I have been meaning to post for days but first I had to recover from a very long Thursday night. It was one of my truly marathon evenings.
It started with me rushing home from work so that I could change clothes and meet the boy in San Francisco. Of course it started pouring rain around this time and because Californians have issues driving in rain, the drive was a bit longer than it should have been. I managed to get back out of the house and on the road though -- only to sit at the toll plaza for something like a half hour.
Our first in the City was Baraka. The food was wonderful, especially dessert. I had the semolina custard. Words fail to describe it. I will be going back.
Our next stop was the Mighty. I was able to surmise at this point that we were going to a concert but had no clue who it was. I had thought of asking someone else while the boy slipped off to the bar for drinks but decided that I'd rather be surprised. That I was. Finally Thomas Dolby walked onto the stage and started playing. I had been telling the boy for weeks how I thought that Dolby is a musical genius. It was at that moment that I decided that I could forgive the boy for all the annoying things he has done over the last few weeks.
On the way home, I suddenly had the brainstorm to stop in North Beach at the bar that used to be my home away from home. There were only about eight folks in the place. As we walked in, this group of three suddenly asked me, "Don't we know you from that place in Berkeley? What are you doing here?" What, indeed. The group turned out to be one of the bartenders from the place I always hang in Berkeley with a couple of his friends. The female I had met back in December. She's friends with the band that I love to catch at that place in Berkeley and had tried to get me to come back to SF with them that night in December to hang out after the bar closed. Well Thursday night the bar closed and we headed over to her place. There was lots of vodka and conversation. Somewhere along the way she told us that she is a singer and trying to put a band together. I announced that the boy is a musician. The two of them ended up in a long conversation about music. I was left talking to the bartender and his roommate, both of whom have lovely Irish accents. Somewhere in the alcohol-induced haze I realized that I was holding hands with the bartender. The boy never noticed because he was too busy talking about music.
This time for the first time in my life I realized what I was doing. I have always dumped guys before they have a chance to dump me -- abandonment issues and all. I have never cheated on a guy but I will dump him if someone else comes along. I realized that the hand holding thing was part of my destructive pattern. Then I spent the rest of the weekend feeling guilty.
The guilt is a bit more under control now. My only worry is going back to my fave bar in Berkeley now because Friday is St. Patty's Day. Like I'm going to miss that.
Sunday, March 12, 2006
Thursday, March 9, 2006
Keeping busy
I do more than party and cook. While watching the various reality shows that I like, I find the need to do something else.
A few weeks ago I found out that there would be a baby shower this coming Sunday for a good friend from high school. Back then we were so close that we used to joke that we were like sisters. That meant that she needed a shower gift befitting of family.
As you all know, I have lots of time on my hands these days. I had also just finished my hat then. Obviously this meant a trip to the store for more yarn. I also needed to find a pattern. Thank you internet for free patterns.
The finished product. There are matching booties and a bonnet as well. Isn't it just precious? If my friend doesn't like it, well then she's just not my friend anymore.
A few weeks ago I found out that there would be a baby shower this coming Sunday for a good friend from high school. Back then we were so close that we used to joke that we were like sisters. That meant that she needed a shower gift befitting of family.
As you all know, I have lots of time on my hands these days. I had also just finished my hat then. Obviously this meant a trip to the store for more yarn. I also needed to find a pattern. Thank you internet for free patterns.
The finished product. There are matching booties and a bonnet as well. Isn't it just precious? If my friend doesn't like it, well then she's just not my friend anymore.
Monday, March 6, 2006
Too much time on my hands
This weekend I decided to hit the kitchen once more. Originally it was going to be on Saturday but then the boy showed up on Friday and announced that we had been invited to a party/fundraiser on Saturday. So that meant the cooking would happen on Sunday.
I guess my inspiration was the weather of late -- cold and wet. OK. I also drew inspiration from a number of items that were on sale this week in the stores. With weather like this, I want comfort food. This means mac and cheese, soups, stews, and anything Southern. The Southern thing won out.
My first inspiration in choice of Southern cooking was a result of crab being on sale this week. As I was driving in the rain through Fairfield on Friday, I suddenly remembered that chicken, sausage, and shrimp were also on sale. This could only mean one thing -- gumbo!
I have only tried to make gumbo twice before. The first time it was a success; the second it was awful. This time I decided to call my other mother on my way to the store. (Although she is a native Californian like myself, her parents are originally from Louisiana. Her mother schooled her well in Louisiana cooking. Further proof of this is that there is not much difference between her gumbo and my stepmother's. My stepmother was actually born in Louisiana.) After shopping, I hit the internet to see if I could find further guidance. I used this as my guide along the way.
I got up bright and early on Sunday morning to start on the stock.
Stock prior to the addition of the shrimp shells
The next thing was to make the roux. I prefer a peanut butter colored roux.
Almost done. Just needs the crab and shrimp added.
Final product in the pot...
and in the bowl
I have been having huge cravings for something sweet all week. I had planned to make more madeleines but the other dessert took took much time. I spent last week flipping through cookbooks and cooking magazines. I settled on a recipe for Orange Meringue Pie from this book.
I used the blood oranges I already had in the fridge to change it up.
Unfortunately I was browning the meringue at the same time that I was browning the roux for the gumbo. That's OK though. The boy will still eat it.
And here it is on the plate.
It's been some time since I have baked a pie. I think the last thing I made along these lines was a apple pear cobbler. And that was years ago. I am happy with the meringue (other than the over-browned areas) but the filling ended up a bit weepy. *sigh* Perhaps it was a bit too ambitious to think that I could do gumbo and a pie simultaneously. Live and learn.
I guess my inspiration was the weather of late -- cold and wet. OK. I also drew inspiration from a number of items that were on sale this week in the stores. With weather like this, I want comfort food. This means mac and cheese, soups, stews, and anything Southern. The Southern thing won out.
My first inspiration in choice of Southern cooking was a result of crab being on sale this week. As I was driving in the rain through Fairfield on Friday, I suddenly remembered that chicken, sausage, and shrimp were also on sale. This could only mean one thing -- gumbo!
I have only tried to make gumbo twice before. The first time it was a success; the second it was awful. This time I decided to call my other mother on my way to the store. (Although she is a native Californian like myself, her parents are originally from Louisiana. Her mother schooled her well in Louisiana cooking. Further proof of this is that there is not much difference between her gumbo and my stepmother's. My stepmother was actually born in Louisiana.) After shopping, I hit the internet to see if I could find further guidance. I used this as my guide along the way.
I got up bright and early on Sunday morning to start on the stock.
Stock prior to the addition of the shrimp shells
The next thing was to make the roux. I prefer a peanut butter colored roux.
Almost done. Just needs the crab and shrimp added.
Final product in the pot...
and in the bowl
I have been having huge cravings for something sweet all week. I had planned to make more madeleines but the other dessert took took much time. I spent last week flipping through cookbooks and cooking magazines. I settled on a recipe for Orange Meringue Pie from this book.
I used the blood oranges I already had in the fridge to change it up.
Unfortunately I was browning the meringue at the same time that I was browning the roux for the gumbo. That's OK though. The boy will still eat it.
And here it is on the plate.
It's been some time since I have baked a pie. I think the last thing I made along these lines was a apple pear cobbler. And that was years ago. I am happy with the meringue (other than the over-browned areas) but the filling ended up a bit weepy. *sigh* Perhaps it was a bit too ambitious to think that I could do gumbo and a pie simultaneously. Live and learn.
Friday, March 3, 2006
Back to the kitchen
Last night was the weekly cooking with the boy thing. You know the drill. I select a recipe, we shop together, and then I tell him what he is allowed to do in the kitchen. He chops very well. Oh, and excellent clean-up as well. Bottom line is you can thank the boy for this post. As we were sitting down to eat, he asked, "Don't you want to take photos for the blog?" I don't know. Maybe it was the wine I was drinking while cooking that made me forget.
Yes, it was salmon again. But wait. There's more.
The salmon had a sauce.
There's one piece left in the fridge. The boy is at work. I am hungry. You do the math.
Yes, it was salmon again. But wait. There's more.
The salmon had a sauce.
There's one piece left in the fridge. The boy is at work. I am hungry. You do the math.
Wednesday, March 1, 2006
Showdown at the O.K. Corral
... or why the boy is not allowed to read my blog.
Monday 9 p.m.
Boy called to say that he would had finished packing up stuff at rehearsal space and had decided to put it all in storage on Tuesday. There was lots of whining about how the other guys had not shown up to help him pack. He then said that his best friend, who is also in the band, would be celebrating his birthday on Tuesday and that the boy thought it would be cool if we all went out on Tuesday night. (He has been wanting me to meet this friend for weeks now.) As they would probably be finished before I got off work, we agreed that he would call me on Tuesday at 7 p.m. to let me know where to meet them.
Tuesday 10 a.m.
Boy called to say that he was waiting for the other guys to arrive so they could start moving the stuff. His best friend was en route.
Tuesday 12:30 p.m.
Best friend had arrived. Still no other guys. Best friend had to be up early on Wednesday to go to work so he would not be going out. Boy said they had decided to put the stuff in storage. With no truck, they would be using his car to haul everything across town to the storage place. He said that he would call me at 7 p.m. to let me know where to meet him.
Tuesday 7:00 p.m.
Received a call from the boy as I was parking my car in front of my building. He was still in San Francisco. They had put most of the stuff in storage but the facility closed before they were able to drop off the last load. Therefore, he was going to have to take it home. He would then get on BART to meet me at my place to go out. He estimated that this would all take about two hours. He asked what my dinner plans were. I had been planning to grab something to eat when we went out. I was starving and starting to get just a wee bit cranky. I told him I would grab a snack and that I would see him in two hours.
Tuesday 9:00 p.m.
Boy called from BART station in San Francisco saying that he would arrive in about 30 minutes. I was a wee bit pissed off at this point. Thankfully the snack I had prepared earlier was a bit more substantial than I thought it would be and I was no longer hungry. I went to the kitchen and fixed a Mexican coffee for myself.
Tuesday 9:05 p.m.
College roommate returned my call, just as I was starting to write this post. I told her everything that happened. We came to the agreement that the boy had just made the mistake of putting his trust in flaky people. The people I was really mad with were these flakes who, in my opinion, had sabotaged my evening.
Tuesday 10:00 p.m.
The boy arrived, literally two minutes after I had hung up the phone with my best friend. We headed out to the bar around the corner from me. Luckily for the boy, they were still serving food. I was not hungry. The waiter remembered us from Saturday night and promptly asked me, "Pinot Noir for you, right?" My thought was, "And keep it flowing."
After drinks arrived, I told boy that I knew that he had said he would not whine about the situation anymore when we arrived but there were a few things I wanted to get off my chest. I believe I actually said that I was kind of pissed off.
We discussed the whole band situation. The guy who was supposed to bring the truck apparently had been passed out at home with his phone turned off. I ascertained that this is one of the guys who is usually drinking heavily at rehearsals. I suggested that perhaps for some of these guys, the whole band thing was just an excuse to party. They were flakes. Therefore, he should not rely on them for anything important in the future. I asked what they were going to do about rehearsal this weekend. The boy has no clue as they no longer have a space. They have a gig two weeks from Saturday -- that of course I will be attending. The boy chuckled at the thought of how I will treat the flakes when I meet them at that time.
A couple of glasses of wine later I was feeling much happier. Ah. The wonders of wine.
So I titled this "The Showdown" because when I first started writing, that's what I thought would transpire. So now that I have rested, I am ready to head out again tonight with the boy. Oh. And he better not be late.
Monday 9 p.m.
Boy called to say that he would had finished packing up stuff at rehearsal space and had decided to put it all in storage on Tuesday. There was lots of whining about how the other guys had not shown up to help him pack. He then said that his best friend, who is also in the band, would be celebrating his birthday on Tuesday and that the boy thought it would be cool if we all went out on Tuesday night. (He has been wanting me to meet this friend for weeks now.) As they would probably be finished before I got off work, we agreed that he would call me on Tuesday at 7 p.m. to let me know where to meet them.
Tuesday 10 a.m.
Boy called to say that he was waiting for the other guys to arrive so they could start moving the stuff. His best friend was en route.
Tuesday 12:30 p.m.
Best friend had arrived. Still no other guys. Best friend had to be up early on Wednesday to go to work so he would not be going out. Boy said they had decided to put the stuff in storage. With no truck, they would be using his car to haul everything across town to the storage place. He said that he would call me at 7 p.m. to let me know where to meet him.
Tuesday 7:00 p.m.
Received a call from the boy as I was parking my car in front of my building. He was still in San Francisco. They had put most of the stuff in storage but the facility closed before they were able to drop off the last load. Therefore, he was going to have to take it home. He would then get on BART to meet me at my place to go out. He estimated that this would all take about two hours. He asked what my dinner plans were. I had been planning to grab something to eat when we went out. I was starving and starting to get just a wee bit cranky. I told him I would grab a snack and that I would see him in two hours.
Tuesday 9:00 p.m.
Boy called from BART station in San Francisco saying that he would arrive in about 30 minutes. I was a wee bit pissed off at this point. Thankfully the snack I had prepared earlier was a bit more substantial than I thought it would be and I was no longer hungry. I went to the kitchen and fixed a Mexican coffee for myself.
Tuesday 9:05 p.m.
College roommate returned my call, just as I was starting to write this post. I told her everything that happened. We came to the agreement that the boy had just made the mistake of putting his trust in flaky people. The people I was really mad with were these flakes who, in my opinion, had sabotaged my evening.
Tuesday 10:00 p.m.
The boy arrived, literally two minutes after I had hung up the phone with my best friend. We headed out to the bar around the corner from me. Luckily for the boy, they were still serving food. I was not hungry. The waiter remembered us from Saturday night and promptly asked me, "Pinot Noir for you, right?" My thought was, "And keep it flowing."
After drinks arrived, I told boy that I knew that he had said he would not whine about the situation anymore when we arrived but there were a few things I wanted to get off my chest. I believe I actually said that I was kind of pissed off.
We discussed the whole band situation. The guy who was supposed to bring the truck apparently had been passed out at home with his phone turned off. I ascertained that this is one of the guys who is usually drinking heavily at rehearsals. I suggested that perhaps for some of these guys, the whole band thing was just an excuse to party. They were flakes. Therefore, he should not rely on them for anything important in the future. I asked what they were going to do about rehearsal this weekend. The boy has no clue as they no longer have a space. They have a gig two weeks from Saturday -- that of course I will be attending. The boy chuckled at the thought of how I will treat the flakes when I meet them at that time.
A couple of glasses of wine later I was feeling much happier. Ah. The wonders of wine.
So I titled this "The Showdown" because when I first started writing, that's what I thought would transpire. So now that I have rested, I am ready to head out again tonight with the boy. Oh. And he better not be late.
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