Chicken Marbella

On November 22, friends joined us for dinner. These friends have three children so our combined families require food for 8 people. I thought I'd try Sheila Lukins' famous recipe Chicken Marbella.

Essentially, it's chicken pieces braised in white wine, olive oil, herbs, garlic (as in a head of pureed garlic), prunes, capers, and olives. Very tasty but because the prunes and olives are whole people who don't like such things can just pick them out.

I went to Whole Foods for my chicken because it's nearby and I figured I could get a better product. Remember, please that this shopping excursion occurred on the Sunday before Thanksgiving. A high-traffic time for groceries, you'd think. Lots of people. Wanting food. Because that's what groceries do. (sell food).

But you'd have thought, based on the level of readiness at WF, that it was a Tuesday in February.

What was in the butcher's case? NOTHING. Photo below. Not that the case is empty. As in: empty.

There's more. When I asked for chicken pieces, I went round and round with the butcher about it. How much? He had no advice to offer. Thighs and breasts? No opinion. Finally, I just told him how many I wanted and he popped into the back area.

He emerged with two plastic-wrapped parcels (the kind that regular groceries put into the meat section) which he pulled open. They had been frozen. He then weighed out the pieces I wanted and wrapped them loosely in paper (loosely wrapping chicken is the best way because then the juices leak out onto other foods, flavoring them).

While I watched him do this, I read the orange sticker below:

So true. So, so true.

Then I went looking for the other items on my list. Each and every aisle was blocked. Every aisle.

Above, a dolley with boxes. Below,  stacked crates and a cart full of broken-down boxes.

Boxes. More Boxes. Just laying on the floor.

Was anyone unloading them? No. Was this because the staff were quite busy with customers? No. they were, mostly, standing around the checkouts and customer-service desk, chatting.

I was...not amused. But I had chicken! And prunes (more prunes than anyone would ever need but they sold only one size and at that point my mood had turned sorta sour so I didn't think I should go anywhere else).

I made the chicken. It was good. I followed the recipe almost exactly (bought the wrong olives at WF so I had to use a slightly different olive) and the one thing I'd say is that another 20 minutes in the oven wouldn't be amiss. Otherwise, delicious.

Me, checking the dish by giving it the evil squinty eye. If it fails to flinch you know it's done.

Recipe.

Hatting on the Scots

PJ O'Rourke makes me laugh. Me, and everyone else. This morning he's busy imagining a terrible future for an independent Scotland.

Too bad he can't spell Chanel.

Read it here.

The Fun Never Ends

See the original (as long as they leave it up) here. 

Oh, AP. I wish I could say, "You know I love you." But...

Bless your heart.

You're rolling out a new exam. I get it. That's hard. So complicated, so many changes, so many people to manage and publications to create.

But if you add up the percentages above, are you sure they work? 40+30+25+15 = 100?

Does it? Or would that be better if the Short-Answer section was 20%? The way it is in your AP guide.

Sometimes, It's Love

Some writers ring all the bells. I love Ta-Nehisi Coates in general. Today I'm reading this article, though, and it reminds me that of all the columnists I read (a lot, thanks to The Atlantic link to my Feedly) he's the one whose sentences jump off the page:

All kinds of crazy are not equal, and in America, racist crazy has a special history worthy of highlighting.

 Yep. Yeppers. Yeppity Yep Yep. 

 

Experts? Bah!

From the New York Times:

“A substantial body of social science research confirms,” the [Utah] brief [to the Supreme Court seeking a stay on gay marriages] said, “that children generally fare best when reared by their two biological parents in a loving, low-conflict marriage.”

Lawyers for the couples challenging Utah’s ban on same-sex marriageresponded that the assertion “is not true.” For evidence, they cited “the scientific consensus of every national health care organization charged with the welfare of children and adolescents,” and listed nine such groups. The view of the groups, the challengers said, “based on a significant and well-respected body of current research, is that children and adolescents raised by same-sex parents, with all things being equal, are as well-adjusted as children raised by opposite-sex couples.”

Utah responded that it would not be swayed by “politically correct trade associations,” referring to, among others, the American Academy of Pediatrics, the American Medical Association and the American Psychiatric Association. “We are not ruled by experts,” the state’s brief said.

 

SundaySundaySunday

Above, the scene in 2009. Bart and Tony married. Alina, Charles and I represented GSSM.  Iain drooled. Iain coveted the toys intended for Bart and Tony's nephew. Iain refused to nap. Iain screamed his little head off. Iain face-planted onto concrete. It was a party.

Iain, coveting toys not his own

Sunday (Sunday!!) the gents arrive for a visit. Sunday! We've laid on ten pounds of cookies, toffee, and chocolate (courtesy of my generous, sweet students), 6 inches of snow, and a significant quantity of whisky (Irish, Scotch, and Kentucky bourbon). We even have local beer (Squatter's winter special called "Chasing Tail" and decorated with a Golden Retriever).

Iain and Tony. I think Tony just told Iain about the Crystal Method.

Party 2.0. Starts Sunday.

Friends

A happy day in Utah. Congratulations to Kody and Laurie. 

ETA: The New York Times likes kissing. Or so one might assume from their photographic choices.

Another holiday gift

A couple of years ago, I needed new pot holders. Charles gave me two new ones for Christmas that year. One was your basic potholder. The other had stripes made of silicon. In theory, it would protect my hands from heat even better than the padded material in a traditional pot holder.

It was a great success. The only problem was that I used the silicon pot holder all the time. To the exclusion of almost anything else, I reached for it.

As a result it wore out pretty quickly. You can see the burned spots and holes above. This year, Charles bought two new pot holders. Both have the stripes.

I've been baking like mad, of course. Gooey Cinnamon Cake yesterday, Blueberry Cornmeal Cake today. Who knows what tomorrow might bring?

French Toast a la Wizenberg

Molly Wizenberg's book A Homemade Life contains a recipe for French toast. It's her (late) father's recipe, and it's great.

We received an unexpected gift of a loaf of challah yesterday. So, naturally, I let it sit out, sliced it into 3/4 inch pieces, and fried it up:

3 large eggs

1 cup of milk

1 Tablespoon sugar

1 teaspoon of vanilla (I used the homemade vanilla we've been ripening since October)

1/4 teaspoon salt

Freshly-ground nutmeg

Vegetable oil

Slices of egg bread, about 3/4 inch thick

Instructions:

Whisk the first 6 ingredients in a shallow dish.

Heat a lot of oil over medium-high heat in a cast-iron pan. (Molly's instructions on this stick in my head. She wrote that you *don't* want to pour in oil, then swish it around until it coats the pan. You want to pour in oil and keep pouring until it covers the bottom. THAT'S A LOT OF OIL, FOLKS.)

When it's hot (toss in a flick of the egg/milk mixture. If it sizzles, you're good), put a couple of pieces of the bread in the egg/milk mixture. Soak 30 seconds on each side, then put them in the hot oil. Cook about 1 minute on each side. It'll get lovely brown crispy bits.

My challah was about 4 inches across and 3 inches tall. I could do three pieces at a time in my 10" pan. If you are using bigger bread, change your approach accordingly. You don't want to crowd the pan.

When the toast is done, remove pieces to a rack (I use my cake cooling rack) and let them cool a tiny bit before eating with maple syrup. My small challah made enough for two adults and one not-very-hungry toddler. They're crispy on the outside and soft on the inside and really very good.

Insane. Holy Crap.

This.*

Ummm....yeah. We made this tonight and served it to friends for Halloween (as in: they brought their twins plus their baby, we provided dinner and then all the kids toddled out to trick or treat).

Amazing. One trick or treater, probably 8 or 9, said, "What's that smell?" I said, "It's pork. Is it good or bad?" "Good. Real good." Well thank you, young man. More candy for you!

Iain ate nothing (ok, he ate some jam, pulled off a bun with his fingertips, plus some golden kiwi), but he collected some nice candy - a pixie stick, a couple of little chocolate bars, an M&Ms bag, and a PEZ dispenser shaped like Spider Man. He refused to wear the fireman outfit (again), but agreed to wear a pair of Wall-E glasses Charles printed off the internet and cut out for him. He wore them for about 2 houses, but still. That's a step up from last year.

*Recipe: buy a pork shoulder about 3-4 lbs. Mine was labeled a "picnic" roast, but apparently shoulder is the same thing as Boston Butt, too. Mix up a rub with 1T plus 1t salt and the same amount of sugar per pound of pork. (since a tablespoon is 3 teaspoons, this means 4 teaspoons each of salt and sugar per pound of meat) plus some black pepper (ground). Rub this into the meat, then refrigerate overnight.

The next day, plop it into your cast iron skillet and roast in the oven at 250F for 6 hours. Let it rest 20-30 minutes, then pull it with forks. It's ridiculous. Hot, salty, and perfectly seasoned for eating with a warm bun. Crisp on the outside, tender on the inside...the most dangerous thing is the crispy pork fat on the outside. Better toss that, quick, or you'll stand there at the cutting board and ... I've said too much. You try it.

Saturday Morning

UP, up, up this morning so we could race over to Liberty Park for a run/walk on behalf of the Cornelia de Lange Foundation.

We took a lap around the park (and were lapped by my students, running along at three times our pace), then played in the smaller playground. Finally, Grandma suggested a snack at Tulie.

Cafe au lait? Blueberry muffin? Steamed milk with vanilla for The Pasha? Yes, please.

Snakes (and Chimichurri)

Item of the first: Today was reptile day at camp. Iain saw and possibly touched two snakes, a lizard and a turtle. In the car on the way home he informed me that snakes squirt milk out of their mouths, but it's not yummy because it's poise. As in "poisonous." Apparently, poise is yucky.

Item of the second: Tonight we celebrated the engagement of two friends. Their party called for a South American-themed dish. What to do? What to do? I consulted Foodgawker, typing in "Brazil," "Chile," "Uruguay," and of course "Argentina."

The last one worked. "Argentina" brought up chimichurri, and I recognized one photo. Use Real Butter.

And...

We're done.

Gotta love a blog where things work. So I boiled a bag of little red potatoes (if we're being strictly honest I overcooked them slightly), blanched some skinny asparagus, and tossed the lot with home-made chimichurri. And when I say homemade, let me clarify that I grew the parsley and oregano myself. The chili flakes came from my parents. They got them from their former neighbor, who grew the chilis in his backyard.

Easy peasy. And after a taste I realized I could make a little menu card, too, so everyone knew what they were eating: Vegan. Spicy!

Tomorrow: chocolate pudding. Neither vegan nor spicy.

Safety First

Image from SportsVibe, where you can also read a review and find out about other sporty stuff.

Remember the video of Iain wobbling, listing, and tilting as he rolled down the sidewalk? That kid needs a helmet.

Luckily, Nana sent him a little birthday present intended to ensure his safety. Tonight we applied it to a Nutcase helmet. As you can see, it's an 8-ball theme. Inside the lining reads "I love my brain."

We do, too.

And Now for the Icing on the Cake

I was sick today. Yes, because the best thing to enhance a weekend full of exam grading (not that I've actually done any grading...) is a nice bout of gastroenteritis. Joy.

But before it hit, we managed to accomplish a couple of things. First, we popped down to our home-away-from-home (read: IKEA) and grabbed a Big Boy Bed for Iain.

Image is a hyperlink, in case you're desperate to buy a new bed.

In case you're asking (and if you're LC, you are): Hey, isn't that the exact same bed you picked out with Lawrence 7 years ago when he was moving to Pasadena? Yes, yes it is. And it's the exact same price, too. I love IKEA.

The great thing is that we're going to have house guests for about 3 weeks next month. So we needed additional bed space. And Iain has grown so large that he really could do with a bigger bed. So we killed two birds with one stone and got this bed. It'll help us make a nice nest for our guests, then it will move upstairs so Iain can enjoy a nice big bed. It'll be nice. Nice!

To dress it, we got 3 new pillows, a new duvet, and 2 versions of this cover:

It comes in green, blue, and grey. We got one set in blue (my favorite color) and one in green (Iain's favorite color). Plus bottom sheets, and a mattress ordered from Sears, that makes us readyreadyready to host a house party.

And then I got sick. So boo. But still: productive morning!

Fun with the English Department

Ok, bear with me on the context for this.

1. James Franco is a movie actor. He recently hosted the Oscars with Anne Hathaway.

2. James Franco is smart. Rumor has it that he is starting a PhD in English at Yale.

So...a grad student at the University of Chicago started a Twitter feed devoted to tweeting imaginary things related to how James Franco is a rock star in the Yale English department (and the English field as a whole). A taste:

Aristotle plagiarized James Franco's dissertation. Ashamed, he burned all extant copies of it, a treatise on comedy.

James Franco's diss. doesn't have rough drafts. It just has the parts forthcoming from Verso, Routledge, & @UChicagoPress.

James Franco doesn't hire research assistants. 1. He doesn't need help. 2. He doesn't search; he has already found.

James Franco is allowed to drink in Special Collections. His reflexes guarantee no coffee spills on rare books.

James Franco never pays for photocopies at the library. Why kill trees while neglecting a photographic memory?

James Franco's dissertation is not a "contribution to the field." It *is* the field.

Search committees fly to James Franco's house during the MLA Convention and interview him while sitting on his bed.

James Franco doesn't take notes in class. Sure, his memory is great, but, more, it's that the lecturers are quoting him.

Funny stuff, especially if you've ever been on the academic job market, gotten a PhD, or spent much time with the folk in English. You can read the rest here.

In other news, last night Iain ran around the house yelling "Wonder Iain! Superboy!!"

French Toast! And Stats

On Wednesday, we made an enormous supper for our friends Kate and Molly. We served French toast (made with challah), scrambled eggs, roasted hashbrowns, a huge fruit plate (strawberries, grapes, kiwi and dates), and - of course - BACON. Mmmmm...bacon.

Anyway, the recipe came from Orangette. If you haven't already, you might check out her blog. It updates only occasionally, but always thoughtfully. And her book, A Homemade Life, is the source of this recipe. It was her father's.

In other news, Iain had his first checkup with the new pediatrician yesterday. At 2 years and 10 months, he's 34.8 lbs. and 39.5 inches high. Folk legend says that one's adult height is twice the height at 3 years old. So if Iain makes that next half inch, he'll be 40 inches at 3. That's 80 inches at maturity. Or...6'8" tall.

Time for some stunting, I think.

Recipe for Burg's French Toast (Burg was Molly Wizenberg's father, and he is lovingly described in her book).

3 large eggs
1 cup of whole milk (we used 2%)
1 Tablespoon sugar
1/4 teaspoon salt
A pinch of freshly-ground nutmeg

Canola oil

6-8 slices of day-old bread, cut on the diagonal, about 3/4 inch thick (We used challah and would certainly use brioche. She recommends French bread, too.)

Maple syrup or powdered sugar (Or both! If you're decadent like we are.)

Mix up the first 5 ingredients with a whisk. Pour into a flattish pan (I used my 9x13 Pyrex baking dish).

Heat a large skillet (we used our cast iron skillet and it was great) over medium high heat. Add enough oil to completely coat the bottom (as in: pour it and don't touch the pan. If there's enough oil for it to spread to the edge, that's enough. Do not tip the pan to make it reach - not enough). Heat until the oil is pretty hot - you test this by flicking a little of the milk mixture into the pan. If it sizzles, it's right.

Soak two or 3 slices (depending on your pan size and bread size - ours were modest sized slices) into the milk mixture. Soak 30 seconds to one minute, then flip and soak the other side the same. They'll feel heavy. And BTW, if your bread isn't very stale, you can slice and leave it out for an hour or two and it will get stale enough.

Lift the slices into the hot oil with tongs. Fry 1-2 minutes, or until golden brown (and they get sort of firm on the outside). Turn them over and fry another 1-2 minutes. Lift out and place on something where they can drain (I used my cake rack over a dish towel).

Once set up, this was fast, easy, and reallytrulydelicious. It was also my first time making French toast, so there was plenty of room for disaster. But no. Success on the first try.

Thanks, Orangette.

Cigarette?

Bookshelves. Feel free to thank me.

Onigiri

Image from here.

Iain received a box of bento-making tools in the mail Thursday.

Technically, I suppose the box was for me since I make the lunches. But really, sandwiches shaped like the Titanic, and flower-shaped bits of cheese or carrot are all about the Little Man.

Part of the gift was a pair of onigiri kits. Onigiri are Japanese rice balls. They are often partially wrapped in nori (the dry seaweed that comes on sushi) and contain a little surprise in the middle. You might pop a little meatball in there, or a bit of pickled plum. So it's a delicious little snack, and perfect for a lunchbox. The kits are like molds that press the onigiri into heart or triangle shapes.

Iain is very interested in the molds, so I'm planning a trip to our Asian market to pick up some Japanese rice. I found this guide and now I'm ready to go.

It Won't Hurt a Bit, I Promise

Iain had his first visit to the dentist last week. Naturally, it snowed that morning. But whatever. Utahns know how to deal with snow.

The office was pretty great, as it turned out. They had a little room with risers for sitting and toys and a wall-mounted TV playing Despicable Me. When we retired to a private room (actually, semi-private. There was an adolescent getting his teeth cleaned next to us), they had flat screen TVs mounted on the ceiling, so you could lay back and watch the same movie while you submitted to a scrubbing.

Iain cried during the cleaning, but he permitted it. He opened his mouth, he didn't bite, and he calmed down as soon as it was done. He even allowed them to X-ray his teeth. It's weird to see his grown-up teeth in there. Weird.

Then we waited for the actual dentist, and Iain got a little fidgety. You just can't keep toddlers waiting. But eventually Dr. Someone arrived, and he proclaimed the need for braces (one day) and we got a goodie bag and left.

Iain loves that goodie bag. It had a toothbrush (with a character named Diego on it), a small tube of Crest Kids toothpaste (which he likes because it's sparkly), and a small soccer-ball colored SuperBall. We have not shown Iain what a SuperBall can do.

So that was that. Except that I guess he was inspired, because now he wants to brush his teeth all the time. This morning we sent him to wash his hands after brekkie and what did he do? Obsessively scrub his teeth (ok, he wets the brush, sucks off the water, then leans over and shouts "PIT!" and spits a little).

[A little context: as I write this, he's in his room, slamming blocks around, and singing, veryveryfast, "Muffin Man! Muffin Man! Muffin Man!" It's supposed to be Nap Time.]

[SEND HELP!]

The Neighbors

Last night: knock knock. Our neighbor across the street. He bore a card and a little bag of home made caramels. Some are licorice caramels. That may sound gross, but I have to tell you that it's like a regular caramel, just barely kissed with a touch of Arak or Pastis. Delicious.

This afternoon: Ding Dong. Our neighbor next door. She gave us a small loaf of home made panetone.

This evening: knock knock. Our neighbor across the T-street - diagonal neighbor, I guess. Bearing? A bottle of Kentucky bourbon!!! So we invited him in for a drink, because...well, duh.

In other news, we've finally learned how to put Iain to sleep. You let him lay in the Big Bed, and you put on a Warren Miller movie about skiing and snowboarding. Ten minutes of "I want to do that!" and he's OUT.