Another Red Letter Day of Sorts?

As most of you probably know, I have a tendency to freak out a lot. Little, tiny minuscule things that don't even register on the average person's radar have the ability to really throw me into the depths of despair and it's all my mother (or a few close friends) can do to walk me down from the I-don't-know-what-I'm-going-to-do-ledge.

I was supposed to fly out of DC today at 3:20. When I arrived at Reagan National Airport I learned the flight was overbooked and I wasn't even guaranteed a seat. They did the whole, "Do we have any volunteers?"-thing...and I briefly contemplated taking a later flight for the $300 voucher, but then I started worrying about my luggage and where I would stay in DC for another night and decided it was probably best to just proceed as planned. So...I was lucky enough to get a seat on that flight...it was a middle seat, but I had already freaked out about not getting to Chicago at all (and it's only a 90 minute flight), so, you know, if you have to have a middle seat, a 90-minute flight is the flight to have it on. We pushed off from the gate and began to taxi...and the captain came on and told us about some bad weather in Chicago. Fast forward an hour and a half: I'm stuck between a guy who talks to himself while doing crossword puzzles ("What's nine down? I don't know...I don't know...14 across is 'idol.' 'Idol.' Did I spell that right? I don't know...") and a woman who snored. I was having visions of that JetBlue flight that was stuck at JFK when, thankfully, the captain came back on and said we were going back to the terminal. The know-it-all woman in front of me ("Once the weather in Chicago was so bad, I had to fly into Milwaukee and rent a car. Milwaukee's not all that far from Chicago..." said it definitely meant they were canceling our flight. So, we all unloaded our personal belongings and huddled around Gate 28, waiting for news. They canceled the next two flights from DC to Chicago which the guy next to me said was good news for us because something had to go out. And, long story short, after reboarding and a little more waiting on the tarmac, we finally made it to Chicago. My luggage made it, too (always nice) and I was able to get a taxi to my hotel without any problems.

I was feeling a strange sense of euphoria after we landed. DC is so close to home (not to mention Boston) that it doesn't quite feel like "getting away." But Chicago's definitely away...and my family's not far...so I really just felt like this week was going to be just what I needed.

When I finally arrived at my hotel, all I wanted to do was to get some dinner and hook up my computer to check the story my boss edited (and eventually write another one...but not until after dinner). However, I soon discovered that my room was - ahem - lacking in certain respects. First on the list: if you don't have wi-fi, you don't have Internet access. This is despite the fact that there's a little sign on the desk (and a notice on the website as well) that claims all rooms have wired Internet access. The little sign in my room actually says, "Start with your notebook computer turned off and connect an Ethernet cable from your network card to the Wayport adapter (also called a "bridge"). If there is no bridge in your room, you can get one from the front desk." So...I tried to call the front desk but discovered my phone didn't work. I tried to turn on the lamp to illuminate my room while I thought about what to do about the defunct phone and discovered it, too, was not working. I started to get a little upset. I decided food would help me (I get grumpy when I am hungry...and have always suspected I am hypoglycemic). After my stay in Boston when I called the front desk and said, "I don't have a room service menu!" and they said, "Uh, turn on your TV..." I knew to check the television here when I didn't immediately see a menu. Sure enough - there was a services option. However...even though I could see "in room dining" on my screen, I could not find a button on my remote control that illuminated that selection. The cursor just went back and forth between "folio" and "back." So...I went downstairs to tell the woman at the front desk that I had several problems. However...two of her friends had arrived and this woman could not have cared less that I did not have Internet access, a phone, a lamp or in-room dining. I asked about the "bridge" first and she looked at me as if I was speaking klingon. She told me that the hotel had nothing to do with Internet access and if I was having trouble, I'd have to call the third party provider from my room. "But, that's the thing - my phone doesn't work..." I said.
She dialed the Wayport number at the speed of light and handed me the receiver to return to her friends to talk about what hotels they stay at when they visit New York (if only they knew!). I was dubious I would be able to accomplish anything from the hotel lobby, but the guy was very nice...he put me on hold for a bit...and while I was on hold that very helpful woman at the front desk disappeared for a moment and came back with a "bridge" (which was kind of funny since the first time I asked about it, she looked at me like she had no idea what I was talking about). The Wayport Helpdesk guy came back and said, "I just talked to her. You should be all set."

She really didn't want to have anything to do with me at that point though...so I counted my blessings and went back to my room. However...I soon discovered that the "bridge" had just two tiny chords. And I assumed (my basketball coach in Mississippi used to say that "when you assume, you make an ass out of 'u' and me.") that one of the chords had to go into the wall. But then I realized that in order for this to work, I would have to literally crawl under the desk in my room in order to do all my work with everything plugged in. Nevermind - I clicked the Mozilla Firefox icon and held my breath. Still nothing. So...the nice man had given me a number to call if I still had problems. Another guy (Stephen?) walked me through some Internet connection nonsense and finally wanted me to push a pin-hole size button on the "bridge" with a pin when I said, "Sure...but can you give me a second? Because the chord is really short and I'm under the desk right now and the lamp doesn't work, so it's really dark." and Stephen said, "Under the desk because the chord's so short? That's unacceptable! You can't work like that! Let me call the front desk..." So, he put me on hold some more...and then came back and said, "Ma'am, do you have both chords plugged into your computer?" and I said, "No - I have the ethernet cable plugged into my computer and the other one is plugged into the wall." Bingo. That was my problem. They're BOTH supposed to go into the computer to create a faux wireless network. Oopsie.

So...at this point I know I can definitely NEVER talk to the front desk girls EVER again. And if I'd had lunch, maybe I could have just skipped dinner, but I was STARVING. So I knew I had no choice - I had to go to the hotel restaurant by myself.

I'll admit I was a little nervous as I surveyed the menu and then approached the host. "Just one?" he asked.

Yes. Just one.

He took me to a lovely table by a window. The whole restaurant was very nice - it was kind of dark and candle-light-y and would have been uber-romantic if I wasn't destined to die barren and alone (that was for you, Dubs...even though you're drunk and fishing in the woods right now...and don't likely read my blog anymore anyway...). There weren't very many people there...which also made it easier to sit there with my notebook from the DC retirement conference. I was also sort of able to listen in to the table next to me as a girl met her boyfriend's parents for the first time. It's funny - I was able to drink - oh, I don't know - half of a beer and eat a salad while they were there...but it wasn't until they left that I could actually touch the bread basket (as if they would have been riding home together in the car later and said, "Did you see that girl? Alone?? Eating CARBS???"). It actually wasn't that bad at all...considering this was really the first time I've ever eaten at a sit-down restaurant by myself before. So...progress?

On the Road Again...

I made my way down to DC for a conference that begins tomorrow and had some time to visit the memorials I haven't seen since a fifth grade class trip.

Another travel bonus? Us Weekly! ...which this week has a section entitled "Ask The Shrink" in which "doctors analyze the latest in celebrity psychology." It's all pretty much what you'd expect: Paris, Britney, Jen...but there was one that caught my attention - none other than Posh Spice's BFF, the couch-jump-inducing former Dawson's Creek star. Of Ms. Holmes it says this:

"Katie: Feels the Need to Feed...Her Coworkers."

It goes on to say that while on the set of her latest film, "Katie Holmes, 28, showered the crew with enough treats to make a dentist beg for mercy, including cupcakes, ice cream, pizza (flown in from Chicago!) and snow cones."

I suppose I don't have *too* much to worry about though as it only got one Freud head on a scale of up to five.

Bon Appetit also had some good stuff - including a podcast on making perfect pies (I am addicted to podcasts now...oh, how I love This American Life...and now I see I can learn how to "bake a gorgeous summer pie" as well...)

Their recipe for the perfect crust calls for a combination of lard (or shortening) and butter...as well as sugar and refrigeration. I'm going to see my aunt next weekend...so it will be interesting to hear her thoughts on why she has used the method she has used for so long.

BA also chats with Jessica Alba this month...who, quite frankly, is not someone I'd think I'd have much in common with...however, Ms. Alba says pie is one of her guilty pleasures and she'd like to be able to bake one.

Scott Baio is 45...and Single

I saw an ad for a new reality-ish show on VH1 called - you guessed it - Scott Baio is 45...and Single.

And when you Google it - get this - the first page that comes up has an online form that enables you to "Confess Your Love for Scott Baio."

"Finally you can write in and tell Scott why he should marry you!"

Hmm...

Lisa's Brownies

My oven is finally grease- and grease-fighter-free, so I was finally able to make Janelle's birthday brownies...except now they're actually for this girl named Rachel in my office. (Poor Janelle...)

Brownie-making went off without a hitch...I was actually really surprised that the cheesecake layer spread so well (sometimes you have to content yourself with a cheesecake layer that exists in solely the middle and does not cover up the brownies completely...).

I didn't have nearly enough raspberries this time...but I splurged and got fresh raspberries (sometimes I slum it with *frozen* berries...). But that was the solitary flaw (I think).

Thanks to some wise words from a young buck in my office...

I was able to figure out the wireless situation in my apartment!

Now I'm not tethered to the back wall!

My Heart be Still...

There's so much good stuff going on in this NYT story today: Pastry Chefs, Refusing to be Sweet (again...precisely the kind of journalism I'd like to do for a living...).

It makes me want to go out and open my own "small, quirky dessert-centric restaurant!"

And I wouldn't mind meeting that Sam Mason guy either...

Look how clever my aunt and uncle are...!

So...my aunt and uncle have a friend who used to be a drummer in Wayne Newton's (!!) band...and he just had a birthday so they were able to - ahem - drum up a drum cake for him. My aunt says my uncle did the decorating! And look at the little lollipop drum sticks!

It's funny - I was recently at that beer garden in Astoria (the one everyone talks about every summer) with some coworkers and the song Danke Schoen came up. Andy (remember him?? Aww...I think that's my first link to myself...) had never heard Danke Schoen before...but luckily someone had it on their iPod. (Speaking of which...this is totally going to make me sound completely out of touch with the entire world, BUT - I'm loving having a computer at home not only because I can download music - and blog! - but also for the podcasts! I've been listening to This American Life during my commute...and the best part is...it's free! Oh, how I would like to have a story on that program someday...)

My Dilemma...

Saturday is the 2007 Rockvale Outlets World's Greatest Shoo-Fly Pie Bake-Off and I had planned to bake a pie on Friday, rent a car bright and early on Saturday, drive to Lancaster that morning, give it my all in the pie contest that afternoon and drive back that night. However...now I'm leaving on Sunday for a business trip and won't be back until, like, the fall...and so I feel like maybe I should just scrap the whole pie contest idea and use Saturday to sleep in and pack and wander around the city.

On the other hand...(when I was in the second grade, we read a book that alternated between sentences that began with "Fortunately..." and "Unfortunately..." and then we had to write our own versions in the same style. Based on a quick search for those words on Amazon.com, I'm pretty sure it was this book: Fortunately. [I bring it up because that's sort of what I feel like I'm doing here with "however" and "on the other hand..."])...it would be a shame to pass up a pie contest...and it would probably breathe new life into all those pitch letters I was supposed to write after the last pie contest. So...I feel like if I look at the car rental as an "investment" that could yield big returns if/when I'm able to sell a story, it would be pretty foolish not to go, wouldn't it?

Unfortunately...I think it means I'm not going to get much sleep this weekend...and in 48 hours I'll have to track down a rental car and bake a pie...and that sounds like an awful lot to accomplish on a Friday night.

No baking today.

I turned on my oven...and - sure enough - I missed a spot when cleaning out the foam. Part of me felt like letting the oven cool down and then wiping it down again and giving the brownies another shot...but part of me realized I have way too much other stuff to do and that I'd end up baking all night...and no good really ever comes of that. Besides, I wanted to do muffins, too, and I don't have cupcake holders...so it just seems best to hold off tonight. (And I don't have a reason to show up with brownies at work tomorrow...and I'd like to leave the spontaneous baking to a minimum...)

However...I can't hold off *too* long as next weekend is the shoofly pie contest...which totally snuck up on me. I'm not sure if I'll actually go after all...but I feel like it would breathe new life into the whole pie-writing-thing...and so it would be a real shame if I missed it...

Friday Catblogging...on Sunday!

I can't figure out this blasted wireless network!

One of the items on my "to do" list today was to hook up my new computer to the wireless network that one of my coworkers helped me set up in my apartment long ago...everything was going swimmingly until it came time to insert the Wireless G Notebook Adapter into the cardbus slot on my laptop - it appears it does not fit...and I am now concerned that I will have to purchase even more gadgets or remain tethered to the wall in the back of my apartment forever more...

Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs

My mother is oftentimes trying to convince me to go out and do things by myself...as the ability to go out and do things by yourself proves you have a certain amount of self-confidence and pride and you aren't a shrinking violet....or something like that. But...I have a really hard time doing stuff by myself - especially eating in restaurants...I feel like I could *never* eat in a restaurant by myself - the only thing I can do alone without obsessing about what people must be thinking of me is shopping...shopping is one of the few activities I prefer to do alone.

However...there have been a couple of examples over the past few days that make me wish I could do more stuff by myself without worrying what people are thinking of me.

My friend and I got tickets to LoveMusik and there was some sort of mix-up in the row behind us with two people who had tickets for the same seat. So...they brought in the house manager who looked at both of the tickets and then said to the poor man who was hoping to sit down, "Are you a party of two or three?" and he said, "Just one." This poor little old man was there all by himself. And, on the one hand, I think it's really great that he's getting out and seeing a show as I know I wouldn't go by myself no matter how badly I wanted to see something (unless Javier Lopez decides to write a musical in retirement...I might have to make an exception for that...). The rest of me wanted to turn around and sit down with him and befriend him, much like Kate Winslet did in that movie, The Holiday (I really *wanted* to like that movie...). And I'm sure he doesn't need me...perhaps it's one of those situations where it turns out I really need him and that provides some monumental insight into the inner workings of my psyche. Or something like that.

Then...yesterday was Bloomsday so we went to Symphony Space for a big whoopdeedoo reading...and there was a scrawny young guy ahead of us in line buying a ticket for himself. Later in the day, I saw him sitting alone with his copy of Ulysses in his lap, following along without a care in the world. I should confess I felt less willing to immediately befriend him - perhaps because I assume he at least has parents at home to talk to...whereas I'm afraid the older gentleman has no one to go home to...and I don't even know why I feel sorry for them - I am perhaps the one to be pitied as I can't bring myself to do what they do and am therefore far, far from self-actualization.

But I've actually started noticing people doing things by themselves now. There was a man at a Thai restaurant tonight, sitting in the window by himself, reading a book. I'm not even sure I could get coffee in the morning and sit in a cafe alone and not be squirming all over the place in discomfort...so...perhaps this should be my new project (I dropped the ball on the Southern Living recipe contest...)...

La Creperie de Central Park?

It was Janelle's first trip to New York and so we obviously had to hit up Central Park. We couldn't have picked a nicer day to do it...and as we were walking into the park, I looked up and lo and behold, there was Debra Messing walking in the opposite direction with her son and some blond woman who said, "That's because you're getting so big, Roman." And since I buy celeb mags whenever I have to fly, I know the name of Debra Messing's son is Roman and so I have tangible evidence that it was actually her (or something like that...).

I don't think I've ever actually spent that much time in the park before...it seems like we did everything: we rented a boat and paddled around...we did a carriage ride with a tour guide who kept saying, "Are you familiar with the movie Home Alone II?" and then pointing out landmarks from the film...a six year-old girl admired my purse...and an older toothless gentleman warned us that we had stumbled into the "gay section" of Central Park and that we should not under any circumstances turn right at the top of the hill.

Janelle's mother had been raving about a crepe stand in Central Park...which we found near Bethesda Fountain. When I lived in England, we had a beloved creperie in Hampstead, La Creperie de Hampstead, that had (in my opinion) the greatest crepes in the whole entire world. They did one with Belgian chocolate that is just indescribably good. They also made savory crepes...and I remember a friend and I once starved ourselves in London all day so we could go to Hampstead and get both a savory and a sweet crepe before returning to Brighton...and we soon discovered that such gluttony has a price and we did not feel well afterward.

The Central Park crepe stand was pretty good...but it certainly wasn't the same. I *think* I heard once upon a time that the Hampstead creperie opened an actual restaurant in London...so hopefully I will get back there someday and check things out for myself...

In the meantime, I was contemplating trying my own hand at crepes. I am fairly certain I have seen those wooden crepe-twirler things at Sur la Table...

Happy (Belated) Birthday, Janelle!

So...my oldest childhood friend was in town (we were out with some of my coworkers the other night and I introduced her as such and one of them said, "How old is she? This can't possibly be your oldest friend..." and so I had to couch it with, "No, she's not the oldest person I know...")

As the title here implies, she celebrated her birthday last week and so I bought all the ingredients for raspberry cheesecake brownies before she arrived as I planned to dazzle her with my baking prowess. However, when I turned on the oven that fateful night, smoke came billowing out again and I realized I would have to actually clean the sucker before ever baking again. (I blame the onion tart with that really greasy crust...which, in hindsight, was completely my fault because I thought it was ridiculous to cream butter in a Cuisinart for ten minutes...)

But...I get a little nervous when using Easy-Off because I worry that no matter how well I try to clean it out afterward that some residue will remain and ultimately I will gas myself when I turn the oven on again...or the fumes will infiltrate the next thing I make and I'll kill myself that way. And it always seems like no matter how paranoid I am when cleaning out the foam that I always miss a little and have to go back in and clean it out all over again after I turn the oven on for the first time and find a funny smell or open it up and see white stuff. (It's not easy being me sometimes.)

So...poor Janelle never got her birthday brownies because I didn't have time to spray my oven and wait for the foam to "penetrate oven soils" for two hours and then actually make the brownies. Which I guess means my coworkers get lucky tomorrow. I used to make these brownies all the time (in certain circles, I'm fairly certain they're known as "Lisa's brownies"). But I guess maybe I decided it was overkill and I stopped for a good year or so...but the time has come again to make raspberry cheesecake brownies!

This is old.

(I've had a friend staying with me...so I started this mid-week last week...and haven't actually had time to finish it until now. My apologies...)

I heard a story on NPR recently about Target's new (?) line of wedding gowns and immediately thought, "This is the kind of journalism I want to be doing."

I know, I know...so completely fluffy and inconsequential...and yet so interesting to me! They talked to different brides (well, I assume they talked to multiple brides...I was drying my hair during part of the story)...who, in turn, talked about an economical alternative on their Big Day. I really liked it...

Coincidentally, I might have mentioned I was in Boston for a conference last Monday...and afterward I met briefly with an analyst who actually asked me what I want to do next career-wise and I said, "Well, ideally, I'd like to write about food..." His response? "Right. You and every other woman in the world."

But I guess he's kind of right...when I was staying at the hotel last Sunday and had cable and was watching The Next Food Network Star, I saw Barbara Fairchild and sort of wondered, "How do you become Barbara Fairchild??" (MediaBistro says she's "been in the food writing business since before sundried tomatoes went mainstream..." which actually kind of reminds me of the line in "When Harry Met Sally" when Bruno Kirby says, "I also wrote, 'Pesto is the quiche of the '80s.'" Bottom line: I wish I could figure out a way to take a page from Barbara and Bruno's books...)

I *also* thought Babs looked kinda, well, older on TV than she does in her photo Bon Appetit...although I guess saying that out loud probably ruins my chances of ever becoming Barbara Fairchild, doesn't it?

It's a Red Letter Day!

...that's because I'm composing my very first blog entry from the comfort of my home (and in my pajamas, if I may be so bold...)...rather than trying to do it slyly at work and wondering all the while whether or not one of my colleagues is going to rat me out. So...such freedom!

It was also a red letter day, in a manner of speaking, because the police searched my baked goods carrier this morning before I got on the Subway. They were very nice about it. One of the policemen said, "That's a very interesting shaped container..." and I said, "It's for food!" and he replied, "Ah, so I wouldn't have any use for it then." Then he swiped it all over with that wand-thing and I was on my merry way.

I was transporting two pies and a tart...partially because one of my coworkers turned 30 today but partially because I was really mad at the end of the day yesterday and I find baking somewhat therapeutic. (In fact, I was talking to my aunt recently and she said that baking is good for anxiety because there's something about the exactness of the measuring that calms you...)

Just as an interesting little sidenote: I was having lunch with a colleague today and explaining why I came into work with so much food and he said, "You know, if you were my wife, I'd pick fights with you all the time."

The peanut butter pies really went off without a hitch. The only thing I struggled with was making numbers out of peanuts...but that could very well have been because I was running late this morning and I was in too much of a hurry to take the necessary time to craft a "3" and a "0." (The "0" pie got kind of squished on my way in, too...as in, the "0" was indecipherable.)

And...remember all those onions?? Well...I got to take 5 (!!) of them home with me last night, so I had plenty to make the Vidalia Onion Tart (I actually only needed two to get five cups of onion...). The tart dough, however, was a little more troublesome. The directions said to cream the butter, sugar and salt together in a food processor for ten minutes...but that just sounded ridiculous to me. Ten minutes?? Nevertheless, I threw it all together in the Cuisinart and hit "ON" when the phone rang...but about ten seconds into my call, all the stuff had already mixed up and was making a funny noise - and I don't have a paddle attachment - so I just turned it off and said, "Looks good to me." That was possibly the source of my downfall as it turned out to be a very greasy crust. (I also couldn't really be bothered to roll it out to 1/8" thick [What was that I was saying about baking being therapeutic??], so I just kind of squished it in the tart pan.)

I had to bake it for a little bit and then throw all the stuff inside and bake it some more. The innards - onion, cream, egg, parsley, chives - looked a lot like egg salad. (I am not a big egg fan. In the first grade, we had to do a lunch-swap thing where we decorated lunch bags and had our mothers fill them up and the next day we put them all out on a table and then somehow we each got to pick one. My teacher was very clear that she would not tolerate any complaints or any faces or rude gestures. But I couldn't help it. As soon as I opened mybag and pulled out an egg salad sandwich, I recoiled in horror. Luckily, however, she did not see me...or perhaps I would not be sitting here, blogging to you today.)

And then as I prepared to place the tart pan with the removable bottom into the oven, we had a textbook Lisa Lacy moment: somehow the half-baked (yes, yes...I know...ha, ha) shell popped out of the tart pan with the removable bottom and landed precariously on my burners. Meanwhile, the fluted ring - which was still hot from being in the oven, mind you - cascaded down my bare arm, leaving little red marks all along the way (I'm being a baby - it was nothing serious). I was somehow able to pull the ring up my arm and nestle the half-baked crust back into the pan (it was so gooey - how I didn't end up with raw Vidalia Onion Tart inside my stovetop is something of a miracle).

You're supposed to bake it for 20 minutes "or until a knife comes out clean." So...20 minutes later, a knife did not come out clean. I put it back in and set the timer for another five minutes...but then smoke started coming out of the back of the oven. Now, I don't have a vent or anything, so I just take the batteries out of my smoke alarm whenever I make anything (yes, I do that a lot)...so there wasn't any risk of my alarm going of...but it was circa midnight and there are at least a dozen of my landlady's relatives sleeping upstairs (including, perhaps, my landlady) and I thought it best not to rouse them from their slumber with the Red Hook Fire Department (ooh - my second reference to emergency people in one entry)...as I had flashbacks to the infamous midnight coffeecake incident. But I turned everything off and opened the back door and the smoke cleared...and no one was any wiser.

Pam, Bobby, Chris(es) & Tony

I took the Acela Express to Boston today for a conference tomorrow morning...and while I can't *quite* justify buying trashy magazines for myself for merely a train ride (flying makes me nervous, so my deal with myself is that I get to buy as many celeb rags as I want before I board a plane), I purchased a couple anyway. This week, People did a feature on Victoria Principal...who, as I certainly remember, played Pam on Dallas. Apparently nowadays she is better known for a line of skin care products...and in the People story she explains, "I was giving facials to family members with Crisco and flour from the time I was 8." (Wouldn't that clog their pores??)

I used to watch Dallas with my mother when I was little...and I do actually remember being distraught when Pam was in a coma (poor Bobby!)...and being kind of confused when one day she suddenly wasn't in a coma anymore. My mom had to explain that sometimes actors don't want to be on shows anymore and so they have to write them out. (I also remember her explaining to me why Klinger wore women's clothes on M*A*S*H.)

And...really one of the crowning moments of my childhood surely came on a rare trip to see my father. My stepmother must have been talking about how excited she was about an upcoming episode of Dallas because my little four year-old self chimed in and said, "Yes! I can't wait to see it either!" and my stepmother said, "Your mother doesn't let you watch Dallas!" and I said, "Oh, yes, she does..." and my stepmother said, "Fine. What happened in last week's episode?" expecting me to look at her blankly and say, "I don't know..." and while I don't *actually* remember anymore, at the time I was able to regurgitate the episode scene-by-scene (at least in child-speak) and my stepmother had no choice but to let me stay up and watch it with her that night.

...

Before I left for Boston, I purchased all the ingredients I will need to make peanut butter pie as both my boss and one of his underlings turn 30 this week. The last time I made peanut butter pie, you might recall that I tried to get fancy with the peanut garnish and ended up inadvertently making some risque pies (that looked ever-so-slightly breast-like)...and since my recipe yields two pies, I think I have it this time: I will decorate one with a "3" and one with a "0." My boss' birthday isn't until next weekend...but my oldest childhood friend will be in town and so I won't be in for the latter half of the week...and while I *could* theoretically pop in on Friday and "show" her the office and "introduce" her to my coworkers, I'm not sure she'd really be into that...and there really isn't any point to having a pie sit around my house all week.

(I caught the end of the Cubs/Braves game tonight...and saw a Felix Pie up at bat!)

I *also* watched part of The Next Food Network Star...and think I could probably get addicted to it if I had cable...(although I did feel bad for the ones who looked especially nervous...and I had trouble watching them...)

Sadly, my hotel room does not have HBO and so I missed The Sopranos finale...but this morning - back in my apartment in Brooklyn - I heard a woman upstairs talking about trying to procure pork products. There are a bunch of people staying with the woman who lives upstairs...and they're all very Brooklyn. So imagine a very Brooklyn accent saying, "I tried to get pork skin! No one has pork skin! I asked the butcher, 'Where's the pork skin? Why don't you have pork skin?' and he says, 'It's the Sopranos finale...and everybody's fuckin' Italian.'"

(I don't know how I feel about swearing on my blog...and apologize if you took offense...but, if anything, the Sopranos was known for salty language...so consider that my little tribute to Tony.)

What do you do with 20 pounds of onions?

Today two of my colleagues received 10-pound boxes of Sweet Vidalia Onions from an investment company in Georgia. So...it sort of begs the question: what do you do with that many onions?

And it turns out the onion websites out there are enormously helpful - I found not one but TWO pie/tart recipes just now:

http://www.vidaliaonion.org/vidalia-onion-tart.aspx

http://www.sweetonion.com/voc-rec.htm#Vidalia_Onion

I missed the Very Vidalia Recipe Contest by about a month though! So much for the Summer of Recipe Contests...

French Cherry Pie?

"Cherry pie may be an American favorite, but once you try this recipe from France you may switch your allegiance," writes Diane Rossen Worthington in this story my mother passed along.

I am intrigued by this "giant baked pancake showered with confectioners' sugar..."

I do not have a cherry pitter though...

(Eww...from the OXO website: "(With the) OXO Good Grips Cherry Pitter, baking cherry pies, canning cherries and making homemade preserves are no longer the pits.")

It's not Friday, but...

This suddenly makes me feel like less of a tragic spinster.

One of the sponsored links in my Gmail account...

Oven Baked Cookies for Horses

Hmm...

$6.10 for a recipe and a good cause, depending on your political affiliation?

Happy birthday, John.

Making Good on Promises...

In order to say thanks for all the time my colleague - the unofficial tech genius - spent with me going over my laptop choices, I decided to make him a flourless chocolate cake (his request).

I was actually inspired to make good on my promise when I ran out of garlic and had to go to the grocery store in the rain...and decided to make the most of the trip. As I had not looked at a recipe prior to my departure, I called my mother from the store and asked her to look it up for me. I'm sure one of us made the requisite "I guess you don't need flour..."-joke.

Coincidentally, this tech genius took to signing some of his e-mails, "P-Nut." This, of course, reminds me of when we first moved to Mississippi...forgive me if I've blogged about this before, but we were driving around with our real estate agent when my mom saw a handwritten sign on the side of the road that said, "Boiled P-Nuts." My mother, ever the gourmand, said, "Ooh! What's that? Pine nuts?"

Our real estate agent replied with a frown, "No. Peanuts."

I also decided to finally make good on a pie promise for our office cleaning lady. Many, many times I have put dishes in the kitchen and then have gotten busy posting stories and by the time I go to pick up the dishes, she has already cleaned them. I always feel bad...so I told her I'd make her something someday.

And...as I was making an apple pie last night, the thought occurred to me that instead of doing three layers of apples and having to do math (dividing the sugar, cinnamon and nutmeg into thirds is kind of a pain), I could just throw everything in a bowl and mix it up with my hands. It was kind of messy...but then I was able to just toss the apple mixture into the crust. I'm sure she'll be nice about it and, you know, won't tell me it was gross if I really screwed it up...so I may have to try this method again if I'm feeling particularly math-averse...

Friday Catblogging

Taken with my new phone!

It's actually the new "wallpaper..."

Not a good day for ice cream cakes...

(But they ate it anyway.)

I haven't actually made an ice cream cake for my colleagues here before, so given the weather (or a distinct lack of new recipes), I thought it would be PERFECT for the first of the Turning-30-in-June-Brigade. (Reminds me of my old job when my boss asked with that twinkle of condescension in his eye, "Is this a Carvel?")

Unfortunately...I stayed out a *little* later than I intended on Thursday night...and so by the time I got home, I didn't exactly have the chutzpah to freeze all the layers distinctly (you're supposed to make an Oreo crust and freeze it; defrost cookies 'n' cream ice cream, spread it over the crust layer and freeze it; defrost mint chocolate chip ice cream, spread it over the refrozen cookies 'n' cream ice cream and freeze it; and then top it all off with Cool Whip).

I, however, decided to cut a few corners and just thaw everything at the same time and pour it all in there and freeze it together. And normally, this cake has a certain heft to it and needs to soften for awhile after you take it out of the freezer...so I didn't think it would be problematic to just leave it out on the desk next to me until the Birthday Boy got out of his meeting circa 11:30. But...I was wrong. It was pretty soupy by then...reminding me of the pudding dish I tried to bring to work last summer that totally liquefied and prompted a harried lunchtime Cool Whip run...

I've been carrying around that baked goods carrier forever...

And all of a sudden it garnered all sorts of attention today...:

When I got into the elevator in my office building, a woman came in behind me and said, "I gotta ask..." so I explained that my big domed contraption is useful for hauling cakes on public transportation.

Then when I got off on the 12th floor, she made a joke - "What floor is this??"

And then...one of my coworkers saw it on the desk next mine and asked about it...so I explained all over again that it's perfect for bringing cakes on the Subway as it has nice Velcro straps that keep everything tucked away inside safe and sound...