Thanks, but no thanks.

Every so often, I take my son to the beach for a nature walk. There's nothing better than finding a quiet strip of sand where we can eat lunch and dip our toes in the water. Usually we come home with our pockets full of shells and rocks and sand, and maybe some beach glass, if we're lucky.

But this? This stayed right where we found it. Ack! I don't even know what it is. Any guesses?

Literally.

Without ice cream, there would be darkness and chaos. 

~Don Kardong

Looking back - LA Times Festival of Books 2011

A year ago, I was at the LA Times Festival of Books with my son. Wandering around, I came upon a huge vinyl banner that asked, "What are you reading?"

At any given moment, I may be in the middle of reading three or more books, a handful of magazines, and a blog reader that taunts me with 1000+ unread posts. So I clearly remember standing there last year, scanning the hundreds of book titles scribbled on the wall, drawing a blank as to what books I was currently reading. 

After about ten minutes, the only title I could think of was "The Girl Who Played With Fire" by Stieg Larsson. 

I never did finish the book. But I suppose I could say I'm still in the middle of reading it.

Navarin Printanier (Lamb Stew with Spring Vegetables) - French Fridays with Dorie

I was excited about this week's recipe, Navarin Printanier. At last, a recipe with a long list of ingredients needing to be browned, boiled, simmered and braised. I love lamb, I love vegetables, and I love stew. I'd already prepped my new-to-me Dutch oven and found most of the "exotic" ingredients at the local grocery.

When I say "exotic," I mean ingredients like lamb, turnips and small white onions. I was surprised to find lamb in the freezer case, already diced and ready to be stewed. I had been dreading having to drive to another market for one item, so I was happy to save myself that trip. I only bought 2 pounds because that was plenty of meat for the family. 

On the other hand, choosing a turnip was a real adventure. I've never used turnips before. Actually, I've never even met a turnip before. I ended up walking up and down the produce aisle several times, rejecting the parsnips, celery root and rutabaga before finally coming across the large, radish-like vegetable labeled "turnips." Even more difficult than identifying the turnip is trying to choose a good one when you don't know what you're looking for. I found one with no blemishes on it and tried squeezing (firm with a little bit of give), smelling (smelled like dirt) and knocking on it like a melon (sounded solid). In hindsight, I should have just gone with more potatoes.

As for the small white onions, I had to substitute small, white onions. What I mean is, I should have used either boiling or pearl onions, but the store had neither, so I just used regular white onions and chopped them coarsely.

This recipe required a lot of steps and used three different pans. After you brown the lamb in two batches and simmer with broth and seasonings, you "meanwhile, work on the vegetables." That involves blanching the onions in one pan (if you use pearl onions) and browning the vegetables with butter and sugar in another. Then you add everything together, simmer a little longer, and braise in the oven. Finally, add the peas, taste for seasoning, and serve.

Usually when I make stew, I'll brown the meat, chop the vegetables, and dump them all into a crockpot with broth and seasoning. After 6-8 hours, dinner's ready, and dear ole hubs isn't looking at me sideways because I've filled up the sink twice with dirty dishes.

And to top it off, I didn't care for the navarin printanier very much. I'm not sure if it was the lamb or the turnips, but something gave the stew a slightly bitter taste that I didn't like. Hubs and the toddler ate theirs happily, so it was just me, but since I'm the one who's doing the cooking, it'll be a while before this makes an appearance at our table again.

The verdict: grade: C-. If I was to try this recipe again, I'd use beef and leave out the turnips. But then again, I already have a beef stew recipe that I love that doesn't involve so much fussy work, so why would I torture myself like that? At least I got the chance to break in my Dutch oven, which worked beautifully.

See how the rest of the FFwD bloggers fared here. 

Thanks for reading, and happy eats!

At first glance

I can wear a hat or take it off, but either way 
it's a conversation piece.  ~Hedda Hopper

He named that tune in one note.

Bah bop ah dah.

For the last few weeks, my son and I have been listening to Justin Roberts and The Not Ready for Naptime Players every time we're in the car. I don't mind at all, because the music and lyrics are fun, catchy, danceable, and ridiculously addictive. I've even been listening to the CDs when my son's not around. But I haven't been paying as much attention to the music as my little 2 year-old Justin Roberts fan.

Bah bop ah dah.

Today, my son wanted to hear a particular song. He called it Bah bop ah dah. It sounded sort of familiar, maybe "Koala Bear Diner" in toddler-speak? I skipped over to that track.

No Mommy, I want Bah bop ah dah.

Uh-oh. "Hippopotamus"? "Old Pajamas"? I started flipping through the tracks.

No! Bah bop ah dah!

At that point, I was reminded of one of my favorite "Married With Children" episodes, where Al trys to remember the name of a song he heard on the radio. Hmm Hmm Him, he hums to everyone, and no one can help him figure out what song it is.



Anyway, my little one was getting more and more agitated, so I decided to scan through all of the songs to see if we could find the one he wanted to hear. No such luck. We got home and sat in the garage for ten more minutes before I finally abandoned the search. A full nuclear meltdown resulted, and I rushed upstairs to put him down for his much-needed nap.

Later, as we were driving home from dinner, my husband turned on the radio.

I want Bah bop ah dah, Daddy.

I laughed. "Good luck with that," I told dear ole hubs. "I've already tried every song on the CDs."

"Maybe it's someone else?"

"I don't think so. That's all we've been listening to lately."

We started scanning each song again, letting them play for about 10 seconds so we could feel confident in eliminating them from the running. My son was sitting in the back, saying, "No, das not Bah bop ah dah,"  after we played each song. "No, das not it. No."

We had shuffled through about 20 tracks when all of a sudden....

A new song came on. Barely one note played. Then we heard, "Yes, that's Bah bop ah dah!"

Dear ole hubs and I looked at each other. "What?" he asked me. "Is he serious?" We listened to the first few verses.

"Oh. My. Gosh. Yeah, " I replied. "He's right. That's what they sing at the end." We both turned around to look at our son, who began singing along.

Ba ba ba Bah bop ah dah da da…

Amazing. 


* In case you're wondering, it was the song "Picture Day," off the album Way Out. You can hear a preview of the song here. But really, just go ahead and buy the album, or at least go check it out from the library. Even if you don't have kids. You'll come back here and thank me. I guarantee it.

Practicing for PIF Day

Little does this person know what's about to happen.

Let's just say that you want to be behind me in the drive-thru line at Starbucks.

I was having a great day and wanted to do something fun, so I paid the bill for the guy behind me in line. I asked the cashier to let him know that I was practicing a random act of kindness today. Though I'll never know how the guy reacted, I'll never forget the sweet smile and gratitude on the cashier's face. I wonder if that happens often?

So, for less than 3 bucks, I was able to spread my good mood around. Try it! It's a cheap high. :-)

Pay It Forward Day is this Thursday, April 26th. I need some new ideas for what I can do, so please leave your suggestions below. You never know, you may be the recipient of someone else's good deed that day, so don't forget to pay it forward!

Food p0rn - Central Station, Fillmore, CA

Tri-tip sandwich with side of baked beans

Not a great picture, I know. My camera lens will NOT stay put, despite my previous optimism. I can't tell if the blurriness is caused by the wonky lens or the terrible lighting. In any case, please imagine the deliciousness that was my lunch the other day.

Tender, juicy tri-tip on a butter-slathered, grilled roll.
Slightly tangy barbecue sauce for dipping.
Real chopped bacon in the baked beans.
Seasoned steak fries stolen from dear ole hubs' plate.
And a pint of Newcastle Brown Ale to wash it down.

Superb!

To Bundt, or not to Bundt

Why is it that when I walk into a resale shop and lay eyes on something that I've never seen before, I immediately decide that I have to start collecting them?

That was the case with these gelatin molds.

I can't wait to use them to make little individual bundt cakes. When's National Bundt Day again?

But I'm not entirely sure I can use these to bake. Again, Google tells me I shouldn't be using Google to answer questions like this. I know better than that.

I'll throw it out there - does anyone know how I can find out if it's safe to bake with these molds?

Meeting Cheryl Strayed.

I don't know who introduced me to the Dear Sugar advice column on The Rumpus, but I'd like to thank him or her. Very truly, thank you. After reading the columns for some time, I'd become quite smitten with Sugar. She had a gift for finding the hidden emotional needs of the letter-writer. Then she'd sock you in the gut with a powerful, yet empathetic, response that hit close to home for so many people. It's amazing how many times I'd end up in tears after reading one of her columns. She would tell the truth so simply that you'd wonder how you missed it.

These hands belong to a wise woman.

So I waited with delight for her to identify herself, which she did at her "coming out" party on Valentine's Day this year. Although I didn't recognize her name then, I went straight to Google to find out what she'd written, and then directly to my library's website to put everything that I could on hold. I was first in the holds queue to read her new book, which hadn't even been released at that point. I learned that she often wrote about grief and loss due to losing her mother to cancer way too early in her life. 

When I got home the next day and sat down with her published essays and her first novel, Torch, I was completely taken by what I read. Some of the stories sounded familiar, as she had included variations of them in the Sugar column. But somehow, especially in Torch, she put into words the confusion and desperation and grief I've felt since my own mother passed away from cancer last year. I just kept thinking, through my tears, "That's it, exactly."

It will never be ok that our mothers are dead.

Damn.

Anyway, it was strangely uplifting to read such things. As depressing as it may be, when you're in the thick of the messy shit, it helps to know that other people have been there too and that they get it. Cheryl Strayed, she fucking gets it.

So, for months, I had been eagerly looking forward to the LA Times Festival of Books. Not only is it a fun way to spend a weekend (surrounded by books! yippee!), but Ms. Strayed was going to be appearing in a panel discussion and signing books. Unfortunately, I wasn't able to go to the discussion, but that allowed me to be first in line for the book signing.

I'm in the right line.

She was very gracious and sweet, and when I told her I was a huge Sugar fan, she said it was nice to meet people who knew her from the Sugar columns. I let her know that I appreciated her writing so honestly about her mom, and how those stories personally affected me, having lost my mom too. She kindly offered her condolences and I went on about how Torch was my favorite of her works, and how I'd read Wild and was impressed with her skills at reading a trail guide. By that point, she'd already given me back my book, so there was nothing left for me to do except grin and thank her profusely before walking away.

Wishing you wild beauty on the journey, sweet pea.

As soon as I stepped away, I thought, "Did I really just tell her that the other book she wrote, not the one she's promoting right this second, but the other one, that THAT was my favorite? And what a downer I am. 'Hi, nice to meet you, you were probably having a great day, but hey! My mom died too. Look, we're members of the same shitty club, wink-wink.'" Damn. I'm such a freaking jerk.

The signing queue for Cheryl Strayed. Did I mention, I was first in line?

So, Ms. Strayed, my sincerest apologies. I really loved Wild too and could hardly put it down. I've been telling my family and my book club and my Facebook friends and now my blog readers (of which there are none, but one day!) about you in hopes that someone else will read your work and say, "That's it, exactly." And, even though we are members of the same shitty "I-lost-my-mom-too-young-and-it-sucks" club, well, all I can say about that is that I'm sorry. And thank you for understanding.

UPDATE 4/28/2012: I figured out who introduced me to Dear Sugar on the Rumpus. It was Megan from Not Martha in her post from 2010. I'm glad to be able to send my gratitude to her as well.