Awkwardly Social

Disaster.

I was making this to take to Seth’s director friend’s house.  And I wanted it to be good, different and accessible.  It was a total flop.  We ended up bringing Veuve instead.  I have such a problem with desserts, and I think our oven isn’t calibrated correctly.

I would post the recipe, but I feel like there’s no reason, since it didn’t turn out.  I have to ask my mom what I did wrong.

Astute readers will have noticed the “Life List” tab that I snuck into the tab bar above.  I didn’t write about writing it, because it’s still very much a work in progress.  Also, I feel slightly like I did in junior high when the cool girls in the grade above me started some lame trend, the details of which seemed so important at the time but are now completely escaping me, and me and my friends (I use that plural loosely, I think at the time my only friend was Callie) attempted to imitate said trend and we were publicly shamed in the cafeteria during lunch by the mean girls.  I was mortified at the time.  Now, I’m clearly emotionally scarred because I am embarrassed to make a “Life List” -  something that is not trademarked, but that some girls in the grade ahead of my in blogging life have kind of “branded” as their “thing.”  But whatever, I’ve been writing “Life Lists” since I was an awkward teenager in Camp Verde, Arizona trying to convince my parents to buy me a horse.  Which reminds me, I need to add “own a horse” to my list.Without further ado, at #31 on my Life List is to try 100 recipes I’ve never made.  This weekend I did two!  Both from the cookbook my mom put together for my sister and I.  Below is the recipe for the Peach Cobbler.  The other will follow later this week.

Peach Cobbler

• 1/2 cup sugar
• 1 tablespoon corn starch
•  4 cups sliced fresh peaches (this is about 3 large peaches, I think you should use 4 large peaches.)
• 1/4 teaspoon cinnamon
• 1 teaspoon lemon juice
• 1 cup flour
• 1 tablespoon sugar
• 1 1/2 teaspoon baking powder
• 1/2 teaspoon salt
• 3 tablespoons shortening
• 1/2 cup milk

Heat oven to 400 degrees.  Blend 1/2 cup sugar and cornstarch in medium saucepan.  Stir in the peaches, cinnamon and lemon juice.  (Note:  when I did this I was totally nervous that there wouldn’t be enough liquid.  Somehow, there is.  It’s really amazing.  Fear not!) Cook, stirring constantly until mixture thickens and boils.  Boil and stir 1 minute.  Pour into ungreased 2 quart casserole.  Keep fruit mixture hot in oven while preparing biscuit topping.Biscuit toppingMeasure flour, 1 tablespoon sugar, baking powder and salt into bowl.  Add shortening and milk.  (I think I messed up my shortening measurements because something was off with the biscuits, they didn’t taste like my mom’s.)  Cut through shortening 6 times, mix until dough forms a ball. Drop dough by 6 spoonfuls onto hot fruit.  Bake 25-30 minutes or until biscuit topping is golden brown.  Serve warm, and if desired, with ice cream.  Six servings.

I think the next time I make this, I’ll use more peaches, my peach to biscuit ratio was off.  Also, I think I’ll leave it in the oven a little longer, it just tasted slightly different than my mom’s.  I know it wasn’t perfect because 3 days later, we still have leftovers.  Cobbler never lasted that long in my mom’s fridge.

I had a dream the other night.  I was making baked spaghetti.  You told me your mother made it the best.  Dream me knew it was pure folly to try to perfect your mother’s dish.  You once told me she also makes perfect scrambled eggs.  But I’ve had her eggs and I’m not sure they’re perfect.  I looked at the nest of noodles in my white corning dish and figured I didn’t care.  And the noodles looked so pretty and dry and just like I like them.

So last night I made you spaghetti.  The sauce was from a jar.  We sat at our table that is older than your mother and didn’t tell you about my dream and the baked spaghetti I made for you.

Tomorrow is the two month mark. I haven’t cooked since Louie left me. I guess partly because I wasn’t really eating anything other than a take-out meal here and a handful of crackers there. Occasionally I would open a can of black beans and heat it up with some cheese and salsa, or shove some spinach in my mouth while trying to get that last bit of work done for the job I don’t talk about here. It’s been a busy two months, a sad two months and a messy two months.

I told myself I wouldn’t cook in my new kitchen until I had everything put away. But now at the one month mark of living here with two boxes left to unpack and 2 boxes’ contents to wash, and a free Saturday afternoon, I decided to let myself off the hook.

That is one half of my counter space. I’m not exaggerating.

This is the other half.

I decided that if I could roast a chicken in this mayhem, I’d be OK. And roast a chicken I did.

I used Mark Bittman’s recipe for standard Roasted Chicken. I set off the fire alarm several times. I hope I didn’t give myself salmonella.

Mark Bittman’s Roast Chicken Recipe

• 1 whole (3-4 lb.) chicken, trimmed of excess fat, then rinsed and patted dry with paper towels [I rinsed it, but didn’t do much fat trimming or paper towel patting, probably the reason my fire alarm went off.]
• 3 tablespoons olive oil
• 2 teaspoons chopped fresh thyme, rosemary, marjoram, oregano, or sage leaves, or 1 teaspoon dried



• Salt and freshly ground black pepper to taste
• Chopped fresh herbs for garnish [didn’t do]

1. Preheat oven to 500 degrees F.
2. Place the chicken, breast side down, on a rack in a roasting pan. Begin roasting. Mix together the olive oil, herbs, salt and pepper.





3. After the chicken has roasted for about 20 minutes, spoon some of the olive oil mixture over it, then turn the bird breast side up. [This is when I opened the oven and my fire alarm got angry.] Baste again, then again after 7 or 8 minutes; at this point the breast should be beginning to brown (if it hasn’t, roast a few more minutes). Turn the heat down to 325 degrees F, baste again, and roast unitl an instant-read thermometer inserted into the thickest part of the thigh [??? WTF! this was my same problem during our turkey roasting/wine drinking disaster of ‘07, I wish I knew what this ‘thickest part’ business meant. Gargh!] reads 160 to 165 degrees F. Total roasting time will be under an hour.
4. Before removing the chicken from the pan, tip the pan to let the juices from the birds cavity flow into the pan (if they are red [they were… very bloody….ick] cook another 5 minutes). Remove the bird to a platter and let it rest for about 5 minutes. While it is resting, pour the pan juices into a clear measuring cup, [why a clear measuring cup? Also, who has an opaque measuring cup?] and pour or spoon off as much of the fast as you can. Reheat the juice, carve the bird [FAIL!], garnish, and serve with the pan juice.

I don’t know. After buying a free range organic chicken, factoring in my spices used, my time and frustration with the fire alarm, it’s totally cheaper to get a rotisserie chicken from Gelson’s. I’m also probably less likely to give myself salmonella and more likely to end up with a clean kitchen.

It felt good to get in the kitchen. It’s been too long. Tomorrow night Allie is cooking Sunday dinner, I’m helping. Hopefully we’ll do better than I did tonight.

Another box was sitting on my doorstep when I got home last night. There was no return address on this one, but I can only assume George W. Bush was responsible. My lord, he is making it impossible for me to hate him.

It’s the nicest pan I’ve ever owned. It is designed for a far better cook than I. It makes me look skinny and pretty and 10 years younger.

Magic.

Getting out of bed was rough this morning, especially because I was having a semi-scandalous dream about a girl from high school disappearing. I was driving around in a Hummer (that was the semi-scandalous part) looking for this girl when we came upon her twin. In real life she doesn’t have a twin… or does she?

The dog has taken my place as Supreme Bed Hog Overlord. And because she is so soft and cute and manipulative, I let her. This makes me very, very thankful when 4:30am rolls around and Louie gets up for the day, taking Supreme Bed Hog Overlord with him, leaving me, Under-Secretary Bed Hog, to do my leg splaying and arm spreading in peace. I think it might be a problem when a 30 pound dog is dictating your sleep schedule and making you ponder buying a bigger bed. Especially when you already have a queen sized bed that is perfectly comfortable and big. What the Supreme Bed Hog Overlord demands, we mere mortal Under-Secretaries must deliver.

I’m still baffled at the length of time it takes to roast a turkey. It’s a really long time, and we all put up with it. Even if we don’t really like turkey all that much. Tradition really has us hung here. Next year maybe I’ll do 10 little Cornish game hens, then everyone can have their own little bird and be happy. And it won’t take ten million years to get the temperature to reach bacteria killing levels. And another thing - Why, I ask you, does the breast need to be hotter than the thighs? What level of bacteria is lurking in the breast that needs an extra 10 degrees of temp?

This is the best turkey I’ve ever had, by the way. I don’t know if it was the copious amount of salt and butter I slathered all over the thing, or the breast down roasting, or my culinary prowess (it wasn’t that) but the leftovers are being closely guarded and turkey levels are being monitored, lest Louie eat more turkey than I deem entirely fair. The carcass is still chilling in the fridge waiting to be made into soup, but I was a little daunted by the 4 hour simmer time for the damn thing and it might have to wait until next weekend to be soupified.

I think I might be on to something in the kitchen. I wish I could find a way to get paid to sit around in my pajamas all day reading recipes, sipping coffee and warming my feet on a little black dog. Make it happen, Universe!

I might never cook a turkey again. It took forever. My only thought was it wasn’t completely thawed before I started cooking it. That or there was a bit of confusion as to where the thermometer actually was supposed to go.

It looked pretty. We started with it breast down, but the breast wasn’t getting to the right temp, so I flipped it.

The gravy came out so ridiculously salty that it was almost inedible. We soldiered on.

The successes were the easy dishes, the mashed potatoes, the stuffing, the rolls and the cranberries. Oh, and the champagne, definitely the champagne. One must always remember to have several bottles of champagne at the ready, no one will remember the turkey or the gravy after that.

After dinner we went to the weird festival of lights in Griffith Park. We walked down there and almost gave up, but if we had, we would have missed the awesomeness of the artists interpretation of the awesomeness of LAX, which is almost an identical representation of LAX.

My hangover is just fierce enough to make me regret all of those damned dishes. But it was a great night. Happy Thanksgiving, indeed.

I am starving. I have rolls rising, cranberry sauce cooling, and a turkey that seems to just be staring at me, expectantly.

I wonder how many people say, “Fuck it,” and just make some pizza.

I’d like to tell you, it hasn’t yet crossed my mind, but I do have all the ingredients in case I get too scared.

I had high hopes for my dinner tonight. I was going to knock off three Bittman recipes for one meal - homemade pizza. I don’t know if it was because I didn’t use quick yeast, or because I added too much water, or because me and Bittman and dough do not get along, but I started to smell something funny and then my sweet little under-used Cuisinart just up and quit on me. She is dead. Poor Cuisy.

I should have known something like this was going to happen. The last time I tried one of his dough recipes I ended up with this.

Thankfully my mom makes a good pizza dough, so all is not lost. It’s rising as we speak.

Lula rejoices.

If something happens two years in a row, does that equal a tradition?

I made sangria again for Louie’s birthday BBQ in the park and it is a hit every year. This year I added a new recipe to my arsenal and people thought it was tasty. I found it a bit on the sweet side, so if you like that kind of thing, by all means, sweeten it up. Next time I’ll probably take back the white grape juice a touch and add more club soda.

White Sangria Recipe - Inspired by Malo restaurant

• 2 bottles dry white wine (I used a Chenin Blanc from Trader Joe’s $3.99 a bottle)
• 1 1/4 cups Limoncello
• 1 Granny Smith Apple - cored and sliced thinly
• 2 nectarines - sliced thinly
• 1 peach - sliced thinly
• A couple of handfuls of red grapes - halved
• White Grape Juice
• 1 bottle Club Soda

Directions: Cut up fruit and put in the pitcher, add the white wine and Limoncello, chill for at least 2 hours.

Right before serving fill the pitcher with one part grape juice to one part club soda. Serve and watch your friends get nice and toasty.

It’s so easy, and such a nice summer drink. Too bad it’s not summer anymore.

Tara’s Red Sangria Recipe can be found here.