Ian has been gone now for six hours. Out of a possible 12 days. And I miss him already. My roommate is listening to bad music, loudly, and I'm avoiding my syntax. I wish she would just leave so that I could play the piano in peace. Secretly I need to make bread, but I can't bring myself to get up and walk into the kitchen, where she would see that I'm wearing my iPod to escape her noise and would invariably try to make light conversation, which I don't really want to do right now. I just want to stir some ingredients together and then forget about them until the morning. And then read short stories by Gabriel Garcia Marquez until I fall asleep. And not touch my syntax. I can't bring myself to go near that crap. Even though the final is tomorrow. It's just so distant and unreal and I don't want to deal with it.
On a brighter note, I have 48 credits from transfers, and 27 from this year, so that means I only need 3 more terms to graduate. So I could conceivably do a term this summer, then graduate next spring. I can't decide if this is a good idea or if it's extremely flawed and stupid. More thought to come.
I wish I could post something for you about food, but I haven't been cooking anything more interesting than macaroni and cheese. Note to anyone reading this: do not pair soy products with dairy products. There's no reason to. If you want creamy macaroni and cheese, use real milk. I promise. Other than that, I've been eating baby carrots and sliced celery with peanut butter and raisins. It feels better than eating bread or cookies while studying. I'm being good.
Okay, I think the kitchen is empty. Dishes, then bread. Maybe.
Kate
Wednesday, April 20, 2011
Monday, April 18, 2011
Cake and Cats
Yesterday was Ian's birthday, and though it remains to be seen whether or not it was perfect, as I went home around 10 or so and two hours can make a world of difference with this kind of thing. It started off well, though - I was at a Dungeons and Dragons campaign with the linguistics people (which was super amusing - I fit with those people, despite being dramatically younger than most of them. This is the joy of being practically 20; you're enough of an adult that people still treat you as one, but you're still young enough that you can get away with being kinda silly and play baby dragons) and didn't get back until 2, and then at 7:30 I got up, groggy, and spent three hours listening to Jeremiah and Ian go on about white crown sparrows and ruby crowned kinglets and warblers and this variety and that, and the sun took its sweet time heating up the air, and so everyone was a little more than chilly. By eleven, we were hungry and exhausted and strange-feeling, but we staggered over to Jeremiah's for a party, where there was delicious food, and where we were given a large cabinet that will be perfect in the kitchen, for free, thank you very much. By the time we got home, everyone was happy, and it was only 2 in the afternoon.
Naturally, I made Ian a cake. Chocolate. What other kind is there? I used a recipe from David Lebovitz, who is a pastry chef living in Paris and a genius. Certified, I'm sure. This was easily one of most delicious cakes ever, and it was also very, very easy. So easy that I'm thinking of making another half batch sometime, just cause. Unfortunately, the icing was all my doing - and I've never made icing before - and so it was kinda odd. Like, I made it too runny at first, and it blooped everywhere, and I had to scrape it off and add more powdered sugar. But it still turned out well, and got very good reviews from everyone who ate it. Sadly, I have no pictures, though I wish I did. I garnished it with some fresh mint leaves, and the vanilla icing wound up flecked with cake, because I'm talented like that.
And true to my gift-giving abilities, I literally bought Ian's present less than an hour before handing it to him. But that was okay, because it consisted of two amazing books: To Say Nothing of the Dog, by Connie Willis, and Thief of Time, by Terry Pratchett. If you haven't, you must read these books. If you have, you know why I say this. He and his family and I went for Japanese, which I'd never had before. Something about the taste of wasabi and soy sauce stuck with me most of the evening, and reminded me of the sharp tinniness of blood. That said, it was quite good.
Sometime this evening, after his final, I'll check back in with him and maybe eat some cake. For now, though, I'm trying to get through some studying, but I'm constantly distracted, first by the fine weather, then by food blogs, and then by the news that my cat Fred, who has been having some digestive problems for the past three weeks, has lymphoma and is going to die, probably before I get to see him. Somehow, knowing that, the function of the anterior belly of the digastric is significantly less meaningful to me.
Anyway, I've posted the recipe, yoinked from David Lebovitz, below. Make it and feel better about the world.
Kate
Devil's Food Cake
For the cake:
9 tablespoons unsweetened cocoa powder
1½ cups cake flour (not self-rising)
½ teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon baking soda
¼ teaspoon baking powder
4 ounces (1 stick) unsalted butter, at room temperature
1½ cups granulated sugar
2 large eggs, at room temperature
½ cup strong coffee (or water)
½ cup whole or low-fat milk
For the ganache frosting:
10 ounces bittersweet or semisweet chocolate, coarsely chopped
½ cup water (or cream)
¾ cup (1½ sticks) unsalted butter
1. Adjust the oven rack to the center of the oven and preheat the oven to 350 degrees.
2. Butter two 9″ x 2″ cake pans and line the bottoms with circles of parchment paper.
3. To make the cake layers, sift together the cocoa powder, cake flour, salt, baking soda, and baking powder in a bowl.
4. In the bowl of a standing electric mixer, or by hand, beat together the butter and sugar about 5 minutes until smooth and creamy. Add the eggs one at a time until fully incorporated. (If using a standing electric mixer, stop the mixer as necessary to scrape down the sides to be sure everything is getting mixed in.)
5. Mix together the coffee and milk. Stir half of the dry ingredients into the butter mixture, the add the coffee and milk. Finally stir in the other half of the dry ingredients.
6. Divide the batter into the two prepared cake pans and bake for 25 minutes, or until a toothpick inserted into the center comes out clean. Cool completely before frosting.
7. To make the frosting, melt the chopped chocolate with the water (or cream) in a heatproof bowl set over a pan of barely simmering water, stirring occasionally until melted. Remove the bowl from the pan of water.
8. Cut the butter into small pieces and whisk them into the chocolate until completely melted and the ganache is smooth. Cool until spreadable, which may take about 1 hour at room temperature.
To frost the cake:
Run a knife around the inside of each of the cakes which will help release them from the pans. Tilt one cake out of the pan, remove the parchment paper from the bottom and invert it back onto a cake plate. Spread a good-sized layer of icing over the top. Top with the second cake layer and spread the top and sides with the remaining icing as decoratively as you want.
Storage: Cake is best the day it is made, although it’s fine the next day. Store at room temperature under a cake dome. Just be sure to keep cake out of the sun in the meantime.
Friday, April 15, 2011
The Thwarted Loaf
Isn't that a beautiful loaf of bread? It's curvy, and the braiding was just so, and it rose well and browned evenly, and just looks so good. But, like the vibrant trumpets of morning glory, or the innocuous daffodil-like narcissus, a couple bites could probably maim a horse. I know I'm scarred for life. This is easily the most disgusting loaf of bread I have made yet.
Okay, people. I need a bread recipe that DOESN'T fuck up at the slightest touch of my fingers. I need something that does NOT use whole wheat flour (because you can't buy decent whole wheat flour around here; it's just impossible) and doesn't taste like paste, and doesn't come out always being a little less than what I know bread can be. I miss my mom's bread, so nutty and rich and pretty and crumbly. I miss the soft, earthy smell of whole wheat flour back home, where some genius actually knows how to grind whole wheat flour until there aren't any bits left in it, and it's just as fine and beautiful as white flour. It gives it this dark color, and a very full taste. Why, for the love of the gods, WHY can't they do that here?! Gods. Maybe the thing that makes me grumpiest is that I haven't had a really decent piece of homemade toast since Christmas, which is just flat too long to go without that, especially when one routinely makes bread. It's enough to make me want to explode or something. -sigh-
On the bright side, that bike Chelsea and I fixed up last night works like a charm. Riding a bike is about as close to flying as you can get without anyone really questioning what you're doing, though someday I'd like to make them wonder. I didn't go far, just around my neighborhood, but I couldn't stop smiling, and I can already feel my legs being less wibbly and pathetic. I've finally gotten moving again, and it feels incredible.
However, the next weekend and week are going to be just as busy as last weekend, if not more so. Tonight, Ian and I will finally (after three weeks of postponement) be dining with his lovely aunt and her two kids (who are 13 and 19). Tomorrow morning, I may be going to the banding station with Ian, which entails getting up at 5 in the morning and hauling our sorry asses out to a farm about two hours' drive off, and then getting back seven or eight hours later after much bird-related excitement. Then I'm baking a cake (with luck, I'll have a chance) and going to a Dungeons and Dragons session with some of the nerds in the Linguistics department, including my phonetics professor and TA. Sunday is Ian's birthday, and I still haven't found or made him anything and I feel guilty, so I must squeeze that in sometime in the next day or so. Monday and Tuesday will be eaten up for studying for my Wednesday and Thursday exams, and then Thursday afternoon, I paint, and Thursday evening, I pack. Friday we move. And somewhere in there, we have to clean up the new house and pack up a kitchen and and try not to die. Oh my dear sweet gods. So I don't think I'll get to breathe for another week. And then Ian will be gone from the 20th until the 2nd of May, and so naturally I'm going to miss him more than Lincoln misses his top hats.
Oh, and did I mention that my cat is trying to die? My cat is trying to die. He hasn't eaten more than could be shoved down his throat in a few weeks, and just...is giving up. So naturally I'm pretty damned upset about that, and I'm thinking of spontaneously flying back to Boston to see my mum and my cat. I miss them. A lot. So I may be doing that after my finals.
And that's my life. If I collapse and/or implode sometime in the next couple weeks, you'll know why.
Kate
Thursday, April 14, 2011
Plans! part III
Phase 2...3? of the Grand Plans has been initiated! This evening, my roommate who volunteers at the Bike Co-op and I went to work fixing up my New Zealand roommate's bike, and managed to find her helmet, which was resting peacefully right under our noses.
Nothing much was really wrong with her bike, except that the bike chain is stretched a bit and of all the gears that technically exist on the bike, only three of them are actually hooked up to anything. There isn't much we can do with those things without tools, though, so we left them - they're not a big problem. In pumping up the tires, we both learned about a different kind of air lock and how to get around it, which was really neat (I know it doesn't sound it, but wait for the punchline). And of course, when I found the helmet and put it on in a fit of excitement, it had some water in it, which dribbled down my back in an unpleasant, hilarious fashion.
The punchline is this: working with my hands is invigorating. I enjoy reading, and learning, but I prefer doing. I think that's one of the reasons I don't use recipes too often - I like taking direction from experience, rather than from hearsay. I love picking up a new instrument, because it's like I have to reinvent how I think about sound, and teach my hands how to do something completely different than they're used to - a harp is much different from a guitar, is different from a piano is different from a clarinet. Whenever I get urges to do something, it's not often that I really want to just go run around - it's that I want to go solve an intricate puzzle of something I've never laid a finger on before. I pick up a pen to write when there's nothing in my head, a brush to paint when there's no canvas (and no artistic ability, but that's all the time); I sit at the piano when all I want to play is everything, all at once, and I can't articulate it any more than I can articulate the meaning of life. I don't think I just bake to eat; rather I bake to bake, to roll dough between my hands and laugh as it stretches and refines under my firm touch. So somehow, I have to find a way to spend my days doing things with my hands. Solving puzzles I've never laid a finger on before.
Kate
Nothing much was really wrong with her bike, except that the bike chain is stretched a bit and of all the gears that technically exist on the bike, only three of them are actually hooked up to anything. There isn't much we can do with those things without tools, though, so we left them - they're not a big problem. In pumping up the tires, we both learned about a different kind of air lock and how to get around it, which was really neat (I know it doesn't sound it, but wait for the punchline). And of course, when I found the helmet and put it on in a fit of excitement, it had some water in it, which dribbled down my back in an unpleasant, hilarious fashion.
The punchline is this: working with my hands is invigorating. I enjoy reading, and learning, but I prefer doing. I think that's one of the reasons I don't use recipes too often - I like taking direction from experience, rather than from hearsay. I love picking up a new instrument, because it's like I have to reinvent how I think about sound, and teach my hands how to do something completely different than they're used to - a harp is much different from a guitar, is different from a piano is different from a clarinet. Whenever I get urges to do something, it's not often that I really want to just go run around - it's that I want to go solve an intricate puzzle of something I've never laid a finger on before. I pick up a pen to write when there's nothing in my head, a brush to paint when there's no canvas (and no artistic ability, but that's all the time); I sit at the piano when all I want to play is everything, all at once, and I can't articulate it any more than I can articulate the meaning of life. I don't think I just bake to eat; rather I bake to bake, to roll dough between my hands and laugh as it stretches and refines under my firm touch. So somehow, I have to find a way to spend my days doing things with my hands. Solving puzzles I've never laid a finger on before.
Kate
Plans! part II
So! Guess WHAT?!
I have a standing desk!!!
Guess what else?
It was free. And I didn't have to cart it anywhere, or anything. All it took was a little ingenuity, and a lot of being fed up with waiting and spending money.
When I arrived in Vancouver, the place I would be living was already furnished, and, as one of my housemates told me later, it had been furnished quite cheaply. The dresser and bookcase (which is quite a glorification of terminology) had been free off the side of the road, and the bed had been hers in a previous life. I have always disliked the furniture; it's ugly, defective, whatever. But you know? I've lived with it this long and it hasn't killed me, nor do I imagine that it will in the coming year. Free just does that to things, you know?
So I kept thinking about getting a new dresser or two, and devising elaborate ways of constructing a standing desk. Night after night, I'd fall asleep thinking about this, a trait which I believe I inherited from my father, the obsession about home improvement as a method of happiness and relaxation. I'd go to IKEA and get a really cheap bookcase, only like $25, and use that and a piece of plywood from Home Depot and a dresser propped up on a cheap wastebasket, or a pile of phone books...where would I find the phone books? How on earth was I going to do this?
In the meantime, I kept sitting at tables, my knees cramping, my legs screaming, fidgeting and hating my slouching and yet being powerless to do anything until that magical date, the 22nd, when we'd move out and everything would, miraculously, change. Then, the other night, I was talking with my ex-and-future-housemate Rebekah, who has gone to New Zealand for a year, and I told her of my plans. She informed me that there were about four or five phone books in the cleaning closet upstairs. My mind went crazy - one of my problems, solved! All I needed to do now was find a suitable piece of furniture and then I was good to go.
The next day, I spent the first half of the afternoon running errands (did you know that the word errands comes directly from the Latin, and means wandering? Anyway), including thrifting for furniture and sampling paint colors. I found no furniture, and far too many paint samples, and went home slightly defeated. Bustled around the house a while, ate. And then I remembered the phone books. And hated the idea of spending money with a fresh loathing that trounced all desire to see the inside of that thrift store again. I grabbed two of the phone books from the closet, and marched downstairs, slammed them, stacked, before my dresser, and stood on them. They were curiously squishy beneath my feet. Pleasantly so. Before I could think twice I'd grabbed my computer and moved it to the top of the dresser, and opened it. Wouldenchanowit, it worked. It's a good height, comfortable, and it's free. Maybe I'll paint the dresser blue to make it more presentable - I have plans. As usual. But for now, it will do quite nicely.
And I still can't get over how awesome it feels to stand while working. My feet hurt a little, but I don't feel drained. I feel like I have control over my posture. Now we'll have to see if I can study like this...
Kate
I have a standing desk!!!
Guess what else?
It was free. And I didn't have to cart it anywhere, or anything. All it took was a little ingenuity, and a lot of being fed up with waiting and spending money.
When I arrived in Vancouver, the place I would be living was already furnished, and, as one of my housemates told me later, it had been furnished quite cheaply. The dresser and bookcase (which is quite a glorification of terminology) had been free off the side of the road, and the bed had been hers in a previous life. I have always disliked the furniture; it's ugly, defective, whatever. But you know? I've lived with it this long and it hasn't killed me, nor do I imagine that it will in the coming year. Free just does that to things, you know?
So I kept thinking about getting a new dresser or two, and devising elaborate ways of constructing a standing desk. Night after night, I'd fall asleep thinking about this, a trait which I believe I inherited from my father, the obsession about home improvement as a method of happiness and relaxation. I'd go to IKEA and get a really cheap bookcase, only like $25, and use that and a piece of plywood from Home Depot and a dresser propped up on a cheap wastebasket, or a pile of phone books...where would I find the phone books? How on earth was I going to do this?
In the meantime, I kept sitting at tables, my knees cramping, my legs screaming, fidgeting and hating my slouching and yet being powerless to do anything until that magical date, the 22nd, when we'd move out and everything would, miraculously, change. Then, the other night, I was talking with my ex-and-future-housemate Rebekah, who has gone to New Zealand for a year, and I told her of my plans. She informed me that there were about four or five phone books in the cleaning closet upstairs. My mind went crazy - one of my problems, solved! All I needed to do now was find a suitable piece of furniture and then I was good to go.
The next day, I spent the first half of the afternoon running errands (did you know that the word errands comes directly from the Latin, and means wandering? Anyway), including thrifting for furniture and sampling paint colors. I found no furniture, and far too many paint samples, and went home slightly defeated. Bustled around the house a while, ate. And then I remembered the phone books. And hated the idea of spending money with a fresh loathing that trounced all desire to see the inside of that thrift store again. I grabbed two of the phone books from the closet, and marched downstairs, slammed them, stacked, before my dresser, and stood on them. They were curiously squishy beneath my feet. Pleasantly so. Before I could think twice I'd grabbed my computer and moved it to the top of the dresser, and opened it. Wouldenchanowit, it worked. It's a good height, comfortable, and it's free. Maybe I'll paint the dresser blue to make it more presentable - I have plans. As usual. But for now, it will do quite nicely.
And I still can't get over how awesome it feels to stand while working. My feet hurt a little, but I don't feel drained. I feel like I have control over my posture. Now we'll have to see if I can study like this...
Kate
Tuesday, April 12, 2011
Plans!
I'm moving in about a week and a half to my new abode, and I'm so excited that I've been planning all the marvelous things I'm going to do when I get there. Today, I feel extremely energetic and want, want, want to go realize some of these plans:
- I want to paint my room yellow, like the background on this blog. Perhaps a little paler, but not much.
- I want to construct a standing desk so that I don't have to do all my work either slouching on my bed or slouching at the table in the living room, barking my shins on the table legs as I fidget and wiggle, because I have a terrible time sitting still - my knees don't like it (wtf, I'm 19, seriously), and I do feel better when I'm standing. So. Standing desk it is. So that means that I'm going to go to a thrift store (like this one) and buy some chests of drawers, or a bookcase or two, or something, and build one for myself. I don't even have a desk at the moment, so it should be an improvement.
- I want to start a veggie garden and spend my free time mucking about in sweet smelling dirt and weeds and tomatoes. Nothing makes me feel happier than covering myself with dirt (again, wtf, I'm 19, seriously).
- I want to ride a biiiiicycle! Biiiiicycle! But I have no helmet, so I need to go acquire one.
- I do want to fix my hair. It's tragic and poorly colored. I'm thinking of making it a normal color so that I can start over. But I might pay someone to fix it for me, so that I never bleach again. Bleach = amazingly vibrant colors, amazingly damaged hair. Though I may also just cover it up with some darker natural color, which will fade to a strange and ugly brownish purple. We'll see. Anyone have a suggestion? I'm completely open to them! (Also, that picture makes me giggle. Like nobody's business. And that purple unicorn is Steve. He is a dear, sweet bookmark. Also gay. You have a problem with that?)
- On top of all this, it would be really lovely to have a job, too. I'd like that. But no word back yet about the lab work. Hmph. We'll see what happens.
Okay. Methinks I should finish my tea and get on with my day. I wonder what I'll be doing?
Kate
Monday, April 11, 2011
Last of the Latin...for this term
I took my Latin final today. Thank the gods. I think. It's out of my hands now, for better or worse. I managed everything, and remember what I think is the Latin word for pigeon (though on closer inspection I was wrong - we translated columba, ae as 'dove' rather than pigeon, and I was woefully confused by this xkcd and thought that peristeron, onis would work. Whoops. I'm debating emailing my professor to show her the woeful mistake I've made, because it's actually quite funny. Ah well). So overall: I passed. I think. We'll see.
In other news, I'm in the news. Not for any bad reason, just...Okay. Story time! After that dreadful exam, I tottered off to Starbucks, acquired some lovely chai as I said I would with that gift card, just to celebrate, and on the way home called Ian to organize a picnic. It was just one of those days, perfectly sunny, absolutely stunning, but not so hot out that you're sweltering in the shade. There were birds in droves - mostly ducks, of about four varieties, apparently - and the flowers were out, all that. Absolutely gorgeous. So we wandered around for a while, and then coming around a corner, I saw the most spectacularly perfect cherry tree I'd ever seen. Perfect for climbing and encrusted with soft puffy flowers. Of course we had to climb it. So we did. Then we were inundated by all these men with cameras and stuff - asking us to hold our pose, et cetera. One man cam over on a bicycle and took literally a hundred pictures of us for some paper in Richmond. There was a man with a news camera on his shoulder who we mistakenly and quite accidentally attracted the attention of. I just found it and watched it - no direct link, I'm sorry. Edit: actually, there is! But it appears that we were accidentally interrupting some backwards-flying hummingbird's return to Vancouver. Ian will be sad to hear this, as he is an avid birder. But yeah, that was my fifteen seconds of amusing fame today. Veritably odd.
Otherwise, I'm currently experimenting again with banana bread - trying to make actual bread this time, rather than biscotti. I'll tell you what happens when I'm done kneading it and rising it and whatnot. Also at some point I need to clean my room. I know, I'm just a ball of interesting this evening, right? But it's that slump after that final that's getting me, plus I'm kinda hungry. So I'm going to go knead things, and leave you to search out that video if you want.
Edited a couple hours after posting:
So, the banana bread. It's not bad, but it's not great. My problem is not enough banana, of course! As a note to you, dear reader: if you ask whether it's enough banana, the answer is NO and you need to add more quam primum, or immediately if you're not feeling the Latin. So I've recorded what I did, and then what I'd do differently in parentheses.
Banana bread
Mix:
2/3 c whole wheat flour
2/3 c white flour
1.5 t instant yeast
1 pinch of salt
Mash together:
1 (2!!! At least!! One which is thoroughly dead, one which is on its last legs, and maybe another just 'cause you can never have enough banana in this)
1/2 t cinnamon
1/2 c brown sugar (go wild. Use more. Say, between 3/4 and 1 c)
(1 t vanilla extract)
Some milk, to get it wet (water works too - I used soy creamer)
Combine both amalgamations in the big bowl with the flour. Stir, and add water/milk accordingly, until it's a bit crumbly, but all bits incorporate. Knead for ten to fifteen minutes (really, the longer you knead it the better it will be. I promise), adding flour as needed, and then let it rise for a good hour. Knead again for a bit (don't add flour! I always forget this and my loaves don't turn out as they should), just long enough to get it shaped. Put it in a greased bread pan and preheat the oven to 375 degrees F. When that finishes, bake it for about 35 minutes, maybe 40. Extract. Eat with too much salted butter if it's less than ideal. That's what I'm doing.
Kate
In other news, I'm in the news. Not for any bad reason, just...Okay. Story time! After that dreadful exam, I tottered off to Starbucks, acquired some lovely chai as I said I would with that gift card, just to celebrate, and on the way home called Ian to organize a picnic. It was just one of those days, perfectly sunny, absolutely stunning, but not so hot out that you're sweltering in the shade. There were birds in droves - mostly ducks, of about four varieties, apparently - and the flowers were out, all that. Absolutely gorgeous. So we wandered around for a while, and then coming around a corner, I saw the most spectacularly perfect cherry tree I'd ever seen. Perfect for climbing and encrusted with soft puffy flowers. Of course we had to climb it. So we did. Then we were inundated by all these men with cameras and stuff - asking us to hold our pose, et cetera. One man cam over on a bicycle and took literally a hundred pictures of us for some paper in Richmond. There was a man with a news camera on his shoulder who we mistakenly and quite accidentally attracted the attention of. I just found it and watched it - no direct link, I'm sorry. Edit: actually, there is! But it appears that we were accidentally interrupting some backwards-flying hummingbird's return to Vancouver. Ian will be sad to hear this, as he is an avid birder. But yeah, that was my fifteen seconds of amusing fame today. Veritably odd.
Otherwise, I'm currently experimenting again with banana bread - trying to make actual bread this time, rather than biscotti. I'll tell you what happens when I'm done kneading it and rising it and whatnot. Also at some point I need to clean my room. I know, I'm just a ball of interesting this evening, right? But it's that slump after that final that's getting me, plus I'm kinda hungry. So I'm going to go knead things, and leave you to search out that video if you want.
Edited a couple hours after posting:
So, the banana bread. It's not bad, but it's not great. My problem is not enough banana, of course! As a note to you, dear reader: if you ask whether it's enough banana, the answer is NO and you need to add more quam primum, or immediately if you're not feeling the Latin. So I've recorded what I did, and then what I'd do differently in parentheses.
Banana bread
Mix:
2/3 c whole wheat flour
2/3 c white flour
1.5 t instant yeast
1 pinch of salt
Mash together:
1 (2!!! At least!! One which is thoroughly dead, one which is on its last legs, and maybe another just 'cause you can never have enough banana in this)
1/2 t cinnamon
1/2 c brown sugar (go wild. Use more. Say, between 3/4 and 1 c)
(1 t vanilla extract)
Some milk, to get it wet (water works too - I used soy creamer)
Combine both amalgamations in the big bowl with the flour. Stir, and add water/milk accordingly, until it's a bit crumbly, but all bits incorporate. Knead for ten to fifteen minutes (really, the longer you knead it the better it will be. I promise), adding flour as needed, and then let it rise for a good hour. Knead again for a bit (don't add flour! I always forget this and my loaves don't turn out as they should), just long enough to get it shaped. Put it in a greased bread pan and preheat the oven to 375 degrees F. When that finishes, bake it for about 35 minutes, maybe 40. Extract. Eat with too much salted butter if it's less than ideal. That's what I'm doing.
Kate
Saturday, April 9, 2011
Kiva!
Okay. I know that only about three people read this (hi Sarah! Hey Jules! Illowillowbillowpillow! And of course, hi Mom. Okay, I guess that's four, whatever) but still, this is important!
I was reading KinokoFry, one of my favorite webcomics, in an attempt to get away from the travailles of Latin for a while. She's good at reminding me that I'm not the only person in the world, and that there's a whole bunch of people out there whose money problems do not center around whether they should pay $75 to fix their stupid hair. She has a lot of series of comics, one that is just silly, one that is about her life and silly, and then two that are more serious: one about ways we can be more sustainable, and one called "The Donation Project."
Inspired by her message, I gave this morning: I donated $25 to a group of women who make sombrero hats and sell them to keep their kids in school and their families in food. I feel kind of giddy, and very happy. And I know I'll get it back sometime, though I don't really care if I do - Kiva, in case you don't know, is a lending business, where people ask for loans and then a lot of other people give a fraction of that and it all adds up.
So now I feel a lot better about life. Though I still need to fight Virgil to the death, that bitch of a good poet, and at some point today I'm going to get my ass out of Vancouver and head to my grandparents' house to see my dad. Aaaugh so busy aaaugh.
Kate
I was reading KinokoFry, one of my favorite webcomics, in an attempt to get away from the travailles of Latin for a while. She's good at reminding me that I'm not the only person in the world, and that there's a whole bunch of people out there whose money problems do not center around whether they should pay $75 to fix their stupid hair. She has a lot of series of comics, one that is just silly, one that is about her life and silly, and then two that are more serious: one about ways we can be more sustainable, and one called "The Donation Project."
Inspired by her message, I gave this morning: I donated $25 to a group of women who make sombrero hats and sell them to keep their kids in school and their families in food. I feel kind of giddy, and very happy. And I know I'll get it back sometime, though I don't really care if I do - Kiva, in case you don't know, is a lending business, where people ask for loans and then a lot of other people give a fraction of that and it all adds up.
So now I feel a lot better about life. Though I still need to fight Virgil to the death, that bitch of a good poet, and at some point today I'm going to get my ass out of Vancouver and head to my grandparents' house to see my dad. Aaaugh so busy aaaugh.
Kate
Friday, April 8, 2011
Buried
Interesting fact: in the language centers of the brain, the part that deals with a lexicon is quite pliant, and most people can learn new words even in their old age. Syntax, however, and the rules of that grammar (or the phonology) are quite solid, and so it's very difficult to really internalize a new syntax once you're older, just as it's quite difficult to make sounds that you've not grown up producing (which is why people have accents). So, someone who knows a language like English, where word order is quite crucial to understanding the meaning in the sentence, might be rather thrown by a language where all the syntactic information is tied up in affixes and word order is not an issue. Don't believe me? Well, I didn't either for a while.
The reason I bring this up is because I'm trying to translate a few selections from the Aeneid, desperately trying to study for the final (which happens on Monday at 8:30 in the morning, on my dear sweet gods) and though I know I have only a few hours to study, I can't, somehow, get any of this to click in my brain. Virgil, obviously, is a highly poetic man, which means that trying to deduce a good English sentence from his agglomeration of inflective words is extremely difficult if your syntax doesn't quite know how to let go if its preconceived notions.
Another interesting problem (or is it just interesting tidbit? Let's call it a res and get over it) with Latin is that the language has an incredibly small lexicon - about 500 pieces that contain individual meaning, and then enough for two thick books when you record everything we have from all Latin, ever, which, if you compare it to English, a language with shelves upon shelves worth of words, is a pittance. So each words has to do a great deal of work if anyone wants to say anything. So the dictionary entry for the innocent word constituo, constituere might say something like this: "v put, set, place; constitute, appoint; decree, decide, determine; fix, establish; range; build; establish; agree (upon); manage; dispose; intend; settle" (Pocket Oxford). A word like res can mean literally anything that someone needs it to mean, so you're never quite sure if you've got it right, but the chances are that no one who was reading that was ever quite sure either, even back when it was new. It means thing, but people hate it when you translate it like that, so you're expected to substitute a noun for it. And know which noun to use. Which, strangely, sometimes, you don't.
Then again, I know that inflective languages aren't that hard if you know what each ending means. In fact, I can see how one might think it quite liberating, to be learning something as free-sounding as a language with no rigid word order. But there's a lovely problem: Latin likes to reuse suffixes that mean completely different things in different contexts, and their prefixes have about as many meanings each as res. So you might look at a word you don't know, and see that it ends with -a, and you think, "Oh, wonderful! I have found the subject! It is feminine nominative singular! Quelle joie!" and you go about your business, only to discover ten heartbroken minutes later that it's really a neuter nominative/accusative plural, or a feminine ablative singular, and now your translation might make more sense, but you have to change everything. Not a pretty case, people.
Okay. That's my tale of woe and misery, and me misera, I must go back to studying.
Kate
The reason I bring this up is because I'm trying to translate a few selections from the Aeneid, desperately trying to study for the final (which happens on Monday at 8:30 in the morning, on my dear sweet gods) and though I know I have only a few hours to study, I can't, somehow, get any of this to click in my brain. Virgil, obviously, is a highly poetic man, which means that trying to deduce a good English sentence from his agglomeration of inflective words is extremely difficult if your syntax doesn't quite know how to let go if its preconceived notions.
Another interesting problem (or is it just interesting tidbit? Let's call it a res and get over it) with Latin is that the language has an incredibly small lexicon - about 500 pieces that contain individual meaning, and then enough for two thick books when you record everything we have from all Latin, ever, which, if you compare it to English, a language with shelves upon shelves worth of words, is a pittance. So each words has to do a great deal of work if anyone wants to say anything. So the dictionary entry for the innocent word constituo, constituere might say something like this: "v put, set, place; constitute, appoint; decree, decide, determine; fix, establish; range; build; establish; agree (upon); manage; dispose; intend; settle" (Pocket Oxford). A word like res can mean literally anything that someone needs it to mean, so you're never quite sure if you've got it right, but the chances are that no one who was reading that was ever quite sure either, even back when it was new. It means thing, but people hate it when you translate it like that, so you're expected to substitute a noun for it. And know which noun to use. Which, strangely, sometimes, you don't.
Then again, I know that inflective languages aren't that hard if you know what each ending means. In fact, I can see how one might think it quite liberating, to be learning something as free-sounding as a language with no rigid word order. But there's a lovely problem: Latin likes to reuse suffixes that mean completely different things in different contexts, and their prefixes have about as many meanings each as res. So you might look at a word you don't know, and see that it ends with -a, and you think, "Oh, wonderful! I have found the subject! It is feminine nominative singular! Quelle joie!" and you go about your business, only to discover ten heartbroken minutes later that it's really a neuter nominative/accusative plural, or a feminine ablative singular, and now your translation might make more sense, but you have to change everything. Not a pretty case, people.
Okay. That's my tale of woe and misery, and me misera, I must go back to studying.
Kate
Wednesday, April 6, 2011
Latin update!
So guess what? You know that ridiculous passage I posted yesterday? Well, today we had the recitation, so everyone was declaiming for the class. Most people gave kind of flat performances, or said um a lot, or whatever. I went straight through with emotion and without saying um once. I tied for first with another girl - who did a good job - and then she beat me out on the tie breaking trivia round. So I came in second, but I got a $10 Starbucks giftcard! W00t! Now I can go to that place 100% more often than I currently do!
In other news, it's beautiful here today, with bold, golden sunlight, ecstatic, fluffy cherry trees, and a tragic abundance of syntax homework, which is easy. Too easy. One more day of classes, and then the weekend is full of family - my dad's coming to visit from Colorado for a couple days! - and and end-of-school party and Latin (my final is at 8:30 in the morning on Monday. Oh my dear sweet gods, someone just throw a javelin at me. In the eye, if'n ye'd be so kind). I'm kind of desperately horrified about the whole prospect of that. But! Today we signed the lease for that beautiful little Victorian house! We get the keys next week! HOORAY!
Okay. I'm going to finish my homework and get my ass outside. It's too gorgeous for all this indoors nonsense.
Kate
In other news, it's beautiful here today, with bold, golden sunlight, ecstatic, fluffy cherry trees, and a tragic abundance of syntax homework, which is easy. Too easy. One more day of classes, and then the weekend is full of family - my dad's coming to visit from Colorado for a couple days! - and and end-of-school party and Latin (my final is at 8:30 in the morning on Monday. Oh my dear sweet gods, someone just throw a javelin at me. In the eye, if'n ye'd be so kind). I'm kind of desperately horrified about the whole prospect of that. But! Today we signed the lease for that beautiful little Victorian house! We get the keys next week! HOORAY!
Okay. I'm going to finish my homework and get my ass outside. It's too gorgeous for all this indoors nonsense.
Kate
Tuesday, April 5, 2011
The Shameful Loaf
I know it's the third time I've posted today, but I have a confession to make and it can't wait. My mother will be ashamed of me, and all of you will try to console me and tell me that it's not that bad, but you know it is. Please don't judge me. And I know it's not that bad - I mean, I buy other processed things, like sugar and flour and honey. But this is different.
I bought a loaf of whole wheat bread.
-sigh-
I know. So bad. Perhaps the worst part about it is that it's soooo goooood and I just want to eat it allllll. RIGHT NOW. With butter or without. It's delicious.
As a small consolation, it only has six ingredients, all of which I possess and might attempt to turn into a loaf sometime in the future - whole wheat flour, water, salt, yeast, honey, and blackstrap molasses. It's made by local people, all organic, and not overly packaged. But somehow, I can't get over the guilt. Somehow, I don't know if I can forgive myself. Somehow, I don't know how to justify $3.79 for a loaf of bread (on sale), even if that bread is fantastically good. Bread has to be made with love and patience and soul in order to be good, and it's odd to me to eat bread made with love that doesn't know me - with a love that is for the bread and the bread alone. This is probably my mother's fault. A few years ago, when I was 13? 14? she started baking bread on a regular basis, no bread machine, no nothing, because it was "good for her Karma." She won all these lovely awards at fairs, and has never looked back since. Naturally, when I moved to Canada I took her recipe with me, and I used to try to reproduce the wonders that she could at least once every week or two, with minimal success. My loaves were always flat and sad and completely lacking in that nutty flavor, the soft crumb, the oven spring. So I've just about given up, finding myself at the end of my bread-tether, unable to make the thing that I really love eating, and unable to justify buying the successful loaves that come from others' kitchens. It is a conundrum. But, well, these are things to experiment with. I'll keep trying. And keep posting.
Kate
I bought a loaf of whole wheat bread.
-sigh-
I know. So bad. Perhaps the worst part about it is that it's soooo goooood and I just want to eat it allllll. RIGHT NOW. With butter or without. It's delicious.
As a small consolation, it only has six ingredients, all of which I possess and might attempt to turn into a loaf sometime in the future - whole wheat flour, water, salt, yeast, honey, and blackstrap molasses. It's made by local people, all organic, and not overly packaged. But somehow, I can't get over the guilt. Somehow, I don't know if I can forgive myself. Somehow, I don't know how to justify $3.79 for a loaf of bread (on sale), even if that bread is fantastically good. Bread has to be made with love and patience and soul in order to be good, and it's odd to me to eat bread made with love that doesn't know me - with a love that is for the bread and the bread alone. This is probably my mother's fault. A few years ago, when I was 13? 14? she started baking bread on a regular basis, no bread machine, no nothing, because it was "good for her Karma." She won all these lovely awards at fairs, and has never looked back since. Naturally, when I moved to Canada I took her recipe with me, and I used to try to reproduce the wonders that she could at least once every week or two, with minimal success. My loaves were always flat and sad and completely lacking in that nutty flavor, the soft crumb, the oven spring. So I've just about given up, finding myself at the end of my bread-tether, unable to make the thing that I really love eating, and unable to justify buying the successful loaves that come from others' kitchens. It is a conundrum. But, well, these are things to experiment with. I'll keep trying. And keep posting.
Kate
Latin for your Amusement, and Split-Things Curry
I have to memorize a passage for Latin by noon tomorrow. I haven't really started. I figured I'd bore you all and tell you about it! This is Apollo's plea to Daphne as she runs from him, attempting to avoid rape.
et "quid, si comantur?" ait. videt igne micantes
sideribus similes oculos, videt oscula, quae non
est vidisse satis; laudat digitosque manusque
bracchiaque et nudos media plus parte lacertos
si qua latent, meliora putat. fugit ocior aura
illa levi neque ad haec revocantis verba resistit
"nympha, recor, Penei, mane! non insequor hostis;
nympha mane! sic agna lupum, six cerba leonem,
sic aquilam penna fugiunt trepidante columbae,
hostes quaeque suos: amor est mihi causa sequendi!"
It means, "and, 'what, if it were arranged?' he said. He sees the fire in her eyes shining like stars, sees her mouth, which is not enough just to see; he praises her fingers and hands and arms, naked halfway up her upper arm. Were they covered, he would think it better. She flees faster than a breeze, and does not stop for his repeated words: "Nymph, I pray you, Peneian one, wait! I don't chase as an enemy! Nymph, wait! Like the lamb flees from the wolf, like deer from a lion, as the dove flees the eagle on trembling wings, those are enemies: love is my reason for following!"
Additionally, I made a delicious curry for dinner tonight. I cheated, I will admit - I've never known how to make a good curry sauce, and so I threw my hands up and bought a small jar of Thai Kitchen yellow curry paste. Worth it? Yes. If you don't want to do this, which I understand, the good news is that I'm pretty sure this dish would be delicious even if you left it out. Sounds strange? I'll try it sometime and post about it, but this is so good I'm not even hesitant to say that I'm going to be eating this a lot more often.
One Pot Split Things Curry
serves either one small person four times, or two large people one time.
1 chicken leg, skin and bones and all (no, don't do this. Use something without bones. Trust me.)
1 smallish lemon
1 c. dried lentils or split peas - I used yellow split peas, I think
1 c. wild rice mix
1 T curry paste
1 clove garlic (though more never hurts), chopped into small pieces
1 bay leaf
Salt to taste
1. Fill your kettle and get it started on boiling (enough for probably 8 or 10 cups of tea; I think that's about a litre, but it could be more. I don't know).
2. Saute the chicken leg with canola oil and the juice of half the lemon in a large pot on the stove for a while, until it's browned a bit, burnt a bit, and smells good. When you're thrilled about it, and the water is ready, add the garlic and saute. Before the garlic burns, add the rice and legumes, swish all these around together for a moment or two, and add the water.
3. Add the tablespoon of curry paste and the bay leaf, and give everything a good stir.
4. Let the entire confection simmer on the stove until you're sure you can't wait anymore and it's gloppy and delicious-looking. I let mine do its thing for probably an hour and some.
5. Serve with a generous squeeze of lemon, and salt if you're into that, though it doesn't need it. (It really doesn't. I'm a horrible salt fiend, and I didn't need extra salt.)
Kate
Edited later:
Were I to make this again, I would use a boneless chicken breast instead of the whole chicken leg. This is because, tasty though it is, it is disconcerting to find non-meat pieces of chicken in your stew. While it doesn't bother me all that much, it's still less than ideal.
et "quid, si comantur?" ait. videt igne micantes
sideribus similes oculos, videt oscula, quae non
est vidisse satis; laudat digitosque manusque
bracchiaque et nudos media plus parte lacertos
si qua latent, meliora putat. fugit ocior aura
illa levi neque ad haec revocantis verba resistit
"nympha, recor, Penei, mane! non insequor hostis;
nympha mane! sic agna lupum, six cerba leonem,
sic aquilam penna fugiunt trepidante columbae,
hostes quaeque suos: amor est mihi causa sequendi!"
It means, "and, 'what, if it were arranged?' he said. He sees the fire in her eyes shining like stars, sees her mouth, which is not enough just to see; he praises her fingers and hands and arms, naked halfway up her upper arm. Were they covered, he would think it better. She flees faster than a breeze, and does not stop for his repeated words: "Nymph, I pray you, Peneian one, wait! I don't chase as an enemy! Nymph, wait! Like the lamb flees from the wolf, like deer from a lion, as the dove flees the eagle on trembling wings, those are enemies: love is my reason for following!"
Additionally, I made a delicious curry for dinner tonight. I cheated, I will admit - I've never known how to make a good curry sauce, and so I threw my hands up and bought a small jar of Thai Kitchen yellow curry paste. Worth it? Yes. If you don't want to do this, which I understand, the good news is that I'm pretty sure this dish would be delicious even if you left it out. Sounds strange? I'll try it sometime and post about it, but this is so good I'm not even hesitant to say that I'm going to be eating this a lot more often.
One Pot Split Things Curry
serves either one small person four times, or two large people one time.
1 chicken leg, skin and bones and all (no, don't do this. Use something without bones. Trust me.)
1 smallish lemon
1 c. dried lentils or split peas - I used yellow split peas, I think
1 c. wild rice mix
1 T curry paste
1 clove garlic (though more never hurts), chopped into small pieces
1 bay leaf
Salt to taste
1. Fill your kettle and get it started on boiling (enough for probably 8 or 10 cups of tea; I think that's about a litre, but it could be more. I don't know).
2. Saute the chicken leg with canola oil and the juice of half the lemon in a large pot on the stove for a while, until it's browned a bit, burnt a bit, and smells good. When you're thrilled about it, and the water is ready, add the garlic and saute. Before the garlic burns, add the rice and legumes, swish all these around together for a moment or two, and add the water.
3. Add the tablespoon of curry paste and the bay leaf, and give everything a good stir.
4. Let the entire confection simmer on the stove until you're sure you can't wait anymore and it's gloppy and delicious-looking. I let mine do its thing for probably an hour and some.
5. Serve with a generous squeeze of lemon, and salt if you're into that, though it doesn't need it. (It really doesn't. I'm a horrible salt fiend, and I didn't need extra salt.)
Kate
Edited later:
Were I to make this again, I would use a boneless chicken breast instead of the whole chicken leg. This is because, tasty though it is, it is disconcerting to find non-meat pieces of chicken in your stew. While it doesn't bother me all that much, it's still less than ideal.
High Fat Hot Chocolate
High fat hot wha?! I know. But think about it: butter tastes a lot better than margarine, bacon can doom a vegetarian much more easily than pork, and low fat cheese is a meaningless blight. But high fat cocoa? They make that?
Yes they do. And you need some. Now.
This is one of those beautiful moments where I'm shopping at Whole Foods, and something catches my eye, and I only notice afterwards that it's also flagged with a little yellow 'Sale!' sticker. I was going through the bulk section, scrounging up cheap grains (I bought some mixed rice and yellow split peas, though they might be lentils - I don't know, they were 29 cents for 100 g, so I didn't ask too many questions. They'll go well in the curry I'm planning for tonight no matter what they are, I hope), and out of the corner of my eye I saw the deepest, richest, most ineffably beautiful shade of brown I ever saw outside of a garden. I am not prone to liking brown, but this was the color of purple that has blistered and autumned and rotted into a divinely distilled richness. Naturally, I was intrigued. What could this be? Surely not a flour.
No, it was no flour. It was labeled "High fat cocoa". I opened the lid. A smell like the inside of a box of chocolate truffles wafted up in a billow of decadence, grabbed me by my tweed lapels and yodeled opera in my ears. I closed the lid. The clutch vanished. Was that even real? Curious, I raised the lid again, and once more the scent had taken ahold of my jacket and sang something in unintelligibly vibratoed Italian. I knew I had found the finest of all sins, and it was there for the taking.
I bought too much. No, that's a lie. I bought too little, but it cost me enough to think I might have overdone it. In scooping it out of its bin, a little powder stuck to my fingers, and until I got home and washed, my hands smelled like love. I made some hot chocolate out of it: 1 large tablespoon of cocoa, 2 tablespoons of light brown sugar, and boiling water to taste (16 oz for this amount is what I use). You can add milk, it wouldn't go amiss. But you don't need to. You could add cinnamon, that would be delicious. But you don't need to. All you really need to do is savor every sip of this, because it is truly delectable.
Kate
Yes they do. And you need some. Now.
This is one of those beautiful moments where I'm shopping at Whole Foods, and something catches my eye, and I only notice afterwards that it's also flagged with a little yellow 'Sale!' sticker. I was going through the bulk section, scrounging up cheap grains (I bought some mixed rice and yellow split peas, though they might be lentils - I don't know, they were 29 cents for 100 g, so I didn't ask too many questions. They'll go well in the curry I'm planning for tonight no matter what they are, I hope), and out of the corner of my eye I saw the deepest, richest, most ineffably beautiful shade of brown I ever saw outside of a garden. I am not prone to liking brown, but this was the color of purple that has blistered and autumned and rotted into a divinely distilled richness. Naturally, I was intrigued. What could this be? Surely not a flour.
No, it was no flour. It was labeled "High fat cocoa". I opened the lid. A smell like the inside of a box of chocolate truffles wafted up in a billow of decadence, grabbed me by my tweed lapels and yodeled opera in my ears. I closed the lid. The clutch vanished. Was that even real? Curious, I raised the lid again, and once more the scent had taken ahold of my jacket and sang something in unintelligibly vibratoed Italian. I knew I had found the finest of all sins, and it was there for the taking.
I bought too much. No, that's a lie. I bought too little, but it cost me enough to think I might have overdone it. In scooping it out of its bin, a little powder stuck to my fingers, and until I got home and washed, my hands smelled like love. I made some hot chocolate out of it: 1 large tablespoon of cocoa, 2 tablespoons of light brown sugar, and boiling water to taste (16 oz for this amount is what I use). You can add milk, it wouldn't go amiss. But you don't need to. You could add cinnamon, that would be delicious. But you don't need to. All you really need to do is savor every sip of this, because it is truly delectable.
Kate
Saturday, April 2, 2011
Adagietto and Banana Bread
Among other things, right now, I'm listening to this beautiful movement from Mahler's 5th symphony, the adagietto. I can't quite get over just how haunting it is. It's quite something to listen to it as played by a symphony, but equally enchanting, somehow, played by a four-piece band consisting of a cello, violin, upright bass, and accordion. I promise. If you don't believe me, listen to it here as played by Amarcord Wien, or here as played by the Chicago Symphony Orchestra.
Along a similar vein, have you seen Jane Eyre? Okay. You have to. Because it's amazing. It sticks perfectly to the book, and the costuming is awesome and the music is to die for...it's by the composer who wrote for the 2005 Pride and Prejudice and Atonement, Dario Marionelli. My gods...just go watch it. Ian and I saw it, on essentially our first date-style date. I took him, of course. He really liked it. Then again, this man also read Pride and Prejudice with glee, so, I think he's a special case.
I'm considering making banana bread, something I should have all the right ingredients for, but I don't seem to, according to all the recipes I find. Should I try something random, at the risk of doing something awful? Or should I keep looking, on the off chance that what I do find will work? I need to bake something. Whatever I do bake. There's a rhythm that I seem to be missing in life right now, like I don't have anything just to do, like sitting in a garden, or reading a book. So I guess I'm going to try baking something. See what happens. Hm.
--bakes banana bread--
Okay, these are AMAZING. Holy CRAP. I didn't expect that.
Banana Biscotti
1. Preheat oven to 350 F.
2. Combine in a bowl, in this order, using a whisk that looks like a Medieval torture implement (this part is important and I'll leave it up to your discretion to find one):
2 bananas, one frozen and awful looking, the other temptingly ripe
4 or 5 T butter, meltishly soft.
Maybe 1/4 c. soy creamer, though I'm sure regular cream would work
1/2 t cinnamon
1 large egg
Maybe 2/3 c. light brown sugar
Maybe 1 c. whole wheat flour, maybe a little more, I'm not sure.
1 T baking powder (though it could have taken more, methinks)
3. Pour into greased glass baking dish
4. Bake for 1:15 minutes, though I think it could have taken a bit more time.
5. Slice, and then bake the slices at 350 for another 15 minutes or so.
Tada! Banana biscotti! Very, very tasty.
Kate
Along a similar vein, have you seen Jane Eyre? Okay. You have to. Because it's amazing. It sticks perfectly to the book, and the costuming is awesome and the music is to die for...it's by the composer who wrote for the 2005 Pride and Prejudice and Atonement, Dario Marionelli. My gods...just go watch it. Ian and I saw it, on essentially our first date-style date. I took him, of course. He really liked it. Then again, this man also read Pride and Prejudice with glee, so, I think he's a special case.
I'm considering making banana bread, something I should have all the right ingredients for, but I don't seem to, according to all the recipes I find. Should I try something random, at the risk of doing something awful? Or should I keep looking, on the off chance that what I do find will work? I need to bake something. Whatever I do bake. There's a rhythm that I seem to be missing in life right now, like I don't have anything just to do, like sitting in a garden, or reading a book. So I guess I'm going to try baking something. See what happens. Hm.
--bakes banana bread--
Okay, these are AMAZING. Holy CRAP. I didn't expect that.
Banana Biscotti
1. Preheat oven to 350 F.
2. Combine in a bowl, in this order, using a whisk that looks like a Medieval torture implement (this part is important and I'll leave it up to your discretion to find one):
2 bananas, one frozen and awful looking, the other temptingly ripe
4 or 5 T butter, meltishly soft.
Maybe 1/4 c. soy creamer, though I'm sure regular cream would work
1/2 t cinnamon
1 large egg
Maybe 2/3 c. light brown sugar
Maybe 1 c. whole wheat flour, maybe a little more, I'm not sure.
1 T baking powder (though it could have taken more, methinks)
3. Pour into greased glass baking dish
4. Bake for 1:15 minutes, though I think it could have taken a bit more time.
5. Slice, and then bake the slices at 350 for another 15 minutes or so.
Tada! Banana biscotti! Very, very tasty.
Kate
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