1. With the rather unexpected news that Mike Bellotti is stepping into his new role as AD at University of Oregon sooner rather than later, the big question everyone is asking is this: will Bellotti's first piece of business be to fire basketball coach Ernie Kent? The consensus before this announcement today seemed to be that Bellotti would wait until after current AD Pat Kilkenny had made a decision about the future of Oregon's men's basketball. This is an especially important time in the history of that program, given the fact that construction is starting on the new Phil Knight-sponsored arena. (It sounds like it is going to be an amazing facility.) Anyway--it will be an interesting situation to watch unfold. Everyone seems excited about new football coach Chip Kelly, who has been a fairly successful offensive coordinator, but who has never been a college-level head coach.
2. I was at Borders this morning in the 'Couve and I saw one of the strangest pieces of marketing. They had a feature table that was full of manga. OK, not weird in and of itself. BUT, the table was also laden with Japanese candy and boxes of Pocky! Now don't get me wrong, I love me some Pocky. But I don't think of Borders as my main Pocky outlet. It kinda freaked me out. Also, did you know that Pocky dipped in DARK chocolate is called (I kid you not) "Man's Pocky." Um. Why? The ladies can't handle dark chocolate? That is certainly not true.
3. I am confused. Am I supposed to LOVE Russell Brand, or HATE him? I don't think that trying to answer this question should send me into existential crisis, yet it almost does . . .
4. For the record, I think that it is totally weird that Anthony LaPaglia is in So I Married an Ax Murderer. How do you go from that to Murder One to Without a Trace? And how does Lantana fit into that trajectory?
Showing posts with label food. Show all posts
Showing posts with label food. Show all posts
13 March 2009
03 November 2008
Doughnut Drama
So, because I know you are wondering how the doughnut experiment went on Halloween night, I am providing you with a little update. They were great. Typically doughnuts are my least favorite of all sweet things--the sweet thing that I am least likely to chase down. (My preferences are as follows, in case you care: Cookies, Pie, Candy of the Chocolate variety, Pudding-like things, Cake without much icing, Doughnuts, Cake with a lot of icing. I don't like icing much.) But I have always thought that it looked fun to make them. And, indeed, it is. Doughnut making includes some of my favorite baking and cooking processes: making dough, rolling out dough, cutting shapes out of dough (in this case with an Easter egg cookie cutter and an apple corer), and FRYING. This frying is foolproof. Heat the oil to 375 degrees, slip in the dough, wait about 30 seconds and flip. It couldn't be easier, really.
They were just plain raised doughnuts with an orange glaze. Not too sweet--since all the sweet comes from the glaze. And they were small and warm. Lovely, really. But, as Marcus found out, you have to be there to take part in the doughnut experience. Homemade doughnuts don't have much of a shelf life, and they really are best experienced right after they are fried.
It sounds great right? I bet you are wondering where the drama comes in. Well--just as I was firing up the fryer, the power went out. Everyone else thought this was really fun. But I was pissed. So we all ran around lighting candles, and the trick-or-treating part of our group returned to the house about 15 minutes later. We had about 20 people over--eating and talking and drinking cider in the dark. Not surprisingly, I sulked and did dishes.
But the lights eventually came back on, and I got to have my fun, and the doughnuts were considered a success, even though Ella thinks that I need to try chocolate.
They were just plain raised doughnuts with an orange glaze. Not too sweet--since all the sweet comes from the glaze. And they were small and warm. Lovely, really. But, as Marcus found out, you have to be there to take part in the doughnut experience. Homemade doughnuts don't have much of a shelf life, and they really are best experienced right after they are fried.
It sounds great right? I bet you are wondering where the drama comes in. Well--just as I was firing up the fryer, the power went out. Everyone else thought this was really fun. But I was pissed. So we all ran around lighting candles, and the trick-or-treating part of our group returned to the house about 15 minutes later. We had about 20 people over--eating and talking and drinking cider in the dark. Not surprisingly, I sulked and did dishes.
But the lights eventually came back on, and I got to have my fun, and the doughnuts were considered a success, even though Ella thinks that I need to try chocolate.
23 May 2008
"You didn't tell me you were a hippie"
So my dad (known to and loved by most of you as "Bruce") was really excited to take me to this fairly new restaurant chain called "Cafe Yumm!", which has evidently become sort of a phenomenon in the Eugene/Springfield area. There are currently five here, and one in Bend, and one coming to Corvallis. My mom and I were fairly skeptical about this culinary experience, but several hours later I'm starting to fear that Cafe Yumm!'s food is a little like crack in a bowl, covered in Tillamook cheddar. Now that I've picked up the bowl, I might not ever be able to put it back down. (My mother stuck with a turkey sandwich and has not been won over by the Yumm!)
So what is it? You may ask. Well, to quote Monkey James, "I am glad that you've asked that." Yumm! Bowls (the exclamation point is part of the trademark) are bowls of rice with some kind of bean, cheddar, diced tomato, fresh avocado (which I forgo, as I am not a fan of the avocado), sour cream, black olives, cilantro, and some mystery condiment known as "Yumm! sauce." I don't know what "Yumm! sauce IS, exactly, other than that it IS delicious.
So this is a fairly simple concept, but the actual execution is waaaaay better than you could imagine. It shouldn't work, actually, since there are lots of competing flavors. But it is marvelous. I had the "Smoky" bowl which is brown rice and vegetarian chipotle chili and salsa. I also had one of their barbecue tofu skewers.
This is another great reason to move to Eugene.
After dinner we made the traditional pilgrimages to all the Dorsey-related Eugene haunts--my mom's freshman dorm and my dad's seedy basement apartment. We talked about movies they saw (I think all of them in 1970) here, and we tried to find a particular Dairy Queen that my mom remembers (but that seems to be gone now). And, of course, we went up to Hendrick park so that we could pay homage to the corner where we lost Pre (bow your head for a moment of silence and think about what Pre has done for you).
We also went through the university so that we could look at the outside of Mac Court, Hayward Field, and so that my dad could show us where he parks when he comes down for the Oregon boys' basketball tourney every March.
Eugene is a totally charming town. And, for the record, I prefer forest green O's to burnt orange longhorns any day of the week.
So what is it? You may ask. Well, to quote Monkey James, "I am glad that you've asked that." Yumm! Bowls (the exclamation point is part of the trademark) are bowls of rice with some kind of bean, cheddar, diced tomato, fresh avocado (which I forgo, as I am not a fan of the avocado), sour cream, black olives, cilantro, and some mystery condiment known as "Yumm! sauce." I don't know what "Yumm! sauce IS, exactly, other than that it IS delicious.
So this is a fairly simple concept, but the actual execution is waaaaay better than you could imagine. It shouldn't work, actually, since there are lots of competing flavors. But it is marvelous. I had the "Smoky" bowl which is brown rice and vegetarian chipotle chili and salsa. I also had one of their barbecue tofu skewers.
This is another great reason to move to Eugene.
After dinner we made the traditional pilgrimages to all the Dorsey-related Eugene haunts--my mom's freshman dorm and my dad's seedy basement apartment. We talked about movies they saw (I think all of them in 1970) here, and we tried to find a particular Dairy Queen that my mom remembers (but that seems to be gone now). And, of course, we went up to Hendrick park so that we could pay homage to the corner where we lost Pre (bow your head for a moment of silence and think about what Pre has done for you).
We also went through the university so that we could look at the outside of Mac Court, Hayward Field, and so that my dad could show us where he parks when he comes down for the Oregon boys' basketball tourney every March.
Eugene is a totally charming town. And, for the record, I prefer forest green O's to burnt orange longhorns any day of the week.
25 April 2008
Smell Ya Later
I am on day four of a cold that has left my nose without function (other than to take up room between my eyes and lips on my face. And hold up my glasses). I can't breathe at all, so I only sleep for a couple of hours at a time--which makes it pretty hard to beat the cold, since I can't sleep it off. Last night I put some vicks under my nose in an attempt to 1) soothe the redness and 2) open up some sort of small air passage. I don't think that it helped. And in one way it actually hurt. Because once I put it on I realized that I couldn't smell its menthol loveliness. Not at all. I could feel the tingle, but I couldn't smell it. And then I realized that I actually haven't been able to smell anything all week. And then I started to worry that I was going to end up like Trusty the dog from Lady and the Tramp, dreaming about the days when I used to be able to track animals while out hunting with my master.
Or something like that.
But I did, at three o'clock in the morning, sleep and oxygen deprived, begin to think about my favorite things to smell, and how much I'd miss them if I never could smell them again.
Here is my list:
1) vicks.
2) Playdough. I make Gus play Playdough with me all the time so that I can get that smell on my hands. This usually entails me making very detailed houses and Gus destroying them with tornadoes. Sometimes we play Food Network, which I like better because he does his Emeril impression and I get to be Rachael Ray.
3) Vanilla Amber Musk. This is my favorite thing to wear. Because it smells intoxicating. From Escentials, the shop on Hawthorne. (http://www.escential.net) And it is only $7.00 per 1/4 oz. And it stays good almost forever because their products are mostly vegetable oil based. (This is too heavy, I find, for most of the year in Texas, so I wear it a lot less often here.)
4) A can of freshly opened racquetballs. Reminds me of my childhood. And Bruce. And who doesn't like to be reminded of Bruce?
5) Baking brownies. Mmmm. Warm chocolate.
6) Rosemary. Which is also my favorite herb. For those of you who are taking note.
7) Mr. Sketch markers. But not grape. Artificial grape scent/flavor is disgusting.
8) Morning-after bar. I know it is foul, but I love waking up the morning after having spent a long evening in a bar (you know, a real bar where people actually can smoke inside?) and smelling the aroma of my own transgressions. (Which usually aren't all that transgressive.) Unlike regret, you can wash this smell off of you, which is part of the allure.
9) Coffee. This is, perhaps, the greatest single olfactory joy of all. Freshly roasted, freshly ground coffee. Walking into Stumptown (oh, Stumpdawg!) on a weekend morning and the smell is so pervasive that it sticks to you for the rest of the day. Part of my being-home ritual is that I always go to Stumptown on my last day in town and buy coffee to bring back to Texas with me. It is partially because I hate drinking anything else. And it is partially because I feel less far away when, on the other end of the journey, I open my bags and they are filled with that smell. It's like, for a moment, I get to cheat my senses.
My best scent memory is of some lipgloss I had as a kid. It was orange flavored and colored and it came in a plastic orange slice that was attached to some string for wearing around the neck. I remember keeping the orange slice long after the gloss was gone because I could still open it and smell the smell of it. I can't describe its actual bouquet, but it was something beyond fake orange---something warm, almost baked. It was delightful. I'd kill to find something that smelled like that again . . .
Or something like that.
But I did, at three o'clock in the morning, sleep and oxygen deprived, begin to think about my favorite things to smell, and how much I'd miss them if I never could smell them again.
Here is my list:
1) vicks.
2) Playdough. I make Gus play Playdough with me all the time so that I can get that smell on my hands. This usually entails me making very detailed houses and Gus destroying them with tornadoes. Sometimes we play Food Network, which I like better because he does his Emeril impression and I get to be Rachael Ray.
3) Vanilla Amber Musk. This is my favorite thing to wear. Because it smells intoxicating. From Escentials, the shop on Hawthorne. (http://www.escential.net) And it is only $7.00 per 1/4 oz. And it stays good almost forever because their products are mostly vegetable oil based. (This is too heavy, I find, for most of the year in Texas, so I wear it a lot less often here.)
4) A can of freshly opened racquetballs. Reminds me of my childhood. And Bruce. And who doesn't like to be reminded of Bruce?
5) Baking brownies. Mmmm. Warm chocolate.
6) Rosemary. Which is also my favorite herb. For those of you who are taking note.
7) Mr. Sketch markers. But not grape. Artificial grape scent/flavor is disgusting.
8) Morning-after bar. I know it is foul, but I love waking up the morning after having spent a long evening in a bar (you know, a real bar where people actually can smoke inside?) and smelling the aroma of my own transgressions. (Which usually aren't all that transgressive.) Unlike regret, you can wash this smell off of you, which is part of the allure.
9) Coffee. This is, perhaps, the greatest single olfactory joy of all. Freshly roasted, freshly ground coffee. Walking into Stumptown (oh, Stumpdawg!) on a weekend morning and the smell is so pervasive that it sticks to you for the rest of the day. Part of my being-home ritual is that I always go to Stumptown on my last day in town and buy coffee to bring back to Texas with me. It is partially because I hate drinking anything else. And it is partially because I feel less far away when, on the other end of the journey, I open my bags and they are filled with that smell. It's like, for a moment, I get to cheat my senses.
My best scent memory is of some lipgloss I had as a kid. It was orange flavored and colored and it came in a plastic orange slice that was attached to some string for wearing around the neck. I remember keeping the orange slice long after the gloss was gone because I could still open it and smell the smell of it. I can't describe its actual bouquet, but it was something beyond fake orange---something warm, almost baked. It was delightful. I'd kill to find something that smelled like that again . . .
08 January 2008
Who DOES that?!?
So I'm a little ashamed that THIS is going to be the topic of my first "real" blog entry, but I saw something really messed up tonight and I think that the only way that I can stop thinking about it is to write it out.
So here goes: I went to have my haircut today at a certain rock n roll barbershop. As it turned out, I had to wait a LONG time for the cut, since 3 people in front of me were waiting for color. But I didn't mind--I had one of the collections of Nick Hornby's Believer columns (which I had enough time to read cover to cover). And the guys felt bad for us having to wait for so long, so they kept us supplied with beer. And there was people watching--both inside and out on the street. So it was cool.
There was this other guy waiting at the same time I was. I didn't particularly like the looks of him. He seemed sort of, well, you know, snotty. And he was making a big show about how irritated he was about having to wait (listen dude, that's the way they rock it at Bishops. If you want an appointment, go to a damn SALON). Anyhoo, he went up to the desk and asked how much longer he had to wait, and he was told that it was going to be a bit longer, so he grabbed his coat and took off. I figured he was gone for good, but he returned a few minutes later, with a snack.
Now at this point I feel that I should warn you that you may be sort of disappointed about the "climax" of this story. Because it required too much explication, and the fact is, the thing I'm about to tell you (the thing that HAPPENED) isn't really worthy of the amount of explication that I've provided. This is the point in the story where, if I were telling this to Mikey J, he would be frantically nodding his head, and saying "right, right" and he might even be doing that weird get-on-with-it hand gesture.
So, here goes. This guy's snack was a bread product of some kind (like a roll?), and a relatively large chunk of cheese. Like maybe 8 or 10 ounces of cheese. Make a fist. He had THAT much cheese.
He had stripped the plastic off the cheese and he was, my hand to G--, eating this giant chunk of cheese like it was an apple. Just taking giant bites out of it. Like it was an apple. Which it was NOT. It was a large chunk of cheese.
I don't know what you think, but in MY America, we eat cheese in slices. Or maybe in small cubes that we pick up with toothpicks. We are not Vikings. Or Goths. Or Geats. We do not hunt giant woolly, tusked animals with clubs. Or drink mead. Or sleep on pelts. And we don't walk around in public eating fist-sized pieces of gouda.
(This has, by the way, trumped the last upsetting thing I saw someone doing with food--which was order an ONION bagel with STRAWBERRY cream cheese at 8 am. I mean, it violates the rule that states that you should restrict pairing savory bagels to savory or neutral cream cheeses and sweet bagels to sweet or neutral cream cheeses. And if THAT is too difficult to remember--just don't put strawberry cream cheese on anything. Ever. And onion bagels at 8 am. Is that necessary?)
So here goes: I went to have my haircut today at a certain rock n roll barbershop. As it turned out, I had to wait a LONG time for the cut, since 3 people in front of me were waiting for color. But I didn't mind--I had one of the collections of Nick Hornby's Believer columns (which I had enough time to read cover to cover). And the guys felt bad for us having to wait for so long, so they kept us supplied with beer. And there was people watching--both inside and out on the street. So it was cool.
There was this other guy waiting at the same time I was. I didn't particularly like the looks of him. He seemed sort of, well, you know, snotty. And he was making a big show about how irritated he was about having to wait (listen dude, that's the way they rock it at Bishops. If you want an appointment, go to a damn SALON). Anyhoo, he went up to the desk and asked how much longer he had to wait, and he was told that it was going to be a bit longer, so he grabbed his coat and took off. I figured he was gone for good, but he returned a few minutes later, with a snack.
Now at this point I feel that I should warn you that you may be sort of disappointed about the "climax" of this story. Because it required too much explication, and the fact is, the thing I'm about to tell you (the thing that HAPPENED) isn't really worthy of the amount of explication that I've provided. This is the point in the story where, if I were telling this to Mikey J, he would be frantically nodding his head, and saying "right, right" and he might even be doing that weird get-on-with-it hand gesture.
So, here goes. This guy's snack was a bread product of some kind (like a roll?), and a relatively large chunk of cheese. Like maybe 8 or 10 ounces of cheese. Make a fist. He had THAT much cheese.
He had stripped the plastic off the cheese and he was, my hand to G--, eating this giant chunk of cheese like it was an apple. Just taking giant bites out of it. Like it was an apple. Which it was NOT. It was a large chunk of cheese.
I don't know what you think, but in MY America, we eat cheese in slices. Or maybe in small cubes that we pick up with toothpicks. We are not Vikings. Or Goths. Or Geats. We do not hunt giant woolly, tusked animals with clubs. Or drink mead. Or sleep on pelts. And we don't walk around in public eating fist-sized pieces of gouda.
(This has, by the way, trumped the last upsetting thing I saw someone doing with food--which was order an ONION bagel with STRAWBERRY cream cheese at 8 am. I mean, it violates the rule that states that you should restrict pairing savory bagels to savory or neutral cream cheeses and sweet bagels to sweet or neutral cream cheeses. And if THAT is too difficult to remember--just don't put strawberry cream cheese on anything. Ever. And onion bagels at 8 am. Is that necessary?)
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