Happy Bastille Day!

C'est le quatorze juillet! Let us eat cake!

To celebrate, I am going to spend the day reading Simone de Beauvoir's Le deuxième sexe, drinking French roast coffee, and eating leftover birthday cake. Then Liam and I are going out for a New Glarus beer tasting at an Italian restaurant, which does not fit with the theme, but whatever, he's buying.

I leave you now with the best version of La Marseillaise I could think of:

And the child born on the Sabbath day is bonnie and bright and good and gay

What's that? Two cakes! The one on the left is from my mom, the one on the right is from my roommates-- they're subtle variations on my personal cake of choice (each made in ignorance of other possible cake-related plans) , yellow cake with chocolate frosting from a can. My mom's is more fine and dense, and she used the whole can of frosting and drew pictures of cats on it, while my roommates' is very rich, crumbly, and buttery, and there are sprinkles. Um so we've got some cake to eat before we go to Milwaukee/Chicago on Thursday. . .


I haven't been this happy in quite some time. Granted, I felt pretty rough today after the two Bells Oberons I had before dinner, the champagne the bartender I work with bought us when we got to the restaurant, the wonderful Belgian white wine we had with dinner, the many beers at Brocach when my friends met up with us after dinner, the martini I drank for some inexplicable reason, then that horrible mixed drink and the shot of Patron I had with the bartender at the Plaza before swan-diving into my bed. I also had to work a full shift, which was absurdly difficult for obvious reasons.

But you know what? There's no way around this corniness of what I'm saying here, but I'm just so over the goddamn moon about what wonderful family and friends I have. I think everyone had a great time last night, and I was so happy to have the night off to hang out with them, and the small collection of gifts they gave me today made me so happy not so much for the accumulation of various material objects, but the simple fact that everybody knows me so well and cares about me enough to search out such thoughtful little items, and as I sip the last of the Prosecco I brought from work to accompany Cake Time, I can't help but get a little misty thinking about them. Aw. But no, really.

Speaking of gifts. Many were food-related. My parents (among other things) gave me two (two!) boxes of Frango Mints, Sarah (among other things) gave me a bottle of hot chile pineapple grilling sauce and a jar of mixed nuts that's all good nuts like cashews and almonds and pecans and no peanuts, and Lisa (among other things) gave me cookie cutters in the shape of a bunny, a kitty, and a squirrel, a jar of artichoke piquillo bruschetta, and a year subscription to Bon Appétit magazine!

I am a lucky duckling. Unfortunately, though, I finished the Prosecco, so now it's time for me to fall into bed and not get out of it for a long, long time. Goodnight.

P.S. I have consumed about seven thousand calories today. Jeesus.

What one sacrifices the old lifeblood for these days.

I cannot wait to get paid tomorrow. I ended up missing most of the food-related portion of our neighbors' fish fry yesterday because I went to give plasma, which sucked, because 1) it took three fucking hours 2) it hurt more than usual 3) apparently my plasma is worth five dollars less per session than it was a week ago 4) all I wanted in the world during those three hours was some deep-fried tillapia 5) I was doing it because I needed to put seven extra dollars in my bank account so that my rent check, which my landlord luckily had not yet deposited, would not bounce and subsequently bury me in overdraft fees again because I'm apparently too stupid to keep my checkbook in order.

Also, I'm signing a lease today, which is exciting. Hopefully I can take a fifteen-minute break from my shift to do that. Also, I hope the new landlord (uh, she goes by 'Jazz') will accept a postdated check.

And there's more, but it's not interesting. I thought I was going to get to stop worrying about money for like two seconds, but I guess I'm naïve. Oh bother.


P.S. the deep-fried tillapia and homemade fries were delicious, even if it was cold by the time I got there. And they still had plenty of beer left. No pictures, but I guess this fish fry business is going to become a regular thing, and I like everything about that.

Yay Muffins!

Sorry to disappoint yesterday. Guess I had other things on my mind besides food. I'll make it up to you, though. Look what I found in the kitchen when I got up this morning:

God I love when the Muffin Fairy visits. They're made with sour cream and fresh cherries and a smattering of raspberry preserves. Soo perfect and buttery and delicious. . .

Musings and Amusings

Writing a blog is kind of hard. The most difficult part, in my mind, is the constant attention one must pay to what kind of gesture one is making in posting created material in a public place. I guess that since I have never been published (I was going to, but sadly, that offer has been rescinded), I have never really had to confront the idea of writing for or to an audience, and this concern opens up a whole 'nother can of proverbial worms: appropriateness, self-censorship, general presentation of myself, etc. etc. It's kind of an annoyingly necessary evil of publication (even the softcore self-publication of a blog) that I have to consider each thing I write as a real speech-act.

For example, I just split up with my boyfriend of a year. And let me tell you (like this is some kind of news), there are all kinds of feelings happening apropos to that little life-change. But I tend to be a pretty private person. But I sometimes feel so sad, or so bitter, and I have had many sad and bitter words to say about it. But do I want to present myself to the world (or the Interwebs) in that way? Do I want to be so dramatic? How should I consider the fact that he reads this blog? Like c'mon, let's not get all LiveJournal about this.


I guess there have been a lot of life changes in recent weeks. For example, I am further giving up my isms, which means I have been not quite the strict vegetarian I used to be, nor the sort of bullshitty pescatarian I have been for the past year. Why? Oh, who knows. I'm finding it hard to care about things like that. I don't know what that says about me. I guess it comes at some kind of intersection of generalized apathy and my recent inculcation with a culture of food and cooking. I'm not quite a 'foodie' yet, but it could happen. Bring on the ridicule; I'll keep the delicious treats to myself.

In conclusion, I've spent the long, bikini-clad day off sitting in the sun with a full glass of cold Italian Blood Orange Soda and my old dog-eared paperback copy of Gone With The Wind. I haven't read it since I tore through it the summer after 6th grade, but so far, it's been amazing. It's funny, as an educated white Yankee of the Future, to read something so nostalgic for the lifestyle of the antebellum South, especially given that Margaret Miller was actually mourning an era where the privileged enjoyed their various comforts at the expense of, y'know, slaves. It's a good book, though. I'd even go so far as to say that it's better than the movie, but I have to say, I love the movie as well.

Here's the most amusing quote so far:

The more sedate and older sections of the South looked down their noses at the up-country Georgians, but here in north Georgia, a lack of the niceties of classical education carried no shame, provided a man was smart in the things that mattered. And raising good cotton, riding well, shooting straight, dancing lightly, squiring the ladies with elegance and carrying one's liquor like a gentleman were the things that mattered. (p. 6)

What a culture. And what men. Feminist leanings aside, who wouldn't swoon at a man who rode well, shot straight, danced lightly, and carried his liquor like a gentleman?

If you're interested, here's the New Yorker article that inspired me to watch the movie again, and embark on my current summer reading. Victor Fleming was quite the character. And the New Yorker is quite the entertaining rag.

At least food will never let me down

It's been a very, very rough past couple of days. Luckily, I work around 45 hours a week, which takes my mind off the various bullshits of the personal variety that have reared their stupid, ugly, philandering heads. . .but what to do once I've clocked out? Booze is an option, but after all those martinis we had the other night when the bartender tried to steal my credit card and we ended up being the only white people dancing at Michael Jackson tribute night at Café Montmartre and I couldn't peel myself out of bed the next morning, I am forced to acknowledge the dysfunctionality of that route. No money yet for other sorts of recreational drugs. And while yes, I am surrounded by lovely friends who would gladly indulge my desire to bitch, I don't feel like I can confront any 'feelings' just yet without completely losing what few marbles I may have had left.

So where do I turn?

marinated mahi-mahi

Sorrento salad mix with Gorgonzola, candied walnuts, and champagne pear vinaigrette

and Lisa made an amazing batch of chocolate chip cookies

Let's take one more look at these puppies. Oh fuck yes.

P.S. Don't forget the Bell's Oberon. I didn't say I was swearing off booze completely. Come on now.

Summer Indulgences

It’s a hot, hot day under the Madisun, and baby, I’m sweatin’ like a whore in church. I can’t decide whether it would be nicer to sit outside, where the vague possibility of a fresh breeze might be just that, or to stay here on the couch, where two fans circulate the warm air throughout the living room. I don’t mind the heat, though, especially when I think about how wretched the winters here are. I could easily live in a place where it’s hot all the time.

Before I go to work, I am indulging my hot-weather tastes as much as possible. I have had at least five glasses of iced coffee, I’ve spent some quality time with Love in the Time of Cholera, and I’m waiting for rice to cook so that I can make curry. There’s just something about spicy food and magical realism on a day like today.

I highly recommend pairing curried rice with the fine malt beverage of your choice.

Oh god macro food porn. . .