would you please shut up about the To Do list? Some of us would like to stop staring at the unscalable mountain, and get some frickin' sleep, Sir Hillary.
sincerely, body
------------------------
Dear body,
sucks for you, don't it? Just complete one more item on the List, and then - maybe - you can sleep. It'll just get longer if you don't, you know.
-brain
----------------------
Brain, go re-read your How to Get Things Done books. Don't you know that if I don't get sleep, then you don't get to be effective in accomplishing your goals? And how much do you think you can get done, anyway, with me chanting, tiiiiired, tiiiiiiiired, tiiiiired, tiraliralay in your ear, hmm?
-b
------------------------
just one more thing? Come on, you know you can.
-b
-----------------------
NO.
-----------------------
[points]
-----------------------
[looks]
Note to self: post the tomato-and-black-bean soup recipe, before my mother drives over here, to wrest the thing from my shaking hands.
-----------------------
oh, cripey. She's already called twice this afternoon. Oh - augh - okay.
-b
-----------------------
[points]
-----------------------
[looks]
Further note to self: how the hell did I make that soup, anyway? There was a recipe, but it had little impact on the outcome. My failure to repeat the miracle is not heartening.
---------------------
oh, you bastard.
-b
P.S. I accept chocolate as a bribe. So, I suspect, do you.
*************************************************
Despite my mother's very reasonable request, what follows is a recipe in narrative form. With apologies to the grandmaternal.
For nearly 14 years, the Man has accused me of hidden mathematical talents. Now, while I have a number of remedial math teachers who still insist on hiding under their beds, I'm fairly certain that I could assemble a rebuttal. And he would reply with one, inarguable fact: I have a bad habit, when under pressure, of forgetting that my brain should probably be allowed to operate my mouth. And that at times like that, I do tend to come out with surprisingly accurate calculations.
Or, to put it differently, I fail to think in grand style. I may even be good at it.
I would not be so petty as to describe a visit from my parents as a pressurizing experience, but I will admit to a bad habit of over-hostessing. I get into the groove, cook too much food, and fail to use my leftovers until after they leave, at which point we [sic] joyously laze my way through days worth of not-having-to-cook dinners. Lego with the boys, endless and minute Star Wars narratives, yarn and oh, storytimes both on paper and on limited engagement, This Night Only! Which is only encouragement to keep it up, printing reams of recipes I might cook before they come, testing one, two, and then oh, the pleasure of watching the fresh, ooo-yum produce come in, and the steaming/tossed/mmm/crunch/smell-that food go out. Can't beat it, from any angle.
But it is a bustle. So, I prep: beans to soak, things to defrost, sous chef work that the Man can do? mixes of dry ingredients that we can have ready? Always, there is more to prep than we could possibly manage - therefore, regardless, the bustle.
And there you go, background aplenty. And here it is:
A Bustled Black Bean-Tomato Soup
serves 6, unless you can manage otherwise.
I based the recipe on Martha Rose Shulman's Black Bean and Cumin soup, from the NY Times Recipes for Health. So,
2 tb olive oil
1 medium onion, chopped - oh, heck, 2? 3? onions, and finely chopped
4 large garlic cloves, halved - or, hey, just smashed with the side of the knife, and then peeled
1 dry cup of black beans, unless you've forgotten to soak and boil and ooops, so 1 big can of ready to roll black beans and thank you, Goya, for that nice ring pull lid because where on earth did the can opener go? I'm going to need it for the - oh -
14 oz can of tomatoes, and there's no ring pull on that one. Fine, then 2 cups of fresh tomatoes (so there!), chopped with love and a bah, who needs that canned stuff.
6 cups water, except that I am so very, very awesome and have finally learned that awesomeness is based on listening to my friends who tell me things about how easy it is to keep the ends of my carrots and the limp stalk of celery and the clean peels of my onions and turn them into broth. See? I listened. And while you might cavil at my awesomeness, I now have 6 cups of veggie stock, simmered slowly for 2.5 hrs. So neener, neener, neener, I'm using stock instead of water.
No, I'm not sneering.
Oh. I'm especially not sneering - toasted cumin seeds? ground? Um. Oh. [casts about kitchen]
Note to the reader: from here, there are one of two choices. Either, my previous, slightly self-mocking note about mathematical genius (did I say genius? okay, functionality. happy now?) is correct, and what I cast, I will reap with gustatory pleasure. Or not. And we send out for pizza. Or possibly, send my parents out for pizza, none of which comes in a suitably supervised kosher, Imperfect-able format.
I cast about, and find Chloe Coscarelli. Her vegan panini had won a contest in March, beating out any number of very very non-vegan contestants. And I had a recipe for this panini, including a spiced chickpea masala - and oh. A jar of turmeric, cumin, cinnamon, cloves - oh, no, I skipped the cloves, and used allspice - and cayenne - no, wait, I used chili powder. Right.
[thank you, Chloe]
Except that, oh, hm. I add a bit of cinnamon, and another bit of cumin. Sniff. Yes, that's better. I need the equivalent of 2 tsp of the I'm-not-gonna-do-that toasted cumin seeds, except how much is that when ground? No clue. Okay, let's go for 1 Tb of spice mix. But first, saute the onions, let them brown - add spices, yes! now! garlic? in it goes - and sniff the pot.
[sniff]
Oh, yes.
[sniff]
Hm.
Okay, how about a dash of the barbecue spice mix from my wonderful Nicole Routhier? I just rediscovered her Fruit Cookbook on my shelf, and I made some fish on Friday - oh, okay, here we go. Her barbecue spice mix is definitely going to be a happy camper at this singalong, um, okay, here it is:
1 Tb cumin seeds, 1 tsp coriander seeds, 1 Tb brown sugar - o, was I supposed to pack that? bah - 1 tsp ground cinnamon, 1 tsp grated orange peel (yeah, because who has tangerines lying around, I asks youse), .5 tsp salt and .5 tsp fresh black pepper.
I close my eyes and reach for what might possibly be the tablespoon measure. Toss. Add the beans, tomatoes, broth - ha, ha! - and
[sniff]
-b
P.S. I accept chocolate as a bribe. So, I suspect, do you.
*************************************************
Despite my mother's very reasonable request, what follows is a recipe in narrative form. With apologies to the grandmaternal.
For nearly 14 years, the Man has accused me of hidden mathematical talents. Now, while I have a number of remedial math teachers who still insist on hiding under their beds, I'm fairly certain that I could assemble a rebuttal. And he would reply with one, inarguable fact: I have a bad habit, when under pressure, of forgetting that my brain should probably be allowed to operate my mouth. And that at times like that, I do tend to come out with surprisingly accurate calculations.
Or, to put it differently, I fail to think in grand style. I may even be good at it.
I would not be so petty as to describe a visit from my parents as a pressurizing experience, but I will admit to a bad habit of over-hostessing. I get into the groove, cook too much food, and fail to use my leftovers until after they leave, at which point we [sic] joyously laze my way through days worth of not-having-to-cook dinners. Lego with the boys, endless and minute Star Wars narratives, yarn and oh, storytimes both on paper and on limited engagement, This Night Only! Which is only encouragement to keep it up, printing reams of recipes I might cook before they come, testing one, two, and then oh, the pleasure of watching the fresh, ooo-yum produce come in, and the steaming/tossed/mmm/crunch/smell-that food go out. Can't beat it, from any angle.
But it is a bustle. So, I prep: beans to soak, things to defrost, sous chef work that the Man can do? mixes of dry ingredients that we can have ready? Always, there is more to prep than we could possibly manage - therefore, regardless, the bustle.
And there you go, background aplenty. And here it is:
A Bustled Black Bean-Tomato Soup
serves 6, unless you can manage otherwise.
I based the recipe on Martha Rose Shulman's Black Bean and Cumin soup, from the NY Times Recipes for Health. So,
2 tb olive oil
1 medium onion, chopped - oh, heck, 2? 3? onions, and finely chopped
4 large garlic cloves, halved - or, hey, just smashed with the side of the knife, and then peeled
1 dry cup of black beans, unless you've forgotten to soak and boil and ooops, so 1 big can of ready to roll black beans and thank you, Goya, for that nice ring pull lid because where on earth did the can opener go? I'm going to need it for the - oh -
14 oz can of tomatoes, and there's no ring pull on that one. Fine, then 2 cups of fresh tomatoes (so there!), chopped with love and a bah, who needs that canned stuff.
6 cups water, except that I am so very, very awesome and have finally learned that awesomeness is based on listening to my friends who tell me things about how easy it is to keep the ends of my carrots and the limp stalk of celery and the clean peels of my onions and turn them into broth. See? I listened. And while you might cavil at my awesomeness, I now have 6 cups of veggie stock, simmered slowly for 2.5 hrs. So neener, neener, neener, I'm using stock instead of water.
No, I'm not sneering.
Oh. I'm especially not sneering - toasted cumin seeds? ground? Um. Oh. [casts about kitchen]
Note to the reader: from here, there are one of two choices. Either, my previous, slightly self-mocking note about mathematical genius (did I say genius? okay, functionality. happy now?) is correct, and what I cast, I will reap with gustatory pleasure. Or not. And we send out for pizza. Or possibly, send my parents out for pizza, none of which comes in a suitably supervised kosher, Imperfect-able format.
I cast about, and find Chloe Coscarelli. Her vegan panini had won a contest in March, beating out any number of very very non-vegan contestants. And I had a recipe for this panini, including a spiced chickpea masala - and oh. A jar of turmeric, cumin, cinnamon, cloves - oh, no, I skipped the cloves, and used allspice - and cayenne - no, wait, I used chili powder. Right.
[thank you, Chloe]
Except that, oh, hm. I add a bit of cinnamon, and another bit of cumin. Sniff. Yes, that's better. I need the equivalent of 2 tsp of the I'm-not-gonna-do-that toasted cumin seeds, except how much is that when ground? No clue. Okay, let's go for 1 Tb of spice mix. But first, saute the onions, let them brown - add spices, yes! now! garlic? in it goes - and sniff the pot.
[sniff]
Oh, yes.
[sniff]
Hm.
Okay, how about a dash of the barbecue spice mix from my wonderful Nicole Routhier? I just rediscovered her Fruit Cookbook on my shelf, and I made some fish on Friday - oh, okay, here we go. Her barbecue spice mix is definitely going to be a happy camper at this singalong, um, okay, here it is:
1 Tb cumin seeds, 1 tsp coriander seeds, 1 Tb brown sugar - o, was I supposed to pack that? bah - 1 tsp ground cinnamon, 1 tsp grated orange peel (yeah, because who has tangerines lying around, I asks youse), .5 tsp salt and .5 tsp fresh black pepper.
I close my eyes and reach for what might possibly be the tablespoon measure. Toss. Add the beans, tomatoes, broth - ha, ha! - and
[sniff]
yes.
6 bowls, 6 people herded to the table, 1 smaller one re-herded, then lifted and plonked down in front of salad and yesssssss, say the people. We all stare sadly at the empty pot. How unfair of the pot to be empty, and whose idea was that, I want to know. What's in it?
Oh, cripes, say I, and realize. I have no idea. Later that week, sniffing, I will still have no idea. And my mother, considering her options, will realize that her best chances of another bowl do not lie in letting me off the hook.
-----------------------------------------
Dear brain,
well, there you go. I still think you are going to be in the crapper for this one. Did you really call this a recipe?
-body
-------------------------------
body,
thanks for your concern, but I have already taken steps to alleviate the situation. Do note the slightly erudite
(yet informative) post title, which should offer fair warning as to the limitations of that which is being offered here.
-brain
----------------------------
Oh, sure. But she's still going to kick your medulla, dude.
But what do I care? I'm going to sleep.
----------------------------
Dear limbic and frontal lobes,
please, please, please be gentle. Also, do accept this nice basket of fruit.
-brain
Dear brain,
well, there you go. I still think you are going to be in the crapper for this one. Did you really call this a recipe?
-body
-------------------------------
body,
thanks for your concern, but I have already taken steps to alleviate the situation. Do note the slightly erudite
(yet informative) post title, which should offer fair warning as to the limitations of that which is being offered here.
-brain
----------------------------
Oh, sure. But she's still going to kick your medulla, dude.
But what do I care? I'm going to sleep.
----------------------------
Dear limbic and frontal lobes,
please, please, please be gentle. Also, do accept this nice basket of fruit.
-brain
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