trying too hard

People, it's been an insane couple of weeks. I know, I know, I say that at least once a month. More, maybe. I haven't cooked anything other than plain pasta in, well, a really long time. For part of last week, I was living on saltines and graham crackers. It hasn't been pretty. But before the temperatures climbed above 90 and I subsequently swore off firing up my stove, I did try one of the daily recipes from the "dinner tonight" series. 

I had everything on hand for the Kung Pao chicken recipe, save some microwave rice, which I allow myself to buy even though a)the packaging probably leeches all sorts of savory chemicals into the rice in the 90 seconds the stuff spins around the microwave, and b)it's more expensive. I see it as a reward for deciding to make a meal mostly from scratch, and a way to avoid turning on any more burners than necessary in the LKTC (see aforementioned 90-degree rule).

I wanted to like the sauce. I really did. It was easy and quick. I didn't have to buy any fancy ingredients. It sounded good. The picture looked appetizing. So on. So forth. 

To be fair, the sauce didn't have the most fortuitous start. I whipped it up on a Thursday, intending to force myself to cook a real dinner for the first time in ages, despite the fact that I was doing 4 loads of laundry and was feeling queasy and overheated.  It was the same fateful day, in fact, that I turned down an invite to The Source.

Anyways, I decided to finally cook with the sauce on the Sunday following laundry/lame pants day, when I was also feeling queasy and overheated (hopefully this doesn't become the theme of my summer). I probably should've had something like ramen or chicken noodle soup for dinner, not something spicy. But, I was lured by the aforementioned pretty pictures, and the guilt of not cooking hardly at all lately. And, I'm kind of a glutton for punishment in all aspects of life, it seems. So even when I came to the line that suggested the harried weeknight chef use 1 to 1 1/2 teaspoons of crushed red pepper, and thought "hmm, that sounds like a lot" (relative to the other ingredients), I just threw it in there.

It was (unsurprisingly) HOT. Really hot. Practically inedibly hot. And I love me some spicy food. So, I'm not sure if the sauce would be good with less red pepper (and/or on a day when I wasn't plagued with random nausea). I'm not sure I'll ever try it again, for now it'll always be associated with what turned out to be a God-awful Sunday. But, you should try it with oh, I don't know, a THIRD as much red pepper, and let me know how it tastes. Deal?     

 

Oh, by the way, I took exactly zero photos of the offending sauce, so, here's a pretty picture I took yesterday while chaperoning a group of 15 interns on a Capitol Hill trip. Yes, I, who was mistaken for a sophomore in high school just a week ago, was in charge of a group of kids for an entire day. Horrifying, I know. Luckily last night, dinner and a bowl-sized glass of wine at my favorite Italian restaurant on this side of the Atlantic did excellent things for mostly wiping out my memory of the little field trip.

welcome, 26

I've always been fortunate to feel really loved and celebrated on my birthday. Except that one year when my Mom forgot it was my birthday. Kidding, she totally would've remembered eventually had I not obnoxiously reminded her at the gas station on our way to the OBKB lodge for the annual May birthdays/Memorial Day weekend. I was, after all, something like eleven years old, and birthdays were an even bigger deal back then, right? 

Anyways, while I really missed being at the lake with my family this year, I genuinely had an amazing weekend. I feel like I packed a ton of summery events in, got a little tan in the process, and spent time with some really great friends. It all wrapped up last night with a great little Monday dinner with Sophie and Hong-Nhu. 

I made my new chicken recipe for the THIRD time in, I don't know, a week, Hong-Nhu brought a great salad, I heated up some of the smoked gouda mac and cheese I set aside from a cookout I went to on Sunday, and Sophie brought dessert. Not just any dessert, mind you, but peanut butter pie, a long-time favorite of mine, which was so sweet of her to remember. She even brought candles, which valiantly managed to hold their own despite the fact that the pie succumbed a bit to the oppressive heat. 

After I blew out the candles, we ended up scooping it straight out of the pie pan, bits of oreo cookie crust and all, as we watched yet another awful episode of The Bachelorette, transfixed and horrified by the cheesiness unfolding before our eyes. It was the perfect way to kick of my twenty sixth year, which, not to totally jinx it, is off to a great start. Twenty five had some serious curve balls, but coming in to this birthday, I've never felt so happy and content. You could even say I'm glowing.    

"man, you really like butter"

When it comes to cooking, my biggest problem used to be that I simply refused to cook. When I gave up eating out for Lent, unexpected post-work plans were often my biggest challenge. Now that I cook on a more regular basis, portion control is the issue du jour.

I'm not a total idiot, I realize that most recipes are designed to serve two to four people. And somewhere in the back of my rapidly atrophying brain, there's a part of me that can do basic divison. But, I'm my mother's daughter, and as such, inherited her irrational but omnipresent fear that there won't be enough food to go around the table. Even if, in my case, the table is only set for one. 

So most nights, but especially on nights when I feed more bodies than just myself, I have an abundance of leftovers. Luckily, this makes lunch the next day a no-brainer, and, it means that my coworkers are kind of bribed in to liking me because I feed them. 

For this week's Monday dinner with Sophie, I tried two new recipes. One was for mac and cheese made with quinoa in place of "mac." I was skeptical, especially because the recipe calls for an egg (I know!). But, with a little buttery, bread crummy crust on top and gooey cheese underneath, you basically forget you're eating an egg mixed in with a superfood. It's super filling, and even with soy milk and skim cheese, it's tasty. The recipe, by the way, is not at all lying, not even close, when it says it makes 8 servings. Two of us ate it for dinner, and three of us ate it for lunch the next day. I still have more leftover than I can use.

Anyways, the other recipe I tried was for "moist chicken every time." I know, I know. The name is, well, cliche, and, far from humble. But, I was mostly curious to see if I could abide by the recipe's demand that you cook the chicken for one minute on medium, flip it over, turn the heat to low, and leave a lid on for twenty whole non-stop don't you dare lift that lid minutes. Ten of those minutes, the heat is on low, and the other ten, it's off. Look, I don't know what kind of magic happens in those twenty minutes, but it's some perfectly cooked chicken you're going to pull out of that skillet. And, because you dredge it in some flour and spices beforehand, it's not flavorless like many, many a skillet cooked piece of chicken ends up being. Awfully titled recipe aside, consider me a convert.

While I like to think of this as a healthy dinner, the truth is, there was a decent quantity of butter involved. When we were all eating the leftovers Tuesday, my one coworker asked me how the chicken was so good. I described the aforementioned cooking process, mentioning that it starts with a healthy pat of butter in the skillet, and before I could keep going, he looks at me in a mix of admiration and disgust, and goes "man, you really like butter." 

I'll have you know he ate every last piece of chicken.    

buttery birthday dinner

The new LKTC, previewed yesterday, is pretty much the only room in "the nest" (aka my new apartment) that isn't going to undergo any changes any time soon. I don't love the cabinet colors, the layout, or the flooring, but I'm young and poor, and the honest truth is that the kitchen is 100% livable as it is, so I can afford to wait. Actually I have to wait so I can afford to spruce it up. Semantics.

Anyways, much to my surprise, as we were moving in and unpacking, everything fit! That cabinet above the sink is fairly deep, and really long, so it held all my plates, bowls, cups, mugs, and some stemless wine and champagne glasses. The floor to ceiling cabinets that you can't see in the LKTC photos are on the right by the fridge and on the left hand wall, and they magically contain all my pots, pans, baking dishes, tupperware, cloth grocery bags, various small appliances, spices, and food. Even Fiona fits in there nicely, but Kitty the Kitchenaid Stripper is just too large and in charge, so she lives towards the back of my weird green counter. 

So although I was extremely pleased at how well everything fit in cabinets, I worried that cooking/baking would prove to be a challenge given the drastically reduced counter space in the nest. Let's do a little comparison, shall we? Here's the most recent Arlington-based LKTC: 


There's easily 4 or 5 times the counter space here...

And here's the new LKTC again:

...than here!

And yes, I did actually intend to show you the new LKTC in this state of hot mess total disaster-ness. In my old kitchen, I could afford to do more meticulous, organized, well-spaced out preparations for various components of a meal. This one, however, is an entirely different animal, and I quickly had to relinquish my more type-A tendencies in favor of just using all available surfaces in rotating fashion as I tried to turn out dinner and a birthday-worthy dessert. 

Actually I also had to relinquish said tendencies in the gathering of supplies for the first Monday dinner in the nest. I love my new neighborhood, and the proximity of a grocery store to my apartment building, but it's a tiny one, and doesn't even stock beer or wine, or, apparently, corn flakes, all of which I needed, forcing me to bounce around the area sourcing supplies. 

Of course none of this would have happened if I hadn't gotten my mind so set on a handful of ideas. The first thing I knew I just had to try was cake in a can. As in cake baked IN a can. Why? you ask. Well...why not? Actually, the real answer is "because 1) two people don't need to eat an entire full sized cake, 2) I don't own cake pans, and 3) I saw it on this blog and was intrigued."

The original Ladies' Home Journal article suggests using boxed cake mix, which I was totally on board with...until I remembered that I recently saved a handful of cake/frosting recipes I'd been dying to try. One of which was a chocolate stout cake with vanilla bean frosting. And Sophie likes Guinness. And I'm generally averse to boxed baked goods. And...well, you can see how that one spiraled out of control, right? But of course the grocery didn't have beer or wine, so I was off to the liquor store. Where they only sell giant bottles of Guinness. Which was fine, because halfway in to this cake baking/frosting making/chicken cooking adventure, I needed a few sips of the stuff to get me through, and to help me forget that the tiny cake (+ half a dozen cupcakes) and the frosting contained two sticks of butter!!). In case you're curious, here are a few snapshots (of the can cake, not of my drinking straight from a large bottle of Guinness. I have some standards...).     



I used a 24-oz can of crushed tomatoes, the contents of which went straight in to my freezer for later use.



The fresh-out-of-the-oven product, which kind of looks like a giant cupcake, and which I tried to frost when it was just a touch too warm.

 

Which led to this kind of drippy icing phenomenon (I mean, it does contain a stick of butter...)

Dripping icing aside, we each ate two slices of the stuff. It was, as you  may've guessed, quickly deemed a success. I brought the cupcakes in the next day, and they got similarly rave reviews, although I do think this is a cake best eaten fairly soon after its made, as both the cupcakes and the leftover cake dried out a bit in the fridge. 

Anyways, after the can cake (and its siblings, the overflow cupcakes) were baking away in the oven, I gave Kitty the Kitchenaid stripper a rest and turned my attention to the main dish of the evening: pecan crusted chicken. Don't ask me where that idea came from (for once, the answer is not "Pinterest," "a blog," or the "dinner tonight" subscription). But again, once it was in my little head, it was stuck. And I thought to myself "I have pecans at home, so all I need is the milk and the corn flakes."

Turns out I had no pecans at home, and the grocery didn't sell corn flakes. The nearby 7-11 came to the rescue with their travel sized boxes of cereal, but I never did procure pecans. I had already bounced around my block enough to pick up the Guinness, the corn flakes, and the rest of the ingredients, and I needed to start cooking if we had any hope of eating before bedtime. Sophie was already bringing bagged salad, wine, and sponges (don't ask), so I didn't want to ask her to pick up anything else. Almonds would have to do, I decided. 

And then I realized I had forgotten to buy the dried cranberries for the salad. At that point, I decided to completely depart from the recipe, which, oddly, came from Good Morning America, and was written in extremely cheesy fashion. Since I'd already replaced pecans with almonds and nixed the cranberries all together, I felt no guilt about baking the chicken strips versus pan frying them. We were, after all, about to consume a tiny dessert made with two sticks of butter! and needed no more fat in our lives. Sophie and I agreed, though, that it came out just fine, and tasted pretty fantastic with the dressing whipped up from the same GMA recipe.


pecan-turned-almond crusted chicken

I officially deem the first meal cooked in the new LKTC a success. It's one of many "firsts" that I'm loving far more than any normal person would. First thunderstorm, first time using my tee tiny dishwasher, first take out dinner, you get the idea. If all goes as planned, the first brunch will happen this weekend before my friends and I embark on a tour of all the embassies having open houses on Saturday. Stay tuned!

angry paella

Once upon a time while living in Italy, I got so mad that the only thing I could channel my energy in to was cooking. I've never enjoyed cooking, but I fired up the gas stove in Casa Artom and made what will forever be known as angry paella. 

I can't remember where I found the recipe, but I tried in vain to lay my hands on it for months after I got back from Venice, because it was really, really good. Prior to that point, I'm honestly not sure I'd ever cooked a meal, not to mention a good one. 


Eventually I found a recipe that I think gets pretty close to the original. I can't remember where I found that one either (noticing a pattern here?), but here it is, fresh from my recipe box on the ever-useful Epicurious site:


-1 garlic clove, minced
-1 TBS olive oil
-1/2 lb hot or sweet Italian sausage (w/o fennel seeds)
-1/2 lb skinless chicken breast, cut in 1 inch pieces
-1 c (arborio) rice
-1 c onion, chopped
-1 1/2 c chicken broth
-1 (8oz) can stewed chopped tomatoes
-1/2 tsp sweet paprika
-1/8 to 1/4 tsp crushed red pepper
-1/8 tsp ground saffron
-1/2 lb medium shrimp
-1/2 c red bell pepper strips
-1/2 c green bell pepper strips
-1/2 c frozen green peas


1. heat the garlic and oil in a large skillet.
2. remove the sausage meat from its casings. add the chicken and sausage to the oil and stir until browned (about 10 min)
3. spoon off all but 1 TBS drippings from the skillet. add the rice and onion. cook, stirring until onion is transparent and rice is lightly browned (about 5 minutes)
4. add the broth, tomatoes and their juice, paprika, red pepper, and saffron. bring to a boil; reduce heat, cover, and simmer for 10 minutes.
5. add the shrimp, red and green pepper strips, and peas. cover and simmer for 10 minutes, or until rice is tender and liquid is absorbed.


I've never actually made it with sausage, chicken, and shrimp all at once. Normally I just make it with chicken and/or shrimp. And although the recipe doesn't specify, I take the chicken out after it's cooked, but before I put the rice and onions in. Because chicken isn't greasy like sausage, I normally splash a little more olive oil in there pre-rice/onions, too. I've often forgotten the tomatoes, sometimes forgotten the garlic, and never have found sweet paprika. What I'm saying here is that it's a pretty forgiving recipe, so long as you get the rice toasting/cooking part right. 


Anyways, I made angry paella last night not because I'm particularly angry right now, but because one of my coworkers wanted to learn how to make it. I also happened to need help moving a new piece of furniture from my car to my bedroom. So, after work, a few coworkers caravanned back to my apartment. We moved furniture, then the boys watched tennis while I taught my friend how to make the dish (and I realized that I make a terrible instructor). 


During last night's paella lesson, I tried a combination of regular and smoky paprika in lieu of sweet, and while I liked the flavor of the smoky paprika, I was a little too heavy handed with it. I also forgot the garlic. What can I say?...I never cook both quickly and well. Regardless, I think the best paella is truly born out of anger, but there were clean plates all around the table, so I'm proof that it's worth giving this a shot, even if you aren't ticked off. 

spring (errr, summer) time risotto

It's funny, most people are excitedly gearing up for a long weekend right about now, but I'm sitting here wondering how my unexpected week off is nearly over. With Monday devoted to my drive back to DC, it doesn't much feel like a holiday. As much as I like being home, it will be nice, I suppose, to fall back in to some sort of work routine, and more blog-worthy, some sort of LKTC routine. 


Reading The China Study really got me thinking about my diet, which, I imagine, would be assessed as "bad" by any diet guru, doctor, or nutritionist. Despite having contemplated following the book's "no animal protein" mantra, even just for an experimental month, I've been doing anything but that since I've been home (cough cough trip to Five Guys with my parents cough). 


I thought I'd be doing more cooking at home, given the more spacious, better-equipped kitchen at my disposal (and my mother's reaction to my coming home for a week: "Jenny's coming home! She'll cook for us every night!"). But we've been super busy, so one of the only meals I've thrown together was Monday. 


I completely arbitrarily decided to make risotto, and settled on this recipe from Williams Sonoma. I cut the rice and liquid in half, and it was still more than enough for three people. I skipped the peas (Mom hates them), the mint (didn't seem to fit), and the cheese (I hate it), and added asparagus instead. This part of the process felt very healthy. 

I could even convince myself that the tomato, basil, mozzarella appetizer was a semi-healthy move (although the half off special on mozzarella went a long way in persuading me to throw the package in my basket at the grocery). 

I was apparently feeling guilty and economical, because I refused to let the little loaf of (approaching stale) sourdough on the counter go to waste (nevermind that I wasn't the one who even purchased it), so I slapped some olive oil and minced garlic on it and threw it in a 350 degree oven hoping for the best. I'd say it looks pretty tasty, and the parents at least pretended to agree when they ate it. 

The risotto turned out pretty well, if a touch wine-y (isn't that supposed to evaporate, at least a little?). I think it looked very summery, if a bit monochromatic. (PS-cheese lovers, I know you're still stuck on that "I skipped the cheese part, but the parents and I are here to tell you that it was still perfectly creamy). 

There aren't any other major meals on the agenda for the remainder of my mini-vacation. We're going in to the city tomorrow to celebrate a family friend's birthday, and I basically insisted on bringing the dessert. I'm dying to take a second stab at the chocolate peanut butter squares that I made a few months ago (trying to compose a better crust this time). On top, we're going to scoop dark chocolate gelato with, wait for it!, mini milk chocolate peanut butter cups from Trader Joe's (which reminds me, they're hiding in the fridge and I need to...sample....a few). I know everyone loves Trader Joe's, but I think it's actually a land mine of cheap booze and sugar, which are two things over which I am apparently physically incapable of exercising any sort of self-control.  Proof:

Ok, just kidding, that's all of the wine for a huge charity dinner my parents are planning for our church.  But still, TJ's is dangerous, people (she says, as one hand is in the container of mini milk chocolate peanut butter cups). 

lent leftovers

I have this little list tacked up on my fridge (sadly there's no photo, not even a crappy blackberry photo).  It lists all the dishes I had hoped to attempt (and dare I say...perfect) over the course of my "no eating out" edict during Lent.  Off the top of my head, I remember: waffles, pancakes, biscuits, patatas bravas, and drunken noodle.  

Embarrassingly, I only attempted (and in the case of biscuits, I'd say nearly perfected) the first three. If you search for a patatas bravas recipe, the wide array you'll find is, in my mind, overwhelming.  I typically check a few different recipes each time I'm trying something new to get a handle on possible variations, but there were just too many in this case.  I decided I'd just have to visit Jaleo often to devise my own approach.

I can't recall what my excuse was in the case of the drunken noodle dish.  It's my favorite Thai dish, and one of the things I probably missed most during Lent.  I suspect sheer laziness likely won out in this battle.  

BUT, great news. Well, great for me anyways.  Allie decided to try and make it, and it was amazing. She found this recipe, and we made a trip to the local H Mart to round up supplies.  We didn't find everything we were looking for (looking at you, mini corn and young green peppercorns), and spent a lengthy amount of time contemplating the overwhelming plethora of soy sauce/oyster sauce options. Following many "oh what the heck, let's try it" proclaimations, we found ourselves facing one of the area's more tenacious storms this summer.  The lightning/thunder were seemingly right on top of us, and I've literally never seen it rain harder in my life.  We made a run for it, and subsequently looked like we had showered in our clothes.  The soy sauce, however, was fine. 

While the ingredient list looks daunting, I think I speak for Allie accurately when I say it was fairly easy (if a bit heavy on the prep work), and really delicious.  We used regular Thai basil and skipped the mini corn and green peppercorns with no real impact (in our opinions).  We did a soy sauce taste test, though, and we're here to tell you that the recipe calls for different varieties for a reason. It definitely gets the LKTC seal of approval, and I'll hopefully try making it myself soon. 

See, isn't it pretty? (don't mind the awful phone photo)

 

My contributions were small, but complimentary (of course I'd say that, but you're going to either have to trust me here, or make all of it yourself to test my assertion).  I made Asian slaw with ginger peanut dressing, which was light but spicy, and a good starter for the drunken noodle. I actually cut the honey and oil quantities in half, and we didn't notice any impact on flavor or quantity of dressing.  Luckily I realized last-minute that I accidentally bought parsley instead of cilantro at H Mart, and managed to correct my novice error. Not only do I loathe parsley, but it would've tasted awful in this dish. 

it was also a bit chopping intensive...

  

but overall, worth the effort!

For dessert, I brought the chocolate red pepper gelato that I made a while back.  I already knew Allie would love it, but Alicia was a fan, too, and couldn't get over the tickling sensation the red pepper left behind.

Never one to be satisfied for long with any singular kitchen success, tonight I tackle the "jacked up cookies and cream" ice cream recipe...

playing tennis

Last night's full moon has nothing to do with my dinner, I just thought it was beautiful

I haven't actually been playing tennis, I just look like I have. See, I really love spicy food.  Really really spicy food.  So you'd think I'd be able to tolerate it gracefully, right?  


Not so.  Instead, I get all flushed and break out in (what I like to think is) a subtle sweat.  It looks, a coworker once told me in the middle of a spicy Chipotle lunch, like I'd been playing tennis. 


Tonight I made this Bombay curry from a Cooking Light recipe I tore out of the magazine mom left behind last month.  If you read it, you'll see it calls for both curry powder and red pepper.  The curry powder in my pantry is, naturally, super hot.  Add that to the red pepper (and the heat that builds in the LKTC when the stove is on) and it sure looks like I got my exercise today. 


Before I even sat down to eat, I was already a little flustered.  I think I could say that every time I cook, really. I always start out with great intentions and some dedicated prep work.  Something always goes awry.  Sometimes it's just a little something. Tonight, not so much. 


It started out well enough.  Onions were diced, chicken was sliced, spices were set near the stove, oil was heating up in the dutch oven, and water was poured into the secondary pan for rice.  


Except then I realized it was supposed to be coconut milk in the secondary pan for rice.  No big deal, I just needed to open the can of coconut milk.  As I was measuring it, I couldn't figure out why it looked so...watery.  Oh, sldjkfklsj, I forgot to "shake the can vigorously."


So I spilled coconut milk everywhere pouring it back in to the can.  Having forgone the ability to shake the stupid can, I resigned myself to stirring it with a spoon.  Back in to the pan it went. 


From there it was just comical.  I was inhaling curry powder, slipping on chicken juice, frantically adjusting burners when the coconut milk boiled over, and spilling carrots and peas all over the floor.  Some day I will accept the fact that I'm just not a level-headed, unflappable cook.  At least I make disaster while wearing a cute apron. 


This curry, I thought, had better be amazing. But...it looked nothing like the picture...

It ended up being pretty delicious, despite the less than magazine-worthy appearance. Nothing about my kitchen, on the other hand, is at all photograph-worthy right now. 

  

the black cat in the kitchen

I'm a pretty superstitious person, particularly when flying is involved, but it also extends to my everyday life.  So when I wear something and have a horrible experience, I'm convinced the article of clothing is at fault.

My earliest memory of this phenomenon is this day right here: 

My first day of fifth grade at our new elementary school in North Carolina.  I was already slightly convinced, even at age 10, that my life was over when we had to move to a small town in NC.  Apparently I was a city girl from birth, and did not take well to the news that we would be leaving Atlanta for good.  

Even though we were living in a hotel while our house in NC was being built, the parents tried to keep things otherwise normal for us.  Which included an annual shopping trip to find a nice "first day of school" outfit.  Obviously I was really feeling plaid back in fall of '96.  At least I can say I was a solid 15 years ahead of the print on print trend.  (And apparently anemically cold? A coat in August in NC is a pretty hilariously illogical choice)

Let's just say my fellow classmates did not appreciated my forward-thinking fashion statement. My prim plaid skirt, stockings (again, in August in NC? really?), and nice black loafer-y shoes were met with blatant stares from my jorts-clad fellow fifth graders.  I'm pretty sure I went home (err, to the hotel) that night and tried to convince my parents to move back to Georgia.

Since then, I've had some pretty unfortunate moments with other articles of clothing.  I'm especially convinced, for example, that this great black and gray striped sweater dress from French Connection is cursed.  I've worn it at least three times, and two of the three ended in spectacularly bad fashion (no pun intended).  

But I digress.  This is a food blog.  And I am now convinced that it's not just clothes that are cursed.

No, friends, I recently realized recipes are, too.  

See, way back at the beginning of Lent, I was as on top of my cooking situation as I will ever hope to be.  There were week-long meal plans and strategic grocery shopping.

As part of this plan, I was to make chili garlic pork in the crock pot one day.  That day will forever be known as that night I ate wine for dinner.  Not being a big fan of failure, I always planned on replicating the dish, but without the whole charred pork aftertaste.  

So this past Thursday, I realized I had a pork shoulder in the freezer that would be the perfect size to share.  I convinced Allie to revisit our Friday night dinners from Lent, and we planned to have the spicy pork, some sort of adventurous rice, and chili garlic edamame (not that we have an unhealthy love for either red pepper or garlic). 

Imagine my disappointment when I woke up Friday, stumbled into the LKTC to make coffee, and spotted the pork shoulder SITTING ON MY COUNTER.  Yes, that's right people, I left that stupid piece of pork on the counter all. night. long.  Gross.  

I complained heartily to Allie about my newfound chili garlic pork curse, and she came to the rescue with this red pepper risotto recipe from the Pioneer Woman blog.  

yes, it's as good as it looks.  no, it's better. 

Feeling terrible for suggesting Friday dinner then ruining the protein, I brought chicken over, coated it in this Moroccan spice mix, and turned out a batch of the chili garlic edamame while we waited for everything to cook.  Not the most conventional mix of flavors, but it worked just fine for us.  In fact, I'm pretty thrilled to be eating the leftovers as I type this.      

    turns out you should read your edamame bag closely prior to purchase if you want the pod AND the bean. who knew?

  

We obviously did not go hungry Friday night, but I'm now I'm consumed with successfully making that stupid pork, and any other cursed recipe that crosses my path.  Heck, maybe I'll make the bad luck pork while I'm wearing the bad luck striped dress.  Two cursed things have to cancel each other out, right? 

progress

(can you tell I love peas?)

I'm currently being knocked flat by a sudden allergy to all of DC, it seems.  After acclimating to the extreme pollen situation in North Carolina, I considered myself evolutionarily superior when I didn't experience any related symptoms thus far this spring in DC.  


And then I started walking to and from work every day.  And then I went to Gold Cup on Saturday and spent all day outside.  

(No, really, I did.  I even actually watched the races)

So now I feel like I drank a giant cup of pollen with my breakfast of dust.  And I guess my body isn't used to experiencing allergies, because I feel like I'm actually coming down with something (headache, exhaustion, loss of appetite).  But don't worry, I popped some motrin, claratin, and took my temperature with the handy thermometer my mom put in my stocking the Christmas after I came down with a vicious case of bronchitis and refused to see a doctor initially. (No fever, score). 

The very very last thing I wanted to do was cook dinner.  But my incredibly guilty conscience was nagging me. If you aren't going to sit here and actually, seriously focus on your GRE book, you could at LEAST cook real food for dinner. And that chicken you defrosted isn't going to stay good forever.  And you already paid for it.  And some protein some time within a week is generally a wise idea. And..

Fine, fine, FINE, conscience.  You win.  

So I shuddered through slicing up the chicken (seriously, touching raw meat is an issue), and threw some of Trader Joe's garlic naan in the oven.  Just so the garlic wouldn't feel bad about being the only overwhelming scent in the meal, I generously coated my chicken with the spice mix I first used for Moroccan spiced shrimp.  Just to make things really...fragrant...I tossed the peas in olive oil and curry powder.  Hey, you have to take advantage of living alone and being single while you can, right? 


I've always been guilty of giving in to laziness or exhaustion and skipping over legit dinner-prep in favor of something easy but empty (i.e. a box of Kraft mac n cheese or take out), and while I was better during Lent, I fell back in to my old habits after Easter.  So I'm happy that even as I was half-asleep on the couch daydreaming of ordering in, I managed to get up and cook something well-rounded and not repulsive (unless you consider garlic, Moroccan spices, and curry powder repulsive, and then we just can't be friends). Progress!


Now, I haven't exactly progressed to eating at my dinner table just yet (the ottoman works just fine, thanks.  and eating at my table alone seems sad), but at least we're past the days of eating mac n cheese directly out of a saucepan (yeah, that happened...it was called college...don't judge).  

happy state of denial

(sunrise cheese grating)

(amazing bbq sauce)

(they only look harmless...)

(I could dig in to this with a big spoon.  I restrained myself)

(bubbling hot, topped with vanilla ice cream-heaven)

I don't think I mentioned that I registered for the GRE a few weeks ago.  Probably because I'm avoiding it.  As we've discussed, I excel in employing creative methods to avoid things I really would rather not do.  


I kept telling myself I would officially start studying in May.  Well, hello there May, I'm not ready for you.  


You'd think that after my workload shift, I'd have hammered out a study plan with some of my free time in the office.  But that would mean I wasn't existing in a happy state of denial regarding looming ego-crushing standardized testing.


So naturally I sat down this weekend to work out a strategy, right?


What, do you think I bought the dinner in those photos at Harris Teeter?      


Instead of cracking the spine on the GRE book that's been on my table since early April, I went to a royal wedding party in my old prom dress (and a recently acquired tiara), lost some of my sanity to the DMV the next morning, recreated one of my favorite Venice house dinners last night, and spent 3+ hours exploiting the unlimited brunch at Masa 14 this morning. 


Even though the royal wedding party kept me up late (I must say, wearing my senior prom dress the second time around was far more fun than the first, which could have something to do with NOT having the stomach flu this time), I was up at 6  yesterday morning.  My internal alarm clock is insane (and the flights that take off over my apartment starting at 6 don't help).  


So I prepped the mac and cheese ingredients for last night's dinner.  What, you don't grate cheese at 6am? After some cheese grating and bread crumb making, Sophie and I embarked on the DMV adventure. 


After we got lost trying to find 395, we finally found the DMV.  Along with the 8,947 other Virginians who also needed the fine services of the DMV on what is being called the nicest day of spring.  Two and a half hours later, we left with "VOID" hole-punched through our soon-to-expire NC licenses and at least half as much mental stability as we had when we first arrived. {New VA licenses arrive in a week...fingers crossed for a good photo}


Luckily Allie and I were hosting this week's Sunday dinner (on Saturday), so I had mac n cheese and peach cobbler to distract me from the DMV trauma.  Allie made bbq sauce and handled the chicken (touching raw meat still freaks me out a bit, and our dinners tend to be a collaboration).  Andy and Leana took turns bartending, mixing up strong batches of Arnold Palmers made with firefly vodka.  We soaked it up with a line up of cornbread, mac n cheese, bbq chicken, and peach cobbler with ice cream.  


Not that I had a huge brunch ahead of me the next day or anything... 


Except that I did.  Sophie's birthday is today, so we made reservations to try the brunch at Masa 14.  They offer an unlimited brunch, meaning you can order any item on the brunch menu, in any quantity, including drinks like mimosas, lemonade lager, and bacon bloody marys. Sophie and I devised a two-prong attack strategy, much like our Georgia Brown's adventure.


At Masa 14, the small plates come to the tables as they're ready, so we had a nearly constant barrage of little brunch dishes.  Everything was amazing, but I hit a bit of a wall shortly after we started the lunch round.  I don't think the bottomless mimosa thing helped my cause, not that I'm complaining.  No one is allowed to complain when bottomless mimosas are involved.


Maybe 3 hours after the birthday brunch kicked off, we reluctantly rolled out of our comfy booth and dispersed for an afternoon of general lethargy brought on by borderline gluttony.  It was glorious.


Thank goodness I had to squeeze in to my old prom dress before today. 

cooking class

At my sister's behest, I'm giving the baby photos a rest (she's convinced I resembled a gerber baby while she resembled a monkey alien baby--until I can talk her out of this, I'll stick with photos of food {or cropped baby photos}).  


And anyways, how could I not show you the deliciousness that my coworker whipped up for me tonight? Normally I'm just relieved that I've turned out edible food that looks passable in photos.  This dinner experience, on the other hand, was well beyond just "passable."  


My coworker Moizza was based in our Cairo office until it was evacuated (I trust that I don't need to explain why), and now she's back in DC until the evacuation orders are lifted. Selfishly, I'm happy she's back--there aren't many young people in my office, and we hadn't had the chance to get to know each other well because she deployed to Cairo shortly after I started.  But my cruel bosses decided her skills were in much higher demand overseas than in DC, so she's on her way to Dulles right now, and I won't see her for at least three weeks.  


Yesterday she generously offered to leave her spices in my care while she was away, and even suggested cooking dinner for me with said spices.  That'd be a resounding yes.  


Today after work, we came back to the LKTC, and first assessed the protein situation. My inability to walk away from a grocery store special means that my freezer is well stocked.  After recovering from her slight shock at my excessive supply, Moizza selected enough chicken for tonight and some leftover for the week.  Next she said all she needed was sour cream or heavy cream and lemon juice.  I'm sure she thought that any woman with several pounds of protein in her freezer would keep a variety of dairy in the fridge. My fridge, however, is currently full of bacon, beer, and a britta (the essentials in life, I would argue).  We popped down to the basement convenience store (convenient? yes.  priced accordingly? heck yes) and bought sour cream and dessert.  


Back up in the LKTC, my spice lesson began as she started our meal of chicken korma.  Moizza explained that every family has their own unique spice mix, tailored to individual tastes.  She taught me hers, and then started the heavy lifting.  First the onions were sautéed until translucent (a process she called "sweating"), then the spices were added (aka "toasted").  This part of the preparation essentially calls for constant stirring, which Moizza faithfully did until a blob of spice paste flew up on her shirt. The turmeric, she warned me, will stain pretty much anything it touches a bright highlighter yellow, so she tried to wash it off immediately.  Of course I had thought about offering her an apron at the onset, but forgot.  Luckily she was wearing black, and general crisis was averted (and an apron was then offered).  


Next the chicken went in and got seared a bit before the sour cream and water were added.  The whole pot gets covered for a bit to help the chicken cook, then it can simmer uncovered to help the water absorb more.  At this point, the LKTC started to smell like some kind of heaven.  Fortunately I had boiled edamame to snack on, which is possibly the only thing that kept me from diving head first into the pot of chicken korma.  But I digress.  Once the chicken is cooked and the sauce has thickened, the finished product gets ladled over rice.  


Yep, it's that easy.  Or so Moizza made it look.  I fully intend to try it myself, and I imagine there's a decent chance of it falling more in to the "disasters" category than that of "success stories," but it was so amazing that it's worth a shot (and either way, it'll make for a good story). 


ps-any time I feel like writing, but can't think of anything good or interesting that has happened lately, I'm suddenly in a totally LKTC-worthy situation.  Like the day I came home to a bowl of rotten potatoes.  Hello inspiration.  Or today, when the best thing I had going for me was the discovery that women in their 20s have huge pupils and never need their eyes dilated (thanks Dr. Weiss).  Then Moizza graced the LKTC with chicken korma.  I like this pattern.