I finally started work on my Master Copy of the cookbook last night, and then my gluestick ran out around midnight and I was stopped in my tracks at Soups. Very sad. As soon as I finish my coffee I'm going to go invest in another gluestick and hopefully mostly finish that sucker up.
It feels so good to be creative again. It's weird to say that because technically I have two incredibly creative jobs: musician and florist. I'm creating shit ALL THE TIME. But after a year or fifteen, the "creative" aspect of each of these jobs is clearly only part of the picture. In the day-to-day, it's mostly pulling cold wet foliage off of flowers or tuning chords slowly or other less-than-thrilling things. In order to be able to play a piece magnificently or create a beautiful bouquet for a regular customer to bring to his partner, I have to go through all of the legwork that makes the moments of transcendence possible.
I do try to remind myself often that I am very, very lucky to be working in fields that I enjoy and bring me fulfillment. And the truth is, I don't always mind the legwork. Especially in music, but in a limited amount in floristry as well, the legwork fills some sort of deep-seated anal compulsive part of me with joy. I like putting things in order, filling in all of the little details, acting with precision and deliberation. Somebody asked me recently what my favorite part of being a musician was, and (admittedly, this was partly an attempt to be surprising and interesting) I told her that one of my favorite things is the way my part looks at the end of a concert. It starts out clean, and as rehearsals progress I write a million little very precise notes all over it to remind myself to do things. If you aren't me (or, hopefully, my standpartner) it wouldn't make any sense; it's like a whole different language. A measure may contain a few handwritten symbols that tell me, "watch out, look up here, he's going to be slowing down, and don't forget to diminuendo!" Or, "use your whole bow, then set to play again, look up, listen to the snare drum." When I see a fully marked part, it reminds me of all of the work that has gone into the performance, all of the rehearsals and good and bad moments and times I fucked up and times I marked something before the conductor told us to and I felt like a badass orchestral player, not to mention the fact that the only reason it makes any sense to me is that I have years and years--more than a decade now--of those moments behind me. It makes me happy. I'm always sad when I have to give parts back at the end. It's something I anticipate missing if I stop playing as regularly. I guess I'll just have to find something else that fills this deep orderly part of me with as much joy.
Friday, February 13, 2009
Monday, February 09, 2009
damn lies
Today has gotten weird and a little icky.
Some of you probably know that one whole side of my family is pretty strictly Mormon. My mom is the black sheep for marrying out of the religion and going all liberal, and my (similarly queer) sister and I have been keeping mum about the fact that we like girls for years now on her behalf. I hate hate hate not being open about my queerness, but my mom has made it very clear that she would become (in her opinion) estranged from the rest of her family if we came out, so that's been that for years now. Most of the time it doesn't bother me, because I rarely think of it; I don't see or speak to my Mormon relatives often, my mom and I no longer discuss "touchy" subjects (my choice, it's just not worth it to me anymore), and the whole thing just hides out in the back of my mind, rarely rearing its ugly head.
If I were braver, I'd just say to hell with it. But I love my mom, and it's hard for me to deal with her tears and the possible repercussions that she might have to deal with. And this may, in fact, be a line I'm not yet willing to cross. Someday I may have to: what if I decide to have a child? That's not something you can hide. But for now, I'm doing what I hate to do and hiding behind a "family friendly" facebook profile. I fucking hate this. But if you want to help me live a lie, find my goody-two-shoes alter ego (same name, picture of me hiking in a striped tank top)and friend me.
Some of you probably know that one whole side of my family is pretty strictly Mormon. My mom is the black sheep for marrying out of the religion and going all liberal, and my (similarly queer) sister and I have been keeping mum about the fact that we like girls for years now on her behalf. I hate hate hate not being open about my queerness, but my mom has made it very clear that she would become (in her opinion) estranged from the rest of her family if we came out, so that's been that for years now. Most of the time it doesn't bother me, because I rarely think of it; I don't see or speak to my Mormon relatives often, my mom and I no longer discuss "touchy" subjects (my choice, it's just not worth it to me anymore), and the whole thing just hides out in the back of my mind, rarely rearing its ugly head.
If I were braver, I'd just say to hell with it. But I love my mom, and it's hard for me to deal with her tears and the possible repercussions that she might have to deal with. And this may, in fact, be a line I'm not yet willing to cross. Someday I may have to: what if I decide to have a child? That's not something you can hide. But for now, I'm doing what I hate to do and hiding behind a "family friendly" facebook profile. I fucking hate this. But if you want to help me live a lie, find my goody-two-shoes alter ego (same name, picture of me hiking in a striped tank top)and friend me.
the side with the sunshine is the side that i'm on
The sun just came out for the first time today. I've been having a lazy morning when I should have been having a productive one, but I'm having a hard time feeling too guilty about it. Tonight I have to buckle down and write, because (tah-dah!) I've been working on a cookbook to give to friends and loved ones for Valentine's Day. (Or, given the odds that I won't get things mailed out until after that, February.) My big goal for tonight it to finish the text so that I can buy paper tomorrow and break out with my gluestick. If you want a copy and you don't think I have it, email your address to me ASAP.
My other big goal is to give those damned potato-soy chorizo pastries one last shot in hopes that they can still be added to the finished book. The new gameplan involves pre-cooking the potatoes and adding slightly more chorizo to the mix. Wish me luck.
I had a fantastic weekend, full of good people and good food and interesting conversations and various other things. The flower shop will begin the V-Day buildup soon, which I'm both looking forward to and dreading. Nothing gigantic has been happening, but I've been deriving an unusual amount of pleasure from small things: sunlight, plants, a good beer, the scent of cinnamon, a kiss on the back of the neck. I feel a camaraderie with the world that has been lightening my steps in the cold dark month, which is helped along by the fact that it hasn't honestly been that cold or dark lately. Life is good sometimes.
My other big goal is to give those damned potato-soy chorizo pastries one last shot in hopes that they can still be added to the finished book. The new gameplan involves pre-cooking the potatoes and adding slightly more chorizo to the mix. Wish me luck.
I had a fantastic weekend, full of good people and good food and interesting conversations and various other things. The flower shop will begin the V-Day buildup soon, which I'm both looking forward to and dreading. Nothing gigantic has been happening, but I've been deriving an unusual amount of pleasure from small things: sunlight, plants, a good beer, the scent of cinnamon, a kiss on the back of the neck. I feel a camaraderie with the world that has been lightening my steps in the cold dark month, which is helped along by the fact that it hasn't honestly been that cold or dark lately. Life is good sometimes.
Friday, February 06, 2009
oh, my early twenties...
I just read a post from April of 2004 where I talked about how depressed and apathetic I was and then gave a recipe for an amaretto sour.
Wednesday, February 04, 2009
blue note
I'm finally having time to read the last selection from the queer book group I was invited to join via internet dating site, Times Square Red, Times Square Blue by Samuel R. Delany. I mentioned this book a while ago, but life got so hectic that I simply was unable to find the time to get a good start on actually reading it until now.
The book consists of two extended essays; the first, Times Square Blue, is about the author's personal experiences interacting with people and places on Forty-Second Street, a notorious hotbed of sexual activity, pornography, peepshows, and movie theaters. It's something of a homage, since the area is quickly being cleaned up by the city of New York in order to increase tourism and improve its image. Delany writes, as something of a summation of why this book exists:
"With the rush to accommodate the new, much that was beautiful along with much that was shoddy, much that was dilapidated with much that was pleasurable, much that was inefficient with much that was functional, is gone. The idea that all that is going is ugly and awful is as absurd as is would be to propose that what was there was only of any one moral color. What was there was a complex of interlocking systems and subsystems. Precisely at the level where the public could avail itself of the neighborhood, some of those subsystems were surprisingly beneficent--beneficent in ways that will be lost permanently unless people report on their own contact and experience with their subsystems."
Much of the first essay consists of personal reminiscences of Delany's experiences, both in terms of sexual experiences and with the neighborhood as a whole. There are stories of shoeshine men and taxi dispatchers, and then there are stories of blow jobs in theater seats. There are histories of hustlers and buildings and homeless people. I appreciate authors who can talk about themselves explicitly in order to make a point, such as Juana Maria Rodriguez's discussion of cybersex in Queer Latinidad (well worth checking out), and Delany does so with a vengeance. He makes no bones (ahem) about his sexual activity, and why should he? "A glib wisdom holds that people like this just don't want relationships. They have "problems with intimacy." But the salient fact is: These were relationships... In... several, they were relationships that lasted years. Intimacy for most of us is a condition that endures, however often repeated, for minutes or for hours. And these all had their intimate hours. but, like all sane relationships, they also had limits." One of my favorite ideas from The Ethical Slut was that relationships, given time and space and attention, will reach their own level. If that level is semi-anonymous consensual and mutually enjoyable sex in a movie theater, is that such a bad thing?
The book consists of two extended essays; the first, Times Square Blue, is about the author's personal experiences interacting with people and places on Forty-Second Street, a notorious hotbed of sexual activity, pornography, peepshows, and movie theaters. It's something of a homage, since the area is quickly being cleaned up by the city of New York in order to increase tourism and improve its image. Delany writes, as something of a summation of why this book exists:
"With the rush to accommodate the new, much that was beautiful along with much that was shoddy, much that was dilapidated with much that was pleasurable, much that was inefficient with much that was functional, is gone. The idea that all that is going is ugly and awful is as absurd as is would be to propose that what was there was only of any one moral color. What was there was a complex of interlocking systems and subsystems. Precisely at the level where the public could avail itself of the neighborhood, some of those subsystems were surprisingly beneficent--beneficent in ways that will be lost permanently unless people report on their own contact and experience with their subsystems."
Much of the first essay consists of personal reminiscences of Delany's experiences, both in terms of sexual experiences and with the neighborhood as a whole. There are stories of shoeshine men and taxi dispatchers, and then there are stories of blow jobs in theater seats. There are histories of hustlers and buildings and homeless people. I appreciate authors who can talk about themselves explicitly in order to make a point, such as Juana Maria Rodriguez's discussion of cybersex in Queer Latinidad (well worth checking out), and Delany does so with a vengeance. He makes no bones (ahem) about his sexual activity, and why should he? "A glib wisdom holds that people like this just don't want relationships. They have "problems with intimacy." But the salient fact is: These were relationships... In... several, they were relationships that lasted years. Intimacy for most of us is a condition that endures, however often repeated, for minutes or for hours. And these all had their intimate hours. but, like all sane relationships, they also had limits." One of my favorite ideas from The Ethical Slut was that relationships, given time and space and attention, will reach their own level. If that level is semi-anonymous consensual and mutually enjoyable sex in a movie theater, is that such a bad thing?
Tuesday, February 03, 2009
hit and miss
So obviously this week hasn't been all shitty, but it certainly hasn't given me much time to breathe until today. Now I'm sitting here with my second cup of coffee, happy with the knowledge that it's 10 am and--even though the day has been spent in front of the computer--I've actually accomplished some stuff for dal niente. So now I feel free, before I begin cleaning and practicing and maybe even venturing out into the cold-again-of-course-damn-you-Chicago winter day, to write about food.
Friday night was the biggest Nicholas Dinner yet. (We're trying to phase out the name Candida Dinner, since that's essentially naming food and company after a disease.) Actually, it was the largest group of people I've helped prepare food for since our Paperchef dinners in Tucson: we fed eleven, which was frankly intimidating, but everybody got enough food and went home happy as far as I know. And it was nice to have a not gigantic amount of leftover food for once :) Anyway, Rose-Anne brought a hummus appetizer (which I sadly abstained from due to red pepper content), we made a coconut curry vegetable soup, wild rice cakes with jalapeno and onion and a goat's milk garlic yogurt topping, Nicholas made his amazing black bean-avocado-cilantro salad, and Anna S. made gluten-free sugar-free carob chip cookies. Everything was pretty delicious, but I was particularly impressed with the rice cakes. Wild rice is not something I have much experience with, but these were so healthy and delicious that I will definitely be making them again. (And also posting the recipe...) As always, it is just such a pleasure to have so many people that I care about and find awesome sitting around together, sharing a meal and talking and interjecting viewpoints taken from their different backgrounds into the conversation. I feel almost like I'm watching a field cross-pollinating: new thoughts are being born over bowls of soup.
Saturday was hellish, and Sunday was Shana's birthday, so food was good but not prepared by me. Then last night, I made a second attempt at a recipe that I truly want to make work and have so far been unsuccessful with: Soy chorizo-potato pastries. The recipe itself seems a little sketchy (I frown on calling for "garlic cream cheese" instead of garlic and cream cheese, for instance. And there's a bit of unspecificity in general), so I've been playing it increasingly fast and loose with ingredient proportions. Rose-Anne and I made a valiant first effort at this recipe and ended up with beautiful brown pastries with crunchy uncooked potatoes inside. That time, I more or less used their measurements insofar as I was able to without a scale, but I felt like the chorizo was a bit too prominent (along with the potato issue). (Although I'm also not sure how soy chorizo and real chorizo compare in terms of taste and texture, so that's something to consider as well.) Anyway, so last night I strategically added a lot more of the creamy ingredients, chopped my potatoes much smaller, and added considerably less chorizo. The mixture was more palatable to me (although this time I could have used more chorizo, live and learn), but my potatoes still came out crunchy. I had to nearly char the pastry shells to make them more edible. Hmm. Back to the drawing board.
Anyway, a recipe!
Jalapeno Wild Rice Patties
Did you know that wild rice isn't actually a rice? It's closely related, but it's actually an aquatic grass seed.
1/2 C wild rice
1 T flour (I used quinoa flour)
1/2 t baking powder
1 t sea salt
1 jalapeno pepper, finely chopped
1 T minced onion
1 T grated ginger
1 egg
2 T olive oil
1. Cook the wild rice. When it is done, stir in the flour, baking powder and salt.
2. In a small bowl, whisk together the egg, onion, jalapeno, and ginger.
3. Combine the two bowls and mix well.
4. Heat some oil on a non-stick frying pan. Drop the mixture onto the pan by the tablespoonful. Flatten the cakes out a little bit, and then flip after about 2 minutes, or when the ingredients seem to be sticking together. Makes about 8 3-inch cakes.
Notes: We made much more than this, obviously, and I was not really measuring anything per se because I was in a hurry and the proportions had gotten a little ridiculous anyway. We also, due to another food allergy, made one set with egg and one without. (Amusingly, to me anyway, the eggless ones stuck together much better.) Instead of quinoa flour, I used chickpea flour, and the eggless ones also contained arrowroot. In the future, I would add more of the thickeners (the flour and arrowroot) and maybe not even bother with the egg, since it didn't really seem to add much. And keeping the patties small is good for cohesion, something I was also a little lax about. But hell, eleven people were waiting for dinner.
Also, something I read suggested mixing brown rice and wild rice for recipes, and I think that could work really well here. It would involve cooking two rices, which is potentially a pain, but it might make things more interesting texturally.
Cacik (pronounced 'jajuck') Yogurt Sauce
yogurt (if tolerated)
cucumber, grated or finely chopped
salt
pepper
crushed garlic
No proportions. Just make it taste good. We used goat milk yogurt for candida reasons, but regular should work just fine. Use a lot of garlic! The coolness works well with the jalapenos in the rice cakes.
Friday night was the biggest Nicholas Dinner yet. (We're trying to phase out the name Candida Dinner, since that's essentially naming food and company after a disease.) Actually, it was the largest group of people I've helped prepare food for since our Paperchef dinners in Tucson: we fed eleven, which was frankly intimidating, but everybody got enough food and went home happy as far as I know. And it was nice to have a not gigantic amount of leftover food for once :) Anyway, Rose-Anne brought a hummus appetizer (which I sadly abstained from due to red pepper content), we made a coconut curry vegetable soup, wild rice cakes with jalapeno and onion and a goat's milk garlic yogurt topping, Nicholas made his amazing black bean-avocado-cilantro salad, and Anna S. made gluten-free sugar-free carob chip cookies. Everything was pretty delicious, but I was particularly impressed with the rice cakes. Wild rice is not something I have much experience with, but these were so healthy and delicious that I will definitely be making them again. (And also posting the recipe...) As always, it is just such a pleasure to have so many people that I care about and find awesome sitting around together, sharing a meal and talking and interjecting viewpoints taken from their different backgrounds into the conversation. I feel almost like I'm watching a field cross-pollinating: new thoughts are being born over bowls of soup.
Saturday was hellish, and Sunday was Shana's birthday, so food was good but not prepared by me. Then last night, I made a second attempt at a recipe that I truly want to make work and have so far been unsuccessful with: Soy chorizo-potato pastries. The recipe itself seems a little sketchy (I frown on calling for "garlic cream cheese" instead of garlic and cream cheese, for instance. And there's a bit of unspecificity in general), so I've been playing it increasingly fast and loose with ingredient proportions. Rose-Anne and I made a valiant first effort at this recipe and ended up with beautiful brown pastries with crunchy uncooked potatoes inside. That time, I more or less used their measurements insofar as I was able to without a scale, but I felt like the chorizo was a bit too prominent (along with the potato issue). (Although I'm also not sure how soy chorizo and real chorizo compare in terms of taste and texture, so that's something to consider as well.) Anyway, so last night I strategically added a lot more of the creamy ingredients, chopped my potatoes much smaller, and added considerably less chorizo. The mixture was more palatable to me (although this time I could have used more chorizo, live and learn), but my potatoes still came out crunchy. I had to nearly char the pastry shells to make them more edible. Hmm. Back to the drawing board.
Anyway, a recipe!
Jalapeno Wild Rice Patties
Did you know that wild rice isn't actually a rice? It's closely related, but it's actually an aquatic grass seed.
1/2 C wild rice
1 T flour (I used quinoa flour)
1/2 t baking powder
1 t sea salt
1 jalapeno pepper, finely chopped
1 T minced onion
1 T grated ginger
1 egg
2 T olive oil
1. Cook the wild rice. When it is done, stir in the flour, baking powder and salt.
2. In a small bowl, whisk together the egg, onion, jalapeno, and ginger.
3. Combine the two bowls and mix well.
4. Heat some oil on a non-stick frying pan. Drop the mixture onto the pan by the tablespoonful. Flatten the cakes out a little bit, and then flip after about 2 minutes, or when the ingredients seem to be sticking together. Makes about 8 3-inch cakes.
Notes: We made much more than this, obviously, and I was not really measuring anything per se because I was in a hurry and the proportions had gotten a little ridiculous anyway. We also, due to another food allergy, made one set with egg and one without. (Amusingly, to me anyway, the eggless ones stuck together much better.) Instead of quinoa flour, I used chickpea flour, and the eggless ones also contained arrowroot. In the future, I would add more of the thickeners (the flour and arrowroot) and maybe not even bother with the egg, since it didn't really seem to add much. And keeping the patties small is good for cohesion, something I was also a little lax about. But hell, eleven people were waiting for dinner.
Also, something I read suggested mixing brown rice and wild rice for recipes, and I think that could work really well here. It would involve cooking two rices, which is potentially a pain, but it might make things more interesting texturally.
Cacik (pronounced 'jajuck') Yogurt Sauce
yogurt (if tolerated)
cucumber, grated or finely chopped
salt
pepper
crushed garlic
No proportions. Just make it taste good. We used goat milk yogurt for candida reasons, but regular should work just fine. Use a lot of garlic! The coolness works well with the jalapenos in the rice cakes.
Monday, February 02, 2009
the lighter side
Tonight's strangest phone conversation:
Phone rings while I am mid-text, and I consequently answer on accident. I don't recognize the number, and in a moment of panic I hang up immediately and then think to myself that that was a silly thing to do.
Phone rings again, the same number.
Me: Hello?
Caller: Hey, princess! It's John Johnson! (or something)
Me: Um, who?
Caller: John Johnson!
Me: I'm sorry, who are you?
Caller: I cut your hair!
(Note: More than two years ago I got a haircut from a man whose name I can't remember who periodically calls me to inform me via voicemail that he is going on vacation. Consequently, I assume that this is the same person. I decide to try to draw attention away from the fact that I have no idea who he is or why he is still calling me.)
Me: Oh! I didn't know your last name! (Good job, me! Very quick thinking.)
Caller: Um, okay. (mutters something unintelligible, possibly about smelling like Aveda)
Me: What?
Repeat 2x
Caller: Who is this?
Me: Who is this?
Caller: Is this Amanda who lives in Nevada?
Me: No, not at all!
Mutual laughter
Caller: So that explains why you were confused when I called you Princess!
Indeed. How often do you get called princess out of nowhere and then told that a stranger has been cutting your hair?
Phone rings while I am mid-text, and I consequently answer on accident. I don't recognize the number, and in a moment of panic I hang up immediately and then think to myself that that was a silly thing to do.
Phone rings again, the same number.
Me: Hello?
Caller: Hey, princess! It's John Johnson! (or something)
Me: Um, who?
Caller: John Johnson!
Me: I'm sorry, who are you?
Caller: I cut your hair!
(Note: More than two years ago I got a haircut from a man whose name I can't remember who periodically calls me to inform me via voicemail that he is going on vacation. Consequently, I assume that this is the same person. I decide to try to draw attention away from the fact that I have no idea who he is or why he is still calling me.)
Me: Oh! I didn't know your last name! (Good job, me! Very quick thinking.)
Caller: Um, okay. (mutters something unintelligible, possibly about smelling like Aveda)
Me: What?
Repeat 2x
Caller: Who is this?
Me: Who is this?
Caller: Is this Amanda who lives in Nevada?
Me: No, not at all!
Mutual laughter
Caller: So that explains why you were confused when I called you Princess!
Indeed. How often do you get called princess out of nowhere and then told that a stranger has been cutting your hair?
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