Strange Coincidences

The British actor Anthony Hopkins [who shot to fame as Hannibal Lecter] was delighted to hear that he had landed a leading role in a film based on the book The Girl From Petrovka by George Feifer. A few days after signing the contract, Hopkins travelled to London to buy a copy of the book. He tried several bookshops, but there wasn't one to be had. Waiting at Leicester Square underground for his train home, he noticed a book apparently discarded on a bench. Incredibly, it was The Girl From Petrovka. That in itself would have been coincidence enough but in fact it was merely the beginning of an extraordinary chain of events. Two years later, in the middle of filming in Vienna, Hopkins was visited by George Feifer, the author. Feifer mentioned that he did not have a copy of his own book. He had lent the last one - containing his own annotations - to a friend who had lost it somewhere in London. With mounting astonishment, Hopkins handed Feifer the book he had found. 'Is this the one?' he asked, 'with the notes scribbled in the margins?' It was the same book.

More strange coincidences here.

Buggers!

What's That Bug? is a cool website that helps people identify the little creatures they find around them. Lisa Ann and Daniel, the website purveyors, have helped identify hundreds of beetles, mites, spiders, centipedes, butterflies and other multilegged friends from all over the world.

The fascinating photos are fun to browse. The subjects range from the mundane housefly to the sublime Eastern Tiger Swallowtail Butterfly, to the fascinating Giant Ichneumon, and the scary Mexican Cancle Tailless Whipscorpion and the Toe Biter. There's even one that looks like Cousin Itt of the Addams Family. The authors include a little bit of information about most of the species they identify and a few tips on how you can get rid of things like pantry beetle infestations.

They don't just have pictures of live ones, they have pictures of squished ones too.

Paul Is Dead

So let me introduce to you the one and only Billy Shears and Sgt. Pepper's lonely heart's club band...
-- The Beatles, "Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band"

28 IF
-- License Plate on the VW Beetle on the Abbey Road album. Paul McCartney would have been 28 years old if he was alive when the album was released.

Did Paul McCartney die in a car accident sometime around 1966 and was replaced by a look-a-like named Billy Shears? This website compares pictures the real Paul McCartney to the faux-Paul and discovers that Paul suddenly grew a couple of inches and got a sharp chin sometime around the release of the Sgt. Pepper album. Paul is dead.

Whaddaya know?

Here is a quiz involving 10 questions (plus 1 extra-credit question) that various scientists think every high-schooler should know. Take the quiz yourself and see what you know.

I got 7 out of 10 plus the extra credit.

Think Your Commute Is Bad?

This guy drives 186 miles. Each way. And he's done it for 17 years. He works for Cisco Systems in San Jose but lives in Mariposa.

One thought: Why?

Ketchup From A Bottle

Ketchup can be regarded as a highly viscous liquid, or a thixotropic (flows under pressure) solid. Neither term is exactly correct, but the problem is not what to call it. The problem is how to get the ketchup out of the bottle, in measured quantities, without making a mess.

Yes, there is a right way to pour ketchup from a bottle and it's not the way you've been doing it. It's not intuitive, but the article makes sense.

Plastic squeeze bottles is for pussies. HA!

Happy Pi Day

π

Today, March 14, is Pi Day. The first few digits of Pi are 3.14159 so next year make sure you set your alarm clock to wake you up at 1:59 A.M. to celebrate the Pi Minute.

Don't confuse Pi Day with Pi Approximation Day, which occurs on July 22, or 22/7 as written in international format.

This Salmon Sucks

OK, the salmon itself doesn't suck but there is a little sucky-sucky that went into making this salmon dish. I made this with a method developed in France about 30 years ago called sous vide that is now becoming popular in some of the high end restaurants in the United States. Chef Thomas Keller is using it quite bit at French Laundry in Napa Valley and Per Se in Manhattan, and if it's good enough for Thomas Keller, it's definitely good enough for ol' Jimbo. Cooking sous vide involves vacuum sealing fish and meat then cooking it in water baths at low temperatures, typically between 140 to 160 degrees F. The benefit is that most of the cellular walls maintain their integrity. They don't burst and release their juices, which happens under high heat. Foods cooked sous vide is supposed to be more moist than those cooked in conventional pans and ovens.

In a restaurant the technique requires industrial vacuum sealers and large precise-temperature-controlled water baths. I don't have this kind of equipment at home but I still wanted to see if I could apply some of the technique with equipment I already have. Besides, I don't have the kind of cash flow that allows me to eat at French Laundry and Per Se. (Translation: I'm a cheap bastard.)

Amazingly, my cheap ass had sprung for a Tilia FoodSaver vacuum sealer a couple of years ago. Actually it's really not that amazing since the reason why I got it was because I was sick and tired of throwing away good leftovers that had spoiled and good chunks of Gruyère and Comté cheese that had gotten a bit too moldy. Yes, I got a $100 machine to save $10 of cheese. I said I was cheap. I didn't say I was smart.

Chefs are using sous vide for not only fish, but all sorts of meats from ribs to roasts. Fish cooks fairly quickly, around 25-30 minutes, but cooking large cuts of meat with this technique can take up to 24 hours. For my first experiment I decided to stick salmon, which should be relatively simple. I found fileted sides of salmon on sale at my supermarket for $4.50/pound. Ka-CHING. My cheap ass was already happy.

At home I made a spice mix of dill & fennel, cut the salmon into steaks and rolled them in the spices. I vacuum sealed them two steaks at a time using my FoodSaver.

Next I had to decide at what temperature I wanted to cook the food. 140 F is typically what you want to achieve with fish but since this was my first time cooking this way I decided to err on the safe side and shoot for 160 to make sure I didn't undercook the fish. To make a constant-temperature water bath I resorted to a technique I learned during my beer-making days. I preheated my oven to 160 F, then brought a pot of water up to the same temperature using a stove top burner. I monitored both the oven and the water bath using a digital thermometer. I put the vacuum packs into the water and brought the temperature back up to 160 on the stove top. Once the bath reached the my desired temperature I covered the pot and put it in the oven.

The nice thing about this method is that the food is guaranteed never to exceed the temperature of the water bath so you don't have to worry too much about cooking it too long and overcooking your food. I left the salmon in the bath for 30 minutes. Normally, braising salmon on the stove top would only take about 5 to 10 minutes.

I removed the vacuum packs and tested the internal temperature of the fish using an instant-read. It was at 159 F. There was a small amount of juice left in the pack but not a lot.

I served the salmon over orzo pasta tossed with basil and olive oil. The salmon was flaky but still moist and flavorful. This is definitely my preferred way to make salmon from now on, though in the future I think it is safe to use a lower temperature, 140 or 150 F.

Salmon Sous Vide with Fennel and Dill
Serves 6

2 pound salmon filet, cut into 6 steaks
1 Tbsp dried fennel
2 Tbsp brown sugar
2 Tbsp paprika
2 tsp kosher salt
1 tsp ground pepper
2 tsp dried dill weed
6 round lemon slices
lemon wedges and/or tartar for serving

Equipment needed:
* FoodSaver vacuum sealer, 3 8" X 11" vacuum pack bags
* Oven Thermometer
* Thermometer for water bath

Preheat oven to 150 F.

Grind the fennel or pound in a mortar and pestle to break up the seeds. Mix with the other dry ingredients. Toss with the salmon steaks until the fish is evenly coated. Put a lemon round on each steak and seal two steaks in each vacuum pack.

Put the packs in a pot of water and heat the water to 150 F. Constantly monitor the thermometer and stir the pot often to keep the water circulating to prevent hot spots. When the water reaches 150 F take if off the stove, cover and place in the oven for another 25 minutes. Total cooking time should be around 30-35 minutes.

Discard the lemon rounds and serve with lemon wedges and/or tartar sauce.

Damn Those Italians

Damn those Italians. When I eat a dish like Fettucine Alfredo I curse those damned Italians, not because anything is wrong but because everything is right. Just about everything that comes out of Italy is right, the food, the wine, the cars, the women. I curse those damned Italians because they got it good. The only thing I can think of that the Italians don't do well is politics. But in a way, that isn't a bad thing.

Politics thrives on disatisfaction and anger. Italians have great food, great wine, gorgeous cars and beautiful women. Why would an Italian be disatisfied? They're not. They're among the happiest people on the planet because they know what they have and they know they are the envy of the world.

Take Italian food for example. Italian food is about flavor. It's not beautifully presented like nouveau cuisine nor insanely complex like traditional French dishes. Cooking traditional French cuisine is like being a virtuoso classical piano player who has mastered everything from Bach to Handel to Copeland. French chefs must know how to sautée, braise, poach, stew, fry, sear and simmer. Not only do they must know how to chop, mince or julienne a carrot, but they also need to know how to carve carrots and potatoes into perfectly uniform fingerlings so that they all cook evenly. They must know how to make mousses, soufflés and meringues. French chefs must know the differences between pâte à choux, pâte brisée, pâte sucrée and pâte sablée, and how to make them and how to use them. They must know 400 different cheeses and about 200 different wine appellations. Cooking for French eaters is a high pressure job. Michelin, the French tire company, publishes a restaurant guide in France. French chefs bask in praise, glory and lots of money when their restaurants earn the coveted 1, 2 and 3 stars but they are also known to consider suicide when they lose a Michelin star. On the other hand, Pirelli, the Italian tire company, publishes a calendar of beautiful women.

Unlike French cuisine, Italian food is simple. It's peasant food: Pasta, meat, sauce, cheese, bread, all served family style in large bowls and serving plates with a bottle of chianti or sangiovese. No beautiful arrangements and no flaming desserts. It doesn't have to be complex, it just has to taste good, like pasta alfredo. The sauce is easy: Just cream, butter and cheese. But man, what a potent combination!

Last night I made Sautéed Chicken in Pasta Alfredo and I cursed the damned Italians as I savored every bite of this simple dish because it was so easy. Too easy to make. So much flavor, so little effort. Damn those Italians! It's not fair!

Sautéed Chicken with Pasta Alfredo
Serves 4

1/2 lb pasta (a large pasta like fettucine or farfalle)
1 cup heavy cream
4 tbsp unsalted butter
2 chicken breasts, cut into 1/4" wide strips
2 tbsp unsalted butter
2 tbsp oil
1/2 cup grated parmigiana cheese
pinch nutmeg
salt and pepper

Bring a large pot of water to boil. Add salt and cook the pasta just short of al dente. It will cook a little longer in the alfredo cream sauce.

While the pasta is cooking, combine the 4 tbsp butter and heavy cream in a small sauce pan over medium-low heat. Whisk until the butter is melted and incorporated into the cream. Remove from heat and set aside.

In a heavy sautée pan, heat the 2 tbsp butter and 2 tbsp oil over medium-high heat. Pat the chicken dry with paper towels and sautee until browned. Add the sauce, cheese and nutmeg and reduce to medium. Drain and add the pasta and bring to a simmer. Simmer for 3 more minutes until the sauce thickens. Deglaze the pan while simmering. Add salt & fresh pepper to taste.

Serve with bread and a bottle of pinot grigio. Feel free to curse the Italians as you enjoy your meal.

God Put This...PFFFT...In My Spirit

Many years ago my friend Darren, who has a blog on MySpace, showed me one of the funniest videos I have ever seen. It was "the farting preacher." Apparently some creative bathroom-humor lovin' video editor took clips of a real televangelist and liberally added some of his own dubbing.

Yesterday I was browsing Google Videos and found that there we are now up to FIVE "farting preacher" videos. HALLELUJAH! PFFFFT.

The one that started it all: The Farting Preacher
The second one is here.
The third one is here.
The fourth one is here.
The fifth one is here.

Take a small car, a squirt gun, a couple of wigs. Add music. Film it.

After watching this music video I now support a United Nations ban on sales of camcorders to eastern european countries.

I have no idea what I just witnessed on my computer screen.

Ginger-Soy Pork Chops

A couple of days ago I was reading Clotilde Dusoulier's great food blog Chocolate & Zucchini where she talked about her experience in a traditional French cooking class. In that post Clotilde mentioned a honey-ginger pork chop while illustrating a sample menu that the class would work on during a session.

Though to me it's neither traditional nor French, I thought it would be a nice preparation for pork chops I had purchased a day before. Clotilde didn't include a recipe for that dish, and I hope she will someday, so I had to come up with one of my own.

I liberally modified a recipe I found on epicurious.com and the result was fantastic. The sweetness of the honey is balanced by the spicy ginger and the tangy combination of soy and hoisin. I highly doubt that would resemble Clotilde's traditional-French preparation, but I think it's pretty yummy. Holly agreed, saying "I could definitely eat this again."

GINGER-SOY PORK CHOPS with HONEY-ORANGE CARROTS
Serves 4.

4 Pork Chops, half-inch thick (about 2 pounds total)
1 Tbsp Soy Sauce
1 Tbsp grated ginger
2 Tbsp honey
2 Tbsp hoisin
1/4 cup water
2 Tbsp sesame seeds, toasted

Combine all of the ingredients except for the pork chops and sesame seeds to make a marinade. Marinade the pork chops in a ziplock bag for 30 minutes per side or overnight.

Preheat the oven to 375 F.

Arrange the pork chops in a broiler-proof baking dish, reserve the marinade. Brush some marinade on the pork side facing up. Bake for 15 minutes on the middle rack. Flip the pork chops and brush more marinade on side facing up and bake for another 15 minutes or until a thermometer inserted through the side registers 165 F.

Remove the dish from the oven and preheat the broiler. Flip the pork chops and brush on more marinade. Broil 3-4 inches from the broiler for 1-2 minutes until well browned but be careful that the marinade does not burn. Flip the pork chops again and pour on the last of the marinade and repeat the broiling.

Sprinkle with toasted sesame seeds and serve with orange-honey carrots on the side.

Honey-Orange Carrots

2 Carrots, sliced 1/4" thick
1 T honey
Juice of 1 orange
pinch of cardamom (optional)

In a small saucier over medium flame dissolve the honey in the orange juice. Add the carrots and cardamom and bring to a simmer. Reduce heat, cover and simmer the carrots until they are just softened, about 8-10 minutes. Remove the carrots and bring the honey-orange sauce to a boil. Reduce the sauce to about 2-3 tablespoons. Put the carrots back in and toss to coat and warm the carrots.

Points For Style

It should be a simple rule: If it's judged, it's not a real sport. Ice skating? Not a real sport. Ice dancing? Puh-leeze. Definitely not a real sport.

I'm not saying that ice skaters and dancers aren't athletic. They're great athletes. They're more athletic than the the people who compete in curling, which is a sport. Ice skaters and dancers can do stuff I couldn't even dream of doing, but that doesn't make what they do a sport. There are people who can do amazing things with a yo-yo, but yo-yoing is not a sport. An amusing pastime, yes, but not a sport. Not even if you can do the "walk the dog" yo-yo trick.

The key difference is that sport is measured, not judged. Sport is a pitting yourself against nature or against your fellow man who is trying to do the same thing better than you, or somebody who is trying to hurt you. Sure, you are tempted to say that ice dancers compete against other ice dancers, but that's not really true. Ice dancers are competing against the judge's idea of perfection, which may or may not include how nice their smile is. To illustrate what I mean, consider an ice dancing competition in which only one couple was skating. They win, no matter what the score, but if they didn't get a perfect score then what the judge is really telling them is that they still sucked.

In a real sport, there's no place for people who judge your form. Ski jumping is a good example of a real sport that has been ruined by subjectivity. Ski jumpers are not only scored on their distance, but their "style." What is up with that? Screw the style points. How far can you fly, man? That should be the only measure. Who cares if they fly through the air backwards or upside down. Just measure where their feet (or head) hits the ground and give the gold medal to whoever goes farthest, even if it's posthumous because their head-first landing was fatally bad. Dick Fosbury, the inventor of the Fosbury Flop, found a new way to jump higher. If there were style points, he wouldn't have won and he would not have revolutionized the high jump.

I'm not saying that judging form isn't important. It's not important in sports, but it's important to my buddies and I when we go out looking to meet some nice babes. All of us guys have our strategies, tactics and our never-fail pickup lines. But sometimes my pickup lines fizzle like a wet fuse--even my best ones like "Darling, heaven must be missing an angel," and "Call the cops, baby, cuz it's gotta be illegal to look that good." When that happens I have to sulk back to home base where my friends will tell me "Jimbo, that was a mighty flameout, but i'll give you points for style."

Bad-luck Bode

Bode Miller is Oh-Fer-Donuts so far at the Olympics. I feel bad for the dude because he is a great skier, or at least he was, but he's definitely not on his game right now. Commentators say that he looks like he's out of shape. But being a chubby skier doesn't necessarily mean you can't kick ass. Alberto Tomba was a kick ass skier and he was almost always a little chub.

To win a gold medal in the men's alpine events you need so many things to line up, plus a little luck. There is so much more outside of your control. The course conditions play a big part in the luck you have. There are ruts all over the course and if you are unlucky you will hit a deep one on the wrong part of your skis at the wrong part of your turn and next thing you know you are looking up at plastic orange fence.

But strength and aggression are two things you can control. In yesterday's Giant Slalom finals, Austrian Hermann Maier went horizontal in his second run with both skis in the air but his strength not only saved the turn but got him the bronze medal. Conversely, Canada's Francois Bourque, the leader after the first run, choked on his second run. His lack of aggression pushed him off the podium.

Bode's a partier, so what. Tomba partied hard too. But Tomba knew when to bring his game. It doesn't look like Bode was ready for the Olympics, and he definitely doesn't have luck on his side. He even sprained an ankle playing basketball today. The dude can't buy luck right now.

As expected, there's some good humor out there at Bode's expense. The best one I've heard was in an interview with Bob Costas and a local Salt Lake City NBC affiliate so those of you who don't watch KSL in Salt Lake City may not have heard it.

KSL: The Budweiser hospitality house is right next to the U.S. hospitality house. Why do you think that is?
Costas: I don't know. So that Bode Miller has easy access?

Blueprint

Blueprint is a very fun Mensa-test brain-teaser kind of game. The object the game is to arrange the objects on the screen to get the ball to hit the target. New screens seem to be added fairly regularly.

A Good Day To Be Alive

Ain't it good to breathe the air
Another spin around the sun
On this spec of light in the universe
A little piece of love in everyone
Ain't it good to be alive
Ain't it good to be alive
To feel the sun strong against your face
Spills over me like the milky way
Alive. Alive.
--Edwin, "Alive"

Living in Salt Lake City can be difficult in the winter. The weather can be nasty, with icy blizzards or ice-cold sleet and rain that comes down almost sideways because of the gale-force winds. The temperature can drop below freezing for weeks at a time and everytime I walk out of my warm house that first blast of bitter butt-puckering cold air reminds me why old people move to Arizona.

But today is not one of those days. Today is spectacularly beautiful, with a blanket of deep fresh snow dropped last night by a passing storm, and a bright sunny sky with a few cumulus clouds. The air is crisp but not cold. Days like today make me happy.

Even yesterday's storm that brought the snow wasn't all that bad. It was moderate, by Salt Lake City standards, lasting less than a day. I have seen severe snow storms that go on for days, dumping so much snow that I have to shovel my sidewalk hourly to keep up.

Yesterday's storm wasn't like that. I shoveled once when I got home from work, then again this morning. When I say "shovel" I mean that I went to my garage, took out my 2-cycle gasoline-powered snowblower, fired her up, and proceeded to violate the Kyoto Protocols. I only say "shovel" to make myself look better, but what I did wasn't "shoveling" any more than going through a McDonalds Drive-Thru is cooking dinner.

There was over a foot of new snow when I woke up but the little snowblower went through it like Angelina goes through boyfriends. It was very light powder. It was the kind of powder that skiers dream about. Unfortunately for me, I've left my college ski bum days behind. I have bills now, so I have a job, and they expect me to show up for work, even on powder days. So unfair.

Still, it's a good day to be alive.

The picture is the view from my office. I'm sorry it's so crappy, I only have my phone cam today. The peak in the background is Mount Olympus, 9,026 feet above sea-level (2,751 m).

Pork Chops with Caramelized Onions

I love caramelized onions but the task of caramelizing takes a bit of time over a low flame so it's not something that I always have the time to do. When I do have time, it's a treat for me so it's probably no wonder that my favorite soup is French onion soup. I also like how well the mild sweetness of caremelized onion goes with charredness of grilled pork and beefsteaks.

On Saturday I decided to develop a dish that brings together the flavors of pork chops and my favorite onion soup. The result is a deliciously sweet and earthy sauce that complemented the onions and the chops and was great over mashed potatoes. The five spice in the dish is an asian-fusion twist that adds hints of clove and cinnamon.

You can substitute lean beef steaks such as sirloin for the pork chops.


Pork Chops and Caramelized Onions Braised in Five Spice Red Wine

1 tbsp butter, room temperature.
1 tbsp flour
2 thick cut (1") pork chops, about 1/4 lb each
1 medium red onion, halved then sliced
1/2 lb white mushrooms, halved
2 tbsp butter, divided
2 tbsp vegetable oil, divided
1 cup red wine
1-2 cups beef broth
1/4 tsp Five Spice (available from asian stores)
salt, pepper
1 tbsp port wine, cognac or brandy (optional)
parsley, minced, for garnish

Preheat oven to 275 F.

First prepare a beurre manié: Knead 1 tbsp butter and 1 tbsp flour together until the flour is well incorporated into the butter. Set aside. You will use this to thicken the gravy.

Next caramelize the onions: Heat 1 tbsp oil over medium heat, and melt in 1 tbsp butter in a regular oven-proof pan (don't use a nonstick pan if possible). Add the onions and reduce the heat to low. Caramelize the onions, stirring occasionally, until dark golden, about 30 minutes. The low heat develops the sweetness without charring the onions. Remove and set aside.

Sear the pork chops: Heat 1 tbsp oil and 1 tbsp butter over a medium high flame. Salt and pepper the pork chops and brown 2 minutes per side. Remove.

Sautee the mushrooms: Reduce heat to medium and add the mushrooms and sautee until lightly browned, about 4-5 minutes. Pour in the wine and and the beurre manié and bring to a simmer while you deglaze the pan (scrape the brown bits off the bottom of the pan with a wooden spoon or spatula).

Put the pork chops and onions back into the pan and add enough beef broth to come about 3/4 way up the side of the pork chops. Bring to a boil over medium high. Cover and put into the oven. Braise for 15 minutes then flip the pork chops over. Continue to braise until a thermometer inserted into the side of the pork chop registers 170 F, about 15 more minutes.

Remove the pork chops and set on a serving platter. With a slotted spoon remove the onions and mushrooms and arrange around the pork chops.

Prepare the gravy: Set the pan back on a medium high flame, add the port wine and bring to a boil. Keep boiling until the gravy is reduced by half--about 1 cup. Taste and adjust the seasoning if needed, but it probably doesn't need any. If you want a smooth gravy then strain this. If you're like me and don't care about lumpy gravy then serve as is. Spoon half over the pork chops and reserve the other half to pass around the table. The gravy is great on garlic mashed potatoes.

Serves 2, but you can double or triple the pork chops, onions and mushrooms if you want to serve 4 or 6 but don't use more than 1 cup of wine. Use more beef broth if you need more liquid to fill the pan or add more broth before reducing if you want more gravy but don't increase the five spice or port wine.

Brewing Coffee

She’s a witch of trouble in electric blue,
In her own mad mind she’s in love with you.
With you.
Now what you gonna do?
Strange brew -- kill what’s inside of you.
-- Eric Clapton, Strange Brew

If you've been reading this blog since the start you already that I love am obsessed with coffee. What you may not know is that I am also obsessed with making coffee, or, more accurately: Things that make coffee.

My favored coffee-making-thing is my Saeco espresso maker, 30 pounds of solid industrial Italian metal whose job is to force a couple of ounces of water through ground coffee at over 120 PSI of pressure. It's my favored coffee maker, the one that is used every day, but it's not the only one that I have. I also have a couple of espresso makers I use when I am camping: A small GSI 1 cup espresso maker to make single shots just for myself, and a big Bialetti Moka Express for when I am camping with a few of my fellow caffeine addicts. Both are sitting in my camping gear dryboxes, ready to be thrown into the back of my car whenever a buddy calls me to go flyfishing.

Either of these will make good enough espresso for a decent fru-fru yuppie latté, but for those times I am not camping on Brokeback Mountain, or when I'm too drunk to screw around with some nancy-boy espresso maker, I use a good old fashioned percolator. This is what I use when I'm camping with rednecks who will kick my metrosexual ass if they find out I brought anything that they've never heard of or can't pronounce. I even have to be careful not to call it a percolator. It's a coffee pot. These are the times I have to think Folgers, not French Roast.

Actually, I have a secret. In my drybox, right next to the percolator is a red Folgers can into which I dump freshly ground Starbucks French Roast before I head out with my redneck camping buddies. After several years of doing this those guys still don't know but they think my coffee is pretty darn tasty. One time I told them that they're drinking sunshine and fresh air. One of them tried to kick my ass.

Before I got my espresso maker I made coffee with a Bodum french press--very, very ècole ancienne (old skool, as in Napoleon Bonaparte-old-skool). It's very chic and continental, something Ron Burgundy would use.

I also have a couple of Vietnamese coffee fin, small one-shot stainless steel drip filters that sit atop a cup to make Vietnamese sweetened iced coffee. I've tried to make Vietnamese iced coffee using my Saeco, but it's just doesn't taste the same. This is the only way to make Vietnamese iced coffee.

It's not my goal to own every possible means of making coffee, I'm just a little obsessed with coffee makers. So when I ran across the Aerobie Aeropress Coffee Maker, I naturally had to get one. The Aeropress was invented by Alan Adler, the guy who evented the Aerobie frisbee flying disc way back in the 80s. The Aerobie holds the world distance record and I remember when they first hit the market. They went far, too far. They were useless in most people's back yards because some jerk (dad) would always try to throw it as hard as they could and it would land in some stranger's back yard 10 houses away and you'd never get it back. Aerobies also weren't fun at parks because people couldn't aim worth shit. With a normal frisbee you only had to go maybe 50 feet to retrieve an errant throw. With the Aerobie you had to catch the next bus across town.

Anyways, it turns out Alan Adler is even more obsessed about coffee than I am. He tested all the different methods of making coffee and decided that immersion--like the way you make tea--made the best brew. He also tested different water temperatures and different steeping times and found that finely ground coffee steeped for about 30 seconds in 175-degree (Farenheit) water yielded the most flavor with the least bitterness.

I still use my Saeco espresso maker at home but I've been using an Aeropress for a couple of weeks at work. The Saeco makes a better espresso with better créma, but after experimenting with the Aeropress I can say that it makes surprisingly good coffee if you follow Alan's instructions. First, Alan says that 175 degree water is the best temperature, and that is true from my experience. I tried using boiling-temperature water and the coffee was really bitter. For the coffee, freshly ground works best because the Aeropress extracts alot of the aroma and using old, stale coffee grounds yields old, stale, acidic coffee. I have also found that his recommended amounts of water work best. The man knows what he's talking about.

The Legend of Beef Burgundy

I don't know how to put this, but I'm kind of a big deal. People know me. I'm very important. I have many leather-bound books and my apartment smells of rich mahogany.
-- Ron Burgundy, "Anchorman: The Legend of Ron Burgundy"

I'd like to think that Ron Burgundy is a beef burgundy kind of guy. Beef burgundy, or boeuf bourguignon as the French call it, is strong, meaty and sophisticated--with that certain Je ne sais quoi--like The Man. As much as Ron Burgundy is a manly man, beef burgundy is a manly man's meal.

Take the meat for example. It can only be beef, nothing else. Chunks big enought to choke any girly man yet sensitive enough to fall apart if you so much as raise a fork to it. The sauce is bold--made from a bottle of hearty red wine--yet down-to-earth with its mushrooms, pearl onions and potatoes. When done right, beef burgundy should taste of the pasture where the cow grazed and the field where the mushrooms bloomed--tastes befitting a man's man like Ron Burgundy.

Beef burgundy can be served over a bed of squiggly egg noodles that are satisfying yet unpredictable in nature, always wanting to escape being poked by your fork to jump on your Halston dress or Givenchy leisure suit. Big("I'm a man who discovered the wheel and built the Eiffel Tower out of metal and brawn. That's what kind of man I am."), sensitive ("Oh, I'm in a glass case of emotion!"), bold ("I'm storming your castle on my steed, m'lady."), earthy, satisfying and unpredictable. These are adjectives that also describe the man who is Ron Burgundy.

Yes, I'd like to think that Ron Burgundy likes beef burgundy like I do. And yesterday was a cold, windy Sunday that called for strong hearty stew--a call that I answered with a big pot of beef burgundy.

Beef Burgundy (Boeuf Bourguignon)
serves 6

1/2 lb thick sliced bacon, chopped
3 lb stew meat (such as chuck or rump roast), cut into 1.5" chunks
8 Tbsp butter, divided
3 cloves garlic, coarsely chopped
1 carrot, peeled and diced
1 onion, chopped
3 Tbsp flour
bouquet garni (a few springs of parsley, a spring of thyme and a bay leaf, tied together with twine so that it can be easily removed at the end of cooking.)
2 medium potatoes, peeled and chopped into 1 inch cubes
3/4 lb pearl onions
1 lb mushrooms (button, crimini or white), quartered
2 Tbsp chopped parsley for garnish
1.5 lb egg noodles
1 bottle (750 mL) hearty red wine, preferably a burgundy (of course!)
2-3 cups beef stock or broth
salt and pepper

Preheat oven to 275.

In a large heavy pot or dutch oven fry the bacon over medium heat until all the fat is rendered, spoon out and set aside. Pour out all the bacon fat and reserve it.

Sear the beef: In the same pot, heat 2 tbsp of the bacon fat over medium high heat. Add half the beef , taking care not to crowd. Sear on all sides, remove and set aside. Pour in another 2 tbsp oil and sear the rest of the beef on all sides then remove and set aside.

Reduce heat to medium and melt 2 tbsp butter. Add the garlic, chopped onions and carrots, sautee for a few minutes until the they begin to soften. Sprinkle in the flour and continue to sautee for another 2 minutes.

Add the beef and bouquet garni, pour in the wine and enough beef stock to cover and bring to a boil. Cover and bake in the oven for 3 hours or until the beef is tender. Stir the stew every 30 minutes.

While the stew is in the oven, prepare the potatoes, pearl onions and mushrooms: Heat 1 tbsp of bacon fat in a pan. Add the potatoes and sear on all sides. Discard the bacon fat. Melt 1 tbsp butter and sautee the pearl onions until golden. Remove and set aside. Melt 1 tbsp butter and sautee the mushrooms until softened. Set the mushrooms aside and make sure you save the released mushroom liquid!

Remove the stew from the oven and place back on the burner over low to keep the stew simmering. Remove the bouquet garni and add the potatoes, pearl onions and mushrooms. Simmer, uncovered for another 30 minutes or until the potatoes are tender. Season to taste.

Bring a pot of water to boil. Cook and drain the noodles then butter the noodles with 2-4 tbsp butter.

Serve the beef burgundy over the egg noodles and garnish with the chopped parsley. Make sure there is plenty of baguette on hand to mop up the plate.

"Stay Classy, San Diego!"

One Big Rabbit

Herman The Rabbit may be the biggest bunny. Evah. And all this time I thought it was Anna Nicole Smith. Silly me.

Herman weighs over 15 pounds and eats 5 pounds of food per day. That would of course mean that he poops 5 lbs of poo a day. I bet the owner didn't think about that.

Pizza Cravings

When the moon hits her eyes
Like a big-a-pizza pie
That's amore!
-- Dean Martin

Pizza: Possibly the world's most perfect food. When pizza is done well, with a great crust that is perfectly cooked, great cheese, sauce and good quality toppings, it's awesome. When it's not done well, it's still good. I don't know anyone who doesn't like pizza. You can order pizza pretty much anywhere on earth, even Mongolia.

Pizza is amazingly versatile. They can be vegetarian or an artery-choking meat-filled monument to carnivores. Most come with cheese but they don't have to. The sauce can be made of tomato or pesto or creamy alfredo. It can come loaded with everything as if it was made by a schizophrenic produce grocer, or it can be a simple pizza bianca like the one made at Forno at the Campo De'Fiori in Rome: A simple crust dressed with olive oil and garlic. Pizza can be made small enought to feed one, or big enough for a Mormon family of 12. You can go out for pizza, or you can have it come to you. In the future, you might even be able to get pizza in space. It can be fancy--hand-tossed and baked in a wood fired oven--or it can come frozen in a cardboard box. And if pizza isn't junk-food enough for you, there's even gummi pizza.

Pizza is one of those foods that you can go without for a while, but then the craving hits you and you gotta have one. Now.

That happened to me a couple of days ago. I suddenly found myself craving pizza. I'm not sure why but I think it was because I had a block of Dietz & Watson whole milk mozarella in my refrigerator that was waiting for a good excuse to get eaten. So my craving wasn't just for any pizza, but homemade pizza. Off to the store I went to get the rest of the ingredients, quietly singing that Dean Martin tune.

For me, making pizza is normally an elaborate affair that spans the course of two days. I use hard bread flour in my dough so I make it a day ahead of time and let it cold rise in the refrigerator to develop better flavor and texture. The next day I heat a ceramic stone in my oven at 500 degrees for almost an hour before I will put a pizza on it so that I get a nice crisp crust on the bottom of the pizza. That's what I normally do, but that wasn't going to cut it for me because I wanted pizza that night.

I thought about doing a quick rise dough and baking it in the oven on a rack without using the stone, but all of that would still take about two hours and it was already 7:00 PM and I was still at the store and I was getting hungry. I was going to have to fall back to Plan C.

Plan C is a pizzette made with a thin durum wheat semolina crust that is cooked in a pan on a burner. It's different than traditional pizza dough--it's a yeastless dough that gets its rise from using baking powder--but it has nice texture and flavor from the durum semolina. The hardness of the durum wheat also lets me roll the dough extremely thin, which is very important since I am going to pan cook it.

When I got home I found out that I forgot the pizza sauce. Looking through my pantry I found two small cans of Hunt's tomato sauce. It was a start, but I had to dress it up and thicken it. Nobody wants runny flavorless pizza sauce.

The pizzas turned out well and my craving was satisfied. Oh, and the mozarella was delicious. Now That's Amore!

Semolina Pizzini
Makes Four 7" pizzas

1 cup Durum wheat semolina flour
1 tsp baking powder
1/2 tsp salt
1 tbsp extra virgin olive oil
1/2 cup warm water

1 lb mozarella, grated
your preferred pizza toppings
1 to 1 1/2 cups pizza sauce (recipe below, if you forgot to buy some)
freshly grated parmigiana

In a food processor combine the dry ingredients. Keep the blade spinning and slowly add the olive oil in a stream. Then slowly add the warm water about 1 tablespoon at a time. Stop adding water when the dough forms a ball. If it appears a little dry, add a little more water. Hand knead the dough a couple of times then wrap it up in plastic wrap and set it aside while you prepare the toppings.

Divide the dough evenly into four parts. Roll each as thinly as possible into 7-8" crusts. Keep them covered with plastic so they don't dry out.

Heat a 10"-12" nonstick frying pan over medium high heat. Put a pizette into the pan. Bubbles should form in 5-10 seconds. If they don't, the pan is not hot enough. Let the crust cook until it begins to brown, about 2-3 minutes. Slide the crust back on the work surface, cooked side up. Spread on the sauce, cheese and toppings, then put the pizette back into the pan to cook the other side of the crust. The pizza is done when the cheese is melted and the crust is browned underneath, another 2-3 minutes. Repeat with the other 3 crusts.

Grate some fresh parmigiana on it, slice into quarters and serve.

"Uh oh, forgot the" Pizza Sauce

2 cans tomato sauce (8 oz. each)
1 tbsp minced basil
1 tbsp extra virgin olive oil
1/2 clove garlic, minced
salt & pepper, to taste

Combine the first four ingredients in a small sauce pan and bring to a simmer. Reduce by about a third. Season to taste.

Pushing Cows, Chasing Girls and Shooting Guns

The little hamlet of Randolph, Utah has the distinction of being the most Republican town in the most Republican state in the country. In 2004, George W. Bush received 95.6% of the votes cast.

The four people who didn't vote for Bush have disappeared and have not been seen since.

OK, I made that part up.

The town got the attention of the Washington Post, who claims that they sent a reporter most of the way across the country to find out what the "mind-set of Utah" is all about. Personally, I think he got lost leaving Park City after the recent Sundance Film Festival.

Randolph is, of course, very Mormon, but there is "the Catholic woman, who is the one non-Mormon everyone mentions when the conversation turns to religious diversity." And, according to the town's school superintendent, the high school cheerleading squad includes a hispanic and a set of African-American twins. "We've probably got the most diverse cheerleading squad in the state."

In Randolph, Paul Anka plays on the stereo at the café and the young men pass time "pushing cows, chasing girls and shooting guns."

Related Links
Randolph Virtual Travel in 185 Images

Comparing Apples To Apples

Why do we have apple juice and apple cider?

On every supermarket shelf in America you bottles of apple juice, neatly arranged 6 wide by 6 deep, right next to bottles of apple cider, also neatly arranged 6 wide by 6 deep. As far as I can tell, and I have carefully studied the nutrition labels of both, they are exactly the same thing and they come from the same place.

No, as a matter of fact, I don't have much of a life. Now stop distracting my rant with your silly quips.

To me, the apple juice vs. apple cider conundrum is a failure of capitalism. Or it could be a success--it depends on how you look at it. Here in front of you at the supermarket are two bottles, each containing the exact same product. The only difference is the label. Which you buy is your choice.

Choice is a success of capitalism--I would never argue against that. But what are you choosing? This is not Coke vs. Pepsi, or even New Coke vs. Old Coke. It doesn't even amount to Coke in a can vs. Coke in a bottle. It's bottled Coke vs. bottled Coca-Cola. Tomato vs. tomahto. The fact that my supermarket offers me this "choice" is a failure of capitalism.

It's a failure of capitalism because it can't be more efficient to glue two different labels to the same bottle of stuff. But this redundancy probably does somehow employ more people. Over at the Old Orchard Juice Company there may be some guy who gets to decide when to throw the switch that turns the Apple Juice conveyer line into a Apple Cider conveyer line. In that sense capitalism succeeded because there is one less unemployed person though he probably lies to his mom and tells her he's an airline pilot.

Success or failure? I don't know.

All I know is that I pick the Apple Juice because I don't think it can be called Apple Cider unless it can get me drunk.

Peanut: Pea Or Nut?

A peanut is neither a pea, nor is it a nut.

So why the hell do we call it a peanut? A couple of years ago I had a girl on my soccer team whose name was Peanut. I don't know why the hell we called her Peanut either but she was a really good player--the best on the team--so I called her whatever she wanted to be called as long as she kept scoring. And she told me she wanted to be called Peanut.

So what about Peanut, the food, not the soccer player? Even though it's neither a pea--nor a nut--a peanut is actually more closely related to a pea than a nut. According to Wikipedia, The common green pea that goes into everybody's favorite soup--split pea soup--and gives the soup its lovely color is Pisum Sativum, a member of the Fabaceae family of pulses and legumes. I love split pea and ham soup, especially when it's done with a good smokey-flavored ham. But I don't like split pea and ham followed by a night of binge drinking. When you inevitably have to make your sacrifice at the altar of the porcelain god you will regret having ordered the split pea soup for dinner.

Peanuts are also members of the Fabaceae family and so they are technically legumes. Its latin name is Arachus Hypogaea which means "underground spider" and refers to the peanut shells that grow beneath the ground on the ends of stem arms.

So there you have it. A peanut is not a nut and it's not a pea. It's the pea's second cousin once removed.

Peanut, the soccer player, moved away to Clinton, Utah and doesn't play for me anymore. Maybe she's a second cousin to some girl named greenpea, but I'm not sure.

I love peanuts any which way they come: dry roasted, french burnt, boston, salted, unsalted, or peanut butter (the PBJ is a holy, inspired creation). But I most like peanuts in peanut butter cookies. Peanut butter cookies are kind of forgotten by most people who, when thinking cookies, think chocolate-chip, sugar, or oatmeal raisin. Don't get me wrong, I will never turn away a plate of oatmeal raisin cookies looking for a good warm tummy to call home, but the peanut butter cookie is king in my book. Not too sweet, with just a touch of saltiness to remind you of its humble earthy beginnings.

Peanut Butter Cookies

2 cups all-purpose flour
1 teaspoon baking soda
1/2 teaspoon baking powder
1/2 teaspoon salt
3/4 cup butter, room temperature
3/4 cup CHUNKY peanut butter (ok, use smooth if you want)
3/4 cup granulated sugar
3/4 cup light brown sugar, firmly packed
2 large eggs
1 teaspoon vanilla

In a bowl, stir together flour, baking soda, baking powder, and salt.

Beat together the butter, peanut butter, and sugars until light and fluffy. Beat in eggs and vanilla. Gradually beat in the flour mixture.

Wrap dough in plastic wrap and refrigerate until chilled, or about 2 to 4 hours.

Take tablespoonfuls of dough and roll into balls with hands. Place about 3 inches apart on greased baking sheets. Using a dinner fork dipped in flour, lightly press cookies, flattening and forming a criss-cross pattern on each cookie.

Bake at 375° until golden brown, or about 10 to 12 minutes. Cool on baking sheets for a minute then transfer to rack to cool completely.

Makes about 4 dozen peanut butter cookies.

The Five Stages of Drunkeness

How to recognize the Five Stages of Drunkeness.

And, of course, the Five Stages of Sobering Up.

Carolina In My Mind

In my mind i'm going to carolina
Can't you see the sunshine
Can't you just feel the moonshine
Ain't it just like a friend of mine
To hit me from behind
And i'm going to carolina in my mind
-- James Taylor

This last Sunday I was over at a friend's house watching the NFC Championship game which turned out to be a throrough spanking of the Carolina Panthers by the Seattle Seahawks. As it slowly dawned on us that the game was going to be a non-game, somebody brought up the Carolina Panthers. Specifically, which Carolina? North or South? We all agreed it had to be North Carolina since you never hear anything about South Carolina. But nobody could say what city in North Carolina the Panthers hail from. But I want to tell my 8th grade Geography teacher Mr. Henderson that I remembered that the capitol of North Carolina is Raleigh. I want to also tell my 9th grade English teacher Mrs. Greene that I still know the difference between capitol and capital. Thanks guys, you taught me well. And I still know how to brown-nose.

But it got me thinking about South Carolina (yes, Mr. Henderson, I remember the capitol of South Carolina is Columbia). I don't know anybody from South Carolina. I've never met anybody from South Carolina. "Does South Carolina even exist," I asked the people in the room, "has anybody ever met someone from South Carolina?" Nobody else had ever met anybody from South Carolina either, except for Holly. She claims that she has been to South Carolina but the only proof she has is some dark blurry picture of her in a hotel lobby that looks like it could have been taken in Poughkeepsie, New York. I've been to Poughkeepsie. I know it's there. So I'm not convinced that Holly has been to South Carolina.

But why would she lie about that? My theory is this. A long time ago, the U.S. got to 49 states but 49 is just not a good number. 50 is a nice, even number and 50 stars looks good on a flag, so some people decided to invent a new state just to up the number to 50. That's how we got South Carolina.

South Carolina doesn't actually exist. But through some very thorough indoctrination, we all now believe in the existence of South Carolina though nobody has ever been there and nobody has ever met anybody who comes from there. I know it's dangerous to question this and even more dangerous to publish my doubts. I'm sure that Black helicopters are now coming for me, but I must have the courage to expose the truth.

A couple of people brought up the "fact" that Steve Spurrier coaches football at the University of South Carolina. I asked them if they have ever seen them play? Of course they haven't. A nonexistent football team at a nonexistent college in a nonexistent state is not gonna be seen on TV.

What about the big chunk of land where South Carolina is supposed to be? I think the land exists, but nobody lives there. It's a big government facility.

It's where they filmed the moon landing.

To Bean Or Not To Bean

Today is a bad hair day.

Apparently I have done something to displease the hair gods because I got out of bed late with a really bad case of bedhed. There was only time for one person to shower and both Holly and I know it wasn't gonna be me. My hair was beyond help today so I did the only thing I could do. I pulled out my favorite beanie.

This definitely one of those times when being an engineer is cool. I can wear pretty much whatever I want. It's also the middle of the freakin winter here in Salt Lake City so nobody thinks you're weird for wearing a beanie in the office. Well, nobody in my office, but we're a little strange. We're engineers. Come to think of it, I could have just come to work with bad hair and nobody would have batted an eye.

I realize other people see things differently than we engineers, including people in Holly's office. I usually run up to the sixth floor a few times a day because Holly is nice to me and she feeds me. But today it was for stamps to mail a letter. Damn the Postal Service. I mean, what is up with a $0.02 postage rate increase? Why do I have to run all over my office building looking for TWO CENTS of postage? I thought about just sticking TWO 37 cent stamps on the letter but I know that those weenies at the U.S. Postal Service would want just that, and I am not going to participate in their diabolical plan to take over the world, two cents at a time. That, and I am one cheap bastard.

Anyways, I'm up at Holly's office, mooching stamps from her, and Dean, who works in her office, happens by and says "nice beanie. I like those colors."

Thanks, Dean!

I'm glad I decided on the beanie. I think that would have been better than "Dude, here's a dollar. Go buy a comb."

Don't Eat Me Mr. Snake, I'll Be Your Friend

This is a story that is dying to become a parable, a modern Aesopian fable.

From an AP story:

TOKYO - Gohan and Aochan make strange bedfellows: one's a 3.5-inch dwarf hamster; the other is a four-foot rat snake. Zookeepers at Tokyo's Mutsugoro Okoku zoo presented the hamster — whose name means "meal" in Japanese — to Aochan as a tasty morsel in October, after the snake refused to eat frozen mice.

But instead of indulging, Aochan decided to make friends with the furry rodent, according to keeper Kazuya Yamamoto. The pair have shared a cage since.

"I've never seen anything like it. Gohan sometimes even climbs onto Aochan to take a nap on his back," Yamamoto said.

Here's the story as I think Aesop would have told it:

A snake was captured by some people and put into a cold glass prison where other people came and stared at him all day long. He no longer had family or friends around and he got really sad and lonely even though the people fed him really delicious frozen rats all the time. He got so depressed that even the frozen rats no longer made him happy so he stopped eating and told the people that he wanted a friend. The next day they dropped a furry hamster into the glass prison. "Don't eat me, Mr. Snake! I'll be your friend!" The snake was really happy now even though the hamster is scared shitless and is depressed because he no longer has friends or family around.

The moral? (Because there always has to be one at the end of Aesop's fables.) Misery loves company!

Mac & Cheese

Kraft Mac & Cheese. Utter those three words in any daycare and you'll have kids running and knocking over each other looking for the bowl of yellow noodles. Little Emma will be on the floor bawling cuz there ain't any, and pretty soon they'll all be bawling and you won't shut them up till you start cooking. If you say "Mac & Cheese" in a day care you'd better be able to back it up.

Say the same three words in just about any restaurant and the the staff will look at you in disgust as if you just brought in a sack lunch and pulled out your own ham sandwich. The social stigma associated with the little blue box is so great that if a friend comes over and finds one in your house you quickly say "oh, that's for the kids. I buy it for them." Or if you don't have any kids you hide the box waaay in the back of the pantry, up on the top shelf where nobody will know it's there except you.

The truth is: You like love the blue box, even though the thought that something resembling cheese can come from a tear-open paper packet horrifies you. And you have to work hard to suppress those feelings of guilt and shame as you open the box and cook the pasta. "I am a better cook than this" you think to yourself, over and over again, "I just don't have any time and I am hungry now." "I won't do this to you again," you promise your very expensive All-Clad pan.

But it's a promise bound to be broken. You can't walk by those blue boxes in the grocery store without pulling one down (or two or three or four--"They're on sale for $0.69, I'm saving money," you tell yourself as you hide the boxes underneath the organic tomatoes and fat free yogurt and the latest issue of Healthy Living).

When it comes to Kraft Macaroni & Cheese, there is a code of silence. All adults know this. But every once in a while somebody breaks the code.

"I like Kraft Mac & Cheese."

But instead of condemnation, we all feel relieved that somebody had the guts to say something we ourselves can't say. "I do too!" each of us say in turn. Such a big weight is lifted that we could almost join in a group hug and fall to the floor sobbing in each others arms. OK, maybe not. But it feels good to be able to say "I like Kraft Mac & Cheese" without fear of ridicule.

For those who don't have the courage to buy the blue box, I offer the following recipe. It's a grown-up version of Kraft Mac & Cheese using a French béchamel sauce.

No-Shame Mac & Cheese
Serves 6 as a main course, 10 as a side dish.

For the béchamel
4 Tbsp butter
1 1/2 cups all purpose flour
4 cups milk
1/2 tsp salt
pepper to taste

For the Macaroni & Cheese
1 lb Elbow macaroni
1/4 tsp Cayenne pepper (optional)
pinch grated nutmet (optional)
1/2 lb. Monterey Jack cheese, grated
1/2 lb. Sharp Cheddar, grated
1 tsp. salt
breadcrumbs (optional, for topping)

Bring a pot of water to boil. Add a tablespoon of salt and boil the pasta as you prepare the sauce. Follow the pasta package directions. Drain well and set aside.

Make the Béchamel
Melt the butter in a sauce pan over medium heat, whisk in the flour. Continue to cook and whisk until the sauce turns blonde, but don't let it brown. Add the milk and keep whisking while you bring the sauce to a full boil. Add the salt and pepper and reduce to a simmer and cook for 10 minutes, stirring occasionally to prevent scalding. The sauce will thicken.

When the sauce is done, take off heat and add the cheeses and the salt. Stir until the cheese is completely melted and combined. Add the pasta, cayenne and nutmeg, mix well and pour into a 13 x 9 baking dish. If you want a breadcrumb topping, sprinkle the breadcrumbs on top and place under a broiler until the breadcrumbs are browned.

Beauty and the Beast

Though we work at different companies, Holly and I work in the same office building so it is really convenient for us to drive to work together. It's something we do unless one of us has something they have to do after work, such as soccer practice. So we walk into the building together in the morning and walk out together in the evening. We also have lunch together on most days so--long story short--we walk in and out of the building together a lot. This is a fact that has apparently not escaped the notice of other people who also work in the building. Last week two separate incidences made that plainly obvious.

Before I tell you about the first incident, I have to explain that I am a software engineer. If you know somebody who is a software engineer, you probably know that we can wear whatever we want to work. People think that there's no dress code. I beg to differ. There certainly is a dress code, and it's commonly referred to as slacker, or loser. But the dress code will not allow us to be bums or look homeless. That would be a no-no. Polo shirt & Jeans is acceptable to every software company. T-shirts are accepted by most. Shorts and flip-flops are OK'd by many companies as well. The dress code also won't allow us to wear suits. Doing so will immediately send your boss into a tizzy because they'll think you're going to a job interview.

Holly, on the other hand, works with business clients all day and she has to look very professional--business suits, heels, the whole nine yards. And she always looks incredible and beautiful.

Last week she got on the elevator one day (I wasn't with her) and there was another guy there. They struck up a conversation and he said to Holly, "I see you with another guy a lot."

"Yes, that's my friend Jim," she replied.

"You guys don't work together, though."

"No."

"I figured that because you always look nicer than he does."

OUCH!

The other incident happened as we were walking in one morning. Another guy was coming in at the same time and he said to us, "You guys must ride to work together since I always see you come at the same time."

I replied jokingly, "Pure coincidence."

We all got in the elevator together. I get off first on the third floor and Holly continues up to her company on the 6th floor, along with the guy.

Later she told me that the guy asked, "you guys don't work together?"

I told her that next time she should say, "It's weird. He's always there when I pull up and he's always following me out of the building. I think he's stalking me."

Leaving Things In Bathrooms

As I posted earlier, I usually make myself a big latté every morning. You don't buy coffee. You rent it. Caffeine, being a diuretic, forces me to make a couple of trips to the restroom at my office. This morning I noticed a pair of glasses sitting next to the washbasin. These weren't sunglasses, they were spectacles. The kind you need in order to see.

"I'm sure somebody will come back soon for these," I thought to myself and left them alone.

About an hour later I had to make a return trip to the restroom (it was a big latté). The glasses were still there! How does this happen? I mean, I can understand if they were sunglasses, or a cell phone, or even a baby. But somewhere in my building there is a guy walking around wondering why he can't see.

I'll go back later this afternoon to see if they have been retrieved.

Afternoon Update: The glasses are gone. One less blind man to worry about on the freeway.

No Caption Needed

Girl: "So, where do you live?"

Guy: "At the corner of Bangher and Leever."

Girl: (SLAP!) "Asshole."

I'm Zoe, I'm 15, this is my radio show.

15 year old Zoe publishes her own weekly podcast radio show that features bands such as One Block Radius, The Hold Steady, Okkervil River, Brendan Benson, Alaska!, The Break and Repair Method, Dios Malos, Art Brut, Fannypack, Natasha Benningfield, Kanye West, Fallout Boy, Deerhoof, Jamie Lidell, The New Pornographers, The Books, and Ted Leo.

Easily one of the best podcasts I've come across. Check it out.

Escapa!

This is a very addictive game. My high is 21.188 seconds.

And Baby Makes 3 (hundred bajillion)

If you and your spouse want to have the 300 millionth American, you'd better get busy. The U.S. Census Bureau says that the 300 millionth American is going to be conceived sometime this month. The article further predicts that the baby will either be born in the South or the West. My money's on either Sandy or Orem, Utah.

TuneBuckle

For the ladies: The best iPod Nano accessory. Ever.

Fondue is Fun To Do!

Fondue. No other word can match it in conjuring up that era of the mindless drug-induced pursuit of leisure, The 70's. Well, no other word except for maybe wife-swapping. But that's two words and it's a whole 'nother topic in itself. I'm writing about fondue because my buddy Darren chose to write about cheese today over at his blog.

Like any other child of the 80's, I avoided fondue like polyester. Besides, I was much too busy in my teen years trying to get my Billy Idol look just right (My Hell I went through a lot of hairspray) and daydreaming about running away from home and joining up as a roadie for The Go Gos.

But during a vacation to Paris 5 or 6 years ago my French friends Eric and Caroline introduced me to the yumminess of real fondue. I was at their Parisian apartment one day and asked them what the dinner plans were going to be.

"Fondue!" Eric replied.

And before you could say "leisure suit" he was grating away at a couple of blocks of cheese. With the practiced ease in which Eric threw together the garlic, wine, cheeses and spices you could tell the man knew how to melt cheese. Eric grew up near Bensançon Bensaçon in eastern France, near the Swiss border. Switzerland and surrounding areas in France is the home of fondue and it's a staple for the people in these regions, especially in the cold winter months. It was November in Paris, cold and dry, perfect weather for fondue.

Caroline sliced the crusty French baguettes and I got comfortable on the couch with a glass of champagne (The French can be soooo gracious!) as the cheese was melted and started bubbling in the pot. Eric used an electric burner. We in America use stupid little alcohol cans to try to melt the cheese but what usually happens instead is we set fire to aunt Edna's newly permed hair.

With the fondue course Eric served a very delicious dry Alsatian white wine that had enough force to cut through the strong flavors of the cheese. We don't have any wine like that here in America. Well, there might be something for more than $7.95 but I don't spend that unless the Pope's coming for dinner.

The fondue was incredible. Absolutely delicious. When I got back to the U.S. the first I did was order a real nice German made electric fondue pot, which the ex took in the divorce (she liked fondue too). I have since bought an el-cheapo one off eBay. Hey, it works and aunt Edna is safe.

Here is the Eric's fondue recipe (this is from memory... I'm sure Eric will correct me after he reads this). It uses two cheeses which I remember to be Emmentaler and Gruyère. The Emmentaler adds sharpness and the Gruyère adds a sweeter nutty flavor. Start with an equal ratio of the two cheeses and adjust to your liking. I think Eric used a little more Emmentaler than Gruyère.

1 clove garlic
Big splash of dry white wine (about 2 tablespooons)
1/2 lb Emmentaler, grated
1/2 lb Gruyere, grated
Fresh grated nutmeg
1 Baguette, cut into 1" cubes, for dipping.

Split the clove of garlic and use it to rub the inside of the pot. Heat the pot over medium and when it's warm pour in the wine. Let it reduce in half. Add the cheeses and a couple of grates of nutmeg. Stir it frequently as it melts so that it doesn't burn at the bottom. When it starts to bubble slightly it's ready to be served. Spear a piece of bread onto a skewer and enjoy. This will serve 4-6 people.

January 11 update: Eric emailed some suggestions. He says that for the recipe you can use a dry white wine such as Alsace, Jura (a really interesting vin jaune--yellow wine--made from savagnin grape that he served with sautéed frogs legs on a different evening) or Vins de Savoie. For the cheeses, he says that he also uses Comté (a mild and nutty cheese that you could use instead of gruyère), or other cheeses such as switzerland, beaufort or even muenster, combined or by themselves. He also wanted to remind me to make "figure-9s" with the wooden spoon when stirring the cheese. At the end when you have a cheesy crust at the bottom of the pot Eric says that you can add a small glass of schnapps or crack an egg and stir to combine with the cheese. I have done the egg and it makes a delicious cheesy egg scramble. I have not tried the schnapps but I will next time.

Must. Have. Caffeine.

I had to deviate from my usual morning caffeine ritual today so that I wouldn't be late to work. My usual routine consists of waking up, turning on the Saeco espresso maker to let it heat up while I take a shower, then making myself and Holly some dee-lishus double lattés. I used to drink whole milk lattés, Holly prefers skim. We settled on 1%. That way neither of us are happy, which is how it should be because the only thing worst than two unhappy people would be an unhappy person having to drive to work with a happy person.

When I can't make my own latté I stop at Starbucks. Please, don't send me emails telling me that I'm a corporate sellout whore. Starbucks has good espresso. Their quality control is high, the coffee is nicely roasted and their baristas are well trained and friendly.

That isn't to say that I don't have nitpicks with the Starbucks MegaMegaCorporation. Just like any other Big Corp, it's overrun with lawyers, which is evidenced by the fact that my cup and sleeve has no fewer than three lawyer-approved warning disclaimers. First, this warning appears twice, on the cup and the sleeve: "Careful, the beverage you're about to enjoy is extremely hot." Duh. And people, please, let's all try to remove the word extreme from the American English lexicon. I propose that we replace it with a more sublime adjective, like passionate. That asinine label would then say: Careful, the beverage you're about to enjoy is passionately hot. Now that's a coffee you want to drink!

The other disclaimer comes from Starbucks' current advertising campaign, The Way I See It, in which they are printing a series of humanist quotes on their cups. I bet you didn't know that because the sleeve nicely obscures most of the quote. Below the quote is this disclaimer: "This is the author's opinion, not necessarily that of Starbucks." Most of us have enough brain activity to know that corporations don't have opinions, but why is Starbucks (or its board members, officers or employees) disclaiming the viewpoint? If it's good enough to go on your cup, it should be good enough for you to say "we believe in that." Otherwise you are just saying that you are a poseur mega corporation, that you just want us to think your CEO is Dudley Dooright, but in fact all you want to do is sell us coffee. Yes, I know: I just hit the proverbial nail right on the proverbial head.

Anyways, I got a regular (whole milk) latté for myself and a skinny for Holly. That got me to thinking about what your coffee says about you.

• Regular Quadruple Shot Latté: I Love Coffee Like Elvis Loved Donuts.
• Regular Latté: The perfect drink. For people who want to live life to the fullest. (This is my drink.)
• Skim Milk Latté: I'm better than you because I can drink this crap and you can't.
  
• Half-Caf: I have issues. I can't make up your mind. I need help.
• Decaf Skim Latté: It's like sex without the spanking. I mean, what's the point?
  

Another Unfinished Book

I usually don't read fiction and I want to thank Sue Monk Kidd for reminding me why. Halfway through I decided that I could not turn another page of Kidd's The Secret Life of Bees. Overall, this book isn't as bad as The Bridges of Madison County but many passages recall that book's soporific sap. It's no wonder that a movie is being made from this book because it seems that the book was written only for that purpose. Kidd's style discards deep character development for shallow emotive drivel. It's perfect for a 90 minute movie but it's a shame that this is probably the best material that black female actresses can find.

To clear the syrupy aftertaste I have started reading The Future of Ideas by Lawrence Lessig.

So It Begins Again

"Those who can, do. Those who can't, teach." -- Anonymous.

I used to do, but now I teach. Soccer, that is. I still play soccer occasionally but my involvement now mostly amounts to coaching a girls under-13 competitive club soccer team ("comp soccer" in soccer-mom lingo). In addition to this I am also an assistant soccer coach at Judge Memorial Catholic High School in Salt Lake City.

It's a very rewarding pastime--I call it a pastime because I do it in addition to my career as a software engineer--but it takes a lot of time. There are two playing seasons per year that each run about two months long but many comp teams practice and travel to regional and national tournaments year-round. I am not as immersed as that but my team starts practice 2-3 months before the season, making it a 4-5 month involvement twice a year. The spring season is still a ways away--April--but we are starting to prepare this week with weekly indoor practices through the months of January and February. In March we will move practices outdoors and increase the number of sessions to three per week.

The last fall season ended in October and I always impose a two month time-off period for my players and myself in November and December. I spent that time cooking, building biycles, getting back in touch with old friends and getting to know Holly better. I enjoyed my time off and now I'm ready to jump back into the world of soccer moms in minivans, screaming parents and angry coaches. FUN!

Rhyme & Reason

Last night as Holly & I were drifting to sleep I remembered a poem. It's a very romantic little sonnet by Edna St. Vincent Millay titled "Love Is Not All." In an ever-so-soft voice I recited the poem to Holly as she layed there in my arms:

Love is not all: it is not meat nor drink
Nor slumber nor a roof against the rain;
Nor yet a floating spar to men that sink
And rise and sink and rise and sink again;
Love can not fill the thickened lung with breath,
Nor clean the blood, nor set the fractured bone;
Yet many a man is making friends with death
Even as I speak, for lack of love alone.
It well may be that in a difficult hour,
Pinned down by pain and moaning for release,
Or nagged by want past resolution's power,
I might be driven to sell your love for peace,
Or trade the memory of this night for food.
It well may be. I do not think I would.

Her response?

"Food and would don't rhyme."

What I Cooked This Weekend

"In France, cooking is an art form and a national sport." -- Julia Child

I love to cook. That's because I'm a practical guy and eating is a practical pleasure. It's the only form of pleasure and indulgence that keeps you alive. And if I am going to eat, there's no sense in wasting calories on bad food, so I cook.

The task of cooking is dichotomous and appeals to both the scholastic and artistic sides of me. I can't help but picture the chains of protein molecules forming as I knead my pizza dough, and the yeast converting the simple carbohydrates into teenie pockets of carbon dioxide that will eventually give the crust its rise and texture. But as I am stretching the dough into its final shape, I take care to make sure that it looks good, though not necessarily perfectly round (I prefer my pizzas to be slightly ovular), and that the toppings are spaced evenly and the cheese is uniform across the entire pie. A bit anal? Maybe so, but I believe that good food should appeal to all the senses.

In Vietnamese and Thai cooking, the perfect dish or meal blends the "Four S's": Spicy, Salty, Sweet, and Sour. These flavors are summed up in classic dishes like Pad Thai, with its sweet and salty sauce, the sourness from the lime, and the spiciness from the chilis. On New Years Day I made a coconut chicken curry, served with jasmine rice and slices of baguette. It too has a classic blend of the "Four S's": Sweet coconut, Spicy chilis, Salty chicken marinade, and sour tartness from the lemongrass and tomatoes.

Coconut Chicken Curry
Serves 6
1 lb. boneless skinless chicken breast, sliced 1/4" thick
1/4 c chopped lemongrass
6 cloves garlic, coarsely chopped
4 shallots, coarsely chopped
2 T massaman curry paste
2 T indian (madras, if possible) curry powder
1/4 c Vietnamese or Thai fish sauce (you can substitute with 3 T soy sauce if you don't have or can't find fish sauce)
1 chili pepper (thai chili or jalapeno), seeded & chopped (if you want it really spicy, increase this to 2 chili peppers)
black pepper
1 14 oz. can of whole peeled tomatoes
2 cups chicken broth
2 large onions, each sliced into 8 wedges
3 large or 4 medium russet potatoes, chopped into 1" cubes
2 carrots, 1/2" slice rounds
2 bay leaves
3 cups coconut milk
cornstarch, for thickening
vegetable oil for cooking

Combine the lemongrass, garlic, shallots, curries, fish sauce, and chili peppers in a food processor. Add black pepper to taste (about 1/2 teaspoon). Process to a very fine paste. Reserve half of the paste and toss the other half with the chicken and let marinate for at least 30 minutes, or overnight if possible.

In a dutch oven or similar pot heat the oil on medium high heat. Saute the chicken until slightly brown. Remove the chicken pieces and reduce the heat to medium. Add additional oil if needed and sautee the reserved curry paste along with the bay leaves for about 2 minutes until aromatic. Add the onions and sautee for an additional 2 minutes until slightly softened. Add the tomatoes and all the liquid in the can and cook for 3-4 minutes while breaking the tomatoes with a wooden spoon into smaller chunks. Add the chicken, carrots and chicken broth. Bring to a boil, then reduce to a simmer and cover. Simmer for 20 minutes. Add the potatoes. Simmer for another 20 minutes. Add the coconut milk and bring back to boil over medium-high heat, then reduce to a simmer. Simmer for an additional 15-25 minutes, or until the potatoes are cooked through. After 10 minutes of simmering, check the thickness of the curry. Blend in cornstarch 1 tablespoon at a time until you get the desired thickness. Adjust the seasoning and serve over hot jasmine rice with sliced baguette on the side.