Grandma's hooch

Happy New Year!

We've spent this past week and a half with family (my husband's, then mine). I met my niece Leah for the first time, learned how to knit and crochet, bought a 12-quart stainless steel mixing bowl (which Leah fits into), watched my stepson make out like a bandit on Christmas Day, and spent lots of time eating and laughing.

I will admit my family has loosened up considerably in their old age. They're a lot more fun than they used to be (or maybe I'm just old enough to fully appreciate adult fun?). Part of the annual Christmas get-together are my grandmother's increasingly funny antics. She's 84 and going strong--one of those old Southern ladies who plays cards with her bridge club and still cans her own pickled watermelon rind. The first year of our now-annual get-together, she cracked everyone up with the advent of her rooster collection. The gift exchange that year went something like this:

[Grandma opens a big present, to reveal a two-feet-tall ceramic rooster.]
Grandma: It's just what I always wanted!

Someone else: Grandma, you wanted a ceramic rooster?

Grandma: Yes, I've always wanted a cock for my kitchen.

[Everyone starts giggling.]

Grandma: For Christmas this year, all I wanted was a big ceramic cock, any size, any color, but preferably black and over 18 inches tall.

[We're all in hysterics now, rolling on the floor.]

Someone else: Grandma, you wanted a cock for Christmas?

Grandma: Yes! I can start a collection now! I'm going to put him in my kitchen and call him Cocky.

I'm still not sure Grandma knew why we were laughing so much, but now she gets roosters of every size and description from everyone, each Christmas. Rooster statues, clocks, salt and pepper shakers, creamers, placemats, plates, you name it. We all snigger like fourth graders whenever she says the word "cock."

This year, my uncle brought several Mason jars of moonshine and something called "Apple Pie Hooch." He brewed it himself, using the following recipe:

2 gallons apple cider
1 1/2 cups sugar
3 cinnamon sticks
A bottle of grain alcohol

(Brew the first three together over medium heat, stirring, until the sugar evaporates. Let cool to room temperature, add the grain alcohol, drink.)

Grandma discovered the apple pie hooch and has been drinking it steadily all week. "Grandma's hooch" has become a new family catchphrase.

I asked my sister to take a picture of me in the hot tub, drinking moonshine out of a Mason jar, surrounded by uncles and aunts and cousins. That's me--class all the way.

...and the Christmas aftermath

Involves upchucking, apparently. We arrived at the in-laws safe and sound, after 21 hours of driving, and the new Prius performed like a champ. And we only spent $85 on gas to travel 1300 miles. So that was pretty awesome.

The kids had a great Christmas; there was the standard orgy of capitalism. The best part, of course, is the time spent with loved ones, and we may have succeeded in convincing everyone to come visit us in MA this year.

The downside to it all is that a 24-hour stomach bug was working its way through the kids, and last night my husband came down with it. Violently. All over the carpet. Merry Christmas to me. He hasn't moved all day, he's been sleeping it off (I hope). Running a slight fever but at least there haven't been any more...episodes. It remains to be seen whether he'll be well enough to travel to VA tomorrow. Or if my sister, with her new baby, will allow us to, due to possible contagion and all. So travel plans are up in the air right now.

At least we won't have to worry about traveling in the big blizzard that's socking New York and Boston right now. We'll miss the first big storm of the season. I hope our kitties are okay...do you think blind cats know when it's snowing outside?

Merry Christmas!

Week 1 of new job = success!

So far the new job is going really well. I'm surprised, actually. I think I expected a big boring suburban data farm, but it's not that at all. Everyone is super nice, my boss doesn't have any glaring personality disorders (yet), and best of all, I have more freedom with this job than I've had with any others. They've essentially given me carte blanche to do my job the best way I see fit, with no corporate bullshit clogging up the works. It's so nice to finally be treated like an adult.

So I'm optimistic.

We're leaving this week for the annual Holiday Drive Across America, so this weekend I'm packing and cleaning and cooking all the stuff in the refrigerator. (Notice I said I'M doing those things.) We spent yesterday morning stacking firewood, and let me just tell you how cool I felt, sweaty, covered with wood bits, struggling to throw a plastic tarp over the pile. Hot stuff. All those years in Manhattan, brunching at the hot spots in designer shoes, dating investment bankers, to be reduced to spending a Saturday morning stacking firewood in the 'burbs. But don't worry--it was more fun stacking the firewood than it was dating any of those investment bankers.

New job! And new furniture

I started the new job yesterday. Unlike the position at MIT, it's actually permanent. So now I have a real live permanent job, with benefits and a salary and everything. It's at a microchip company out in the 'burbs. We had to get a second car (the Prius), but now my commute is 5 miles, since it's in the next 'burb over. It's a big improvement over a 90-minute commute, with walking, and 14-degree temperatures. Everyone at the new job seems very nice.

Also this weekend, my folks were in town. They brought up my grandmother's dining room table. So now we have a dining room table, finally. We can eat like civilized people, and entertain. It's mahogany, seats 10, comes with six mahogany chairs. I also inherited some china and crystal. There's a great furniture consignment shop in town, and this weekend I picked up a mahogany china cabinet (to hold Grandma's china) and an extra prep table for the kitchen, at cut-rate prices. And I got a treadmill (since I won't be walking to and from the train station anymore). It was the weekend of furniture.

Once we get a load of firewood, that will take care of all the most pressing household needs (winter clothes, bookcases, desk, table, Christmas presents, new car, etc.). After the holidays we can concentrate on paying off debt/second-tier stuff, like furniture for the guest room.

We leave for our annual Christmas road trip a week from tomorrow! I can't believe it's so close...

My parents will be in town this weekend

They're bringing my grandmother's dining room table, which means we'll finally have a dining room table. Which means we can finally start entertaining!

In other news, it's really cold. I'm glad this is my last week commuting into Boston. On Monday, my new job starts, and I'll be driving instead of taking the train/walking. Tonight, I pick up a treadmill so that I still get my exercise. Christmas shopping is done, and now I can concentrate on planning for our big upcoming annual holiday road trip...

CSA madness

Well, isn't this exciting! I was afraid that in the move from SoCal to Boston, my CSA days were over. (At least until the summer.) Happily, I was wrong!


For those that don't know, CSA stands for community-supported agriculture. Typically you pay a flat fee upfront, for x number of shares over some time period. Usually you can specify large or small box, weekly or biweekly, where you'd like to pick it up, then on your set day you go pick up a box of fresh fruits and veggies. In Cali, I was paying $177 for 12 weeks of small biweekly shares; meaning I was paying $29.50 per box for six boxes of fresh fruits and veggies, year-round. They were grown locally, meaning my food dollars were supporting local farms and farmers, and my produce was usually organic and pesticide-free.

Well! Upon settling in here in Massachusetts, I promptly checked out the CSA options, figuring I'd be out of luck until at least spring. Turns out I am now the proud member of both a fish CSA and a winter veggie CSA.

A fish CSA (CSF?) delivers several pounds of fresh-caught, local fish, either whole or in fillets. What fish you get depends on what they catch. Naturally I signed right up (whole, biweekly), since fresh seafood is one of the primary advantages Boston has over San Diego--oddly enough. Thanks to my new friends at Cape Ann Fresh Catch! ($120 for 12 weeks; so $20 for each biweekly delivery, or $10 per week. That's a deal in my book!)

My first delivery was three big fresh flounder. When I say whole, I mean whole. They were so fresh they hadn't been gutted or scaled. So I had a project ahead of me when I got them home.


Here's what I learned:

1. Lock the cats up first. (I didn't.)
2. You can't freeze whole fish with the guts still inside. You have to clean them first.
3. I didn't bother to descale them.
4. Flounder guts are not actually in the middle. They're off to one side, immediately under the head. Basically their guts live in their chin.
5. My super-sharp professional knives weren't up to the task of cutting through fish scales and skin, which is actually very tough. What did work: my super-heavy-duty professional kitchen scissors. (Also called kitchen shears.)
6. Between my impromptu biology lesson ("Where are the guts?...What are THOSE? Oh, lungs.") and figuring out that scissors worked better than the knives, it was not a pretty or clean butchering process. Just as well I didn't take any pictures.
7. Fish decapitation is very easy with good scissors.

So, in summation: with whole fish, first cut off the head. Find and remove internal organs. Snip off fins/gills if necessary (not necessary with flounder).

It's also best if you clean fish the night before trash day, so that fish remains can go immediately outside, and not stink up your house any more than it already is.

So in addition to my new fish CSA, I'm in a new veggie CSA, as well. If you're in the Boston area, check out Enterprise Produce. Because it's winter in Massachusetts, it's a six-month time commitment, with a box of stuff every week. Sometimes it's what you would expect from winter in Massachusetts--my first box had kale, potatoes, carrots, buttercup squash, turnips, and Napa cabbage. But they subcontract out to other CSA farms on the East Coast, meaning I also got a bag of mesclun greens, a box of cherry tomatoes, fresh green peppers, and a huge grapefruit. It was a pretty decent haul.


Based on that first box, I'm optimistic about the next six months. It was $700 for six months; between that and the fish CSA, the only grocery shopping I'll be doing in the next six months will be to replenish the pantry. That's $115 a month for fruits and veggies, another $40 a month in fish; that's $145 a month to feed two people. Not bad at all.

By summer I'm hoping to have laid in my own garden here, thus negating the need to join a CSA. It'll be my first garden; stay tuned!

Why must I always trip and fall at the fancy parties?

Last night DH and I went to a party at his boss's house. His boss is a former baseball star-turned game company founder, and it's obvious where all that baseball money went. He has a ginormous house (complete with enclosed indoor hot tub, private screening room, and 11-car garage), and as you might expect, the party was all-out. Open bar, catered meal, DJ, a party bus to shuttle people to and from their cars, and a bottle of wine for everyone to take home.

It would have been a great night, did I not trip on the front stairs and go sprawling over his front hallway, spilling two vodka tonics everywhere. I didn't even have the handy excuse of being drunk. No, I was just clumsy and bit it, and lots of people saw. I was so ashamed I spent the rest of the night playing bar trivia. (Yes, he had a bar trivia machine at his bar.)

Now my foot hurts, and I can't decide if it's because I hurt it in the fall somehow or if all my shame is just manifesting itself there.

Got the travel bug again

So I guess it's a good thing we're getting ready to embark on our semi-annual 24-hour-drive to Missouri, huh? I'm sure if you ask me how I feel about road trips the day after that, you'll get slapped. But right now, my wanderlust is itching again.

I think a lot of it has to do with winter. It's dark so early here, and it's getting cold (below freezing at night, every night), and the knowledge that I have another four months of this (at least) ahead of me makes me want to stab myself in the eye. That, coupled with the knowledge that there are far sunnier, warmer places in the world, makes me spend my days researching travel deals.

Also, my stepson will be staying with us for a six-week block of time this summer, and I'd dearly love to do some traveling with him. Yesterday I had a whole slew of ideas for road trips (the best of which was to hit the Icefields Parkway in Canada before full immersion in British Columbia's wineries), but alas, there's only so much travel you can accomplish when you only get two weeks of vacation a year. So I suspect any road trips this summer will consist largely of visits between family members.

The good news is that the five-year outlook is very good for travel opportunities.

The bad news is we're not there yet.

Le sigh.

(However, I'm going to start putting together a list of ideas for extended road trips for when that five-year plan coelesces. So far:

1. Across Canada.
2. Around Australia.
3. Up the Continental Divide to Alaska, and then Alaska.)

Now the proud owners of a new Prius

Note: this is a stock photo. But ours is that same color.

A new job for real, and another new car!

Happy belated Thanksgiving, everyone! I made a lovely intimate dinner last night, and while the pie was a failure (don't put blackstrap molasses and dark corn syrup into the same pecan pie), the rest of it was delish.

But I know you don't want to hear about that. You want to hear about the new job! Well, a couple of weeks ago, MIT informed me that they were opening my position up to other applicants. Which, as you might imagine, distressed me. I was temp-to-perm, but I was assured at the beginning that was "merely a formality." So the fact that I was going to have to apply for my own job, again, did not give me a warm fuzzy feeling about my job security.

Fortunately, a microchip company that I'd interviewed with weeks ago came to the rescue. They called me back in for a final round of interviews, and on Wednesday, offered me the job! So: a real job (not temping), making more money, with great benefits, and I'd get paid vacation for Christmas (instead of unpaid, since I was hourly at MIT). Plus the company is in the next town over, meaning my commute would shrink to 5 miles.

The downside? We'd have to buy another car.

While there's a wealth of public transportation options into Boston, there are none--NONE--between suburbs around Boston. Not even a bus. And while I could bike 5 miles in the summer, I certainly can't in the winter. So, I crunched the numbers. And while I hate having to spend the money on a second car, at least we can technically afford it (though I'd much rather be able to walk, and spend all that money on something more useful).

Well, you know my feelings about the 'burbs. I'll spare you the rant about lack of public transportation options that my husband got. We went car shopping yesterday, and came home with a new Prius. At 51 mpg, my hubby will be taking the Prius on his long commute, and I'll use our current car for the 5 mile-commute. Meaning our gas bill will stay about the same, even with an additional car.

It's a lot zippier than I thought it would be. And very space-age. And you can actually fit four full-size adults in it. We may actually take it on our long-haul Christmas travels this year, to save on gas. When we pick it up on Tuesday, I'll post pictures. And I'm hoping to start the new job in a week or so; I'll keep you updated on that, as well.

Otherwise: finishing up Christmas shopping, and eagerly awaiting the arrival of my parents, with more furniture, in a couple of weeks.

Almost Thanksgiving, with no travel plans

This will be the first Thanksgiving in at least...four years that I didn't have hot and exciting travel plans. Last year, it was Joshua Tree/Yosemite/Big Sur. Year before that, Buenos Aires. Year before that, Rome. This year, we were originally planning to visit my sister in New Orleans. But due to move/new house/new jobs/not enough money or vacation time to make it happen, well, we'll have to wait until Christmas to see my new niece.

I'm definitely sad we won't be seeing my sister, and a little sad we won't be travelling anywhere, thereby breaking my streak. I will admit I'm looking forward to a long weekend. I'd be looking forward to it a lot more, if I were actually getting paid for it. The downside of highly paid-hourly temp work is unpaid holidays.

We've finished cleaning up the yard, and the house is in at least passable shape at this point. We put up the Christmas tree this weekend (my very first adult Christmas tree!!!!) and lit a (rather smoky) fire in our new fireplace. I'm pulling together an intimate Thanksgiving menu for two that we'll probably have on Friday, as we've been invited to a work thing/party on Thursday. Details later.

Coda: Anxiety dream

Last night I dreamed that my husband came to me and told me that he'd just accepted a new job in Washington, DC and we had two weeks to move. All I could think of to say was, "Well, at least we didn't throw out all the moving boxes."

Yardwork

DH and I spent most of the weekend tackling the yard; a formidable task, given that DH blew out his back and had to be medicated to the hilt on Vicodin just to get out of bed. I suspect the lack of exercise since moving, coupled with the stress and heavy lifting of moving, are to blame. I’m hoping to get him out of the house and walking around a bit more in order to alleviate some of the pain.

But we managed to clear the foot and a half of dead leaves out of the front yard, anyway. I left the backyard for next weekend. First was the trip to Lowe’s to purchase a rake, a shovel, a snow shovel, an ax, you know, standard home implements. DH raked the front yard while I picked through all the deadwood in the yard for usable kindling/firewood. We then scrounged an old tarp, loaded all the piles of leaves onto it, one by one, and dragged it to the back corner of the yard and dumped it. The leaf dumps will become compost piles. It was surprisingly physical work. Wouldn’t our parents be proud? Look at us, voluntarily doing yard work.

While dumping leaves, I discovered an old grill, haphazardly covered, by a locked storage shed. (The storage shed houses the landlord’s crap, and we were told in no uncertain terms to leave it alone. “Crap” being the operative word—there are stacks of boards, bricks, flagstones, old buckets, what I suspect was once a volleyball net, and various other detritus scattered around the yard. I’ve been attempting to pull all that stuff behind the storage shed, so I don’t have to look at it all winter.) The grill was in pretty bad shape—the bottom rack was half-rotted out, the casing was pitted with rust, and there was a propane tank hooked up to it, though I have no idea how full it might be. Nevertheless, I immediately thought, “Hey, maybe we could clean this up and use it!”

Until I opened it, to discover 1. A mouse. 2. A mouse nest. 3. Calcified charcoal, housing both a mouse and a mouse nest. I slammed the lid, jumped back, and made DH poke the mouse nest with a stick until the mouse dropped out of the grill and ran away. Where’s a cat when you need one?

Of course, then I was paranoid all the rest of the day, and kept picturing homeless mice running out of the piles of leaves everywhere.

But we have a clear front yard, new fireplace implements, enough scrap wood for at least a couple of good-sized fires, and a newly restocked pantry. So I’ll call that a productive weekend.

The house is clean!

I had yesterday off, so I spent the day giving the house a mega-deep-clean. I scrubbed down the walls, the radiators, the cabinets, the doorknobs and doorframes, cleaned all the windows and windowsills, mopped all the floors, and finished by scouring the backyard for usable kindling (of which there was plenty).

I can't even tell you how disgusting it was--apparently no one ever thought to wash down the walls. There was dark chunky stuff embedded in the paint near the toilets. I refuse to speculate on what that was. I poured out at least twelve buckets of black mop water, swept down at least twenty cobwebs, and went through most of a can of Comet and three sponges. I also rearranged some furniture and hung some pictures (strategically, in some cases, to cover holes/marks on the walls).

Now I'm tired. If my landlord ever decides he's going to try to raise my rent, I'm referring him directly to this post.

But we also have a whole bunch of kindling, in the form of fallen twigs and tree branches. One of the advantages of living in the 'burbs, I guess. This weekend we'll need to rake up the foot and a half of fallen leaves covering the yard, and get a compost pile going.

Fish and sunlight

One of the things I really liked about Southern California, apart from the weather, was the light. Even during the winter (“winter”), there were easily 10 or 11 hours of daylight.


Now, it’s full dark at 5 pm here.

No thanks to Daylight Savings Time, I know. In another month, it’ll be full dark at 4:30. Which means it’ll be dark when I leave for work, and dark when I get home, and I’ll never actually see outdoor daylight. Which means the sun streaks in my hair and my tan (“tan”) will disappear, means I’ll get fat and pasty because I’ll be indoors all the time, and means I’ll die of a vitamin D deficiency.

The good news is that I found a fish CSA! Remember the CSA I joined in San Diego, wherein I got a big box of fresh, locally grown fruits and vegetables every two weeks? They have one of those here, for fresh fish! They also have one for winter vegetables, which I joined. I’m sure I’ll be up to my eyeballs in cabbages and parsnips soon; I hope they throw some greenery in there periodically. I was mourning the loss of fresh citrus fruit the other day (I bought some oranges here and they were DREADFUL—dry, tasteless, they barely qualified as oranges. The oranges I got in SD were more liquid than solid. Sigh.), but I suppose lots of fresh fish is a decent trade-off.

Birthday celebrations much better than actual birthday

I spent Saturday evening in Brooklyn, revisiting all (well, many) of my old haunts and seeing old friends. I also got to meet my husband's cousin, whom he hadn't seen in 20 years. It was great to get away and think about something other than home decor/renovations for a while.

We've gotten the two major furniture needs taken care of (desk and bookshelves); I'm attempting to bribe my parents into bringing up my grandmother's dining room table for Thanksgiving. After that, the rest of the furniture needs will have to wait until after Christmas. So if anyone has any furniture they need to get rid of...

Winter clothes will have to take priority in terms of purchasing power, as well. And then Christmas presents. And then Christmas transportation. At some point we'll have to buy firewood and fireplace tools so we can actually use our fireplace.

Whew, I'm getting tired thinking about it all. Just my luck our move would have to butt right into the holidays. I don't recommend it.

It's my birthday.

It's been a craptacular one so far. It's raining, my train was half an hour late this morning, and I got a bunch of legalistic runaround at work when I attempted to work through lunch rather than work late half an hour. So LEGALLY I have to take thirty minutes EVERY DAY. Yeah. Thanks. Guess I'm getting home late tonight.

In no particular order:


1. It always rains on my birthday. Why? The only time it has ever NOT rained on my birthday was last year, when I was in San Diego. Sigh.

Also, today I got an email announcing that the Old Globe Theatre in San Diego has an opening for a new Literary Manager, MY DREAM JOB. IN SAN DIEGO. RIGHT AFTER I LEAVE SAN DIEGO. To which my response was, in order: MOTHERFUCKER. And then: Really, God? On my birthday? Really?

2. Everyone seems to be an important number this year. I’m 35, my dad is 60, my brother is 30, my best friend is 40, and my husband is 42 (which we all know is the answer to Life, the Universe, and Everything). I’m not sure how to feel about that. I texted a bit with Pockets yesterday, getting the dish from her brother’s 20th high school reunion. There was surprisingly little. I’m not sure how to feel about that, either.

3. But at least I’m not where I was when I celebrated my 30th. Physically AND metaphysically.

4. I’m going to New York this weekend to see my friends, and thank God for that. I’m maxed out on household matters right now. If I have to have another thought about bathtub stoppers or curtains or furniture or whether to leave the doors open or closed on the rooms we’re not using in order to maximize heating efficiency, I may scream. And I’ve been really irritable lately—the stress of simultaneously moving and starting a new job is not becoming. I could use a day away, even though there’s still so much to do.

5. Today didn't help that.

I want to fast-forward 36 hours or so, where I'm having dinner with good friends, having a few very strong drinks, and not thinking about work, commuting, the house, the weather, or any of the other 900 million things pissing me off right now.

Actually, I'll take fast-forwarding about 6 hours, when (hopefully) I'll be cuddling with my hubby. That'll work, too.

I can has interwebs?

Pardon my disappearance from the blogosphere—we’ve been busy moving into OUR NEW HOUSE, which until today did not have internet, as we had to wait on the stupid Verizon cable guy to come hook it up. Also I started my new job at MIT. Here are the salient points:


1. The house (which we’re renting) was clearly designed by a retarded person on crack. No offense to the mentally disabled, as I think they’re still smarter than whoever was in charge of constructing this house. The kitchen cabinets and closets were never finished (it’s bare plywood on the inside, and let’s not even discuss the closet doors), the dropped ceilings downstairs are too low, the vent fan over the stove hits at neck height, there are at least two extra doors to the garage that have no reason for existence, and the bathtub was never glazed (it’s ROUGH. Whoever heard of a rough bathtub?). And there’s a window in the shower—with a wooden sash. Which is already half-rotted. Nice work, genius.

Plus, the last tenants apparently never cleaned. The kitchen cabinets are all sticky. Really, really sticky. Ewwwwwwww. No one ever bothered to scrape off the price tags on the light fixtures, there were layers and layers of (uncleaned) contact paper stuck onto the unfinished plywood cabinets, the windowsills are filled with some unidentifiable sticky black gunk, and there was AN OLD USED CONDOM on the top bathroom shelf. Who throws their used condom onto the top shelf of the bathroom instead of, say, in the trash can? AND THEN LEAVES IT THERE?

And there was a dead mouse in the toilet on the day we moved in.

And the curtains are god-awful.

2. However, with a good cleaning, new contact paper, new light fixtures, new curtains and curtain rods, and strategically placed furniture/artwork (to hide the 1973 décor), I shall almost succeed in making the place liveable. If I can get over the trauma of accidentally touching the old used condom.

3. Our conversations are now things like, “What do you think of a big paper lantern to cover up this chandelier?” and “What sort of desks should we get?” But that’s a vast improvement over “Where the *%&$^ is the _____?” (insert common household object here). The decorating/furniture acquisition portion will take a while, but the unpacking part is 75% done at this point. So that’s definite progress.

4. Working at MIT is really cool. I like working in academia a hell of a lot more than working in finance, and it’s MIT, which is cooler than working at, say, a community college. Let me tell you, there is some serious nerditry on this campus. There are industrial-sized vats of liquid nitrogen in the hallways. Some of the labs have armed guards and eye-scan security systems outside. There are literal rocket scientists. There is a department of Planetary Science, in which one of the required classes is Molecular Biogeochemistry. And my MIT ID gets me into the library. Oh yes. You may touch me now.

5. The commute’s a bitch, though. I’m now a slave to the train schedule, which means I have no life outside of work and my house. Especially this time of year—even if I take the early train home, it’s still full dark by the time I hit the train station, which mean a mile-and-a-half walk home through dark suburbs and crunchy leaves and 45-degree wind. DH has been dropping me off at the train station in the morning; soon we will have to work out a system to pick me up at night, as well. The upside is that I don’t have to drive an hour each way on I-95 to get to work, like he does. Once his company moves to Providence, his commute will drop back to 20 minutes (still on I-95, though).

That walk will be nice in the spring and summer, though.

And boy, it’s the ‘burbs. We’re right next door to the country club. But at least there are sidewalks all the way to the train station.

6. My Thanksgiving plans are getting all screwy. I was hoping to go visit my sister in Gulfport, but I’m not sure that will be possible now. Stay tuned.

7. I’m going into New York this weekend to celebrate my birthday. It’s a fairly significant one, and even though I should really be spending my time/money on all things house-related, I can’t talk myself into spending my birthday unpacking and mopping. I’d much rather spend it with my friends.

8. That means my birthday is this weekend. Feel free to send presents.

The end is in sight!

We're moving into our new house on Tuesday, and I start my new job on Wednesday. Stay tuned for pictures and move/job details!

I has a job!

Whew. I was getting worried there.

I'm now working at MIT (yes! MIT!) for 50% more than I was making in San Diego. Take THAT, California. I'll start Monday or Tuesday; I'll report back on details as I get them (how sweet the benefits are, etc.). I plan on obtaining a whole new degree while I'm there, in rocket science, and using that in my ongoing quest to conquer the world.

And I can finally quit interviewing.

We're hoping to finalize the house this weekend, with a lease and various certified checks, and I'm also hoping we can get moved in there next weekend. Fingers crossed!

A place to live, but still no job

We may have just found our new home! That's the good news. The bad news is that I still don't have a job with which to pay our new rent. Still interviewing heavily, moving to the second stage with a couple of places this week. I'm sacrificing small goats to every god I can think of to get some kind of gainful employment. Hopefully someone will realize soon how awesome I am, hurry up and give me a paycheck, and then we can get moved in/settled down and finally put this move behind us. I'm ready to quit living like a refugee.

We'll have the housing details finalized later today, but if all goes well, we will soon be renting an entire house in Canton, MA. That's right, an entire 3 BR/1.5 BA house, with two floors, enclosed garage, woodburning fireplace, and at least a quarter acre of yard, for not much more than we were paying for a crappy 2 BR apartment in San Diego. I'm particularly excited about the yard; we can finally grill, garden, landscape, and let the cats frolic to our heart's content. The decor leaves something to be desired--split level with drop ceilings, and it looks like 1973 crawled inside and died. Complete with fake wood paneling. And it's way back in the 'burbs; it's not nearly as convenient to civilization and the train station as I'd hoped. But hey, it's a house, we can afford it (if I can get a &*$%ing job already), and DH has already been assigned all yardwork/snow shoveling. Plus we can quit hoarding quarters to do our laundry. Free laundry! Woo hoo!

Meanwhile DH is suffering through his first cold since moving back East. This past weekend, we saw our first Boston play, directed by one of my old chums from grad school. The play was great, and it was good (if disorienting) to see him again. I realized exactly how long it's been since I've seen him last, and it triggered a wave of "Jesus, I'm old," plus an onslaught of "Holy crap, what the hell am I doing with my life?" I've got a fairly significant birthday coming up, and while I was happy to see the beginning of this particular decade, I'm not so sure about reaching its midpoint. Therefore I will spend it in New York with good friends, and plan various housewarming/dinner parties.

I just realized--this will be my first ever opportunity to have a housewarming for an actual house. I haven't lived in a house (vs. an apartment) since I moved out of my parents' house, lo these many years ago. Yowza.

You're all invited.

Cape Cod

Yesterday DH and I explored Cape Cod, all the way up to Provincetown. I imagine it's a zoo in the summer, but in the off-season, it was quite lovely and not at all crowded. Of course, mid-October in Massachusetts is a bit chilly, especially at the beach.

We drove through many of the quaint little towns, explored the national park seashore, and stopped in Provincetown for some super-fresh seafood. DH had lobster, I had fresh Wellfleet oysters and halibut. Quite possibly the best oysters I've ever had. Combined with the fresh-out-of-the-tree maple syrup we'd had with our breakfast, DH declared it to be "one of the best food days ever." The sand dunes at P-town were beautiful and otherworldly, and combined with the deserted beach and cloudless sky, made me think about the end of the world (hey, I've been reading a lot of Stephen King lately. Give me a break.).

Otherwise, not much to report. Still interviewing a lot, and getting tired of it. Tried to talk myself into driving to Nashville next weekend for my uncle's big birthday party, and just couldn't stomach the thought of an 18-hour drive each way. Will comfort myself with some black bean and butternut squash chili later, though I'd rather be eating a bushel of Wellfleet oysters.

New England, revisited

Yesterday DH and I went on a little field trip. As everyone keeps telling me, the best part of living in New England is the fall. Which--hey!--it is right now. So we drove up through New Hampshire and Vermont to see the leaves.

We were a bit early for prime leaf color, but the leaves were still changing and the colors were still pretty. We drove through the White Mountains of NH and near the Green Mountains of VT, and came within 70 miles of the Canadian border. The last time I drove through NH and VT (last summer's road trip), it was pouring, so I didn't get a good sense of the scenery. Yesterday I did. It was one of those perfect fall days--55 degrees, crisp, sunny, and not a cloud in the sky. Gorgeous, just gorgeous.

We stopped off at the Brattleboro Food Co-op, where I purchased fresh maple syrup on tap (as well as molasses and honey), several fresh local Vermont cheeses, and some beautiful organic locally grown root vegetables (parsnips, white turnips, celeriac, butternut squash, and rutabagas, as well as some kale and rainbow chard). I was dismayed to discover DH could not correctly identify any of the vegetables I bought. Then I realized that unfortunately, most adults would be hard-pressed to correctly identify a rutabaga. I comforted myself with local goat cheese, made on a fully organic, wind- and solar-powered farm.

(Not that the farm's energy source had any affect on the cheese's taste. But I felt so crunchy and liberal eating it!)

Bits and pieces

Some entirely random thoughts:

1. Still interviewing a lot. Starting to get good feedback.

2. Fall has started to come to New England. The leaves are changing!

3. This makes me want to go to Vermont and buy maple syrup.

4. I think my cats are getting cabin fever from being cooped up in this small hotel room.

5. I am too. But it is nice getting clean towels every day. And never having to clean. And having a pool, outdoor grill, and exercise room at my disposal.

6. DH's birthday is today! He's now the age of the answer to life, the universe, and everything. (You Douglas Adams fans will know what I'm talking about.) He's requested that we do absolutely nothing all day long. I'm down with that.

7. I've been sleeping a lot lately. Maybe I'm finally catching on my sleep from the move/trip to New York/the weather changing.

8. This makes me want to go to Vermont and buy maple syrup.

Another A Razor, A Shiny Knife dinner

Check it out here!

New York!

DH and I spent last weekend in New York. It was the first time I'd been back since I moved to California. The dramaturgy department at Columbia was having an alumni thing, so my friend L (who is getting her PhD at Harvard) and I roadtripped into town. It was also the first time all the dramaturgs from my year had been together in...three years? More? I figured since I was in town anyway, I might at well make a weekend of it.

I saw a bunch of old friends, and while I missed some people, I'm hoping to see them on the next trip. I walked all through my old neighborhood, saw my old apartment, had a drink at my old bar, explained the glories of Brooklyn to DH. I also took him to an underground restaurant event, his first. You can read about that tomorrow (I'll post the link); you can read about some of my favorite bars here.

It was expensive; it was exhausting; it was exhilarating (at least for me). And it was great to see everyone again. But you know what? I didn't feel a need to move back. Home is where my husband is.

You know what Frank Sinatra song I'm thinking of

I've spent most of the week interviewing, and I've had a couple of good ones. I've also had a chance to really explore Boston; walk the Freedom Trail, go to the various museums, and get a good sense of the public transportation system. All good things. I also got to have brunch with my dear friend L on Sunday. I hope to do a lot more of that!

But what's really got me fired up is that I'll be in NYC all weekend! I'll be able to see all my friends there for the first time in a year, see my old stomping grounds, introduce my hubby to everyone, and best of all--another A Razor, A Shiny Knife dinner Saturday night! Could life get any better? I think not.

Thoughts on Providence, RI

Yesterday DH and I drove around Providence, to scout the area.

Here's my official response: Meh.

It's a cute town, with a lot of interwoven history, and there's a really exciting burgeoning food scene there. Plus a lot of crazy kids at Rhode Island School of Design. But it didn't have the character or energy of a big city like Boston. I still like Boston better. I'd still rather live there.

Fortunately, downtown Providence had juuuuust enough going on to make it at least palatable, if it came to that. If we lived right downtown, within easy distance of the various local-food restaurants, wine shops, cheese shops, bookstores, and Trinity Rep, and I could take the main commuter rail line to Boston every day, that might be okay.

Living like a refugee

It's hard to settle in when you're living like a refugee, but we're trying. It's a bit surreal living in a hotel--don't get me wrong, in many ways it's awesome. There's a gym, a heated indoor pool, we never have to wash or change sheets and towels, there's free cable. But it's weird not being able to clean up after myself (no broom, no sponges, they take the trash out), the windows only open two inches, and while I've had studio apartments smaller than this hotel room, it is a bit small for two people and two cats. King-size bed notwithstanding.

Also, this part of Massachusetts is hell and gone from anything interesting. No offense to it, it's quaint and residential and stereotypically New England, but there's not much else. There are the standard big-box chain stores, a mall, a few local restaurants/watering holes, and that's it. We went out to dinner at a place called Kennedy's Pub last night, with DH's coworkers, and the place closed at 10. 10! On a Friday night! DH's biggest complaint so far is the commute--nearly half an hour of weird, windy, narrow residential streets. There's no rhyme or reason to how streets are laid out here.

I've been taking the commuter rail into Boston to interview, and so far the interview process is looking promising. (Although the nearest train station is a few miles from DH's office, in the opposite direction, so I have to be dropped off/picked up at the beginning and end of the day.) I have a job interview lined up for Monday, and all the agencies assure me that it won't be any problem to get back to my old New York salary, or more (I had to take a 35% pay cut to work in San Diego). Boston is a lot cuter than I thought it would be. I'd been to Boston before, but never any real extended touristy visits. I've been spending my interview days walking around downtown/Beacon Hill, exploring the historical sites, the museums, becoming reacquainted with public transportation. Ah, public transportation. I didn't know how much I missed the subway until I got on it again. SoCal's weather is great and all, but there's no hustle, and nothing even vaguely resembling convenient public transpo.

My consensus is that (winter aside) I could definitely live here. Boston's got a lot of great stuff going on, good restaurants, good theater, culture, museums, historical whatnot, and let's not forget the cheap seafood. And the public transportation. We still haven't decided how to work the commuting situation; do we live in Boston and DH reverse-commutes to Providence? Or do we live there and I commute to Boston? Or somewhere in between and we commute in opposite directions? Frankly, I'm all for the first option, but we're going to thoroughly explore Providence and southern Massachusetts to make sure we've covered all our bases.

We're here!

I feel like a piano landed on my head, but we're here, finally. In one piece. The car did fine, the cats survived, nothing broke.

Dealing with the movers was much more of a pain in the ass than I expected. There was a separate packing crew, to deal with packing the flat-screen TV and a few odds and ends (for insurance purposes, I wasn't allowed to pack the flat-screen TV myself). They dripped some sort of motor oil/grease/industrial lubricant ALL OVER the carpet, which means I'm now involved in an ongoing battle with their insurance company to make them pay for cleaning it up. They claim I did it and I'm trying to place the blame on them; to which I reply, I don't own anything with motor oil! Moreover, everything I own was packed in boxes before they arrived, and the drips were nowhere near those boxes. Now the apartment complex informs me that whatever the substance was, it's now actually burned through the carpet in those spots.

But eventually the movers came and took everything away, and we were able to hit the road. Goodbye, San Diego! We spent the first night in Vegas, simply because we couldn't have driven any farther after dealing with movers/carpet issues all day.

The next day we hit the road about 7 am, for a 24-hour haul to Columbia, MO. The route took us through Utah and Colorado (I-15 and I-70), which was some of the most gorgeous, uncomplicated driving I've ever been involved with. Amazing scenery, empty highway, 75-mph speed limit, sunny, and not a cloud in the sky. I never really fell in love with San Diego (weather aside), but I am a little in love with the scenery of the West. Crazy rock formations, pointy mountains, weird salt basins, national forests, the Rocky Mountains...well, you get the idea. Utah may be full of Mormons, but it's really, really beautiful, in a way that's completely unlike anything on the East Coast. Don't even get me started on the open spaces.

We hit Denver about sundown, which was fine, because we were just going to spend the next ten hours driving through Kansas anyway. I've now driven through Kansas in the summer, the winter, and at night. And if you thought it was boring during the day, let me tell you. It was EXTRA boring at night.

We got to Columbia about 7 am, slept a bit, then spent the day with family (and getting our car's first oil change!). It was great seeing everyone again, and we got to drink some of the beer my brother-in-law made for the wedding. Good times. Then we slept for 12 hours.

Back on the road again at 9 am. Remember how the previous day's driving was beautiful, and uncomplicated, and awe-inspiring? Well, then we spent 22 hours driving through Indiana, Illinois, and Ohio. Then we drove through Erie, PA. Then Buffalo, NY. Then the NY State Thruway. Then the Massachusetts Turnpike. Oh, and it was pouring rain for much of that. There was nonstop roadwork. The cats were tired of being in the car and were picking fights with each other the whole time, I'd done something to my shoulder during the move and it was killing me, and the landscape made me want to stab myself in the eye with a plastic fork. Why is it that the interstates east of the Mississippi have to all look the same? The same trees, the same fields, the same truck stops and signs and grey, flat, cloudy industrial suburban byproducts. I haven't seen the sun since Denver, quite literally. If it weren't for the Mormons, I might seriously consider going straight back to Utah and setting up shop somewhere within sight of a pretty mountain, with no people around anywhere.

But lots of that was just road-weary crankiness. We got to our temporary housing in the western 'burbs of Boston around 6 am Sunday, and spent the day unpacking/sleeping/recuperating. We went grocery shopping, bought some booze, ran to Target, and got DH ready for his first day on the new job today.

Here are my first impressions of Massachusetts, in no particular order:

1. It's cloudy, grey, and already sweater weather.
2. Despite that, someone told me today--without being sarcastic--"Beautiful today, isn't it?"
3. Booze is way, WAY more expensive than in California. Like, $10 a bottle more expensive.
4. But gas is 40 cents a gallon cheaper.
5. Seafood is abundant, fresh, and cheap. That may be the saving grace of all this.
6. The urban layout is weird. The roads are oddly laid out, there's no rhyme or reason to where things are (Sam's Club in the middle of a residential neighborhood? Why not?), everything is jammed close together. Imagine New York City, only you have to have a car.
7. The cats are ecstatic to be out of the car.
8. The car now smells like cats, and not in a good way.
9. I'm not so old I can't do long-haul driving like that, but I'm definitely old enough to not want to do it.
10. The next person who says the word "moving" to me is going to get punched in the face.

However, I have three interviews tomorrow with three different staffing agencies, and I'm already making plans to hit NYC next weekend to see all my friends.

So to comfort myself, I'll make a big pot of crawfish etouffee tonight with fresh crawfish, and watch some free hotel cable, and try not to think about how long it will take for my hard-won tan to fade.

On the road again, again

Everything's packed, the car is loaded up, the refrigerator has been emptied. It's that time again: time for me (us, this time) to hit the open road in a cross-country move. We're leaving tomorrow!

After the movers take everything away, we'll spend the night in Vegas (only about five hours away, a short drive) and then take a 24-hour straight cannonball run of driving between Vegas and Columbia, MO, where we'll spend a night with family. That drive will take us through Utah and Colorado, some of my favorite (and most scenic) driving. After a night in Missouri, we'll do another 24-hour straight run of driving between there and Boston, which will take us through Indiana, Illinois and Ohio--some of my least favorite driving. We hope to wash up in Massachusetts sometime very early Sunday morning.

So I'll get a blog update up sometime Sunday or Monday; until then, watch Facebook for updates. And pray for us, and the cats. And call me, whenever. I'll be up.

"The things you own end up owning you."

A little quote from Tyler Durden in Fight Club. Here's another:

"It's only after you lose everything that you're free to do anything."

Why am I quoting Fight Club, you wonder? Well, mostly because my apartment looks like a box factory exploded. I'm 80% done with the packing for this move, which means pretty soon I'll be able to quit stressing about packing and can instead start stressing about driving cross-country with two cats and then finding a job. Let's recap, shall we?

Last Labor Day weekend I moved from New York to San Diego.

This Labor Day weekend I'll be moving from San Diego to Boston.

At this point, I'm almost ready to sell everything I own, just so I can quit worrying about packing. And moving. Freedom like that is a powerful drug.

But I'm not going to, and here's why.

Don't get me wrong, 50% of me would dearly love to sell everything, and go hitchhiking around South America with nothing but a backpack full of clothes (and a laptop, and a Kindle, and the new iPhone, and a much spiffier camera). At least I'd never have to move again, not like this, anyway.

The other 50% of me looks around my apartment right now and thinks (right after, "Holy crap, how did I get this much stuff?"), "Hey, I have some pretty awesome stuff. That I've dragged all around New York, to Virginia, back to New York, then to California and now to Boston. My stuff has more mileage than most people's cars."

And I look around at the things that have avoided all the purges so far. The $800 knives, the few tattered paperbacks that had too much sentimental value to relinquish, the photo albums, the red leather chair. The shoes from my wedding. That poster my friend Jenn gave to my friend Peg who gave it to me when I was in college, and is now proudly framed, next to my bed, still sporting college dorm room tape in the corners. The cast-iron skillet my mom gave me. The handmade cutting boards my sister gave me. The stained, torn road atlas that took me through last summer's road trip.

And then I look around at the stuff that's been purged, waiting for the Salvation Army to come pick it up tomorrow. So much dead weight, so much crap that the two of us somehow accumulated, thinking we couldn't live without it, and now clearly we can. (Nothing forces you to purge like having to move cross-country in two weeks.)

It makes me think about the difference between stuff, and crap. Crap is just that, crap. It's too many t-shirts, weird cleaning products you tried out and never threw away, those acid-washed jeans from high school, video games you played once or not at all, poor-quality cookware that has now officially died.

Then there's stuff. Granted, my stuff does not define me. I do not define my stuff. But right now, the thought of my stuff, safely stowed away, gives me a warm fuzzy feeling about this move. I'll be parted from my stuff for a little while, but soon, we'll have a home again. Our home will be populated with our stuff. I will have once again faced down my stuff, separated the wheat from the chaff, proven which things are important to me and which are not. Every time I do this, the same core items make the cut. The red leather chair. Those few paperbacks. The good cookware. The photos. The memories.

Deep in packing hell

The good news is that with all the offloaded furniture, and my packing skillz, our move estimate is now officially under budget. So we can have professional movers, after all. The bad news is that I have to do all the packing. So I'm packing. And purging. And running to Sam's to buy more bubble wrap and tape. And packing some more.

Holy crap I hate moving

So you'd think I'd quit doing it so much, right? Sigh. Apparently I have gypsy blood. Apparently I'm doomed to never stay long in one place (or apartment).

I guess the good news is that even though I don't want to be, I am the Packing Master.

So, to sum up: DH's new company was supposed to pay to move all our crap cross-country and put us up in temporary housing for 60 days. Meaning all we had to do was get ourselves and our car (and 60 days' worth of necessities) to Massachusetts by September 13.

Sounds easy enough, right? Oh but no.

The pre-move estimate on Friday was about 50% over the company's relo budget. Which sent me into a complete tailspin. "There's NO WAY IN HELL we can move ourselves cross-country with ten days' notice," I told myself. "Especially since if one of us is driving the moving van, and the other is driving the car (with cats), we'll have to stop and stay in hotels every night and it will take a bare minimum of a week to get from Point A to Point B." Meaning that is essentially impossible to move on that budget in that timeframe.

So calls were made, and numbers were crunched, and more panicking (on my part) ensued. But since it was already Friday afternoon, it meant I would have to get through the weekend without an answer.

So, because I hate a limbo situation, I took matters into my own hands. I started packing.

Theoretically, at least, if we pack all our own stuff, that will reduce the cost estimate. Also they included a bunch of stuff in the estimate we were already planning to get rid of. So DH and I did a massive purge. And we packed.

Here's the takeaway:

• It's amazing how much stuff goes out the door in a good purge. Most of it wasn't even my stuff, and I already feel a little lighter and freer.
• I'm getting too old for this shit. My back is killing me.
• I have perfected a method of packing which utilizes every square centimeter of box space, to produce the bare minimum number of boxes, all packed to the gills so as to prevent any possible crushage. A happy box is a full box.
• I liquidated a good bit of my pantry by returning all the unopened nonperishables to Sam's. I feel so resourceful. Plus I have a credit there now.
• I still have a bunch of food in the freezer and refrigerator, which has to be eaten up pronto.
• My cats are suspicious.
• Did I mention I'm getting too old for this shit?

Guest post at Mom-in-a-Million!

Today I have a guest post over at Mom-in-a-Million! Pay no attention to that part where she claims we were all drunk at college and saw various people in their underwear. I certainly had no part in such shenanigans.


Of course, I'll never be able to run for public office, due to certain proofs from that era. But that's another blog post entirely.

We're moving to Boston!

Sorry for the slacker-ness in both posting and keeping people informed. This was all very hush-hush until a couple of days ago. My DH has accepted a new position at a company outside of Boston, which starts September 13. So now we're moving. To Boston. In two weeks.

The last couple of days have been a whirlwind, and I have no doubt it will be a while before the dust settles. His company is moving our stuff, and putting us up in temporary housing (read: Marriott-with-kitchen) for 60 days. But we still have to drive our car and cats cross-country, taking with us everything we might need in the next two months. And God knows what kind of crappy-ass Marriott pans I'll have to cook on for two months. It's still not certain whether we'll even get a room with an oven. How can I survive that long without an oven???

Also, we'll both have to build our winter wardrobes from scratch. So there's that.

ALSO, his company is moving to Providence, RI soon. So not only will we be living in temporary housing for a while, in the outer 'burbs of Boston, then we get to move (again) to wherever they settle in Rhode Island.

AND there's the custody issue with his son. As yet unresolved.

So, anyone who has any experience with living in Boston/Rhode Island/New England in general should write me immediately and tell me what to expect. (Other than the cold. I already know I'm going to want to kill myself by January.)

My current company has offices in Boston, but no open positions at the moment. So I guess I'll start temping right away, and see what happens. It's a great opportunity for my hubby, and I have no doubts that this will be good for both of us, Rhode Island notwithstanding.

Still. I'm freaking out a little bit right now.

Bacon chocolate

Order it here.

Lauren, tell all your friends. ;-)

I'm officially starting the Broke Foodie Cookbook

It'll essentially be a compilation of the blog, but more pulled together and with better stories. Probably it will be available for download off the blog, but for the people I like the best, you can have your very own paper copy. You know who you are--you're probably reading this right now. :-)

Also, everyone is getting my barbecue sauce for Christmas this year. I'm thinking of calling it Brokeass Barbecue Sauce. Thoughts?

I'm gonna be intentionally vague

Those of you who know what I'm talking about, will know what I'm talking about. The thing went really well--it looks like it could be a go. It also looks like things would have to happen very quickly, as in, practically right away.

If you have no idea what I'm talking about, never fear. All will be made clear soon.

For the rest of you, well, start prepping. :-)

Adventures in blogging

Thanks to last Sunday's guest post, I feel like Broke Foodie is finally gaining some traction. I'm not sure what the next steps should be--but you should all definitely be forwarding the link to all your friends! Perhaps I'll get a book deal yet.

I did write to some publishers requesting free review copies of some cookbooks--and they agreed! I'm getting free cookbooks out of this! And here I've been paying for them all these years like a sucker.

I'm seeing an old friend of mine from high school tonight. He's in town for a convention, and we're getting together for drinks after work. I can't wait. He is, quite honestly, the funniest person I know. He was the school clown in high school. I remember slinking around him back then, thinking how cool he was and how desperately uncool I was. He's still cool. I'm still pretty lame, but not as lame as I used to be.

Here's a cute picture of my cat, examining what became last night's dinner:

A Razor, A Shiny Knife + Room Forty = Awesome

I've blogged about my adventures with A Razor, A Shiny Knife before (here, here and here). They're my most favorite of all the underground restaurants/supper clubs I've been to. If I were independently wealthy, I would totally just give big awesome underground dinners for the rest of my life.

But I'm not independently wealthy, and so I volunteered to help out at their latest shindig in LA. Here are the takeaways from Saturday's event, in no particular order:

1. My ass is TIRED.

2. I realized at the end of the night that essentially I'd just waitressed for 12 hours, in inappropriate shoes, for free. I didn't get to taste any of the dishes or the wines. There wasn't even a lot of cooking to watch, as much of it was done offsite ahead of time and trucked in.

3. Which means that next time these guys are in town, I will just cough up the $160 a person. That way I can actually eat the food, which is the whole point. Plus I'll be able to sit down.

4. Nevertheless, it was great fun.

5. Be sure to keep your eyes peeled for an upcoming article about it in the LA Times. (Possibly with a mention of me, with my new last name.)

Here's the menu:

They paired up with LA-based Room Forty to present a seven-course, eight-hour extravaganza in the lobby of the Variety building on Wilshire Boulevard, across from LACMA. Yes, it was in the lobby. That was sort of neat, actually. Here are some pictures:

I set that table.

Yep, that one. 52 place settings.

Michael Cirino giving a cooking demonstration.

Short ribs cooking sous vide--at rare, for 48 hours.

Fun with liquid nitrogen.

Course 1: Caviar, Duck Fat, Creme Fraiche, Potato. The potato was fried in the duck fat. That's a chive and black salt on top.

Course 2: Sea Bass, Stone Fruit, Verjus, Chervil. Wild striped sea bass carpaccio with peaches cooked sous vide, with a strawberry coulis and fresh chervil on top.

Course 3: Duck Egg, Duck Leg, Goose Liver, Summer Truffle. The round of duck confit was topped with a duck egg yolk cooked sous vide. The mache was topped with a foie gras vinaigrette, and as we served, we shaved frozen foie gras and black summer truffle on top.

Here we are prepping the duck course.

Can I just tell you about the foie gras viniagrette? This was one of the things I managed to taste. I wanted to bathe in it. I wanted to get down on all fours and lick the bowl. That's how good it was.

Also? Heaven smells like truffles.

Mmmmm...truffles.

Course 4: Short Rib, Red Wine, Bone Marrow, Carrots. Here's the sous vide short rib, crisped in duck fat, with a bone marrow sauce and peas and carrots.

Course 5: Triple Cream, Nuts and Berries. A French triple cream (brie) turned into a cheese "snow" and served with a pecan brittle and fresh berries.

Course 6: Chocolate, Strawberries, Methocel, Ultratex. Modern gastronomy magic. I can't even begin to explain this one. My brain had turned to mush long before this course.

There was another course, an amuse bouche in there somewhere, involving potatoes and liquid-nitrogen-shattered-blackberry "caviar," but again, my brain was much and I didn't get a picture of that one.

Here's a final shot of the crowd, with Michael pontificating:

Note the addition of a second, smaller table off to the right.

There were wines, and a cocktail, and a ton of photographers. Everyone had a great time (I think), and Michael was in true showman mode.

These guys are based in Brooklyn, but they travel pretty regularly. I highly recommend going to one of their dinners if at all possible. The cost is worth it. (And they're doing good to break even on the food and beverage costs, so it's not like they're making a profit.)

Now if I could just do something about my still-aching feet...

Wow.

So, yesterday I had a guest post at Get Rich Slowly.

On Saturday, my food blog (http://www.brokefoodie.com/, but you knew that already) had 3 hits. Count 'em: 3.

On Sunday, it had 2,168 hits.

That's an increase of, like, a billion percent. Pretty awesome, huh?

I'm feeling kind of energized with this whole blog thing. A lot of the comments on the post were asking for a cookbook, further instruction on meal planning, that sort of thing. I could totally do that.

So, tell all your friends to start reading http://www.brokefoodie.com/ religiously, 'cause obviously with all these new readers I'm gonna have to kick it up a notch.

I'm famous!

Not really. But I do have a guest post over at Get Rich Slowly. Check it out!


Don't worry, I'll have details about last night's underground restaurant happening up soon...

Aaaaannnnnnnd...it ends, again

As I cavort in foodie heaven today (look for update tomorrow), let us pause and remember that a year ago this weekend, I was wrapping up the road trip.

Le sigh.

Theatre review: A Midsummer Night's Dream

"What fools these mortals be!"
--Puck

I remember doing a bastardized version of Midsummer Night’s Dream in high school. One of the English teachers rewrote the basic plot in “plain” English, cut it down to ninety minutes, and cast most of the senior class as fairies. The big hit of the event was the star quarterback playing Thisbe, having to wear a wig and a dress and kiss another football player onstage.

Well, that’s the beauty of Shakespeare, isn’t it? That his plays are so infinitely malleable. That quarterbacks and cheerleaders can half-heartedly muddle through one of his comedies, and it’s still funny. That a lighthearted piece of frivolity like Midsummer can stand the test of time, that it can still be enjoyable and relevant 400 years later.

The general plot is probably familiar; Theseus, the duke of Athens, is getting ready to marry Hippolyta, and needs entertainments for his four-day celebration. Egeus, a nobleman, brings his daughter Hermia to Theseus. He wants her to wed Demetrius; she is in love with Lysander. Theseus threatens to have her executed if she doesn’t obey her father, so she and Lysander make plans to run away and marry elsewhere. She tells her friend Helena of their plans; Helena, who is desperately in love with Demetrius, who wants nothing to do with her.

The four lovers end up in the woods outside of Athens. Also in the woods are a straggling band of actors, rehearsing a play for Theseus; and fairies; their queen, Titania, and king, Oberon. Oberon sends Puck to drip a love potion in Titania’s eyes, making her fall in love with the first thing she sees upon waking. He wants her to fall in love with him, but instead, she falls for one of the actors, Bottom, whose head Puck has transformed into the head of a donkey. Puck also gets some love potion on Lysander, who falls in love with Helena and abandons Hermia. Then Demetrius gets some, and also falls in love with Helena.

Eventually, it all gets straightened out. Demetrius and Helena wed, Lysander and Hermia wed, Titania and Oberon wed, and Theseus and Hippolyta wed. The actors present their play, “Pyramus and Thisbe,” with Bottom’s proper human head restored. And all is well.

It’s been a summer of Shakespeare here in San Diego; three plays of his at the Old Globe, and now Midsummer at La Jolla Playhouse. This is definitely the prettiest production of Midsummer I’ve ever seen. Visually, it’s somewhere between Alice in Wonderland and Cirque du Soleil, fully of sparkle and whimsy. There are even acrobats. The furniture flies (including the piano, which turns end over end in a stunt reminiscent of Tommy Lee’s drum set), the fairies cavort in massive upside-down chandeliers, mirrors become pools of water. What appears to be a large Victorian drawing room becomes a forest of chandeliers and window panes; the furniture and curtains fly away, the maids turn into fairies, the butler becomes Puck. There’s an onstage orchestra, playing selections from Mendelssohn’s “Midsummer Night’s Dream.”

David C. Woolard’s costumes are easily the most stunning element. Some of them are literally upside-down, to mirror the furniture; Hippolyta’s skirt and Bottom’s donkey head are elaborate woven golden cages. Each one is beautiful and carefully crafted and unique, and these costumes combined with Neil Patel’s set design make the play.

The actors aren’t nearly as good. As you might expect, Bottom (Lucas Caleb Rooney) and Puck (Martin Moran) are the most engaging cast members. They keep the entire production from spinning off into mere spectacle. The lovers, I’m afraid, are a bit of a dud—Hermia (Amelia Campbell) and Helena (J. Smith-Cameron) are shrill, Demetrius (Sean Mahon) and Lysander (Tim Hopper) are dull. I had a hard time believing anyone could love any of them. And their period Victorian costumes are equally dull. Daniel Oreskes as Theseus and Oberon and Charlayne Woodard as Hippolyta and Titania have a commanding stage presence, and the fairies are nimble and acrobatic. But I found myself more interested in the set and costumes than in the actors, or the story.

But it’s still a great evening. The music, the costumes, the acrobatic feats, all the visual surprises and delights more than make up for the rest. Production-heavy plays often become mere spectacle, overshadowing the text and the talent; but in La Jolla Playhouse’s Midsummer, the production is the talent. All the elements tie together to become a fantasy, not just a spectacle--surely what Shakespeare must have imagined when he wrote it.


Written by William Shakespeare
Directed by Christopher Ashley
With Kyle Anderson, Ken Berkeley, Amelia Campbell, Cate Campbell, Maggie Carney, Maritxell Carrero, Matthew Cusick, Matthew Patrick Davis, Sara Garcia, Zachary Harrison, Tim Hopper, Sean Mahon, Jonathan McMurtry, Hugo Medina, Martin Moran, Amanda Naughton, Daniel Oreskes, Tatyana Petruk, Christopher Douglas Reed, Lucas Caleb Rooney, J. Smith-Cameron, Anne Stella, Charlayne Woodard, and Bowman Wright
Set Design: Neil Patel
Lighting Design: Howell Binkley
Sound Design: Leon Rothenberg
Costume Design: David C. Woolard
Music: Mark Bennett and Felix Mendelssohn
Running Time: Two hours and fifteen minutes with one fifteen-minute intermission
La Jolla Playhouse, 2910 La Jolla Village Drive, San Diego; (858) 550-1010
Tickets $31 - $66
Tuesdays and Wednesdays at 7:30 pm; Thursdays, Fridays and Saturdays at 8 pm; Sundays at 7 pm; Saturday and Sunday matinees at 2 pm
July 20 – August 22, 2010

When the cat's away

My hubby will be gone this weekend, to a work thingey in Vegas (yes, that same work thingey that hooked us up last year! Remember that?), so I have managed to book it solid. I didn't want to face an entire weekend of sitting at home alone, feeling sorry for myself. So, tonight I'm going to a dinner sponsored by some new church friends; tomorrow I've got to make a Sam's run, since I'm out of cat litter; and Saturday (drum roll please)...

...I'm helping to stage the latest A Razor, A Shiny Knife dinner in LA.

Oh yes.

You may touch me now.

It will be an entire day of rubbing elbows and knives with other foodies, chefs, mixologists and cool LA people. Don't worry, I'll take lots of pictures and blog about it extensively afterward.

Then on Sunday I'm taking myself a) to the farmer's market and b) to the aquarium here in SD, as Bank of America is hosting free museum admissions to a bunch of different places this weekend. Free = time to go to the aquarium.

AND look for an extra-super-special guest post of mine on Sunday. I'll post further details/the link here when it comes out!

So...many...babies...

I realized last night that this July has brought forth five new babies amongst my friends and family. Apparently last October was super boring. So welcome to the world, Leah, Emma, Caleb, Phineas and Dashiell! To the parents of Caleb, Phineas and Dashiell, I'm beginning arranged-marriage proceedings for my niece Leah.

(Apparently weird names are making a comeback.)

But don't worry, I haven't become baby-obsessed or anything. I have yet to encounter a baby that has whatever that "new baby smell" is that so many women crow about. To me, they all smell vaguely of spit-up. There just hasn't been much to write about lately. Work, cooking, no money, et cetera. You know.

I did finally get the wedding pictures! So those will go up on Facebook/Flickr this weekend. Keep your eyes peeled!

More baby pictures!

Leah Marie

I'm an aunt!

This morning I became an aunt for the first time! To Leah, 8 lbs, 3 oz. Pictures to follow.

In honor of this, I'm hosting another giveaway at http://www.brokefoodie.com/. Go check it out!

I'm having my first giveaway!

On my other blog--that's http://www.brokefoodie.com/, you knew that--I'm having my first giveaway! Register as a follower of Broke Foodie by midnight tonight and you could win a VinniBag! That's one of these:

Nifty, huh? It's an inflatable cushion thingey for wine bottles. So if you want to transport a bottle of wine in your checked luggage, for example, you just pop it into your VinniBag and you don't have to worry about it breaking and getting cabernet all over your clothes.

To sign up as a follower, scroll down the right-hand column until you see the box that says "Followers." Under the Facebook fan box. Add your name there!

And really, you should be following my blog ANYWAY. Let me feel the love!

I redesigned my food blog!

Check it out!
http://www.brokefoodie.com/

And, you know, tell all your friends.

Theatre review: The Taming of the Shrew

Petruchio: Come, come, you wasp, i’faith you are too angry.
Katherine: If I be waspish, best beware my sting.
Petruchio: My remedy is then to pluck it out.
Katherine: Ay, if the fool could find where it lies.
Petruchio: Who knows not where a wasp does wear his sting? In his tail.
Katherine: In his tongue.
Petruchio: Whose tongue?
Katherine: Yours, if you talk of tales, and so farewell.
Petruchio: What, with my tongue in your tail?


The Taming of the Shrew is the Old Globe’s third repertory production this summer, rounding out King Lear and The Madness of George III. We’re all familiar with the basic story, having been made into such other plays as Kiss Me Kate and movies like 10 Things I Hate About You. Katherine is a sharp-tongued, obdurate woman whose younger sister Bianca is desperate to marry. But their father won’t let Bianca marry until her older sister Katherine is married off first. Enter smooth-talking rogue Petruchio, who marries Katherine and “tames” her through a series of psychological torments (like withholding food, sleep and sex), until she’s as biddable and compliant as her giggly younger sister. Who then promptly marries.

Yes, it’s wildly misogynistic. But, also funny. It’s one of Shakespeare’s bawdier comedies, and while there are plot holes you could drive a truck through, no one cares with all the raunchy jokes and pratfalls. It’s a nice change of pace from the somber seriousness of King Lear and The Madness of George III.

Stylistically, this production is muddled. While ostensibly “period,” in the sense that the costumes and props are (mostly) sixteenth-century Elizabethan, there are several jarring touches, including a neon “The Taming of the Shrew” sign blazoned across the stage. The male leads are all dressed like gaudy Renaissance pimps—one with designer sunglasses—and the male ensemble members all look like Gumby the Village Idiot from early Monty Python sketches. There are several strange dances involving the ensemble and very long sticks, and a couple of dumb shows involving a horse costume (which handily defecates onstage). There’s a lot of the wink-wink slapstick comedy that sustained Shakespeare’s plebian audiences. So kudos to director Ron Daniels for upholding the play’s brash comedic authenticity, at least. While I appreciate the clever double-entredre wordplay around words like “bush” and “tail,” I could have done without the fake horse poop and the stick dances. And the neon sign.

Fortunately the actors know their stuff. With a lesser cast, this production might easily have devolved into a lot of sequined sound and fury, signifying nothing. This Petruchio and Katherine have a palpable chemistry together, which is often lacking, and this cast is the most energetic of the three plays. Jonno Roberts as Petrucio is as happily charming and charismatic as you might expect; Emily Swallow’s Katherine is strong and acerbic, almost too much so—her capitulation to Petruchio’s charms seems forced, like she’s waiting until they’re alone offstage to kill him. I can’t say that I’d blame her. But hey, it’s not often we get to enjoy a strong Shakespearean female lead (or at least one that doesn’t have to resort to cross-dressing somewhere in the play).

Written by William Shakespeare
Directed by Ron Daniels
With Michael Stewart Allen (Tranio), Shirine Babb (Widow), Donald Carrier (Hortensio), Craig Dudley (Tailor, Vincentio), Charles Janasz (Pedant, Curtis), Joseph Marcell (Gremio), Jordan McArthur (Biondello), Jonno Roberts (Petruchio), Adrian Sparks (Baptista Minola), Emily Swallow (Katherine), Bruce Turk (Grumio), Bree Welch (Bianca) and Jay Whittaker (Lucentio) with Andrew Dahl, Grayson DeJesus, Ben Diskant, Christian Durso, Kevin Hoffman, Andrew Hutcheson and Steven Marzolf (Ensemble)
Set Design: Ralph Funicello
Lighting Design: Alan Burrett
Sound Design: Christopher R. Walker
Costume Design: Deirdre Clancy
Original Music: Shaun Davey
Running Time: Two hours and fifty minutes with one fifteen-minute intermission
The Old Globe; 1363 Old Globe Way, San Diego; 619-23-GLOBE
Tickets $29 - $78
Schedule varies
June 16 – September 26, 2010

Pregnancy, cancer, lawyers

It's not really that apocalyptic. But that title caught your attention, didn't it? It’s been a while since I’ve done an actual update, so I’ll sum up.

1. My best friend is pregnant! This means my brother, my sister and my best friend are all expecting. I didn’t realize I was in a baby race until just now. Don’t get me wrong, I’m still not in a baby race, but it does seem like the universe is trying to tell me something.

2. I had to have a “precancerous” mole cut off the inside of my thigh. Aren’t stitches fun?

3. More legal bullshit. I emphasize the word bullshit. You know what I'm talking about.

4. However, the wedding photos are posted—check them out HERE. I’ll be uploading them to my Flickr ACCOUNT soon.

5. And my name change is official! I now officially have the weirdest name ever.

6. And while the rest of the country is 147 degrees, it’s been 60 and grey here for weeks. I may snap if I don’t see some extended sun soon.

Addison

Saturday night we utilized one of our best wedding presents--a gift certificate to Addison, San Diego's only five-star restaurant. Some preliminary research revealed our largesse would not stretch far enough to cover dinner for two with wine pairings, so instead of a half-assed dinner, we decided to spend our money instead on some really nice wine. Just wine, no dinner. (Okay, we did get a cheese plate.) We ended up getting two bottles of different styles, though the first was by far and away the best one.

This was the first wine:

And this was the second one:

The first was a Rhone Valley Chateauneuf-du-Pape. Really lovely, fruit forward but also earthy, with some nice hints of truffle and blue cheese. Lush, good mouth feel. I'll be drinking a lot more Rhone Valley wines in the near future.

The second was Californian, so we had an Old World wine and then a New World one. It was just what you'd expect from a big Californian cab--big, jammy, tannic, lots of alcohol. Good, but anything would have been a disappointment after that first wine.

The experience was wonderful--getting dressed up, sitting at the elegant bar drinking our expensive wine, acting like sophisticated-type adult people, and not like old married people who can't afford to eat out ever and will be going home to change into old bathrobes and reheat some leftover chili for dinner. Alas that our budget can't stretch to cover evenings like that more often!