life of me what it was. Now this is the point at which most people would ask the lady at the counter, "Excuse me, what is menudo?" and she would have told you that it was... well, let's not get ahead of ourselves.

But no. My inner Bourdain started taunting me, saying just to get it and have a mini adventure on your otherwise boring Sunday night. So I got it. Without a fucking clue what I had just ordered.

After waiting (which, thinking back, I don't know what took so fucking long) for my food, I was handed a bag and I left. I stepped outside and peeked into the bag. There was a big styrofoam container with a lid. Some kind of soup or stew, I rightly guessed. I began my walk home.

As I neared my apartment, I became more and more afraid of the parcel in my hands. I started to fear my food as I have never feared food before, to my recollection. I began to (stupidly) imagine a scenario in which I entered my apartment where Greg and Nic were watching a movie and Greg asks, "Hey, what did you get?" and I say "Um... menudo?" and they both begin to laugh hysterically because they know what it is and I am the dumbass who ordered it.
Upon entering the apartment, I swiftly make my way to my room. I carefully set down my questionable meal and instead of tasting it, I google it. Of course, Wikipedia has the top entry (aside from the band Menudo's website). I'll take it. I click on "Menudo (soup)" and this is what I read:

The soup menudo is a traditional Mexican dish; a frequently spicy soup made with tripe. It is often thought of as a cure for a hangover, and is traditionally served on special occasions or with family.
In pre-revolutionary Mexico, poverty among the campesinos was chronic, and little if anything that might be prepared as food was left to waste. Usually, the best cuts of meat would go to the hacienda owners while the offal went to the peasants. These leftovers consisted of organ meats, brains, head, tails, hooves, etc. As cattle and sheep are ruminants that require lengthy intestinal tracts to digest their diet of grasses and raw seeds, the stomach is one of the largest pieces of offal available from these animals.
There are a number of variations on menudo, including blanco (white or clear), verde (green), or rojo (red). Typical condiments added to menudo are dried oregano, epazote, ground chile flakes, lime juice, fresh cilantro and chopped onion. Due to the length of time needed to cook tripe to be tender enough to be edible, menudo is generally cooked in large batches and sold as a special menu item in Mexican restaurants, although it is occasionally prepared at home. In some areas menudo is sold as a weekend-only specialty in regular restaurants (typically announced by signs reading Rico Menudo fines de semana). In other areas, menudo is made daily, but mostly sold in restaurants and market stalls (fondas) that specialize in the dish.

Goddammit. I just bought tripe soup.

Knowing what it was, I finally unveiled my terrifying dinner. Alright. Looks like soup with... vague stuff in it. I stirred it and one of the chunks bobbed to the top.

Oh.
Hell.
No.

I shit you not, I almost became vegetarian on the spot. All the bravado I had exhibited in the restaurant had faded, leaving only a squeamish girl and a styrofoam bowl.

I CAN DO THIS I CAN DO THIS I CAN DO THIS.

I took a taste of the broth.
Not bad. Spicy. A bit meaty but kind of a... strange taste.
(fuckingcoworsheepstomach!)
Alright.
Now let's get ballsy.
I went in for a chunk.
Scooped.
Lifted.
Deposited in my mouth.
Chewed.
Swallowed.

No thanks.

I tried my damnedest to eat the broth and got about 10% of it down (this was a BIG container), but then all those horrible looking (and I tell you, the chunks were HORRIBLE looking; weird, spongy, white blobs) pieces o' tripe began to gather in numbers at the top of the soup and I gave up. I had put up a valiant fight, but my pride finally gave out to my dislike of bizarre internal organ food. Mark it right up there with "chicken livers" as things I have tried as an adult an and find wildly disgusting.

Thank god it came with tortillas. For dessert, I had old Halloween candy.
Wow.

On a side-note, I think it's HILARIOUS that a band notorious for casting off members for getting too old has the same name as a Mexican soup made of cast-off parts of an animal. According to Wikipedia, "Menudo (from Latin minūtus) also means 'small, thin, worthless, vulgar, (money) change'...", but in Puerto Rico, it also means "young folks".

Who's got two thumbs and learned a valuable lesson today?

Gonna have a revival!

Don't go thinking I found Jesus, it's just a revival of this blog.

I'm gonna do it better this time.
I'm going to stop being so anti-social that I neglect my own blog. Enough goes neglected in my life, whether it be friends, bank accounts or personal hygiene. This shouldn't be another one.

And so, I return to this blog with the full intention of having... a PURPOSE and a DIRECTION.

Dear fucking god!

I know.
Anyhow, this will be the place I choose to post whatever I have to say regarding food and entertainment (i.e. the great loves of my life). I'll (intend to) keep the posts on the short side, so as not to daunt myself from posting at all. With all the time I spend thinking about these topics (especially food these days), it shouldn't be too dificult.

There will probably be occasional posts which pertain to no relevant topic. I'm just saying.

Let the blogging begin!
(hopefully)