I'm not crying, it's just raining on my face.

I volunteer at the Poetry Center once a week (and now teach there! for a little while!); among the numerous lovely things about this is that I can read from their complete collection of literary journals. I took a stack of Fairy Tale Reviews to my desk today and was happily reading. 

In the grand female tradition, I get strangely weepy at certain times of the month; usually a feeling of great sadness descends upon me at some embarrassing moment, and I get weepy over a tourism commercial for California or sob inappropriately at some song on the radio that's really not worth tears, like Katy Perry's "The One That Got Away." (NOTE: I have never actually wept over Katy Perry's "The One That Got Away"; this is just an example). 

Anyway, today the strange wave of emotional weepiness that overtook me today was from a non-embarrassing source: a piece by Donna Tartt in "The Blue Issue". It involves a grandmother, and as Cher Horowitz says, "Old people can be so sweet!": 

But a few books we loved especially, and read doggedly again and again, almost as if they were religious texts, and chief among these was Peter Pan. Did I love it so because of the mysterious Scottishness that colored her voice as she read?...Because we ourselves--so passionately close--had crossed paths in time so very strangely: she like Wendy at the end of the book, bent in the back and with white in her hair, and me still a child? (In my edition of Peter Pan, there is a line drawing of Peter stranding in the firelit nursery regarding Wendy, who is no longer a child like himself, but an old lady: it might almost be great-grandmother and me, drawn from the life). I suppose in the end Peter Pan was such an important book to us both because it is ultimately such a dark book, about change, loss, again, mortality, death: the very questions that hung so heavy between us. She was in her eighties: our days together short, and we knew it, which was why our every goodbye on the corner of Levee Street held within it the vertiginous terror of permanent separation. And when she did actually die I refused--fierce sunburnt little pagan that I was--to direct any prayers Heavenward on her behalf: instead, at her funeral, I silently beseeched Peter, small fitful god of our household religion, to go with her part of the way so that she would not be frightened.

At that last line, I became this:

Old people + emotional power of literature + death + childhood + Peter Pan = I just need to go home and eat some Red Vines now.

Holiday Party So Late Holidays So Over

It's time for another installment of Laura Takes Pictures of Stuff, Does Not Post Them for a Long Time! 

Back in the holidays, me n' the roomie had a Holiday Party. The theme was, bring any weird food or drink that your family always makes around the Holidays. Like, is there a certain jello salad your grandma always makes? Bring it! 

Before the party, I got a few anxious queries about what constituted "weird." Like, what if the offering was not weird enough? To which the answer was, anything is welcome! Weird and non-weird alike. 

We went shopping for decorations at the dollar store and fortunately we did not get too carried away:

There was lots to enjoy at the dollar store, including The Worst Holiday Ornament of All Time:

Meagan-y Meagan Eats!

So tonight I was determined to cook with ingredients we actually had in the house (as opposed to my usual "I can totally make this! I have all the ingredients...oh. I guess I need to go out and get star anise. And shitake mushrooms. And bok choy.  But other than that, I can totally just whip it together. Right after I figure out how to use the food processor. Oh, and coriander seeds. Need those too. Will ground coriander do? Man." (At this point, I go out to the store for the first of several trips I will make that evening).


So because we had some avocados, I made guacamole with this recipe. 
I followed the recipe exactly, 'cept I didn't use the entire half onion. No matter how finely I diced the onions, I didn't want the gauc to get onion-overwhelm and I wasn't going to take on the Herculean task of putting the food processor together. (SHUT UP I HAVE POOR SPATIAL REASONING SKILLS IT'S MEAN TO LAUGH AT DISABLED PEOPLE). So I used about a quarter of the onion. 

The recipe says to leave the gauc out for an hour, which I side-eyed. Wouldn't it go brown? Luckily, my roommate has evolved and accurate opinions about how to cover guacamole with cling-wrap, so it worked out. 


Basically, the technique involves making sure the cling-wrap is down OVER the guacamole. Allow me to demonstrate with the guac leftovers:

Just try to get in, oxygen. I fucking dare you.

Anyway, my roomie put on some brown rice in her rice-maker/vegetable steamer (no, I don't know how to use that, either. I SAID SHUT IT), and I heated the rest of the onion in a pot with some olive oil for five minutes, added some garlic, and heated two cans of black beans (using about half a cup of the bean broth) with lots of cumin, salt, pepper, lemon-pepper, and a little cayenne (also about five minutes).


Put rice, beans, and guacamole together with some salsa and what do you have? You basically have a bean bowl from Chipotle! Okay, it's also a staple meal from many cultures. But forgive me if my point of reference is a Chipotle bean bowl. 


My roomie was out when the food was all ready, so I ate before her. When I heard her come in, I waited for a few minutes, then snuck into the kitchen to manipulate a compliment out of her:

"This is so good!" she said, upon seeing me.


"I know," I said, humbly, then added: "When I was eating it, I thought it was almost as good a Chipotle bean bowl."


"I think it's better," she said. 


"I DO TOO!" I shrieked. "I JUST DIDN'T WANT TO SAY THAT FIRST!" 


I really was proud, you guys. Okay, so I used a recipe for a guacamole. (Um, it's also possible that back in the day I looked at this as a guide for making rice and beans. SHUT IT). And I didn't exactly think up the idea for a meal of rice, beans, and guacamole by myself. But...but...I didn't have to do extra shopping! And it was really easy! And it was really good! The recipe for guacamole is especially a keeper. 


So it spurred me to share some more of my vegan cooking of late. 

I didn't take pictures of tonight's meal, as I seem to have fallen out of the habit of obsessively photographing everything I cook. Maybe...because...I cook...more regularly...? So it's not as epic of an event? Or maybe because I'm not so great at photographing food and it never looks as good in the pictures as I want it to? 


But, anywhoodle, I've got a backlog of vegan recipes. As I've shared before, I'm currently a meagan, so I can go out and enjoy a burger every once in a while, but I cook vegan when I cook. 

Cooking vegan, I've decided, is awesome. Mexican food, particularly, is a bit of a revelation. 

For the record

So, I've solicited YOUSE GUYS opinions on what my next blog post should be. Here's what I can gather about what folks seems interested in, so far:

Here are the most popular posts, in order of popularity. Unsurprisingly, the post Pamela Ribon tweeted comes in at a clear number one. The others are a little more puzzling.

Just About to Lose My Mind, Honey, Honey

Really? Really? First this and now this? :

Of course, I discovered these on a shopping expedition during which I bought (and only bought):

1) Diet coke with Splenda

2) Diet coke with Lime

3) Red Vines

Ze judgments, I should not be making zem!

ETA: The above is not entirely true. I also bought a bottle of wine.

This is where I draw the line

Okay, so I obviously waxed fulsome below about my love for Twizzlers and Red Vines. Also, I love chocolate (to further underscore the cliche, I especially love chocolate during my bouts with PMS. Suck it, stereotypes).

But this is where I draw the line:


I mean, maybe I'll try them and they'll be delicious. But the thought makes me gag. Two great tastes that I can't imagine tasting great together. On the other hand, Hershey's chocolate already tastes like wax, which is the texture that Twizzlers aim for, so maybe it was inevitable...

Have rediscovered Aimee Mann recently, who brings my two obsessions together in a haunting, lovely way:

The Nervous Chef: Really, really, really old pictures of food

Okay, am posting some cooking stuff, which is quite hilarious, considering that last semester my diet consisted mostly of:

-Red Vines and Twizzlers*
-Starbucks. Yes, all of it.
-The occasional salad
-Sushi from my University-where-I-teach's quick "to go" food store
-Yogurt

I made these pancakes I THINK over winter break? They are from, to continue my trend of making things from sources I'm slightly embarrassed about, this site. Even though she says annoying things like "I prefer mini sizes...it feels like more when it is less," I still like this recipe. I was pretty faithful to the recipe, except that I didn't have quite enough ricotta (and I think it is all needed -- in this case, it tastes like less when it is less), I didn't use the poppyseeds (not wanting to fail any Opium drug tests - HA HA HA HA HA SEINFELD LOL), and I didn't use the lemon zest, which I regret.

I have a tendency to skip adding zest, because I am lazy, and it seems like a pain. But I guess often you need it -- me and my mom used to make this chocolate orange pudding every Christmas; it was pretty much the only dessert ever made or consumed in my household and thus a big deal. I'll put the recipe up sometime. You were supposed to add orange zest, along with orange liqueur. I never really liked having the texture of the orange zest in the pudding -- puddings are supposed to be smooth, no? So, one year, we were having a guest for Christmas dinner that was kind of an insanely good cook and, wanting to be impressive, I suggested leaving out the zest. The pudding was duly served, and our foodie friend delicately ate some and looked unimpressed.

"It's...there's something missing," he ventured.

"Well, you're supposed to put in orange zest," my mother eagerly bursts in, "but LAURA--"

"Yes! That's exactly it! Some orange zest would add just the perfect flavor!" Foodie friends face lights up in a smile.

So, put in the zest, people. In this case, I think it needs it, too. The egg whites give the the pancakes this extremely nice lightness -- you can eat a bunch without feeling like you've eaten the entire world, a la normal pancakes. But without zest, I could almost taste the egg whites TOO much -- I think the zest (and more ricotta) would make the insides a little more substantial and less cloud-like. Plus, more lemon flavor is always a good thing. I don't know why, but lemon + pancakes = yum. One of my favorite pancakes toppings is a squirt of lemon juice with powdered sugar.

Here's the batter:

Here's my SUPER-AWESOME pancake flipper. I found it at a church jumble sale with Emily F., who didn't understand my excitement. Neither has anyone else I've shown it to. I don't care -- it's awesome. It helps me flip pancakes. I love it:

And here's the final result! With some honey. I ate up all my berries before they were done, but I bet fresh berries would be awesome:



* Red vines: watching TV while doing something else, I heard the song for a commercial: something about "you're my one true love...blah blah blah" and I had a quick thought, along the lines of "God, why does our culture sell this relentless ideal of the ONE true love, when in reality it's much more complicated and prosaic than--" I looked up, and saw the commercial was for Red Vines, and thought, "Oh, but that is how I feel about Red Vines."



But, here's the terrible thing: I don't think I do love Red Vines more than anyone else, not anymore. I've been having an affair with Twizzlers for quite some time. It started out of convenience -- the CVS near my apartment stocked Twizzlers and not Red Vines. And then I got TMJ, and Red Vines are a little hard on the ol' jaw. And Twizzlers Pull N Peel is much easier on the jaw, and also fun to eat, and better tasting than regular Twizzlers...





So I can't even commit to Red Vines. See: problems, serious.