d i n a n e . n e t 

Yesterday was quite eventful. Like ridiculously so. I woke up with the sun and started laundry (boring!) and bundled up in sweats, a bandanna for my head, gloves for my hands, and a jacket. Out the basement door I went, gathering random tools I’d left around the yard. It had been 3 weeks since I last raked leaves, but I was a slacker and never really cleaned up… Luckily, more leaves had made their appearance in that time.

I should have raked last week. It was crisp out, and the leaves were dry. But I looked up at the tress and seeing many full limbs, decided to put it off. The weather gadget on the fridge told me that I would be okay to leave them. It showed rain-free weather for the week.

It lied.

So, in my sweats and things, I clanked about the yard piling up wet leaves and wheeling them to the compost heap in the far corner of the yard behind the fence. The front yard was a pain in the ass, as there is no ramp-like device leading to the back yard, only a half-flight of cement stairs. The progress was slow, but once I finished with the front yard, I went in for breakfast and a moving of laundry.

BORING!

Yeah, yeah, okay, fast forward. Breakfast, more laundry, more leafs, more laundry, swiffering of the floor to remove the dirt I tracked in on my shoes, a shower, and lunch.

Coming out of the shower, I had made the list for the remains of the day:

1. Get Dressed
2. Eat lunch
3. Clean up the kitchen
4. Make a list
5. Go to the grocery store
6. Bake pie

But I got distracted by the soccer game. Stupid Revolution! Every time I bother to get interested in you, you lose an important game in ridiculous fashion. Come on!

I did eventually make it through that list, though while making the list, the phone rang. It was Mike’s mom. We briefly discussed Thanksgiving plans (who, what, where, and when - the why is obviously pre-established). But the gist of what mattered to me was that there would only be 10 people for Thanksgiving, someone else is already bringing an apple pie, and I shouldn’t bring 12 pies. Not that I would have, but I was going to bring 5. Six pies for 10 people is probably too many. So I cut back, crossing things off my in-progress shopping list.

It took all of the power in my being (and a failed attempt at a fourth pie) to bring myself to 3. That is, three I would bring. I was still intending to make a double batch of pumpkin, as Mike and I both love it, and pie dough recipes come in twos. So, pie dough, pressed cookie crusts, etc., etc.

Man, I can’t believe how boring this post is. I hope I haven’t put you to sleep. Go on, get. Read something else. This is silly.

Oh, and after pie, we had dinner and watched the Patriots trounce the Bills. Silly Bills.

Tomorrow I will finish pie-making by concocting many puddings and whipped creams. Okay, just two of each. Such an easy pie day!

If only I could afford the time and money to travel so much as to actually go to Utah and China… Well, maybe not China. I have to admit it’s pretty far down on the list of places I’d like to visit. And I don’t think my riding skills are up to the challenge of snowboarding in Utah - yet. But today, I got a tiny taste of both locations.

Lucky for me, I work right in the middle of everything in Boston. Within 5 blocks of me, I have access to just about every genre of food imaginable, and if you extend that radius to a mile, you can drop the “just about.” I get to have lunch at a wide variety of places, eating food that ranges from mac ‘n’ cheese to shwarma to ramen to pizza.

Today, my lunch experience received an A++++ rating (you know, if this was eBay). I was greeted out front of my building with a hug from a red-fleece-clad Josie. I updated my phone with corrected cell numbers, and we waited, somewhat patiently, for the rest of the party to arrive. Soon, Josie’s head perked up, “Ooh! No. It’s not them.” We continued chatting and filling my phone with numbers.

“There they are!”

Josie made some mild fun of me as I bounced over to greet Vickie, Darren, and Joe, who I have been referring to as Utah Joe, just to distinguish him from my coworker, both in my mind and out loud. I hope he doesn’t mind too much.

Hugs! And we were off.

So many topics were covered in the walk past the Public Garden and Boston Common that I couldn’t begin to list them properly. We were all just trying to get up-to-date info on friends we hadn’t seen in weeks, months, or years (depending). After a brief interlude where someone (I won’t say who) almost got killed by a car, we arrived in Chinatown. Just as Josie was asking where we were going, I could point to the sign. Is it Empire Garden or Emporer’s Garden? I don’t know. They have signs for both. But what I do know is, they have excellent dim sum.

The Garden (whatever it’s first name may be) is an unusual place. Outside, the signs read like any other Chinese restaurant: bright yellow backgrounds with strong red lettering, in both English and some form of Chinese. But when you walk in (and make sure you go in the correct doors - no need to go into the bizarre shop next door), you begin to transition. Up a couple flights of stairs and into a strange lobby, and this is when you may realize where you are. The Garden is in an old converted theatre.

The hostess quickly whisks you to a table, giving you little time to take in your surroundings. As you sit, tea and water appear, and before you really get a chance to look around, a cart approaches. And then another. And then another. It’s all you can do to keep up with the offerings. Shumai? Yes. Peculiar looking squid? No. That weird soft dumpling with tons of shrimp? Yes. Chinese broccoli? No. Sticky rice in lotus leaf? Absolutely. In fact, give us two!

For us, once we had filled the center of our table with goodies, we could finally look around. Vickie and I had been there before, a few times each, but it is still worth the look. The walls have elaborate faux painting of beautiful flowers and structures, but that isn’t the real attention grabber. It’s the proscenium arch at the far side of the very large room. It seems they took the level of the mezzanine and simply extended the floor straight out from there. The proscenium stands squat, half of it being concealed beneath the floor. But even with that, the ceilings are high and ornate, and there is a feeling of grandness, which complements well the tiny parcels of food.

Between bites, Joe told us about his adventures to India. We followed paths of digressions to the Caribbean, Poland, and France. We flowed through conversation of music and old friends. And all the while, we enjoyed bites of delicious food. I even discovered a new item that I don’t usually pick, which I must have again in the future. (No, Vickie, I’m sorry, but it isn’t turnip cake.)

It was all over too soon, as Josie had to run back to training, and shortly after I had to head back to work. Hugs were exchanged outside of the Chinatown T station, where we said our goodbyes. Joe is on his way back to what he calls exile shortly. But I know Utah will welcome him back with open arms. How could it not?

I have a Life of Fred calendar. It’s pretty sweet. Almost every day is a holiday. How can you go wrong with that? Plus, Laura drew it, and she’s spectacular.

The other night, we were fussing with the new TV. Mike had bought a special “how to tune your television” DVD for the last TV, and it was getting a new chance on a new device. The voice from the DVD told us, in a slightly condescending way, how to adjust the brightness and the contrast and the color and the over scan and all that other jazz. I hope he would approve. He made me feel like, if he didn’t like it, he might take our TV away from us.

So, that DVD took quite a long time. I mean, he had to explain over and over again how we are stupid, television manufacturers are idiots, and he is a super-genius. Next thing you knew, it was rather late to be considering home made dinner. So, we ordered boneless wings from Wing Street (a.k.a. the other half of Pizza Hut).

They were quite spicy. I got spicy BBQ, which Mike simply couldn’t handle. I love the spiciness of doom. His wimpy pallet insisted upon the “mild” variety of Buffalo flavor. Of course, that turned out to still be too spicy for him.

Wimp.

As we were cleaning up after dinner, I looked at the calendar to find out what the holiday might be, and apparently, at least according to Laura and Tom, it was, in fact, International Hot and Spicy Food Day.

Sweet!

…by which I mean “How appropriate!”

…and I suppose I could have substituted with the more appropriate:

Hot!

I got to the train station with time to spare. Of course, I got there without my umbrella… But the guy on the news said the rain would be over by the commute! He’s a liar.

I didn’t get too wet on that end, though, because I could stay in my car until the last possible second. I sat next to a distinguished-looking man in the first car of the train, and listened to my Gnarls Barkley. I also finally beat one of the puzzle levels in Tetris that had been giving me trouble.

The train eased into North Station, and I had soon detrained (yes, that’s the word they use, it’s like deplane, but slightly less cool, and not recognized by standard spell checking). The walk over to the subway was as it always is - short but annoying. I’m not a huge fan of being part of a herd. I’d moo or something, but that would distract me from my air-drums.

A green line trolley came and allowed me to get on. Which I did. I settled into a seat, pulled my DS back out, and went into my T-rider’s coma. When I can listen to music and play video games, the T ride goes by quickly. I sometimes am surprised when I realize we’re approaching Arlington.

Today, I was surprised when I realized we were leaving Arlington. And I was still in my T-rider’s coma, in my seat, playing Tetris, and listening to Gnarls. I quickly stuffed my things in my bag, and got off at Copley (the next stop). I reasoned that it was fate, so I may as well stop at Finagle a Bagel.

At first I thought about getting a cinnamon bagel with some light cream cheese. But then, I spotted the cream cheese of the month. Pumpkin! So many things taste good as pumpkin flavored. It’s amazing. So, obviously I wanted to get that. And I decided to be safe and have it on a nice plain bagel.

My walk continued, and I continued to get wet. So did my bagel bag. But when I got to the office and into the elevator, I checked, and the bagel itself was as dry as it ought to be. Good job, bagel bag!

Morning greetings all around, and I soon settled into my desk chair. I opened up the wrapping, and scraped some of the excess cream cheese off. I don’t need three pounds of cream cheese per bite, thank you very much. With a smile on my face, I took a bite.

The smile immediately turned to a frown. “Well, this is horrible,” I muttered.

One of my coworkers looked up over the cube wall. “What’s wrong?”

I told him about my botched morning thus far, and he laughed. “I was so excited by pumpkin cream cheese. But this is awful.”

Another coworker chimed in, “Usually pumpkin flavored things are good. They must have screwed it up.”

“Somewhere, in a Finagle a Bagel factory, sits a giant vat of rotting pumpkin cream cheese,” observed the first coworker.

I offered them a chance to try it, as I wasn’t going to eat it. This spawned the necessary conversation about how people often take anything offered to them and wonder why at a later moment. The first coworker offered me some spoilt milk. Neither one of us bought what the other was selling.

“I’m still hungry. But I can’t even take a second bite of this thing.”

That first coworker asked me if I wanted anything from Au Bon Pain, as he was about to head over there for some oatmeal. I grimaced, and made a quick decision. “I’ll come with you. I just feel bad about wasting food.”

“It’s not waste. It’s proper disposal.”

Now, having returned from ABP with a nice bowl of oatmeal, I feel as though my first breakfast should have been detonated by the bomb squad, to make sure no one has to even look at it again. Of course, I simply wrapped it back up and threw it away. But I can have dreams of controlled explosions, can’t I?

I couldn’t decide what to name this entry. My other option was “Toxic Waste.” I’m still not sure which is better. Oh well. Hitting “Publish” will make it semi-permanent.

It would appear that I mistook a bottle of nutmeg for a bottle of cinnamon at ABP this morning. Don’t get me wrong, I do love a little nutmeg on my oatmeal and maybe even in my hot chocolate. But I shook on enough to look like brown snow.

It’s not awful. But it does remind me a little bit of tree bark. Which is odd, because cinnamon is actually made of tree bark, and nutmeg is in fact a nut.

I had yet another of my endless supply of dentist visits today. Actually, technically I didn’t see the dentist today; I only saw the hygienist. She’s nice, too, though, so it was tolerable. Actually, after yesterday’s visit (fix broken tooth and replace crappy old filling), today’s was practically a walk in the park. Well, not a real park. Actually, there was pain. But I lived to tell the tale (using the word “actually” far too often).

But who cares about that. The important thing was that I stopped for lunch on the way back to the office. There are three Subway restaurants between my dentist and my office. I chose to go with the first one, the one in my town’s “quaint” downtown. Downtown is so quaint that the sign isn’t in green and yellow, it’s in gold and brown. Classy.

After the very helpful sandwich man helped me through my indecisiveness, I decided to go with a 6″ turkey on hearty Italian. I prefer the hearty Italian, probably because it’s a bit crustier. I like crusty bread. Really, though, before they had the options, I still liked Subway bread. Fresh bread is awesome even if it’s boring old white.

After I paid for my meal-deal (complete with baked lays and my famous mix of Sprite, Fanta, and pink lemonade), I chose a seat in the booth by the window. I was unfolding my paper wrapping when a pile of moms and kids poured through the door. There were three moms, two daughters, and two sons. I’m not sure even they knew who belonged to whom.

Three of the kids were more or less the same age - walking, talking humans who haven’t quite figured out how to take care of themselves yet. Also known as preschool. They were relatively well-behaved, with the worst of it being one of the girls who said only, “I want a cheese sandwich.”

Somehow, all their food got ordered, and the kids selected a table. After some concerned statements involving the location of one girl’s chips, they settled in to eat. Little miss “I want a cheese sandwich” politely waited for her mom to open up the wrapper. She was not excited by what she saw. In a much smaller voice than she’d previously been using she whimpered, “I don’t like the white kind.”

Her mom did her best to convince her that white American cheese tastes just the same as yellow, but I think everyone in the restaurant could tell she wasn’t buying it. Eventually, her mom placated her when she opened the other paper package, which contained a handful each of pickles and olives. “Yay! Olives!” She went on to eat the sandwich and her snacks without noticing a thing being wrong.

All of this sent me flying back to my youth. My parents often took us to Subway for meals. It was easy, it was cheap, and it was more-or-less healthy (depending on the number of slices of cheese). I went through phases as I grew up. For a while, I was all about tuna (with American cheese, tomato, and just a little bit of lettuce - which I always picked off anyway). Later, I discovered meatball subs (with provolone cheese and extra green peppers). That led me through to High School, where I got sick of them after eating them during every evening shift I had working at Hallmark. After being thoroughly sick of their meatballs, I picked up my current taste for the turkey (with or without provolone cheese, depending on the mood, and with nearly every vegetable they have, except only a little bit of lettuce - which I still pick off).

My sister, however, always wanted only one thing: a cheese sandwich with pickles on the side. Everyone in my family can accurately reproduce my sister’s voice saying “on the side.” It probably drove her nuts. She doesn’t say that anymore. Actually, I doubt that she goes to Subway now, though I’ve got no evidence to back up that theory.

So, as I watched this young girl eat her pickles and “veggie delight hold the veggies,” I thought back to days in our Subway, in the strip mall down from the Hallmark store, eating our sandwiches of choice. I think I’ll go with flashback.

Yeah, so I promised you the wonton recipe. Yay for you, here it is!

Pot Stickers

I was inspired by Alton Brown’s theories and practices, from the “Wonton Ways” episode of Good Eats. However, I didn’t refer to his recipe, which, as I recall, included ketchup (ew!). These are pork flavored, with plenty of cabbage and ginger.

Ingredients:

• 1/2 lb. ground pork
• 1/2 head of Napa cabbage, shredded and washed
• 3 scallions, sliced thin
• 1 carrot, minced
• 1/2 Tbsp. sesame seeds
• 1 tsp. ginger
• 1/2 tsp. onion powder
• 1/2 tsp. garlic powder
• Some soy sauce (sorry, I can’t give a volume here, just… kinda… pour some on)
• Wonton wrappers
• Chicken broth (don’t have volume here either, I poured out what I needed)

Mix everything but the wonton wrappers and chicken broth together, using our fingers. Follow good wonton practices (specifically, don’t let the wrappers dry out - keep a lightly damp paper towel on top of the lot) as taught by A.B.. Put less than a teaspoon of filling on each wrapper. Then run a wet finger along two sides, and fold into a triangle. Wrinkle the edges a little bit. Keep going until you run out of filling, wonton wrappers, patience, or room on your holding area. I ran out of room on my sheet pan and patience.

You can freeze them on a sheet pan or cookie sheet or you can cook them right away. That’s up to you. When you cook them, fry them first, then when they start to get brown, put some chicken broth in the pan and clamp on the lid. They’ll get steamed, and taste good with dipping sauce.

Pot Sticker Dipping Sauce

This one I’ve made for a while. I used to make it for the frozen pot stickers, but I couldn’t find them the other day, and I wanted to try making them anyway. Whatever. This stuff is simple. Mix it. Serve it. Done. Unfortunately for you, I haven’t got a clue what proportions I use. I just kind of pour everything in. Try using a little bit of the spices and adding them until you like what you’ve got.

Ingredients:

• Soy sauce (this is the primary ingredient, start with a lot of this, then add little bits of everything else)
• Pineapple juice
• Red wine vinegar
• The green part of some scallions, cut with scissors
• Powdered ginger
• Garlic powder
• Fresh black pepper

My uncle made it his duty to write down all of my grandmother’s recipes when he was young. He would stand by her with measuring implements and make her dump her handfuls of ingredients into them. He would transcribe everything, much to her frustration. We have all been thankful for these recipes, as we wouldn’t have them otherwise.

It occurs to me that I may cause the same problems. Where my mother keeps all of her recipes in a box on the counter, I keep a rolling pin and my spice dolly. Where my mother keeps her cookbooks, I keep powdered milk, popcorn, and candy. Where my mother keeps several different measuring implements, I have one set of cups and spoons, some of which have never been used.

Don’t get me wrong. My mom is a great cook. She just happens to write things down. She happens to prefer the preciseness of measuring.

And that’s not to say I never use recipes. Sometimes, I even follow them exactly. Most of the time, I only use recipes for general proportions and chemistry. I toy with the flavors as often as possible.

Cooking is a chore to some people. To me, it’s fun. I cooked all day on Saturday and most of Sunday morning, and aside from being quite tired, I felt pretty good when I was done.

Now if only I could have gotten my nap on Sunday afternoon… *ahem*

Don’t tell Mike, but I invented my recipe for pot stickers on Saturday and served them to company (and Mike) on Sunday.

Mike always gets super nervous when I invent recipes. There was this terrible incident involving despicable pizza dough, which I don’t believe I will ever live down. But aside from that, I’m a damn good cook! On my first try, I’ve invented my own versions of:

• Sweet and sour chicken,
• Pot stickers,
• Pot sticker dipping sauce,
• Chicken teriyaki,
• Pineapple dipping sauce,
• Nachos, and
• The irresistible triple chocolate cookies

…among other things.

Because I’m in a sharing mood, I thought I’d share a couple “recipes.” I don’t actually use measuring cups or spoons all that often, so volume is really kind of a guess. I love cooking.

Nachos

This is for Dave. He eats them like they’re the last food on earth every time he comes over. Unfortunately for Dave, and anyone else who wants to try my nachos, I not only don’t measure anything, I change up the ingredients depending on how I feel or what I’ve got in the fridge. More or less, though, it’s pretty similar.

Ingredients:

• oil that you spray out of a can
• 1 onion, cut into various sized bits, depending on my mood (sweet onions are better in bigger pieces, stronger onions I usually mince)
• 1 carrot (if I feel like it) cut into tiny bits
• 1 bell pepper, whatever color I have around, cut into small bits
• 1 lb. ground turkey (yes, I use turkey, I don’t like beef)
• Salt (smallish amount)
• Pepper (smallish amount)
• Cayenne pepper (just a dash, more if you like it spicy)
• Chili powder (a good amount, probably a teaspoon or more)
• Onion powder (more than a little, less than a lot… yeah, I’m super helpful)
• Garlic powder (about the same as onion powder)
• 1 can of kidney beans, rinsed and drained
• 1/2 - 3/4 C. salsa
• 1/4 C. or so of taco seasoning (I use McCormick for my nachos, but I never use it for tacos, it tastes gross on tacos for some reason)
• Enough water to dissolve the taco seasoning
• Some round nacho chips (I find the round ones make for easier eating)
• Mexican blend shredded cheese

Preheat the oven to 425.

Put the veggies in hot pan that you’ve sprayed with spray oil. Cook them until they’re more or less soft. Meanwhile, sprinkle the spices (but not the taco seasoning) on the meat and mix it up a bit. Push the veggies to the sides of the pan, and add the meat. You should probably know that you need a pretty darn big pan to make this stuff. We have a huge one that Mike got on clearance when he worked next to a mall. Cook the meat, crumbling it up, until it’s not pink any more. Add the salsa, taco seasoning, water, and beans. Stir well, and turn the temperature down to medium. Keep stiring until the liquid is all absorbed or evaporated.

Layer the nachos on a pan for the oven. Chips, meat mixture, cheese - I usually do three decreasingly sized layers. You will have way to much meat mixture to make one batch. Usually there’s enough for 3 different days of nachos. Just reheat the meat mixture in the microwave so it isn’t cold before you make the next batch.

Bake the mass for 9 minutes (10 is too long). Eat with more salsa and sour cream if you feel like it. Though they are plenty flavorful on their own.

It turns out that recipes take up a lot of room! Since I generally try to keep my posts under epic length, you’ll just have to wait until tomorrow to get my pot sticker recipe. But you should wait very impatiently, because they taste good, and you might want to make them.

Just because I feel like making myself a liar, here’s what I thought of the super bowl. It was boring. I can’t watch football when it’s not the Patriots. The commercials were more or less pathetic. Thank God for good friends!

My favorite commercial (which I’m sure I’ll be made fun of for) was the Budweiser one where the pony was trying to pull the cart. It was cute. It was made cuter by Kate:

(The commercial starts.)
Kate: “Ooh! Pony! Cute!”
(The pony puts his head in the strap or whatever you call that.)
Kate: “Awww…”
(The pony tries to pull the cart. He is succeeding.)
Kate: “Oh! You know the big horses are just pushing the cart!”
(The view pans to the back of the cart, where the big horses are in fact pushing.)
Kate, along with many others in the room, including me: “AWW!!”
(”We won’t tell if you don’t,” or something like that.)
Kate: “Oh my God, I’m going to cry.”
Diane: “I think I am crying!”
Kate: “Me too!”