Category Archives: Cooking
I am NOT a foodie
Hi Everybody. My name is K. Nice to be here. Well, not really. See, I don’t have a food problem. It’s just that one of my blog buddies, The Byronic Man, recently referred to me as a foodie, and it got me thinking about how I’m perceived by others, so I decided to drop by, you know, just to check out a meeting.
In fact, high end cooking is not what I do. I’m more of a slap-it-on-the-table-so-I-can-get-back-to-cocktail-hour kind of cook. Food is just a blip on my screen. Really. I can stop anytime I want.
Secret Treasure Loaf* courtesy McGann's Big Game
And by the way I know what you’re doing with Ritz crackers and Cheez Wiz on the table there. I see the green bean casserole. What’s that meatloaf thing? Secret treasure loaf* — never heard of it. I could eat those. If I wanted to. And that Semi-Homemade video playing on an endless loop in the corner? That doesn’t bother me one stinking bit. See? I’m looking at it right…OH MY GOD tell me she didn’t just dredge those chicken cutlets in Knorr leek soup powder before she fried them!
I’m OK, I’m OK. I just need to sit down for a minute. Can I have a glass of water, please? Thank you. Is this from the tap? You don’t have sparkling by any chance?
What’s that you said? I’m not doing anything, just straightening the cocktail napkins and making sure the folds are all on the same side. No, that’s not OCD, it’s just good manners. If you don’t believe me, just ask M….Nothing, I didn’t say anything. I certainly was NOT going to invoke Martha. I hardly know who she is — if she hadn’t gone to jail, I bet I wouldn’t even have recognized the name.
See? Crafting only.
Hey! Get your mitts out of my bag. That’s not MY Martha Stewart Living. I’m just holding it for a friend. There were two copies at the gym this morning, you know how it is. No, that is not my name on the mailing label. That’s…my mom. Well I expect she’s trying to firm up a bit too, or maybe she was just looking for me in the spin room one day. Ever think of THAT? Oh alright, but I just read it for the crafts.
Blog? Yes, I write a blog, but it’s primarily a humor blog, you see, not a cooking one. My persona is just a foil, an avatar, you know an excuse to make a joke. I am in no way serious about food. Look it up on your iPad, there Mr. C, I urged people to use pie crust mix! No self respecting foodie would do that.
Pardon, Mr. C? Béchamel? I may have mentioned it once or twice. In passing. Oh c’mon man. Recommending that people make béchamel instead of opening a can of cream of mushroom soup hardly rises to the level of obsession. That’s a healthy eating suggestion, like lowering your sodium or using free range chickens instead of Purdue, both of which recommendations I am proud to say I’ve made. What I’m really providing is a public service. Promoting health, you dig? Sure I know the difference between white and black truffles, and I have even been known to shop at Fairway. But I buy Cheerios and little mini quiches there just like everyone else.
I glove you. courtesy boston.com
You understand, it’s mostly that I just detest the term foodie. You know how Baby Jane felt about Blanche, or Varitek feels about A-Rod (or how I do for that matter)? The term “foodie” is juvenile and implies a pretentious mania, and while I admit I do occasionally dangle a toe into the mania pond (mostly at the dipso- end), I am in no way obsessed with food.
What’s that you say? Nadia G? You wouldn’t. Oh my God, no, not that. Please, I just can’t. I can’t bear it. I’ll do anything, just don’t start that video. I AM BEGGING YOU.
Thank you. Really, I couldn’t have stood it. What’s that Mr. B? Oh I don’t know, maybe you’re right. I guess I should start again.
Hi Everybody. My name is K and I am a foodie.
Can’t we at least find another name for it?
* Secret Treasure Loaf: A loaf of ground Spam cubes with a Velveeta cheese center topped with a layer of hot Velveeta. Really.
Hey folks, As you’ve no doubt noticed, this post was Freshly Pressed. As this is my first go round with the process, please forgive me if I don’t answer each and every comment. I am most grateful for your presence and will try to visit you as soon as I get my thumb out of my mouth and dig out from under this mountain of attention. Many thanks again to The Byronic Man, for irking inspiring me to write this. At the risk of losing your custom to his far superior blog, let me urge you to take a peek at his oeuvre. As oeuvres go, it’s mighty impressive.
Converting Temperatures
The Idiot’s Slattern’s Guide to Coping with Centigrade
Good news for modern man!
So this morning I was thumbing through the Good Book, the oracle of all knowledge and wisdom, the fountain of inspiration for Western man. I’m talking, of course, about Mastering the Art of French Cooking by Julia Child and those two French broads who don’t really count except as back up. Gladys Knight had her Pips, Diana had Flo and Mary, and the great Julia Child had Simone and Louisette, at least until volume two when Louisette quit the band (“creative differences” one supposes). Of course after that it was just a matter of time before JC went solo and the rest, as they say, is culinary history.
Before we talk temperature, a word about the queen. If you want to learn to cook properly, buy both volumes of her book. They are available in paperback or you can choose from an endless supply of used ones on AbeBooks. The writing is clear, the terms are explained and the content is pleasingly antiquated — folding brains into sauces, making cold beef in aspic, the content of quenelles (you don’t want to know). But above all the voice of Mrs. Child comes through strong and clear, and as you read, you hear her ringing, off-kilter delivery in every sentence, phrase, and mot. Food for the body and the soul. You can also dip into her TV show on YouTube.
Doesn’t that make you feel good? I’ll bet you weren’t making your omelette correctly, were you?
Anyways, as I said, I was grazing in Julia’s fields of gold this morning and ran across her instructions for converting temperatures. Now, I know it’s the computer age and we can all just Google up a conversion chart, but come the rapture, I suspect the web will be among the first things to go down. Of course, you’ll still be wanting to convert the odd temperature, especially if the Germans come out on top (and it appears they may well), and we’re all finally force-marched into the metric system. So here’s how:
Fahrenheit to Centigrade
Subtract 32 — Multiply by 5 — Divide by 9.
350 F: 350 – 32=318. 318 x 5=1590. 1590/9=176.67 (call it 175 C)
Centigrade to Fahrenheit
Multiply by 9 — Divide by 5 — Add 32.
100 C: 100 x 9=900. 900/5= 180. 180+32=212 F (call it 200).
Coincidentally 100 C and 212 F are the temperatures at which water boils. So now you have also learned to boil water! This is the beauty of the Child approach.
Now, you’re on your own when it comes to that British Gas Mark business, though I think it’s based on shillings and crowns. If I ever figure out the difference between centigrade and Celsius, you’ll be the first to know.
Carving and Cracking
Thomas Keller's roast chicken courtesy simplyrecipes.com. Do NOT try this at home.
I can’t carve a cooked bird to save my life. Even sober. Though let’s be honest I can’t even recall the last time I got to the carving stage with my feet in my shoes and my bra on the inside of my sweater. I start pretty well, but eventually am reduced to tearing away at the flesh with my fingers and flinging it on the platter so as to get it to the table while it’s still warm and the guests are still upright. Anyways, the always helpful Jamie Oliver has a video on his site demonstrating how to carve up a chicken and it looks so easy I may even try it again myself. By the way, that’s one of Jamie’s minions (presumably a relative) who carves up the bird. When I first cued it up I thought I’d opened that pesky time machine by mistake again.
Now, I was considering starting a video series myself, but then I was thinking maybe I don’t have any particular skills to demonstrate. That was until I clicked on Jamie’s video of how to prepare a cooked lobster, and let me tell you that is just wrong. As I may have mentioned, I grew up in Maine where lobster shells are used as teething rings, and if there’s one thing I’m really good at, it’s extracting every last shred of edible foodstuffs from a lobster. And I don’t need no stinking knife to do it either, Blondie. So stay tuned.
If you’re wondering how to choose a lobster (or any seafood for that matter), take a stroll through my archives.
Rachel vs Guy: January 1 and my New Year’s resolution is already blown
(NOTE FROM MANAGEMENT: The following is my rather clumsy, half-assed attempt at a live blog. Apparently WordPress doesn’t have this feature, so I improvised. It’s a cautionary tale of how bad things happen to good bloggers when they overreach their technology limits.)
Joined the party late owing to circumstances beyond my control. OK, the hangover was a little tougher to manage than I anticipated.
First thing: How many more fingers can be double dipped? I mean I do it, but only when no one’s looking. Oh my God it’s a Petri Dish!
9:25 Aaron Carter’s ranch dressing nearly makes someone puke. Perfect.
9:30 What the hell is going on with Taylor Dane’s lips? Is she cooking? Who cares?
9:35 Lou’s turbo ribs look to be the winner. Look at Joey Fatone’s sombrero! Charming? I think not.
9:40 There’s a whole lotta arm fat goin’ on there. Ladies, sleeves please.
9:41 Aaron Carter’s gone for that macaroni.
9:42 Guy Fieri’s beard is the nastiest thing I have ever seen. It looks like Pam Anderson got about halfway through a brazilian but chickened out, jumped off the table and took the peroxide to what was left.
9:46 Rachel’s team wins! Coolio lives to cook another day. His pigtails will return! Has anyone noticed he gets no air time? Clearly nothing that comes out of his mouth is suitable for a family audience.
9:58 Aaron’s definitely going to cry.
9:58 Lou DP is a bit of a tool, no?
9:59 Next week: Dessert and Taylor Dane cooking in a dress that plunges to the navel with hair hanging in the food. Who’s going to eat that? The food I mean.
I Like You, Too
I Like You, Hospitality Under the Influence by Amy Sedaris
This is one of my favorite cookbooks of all time, I suppose because it reminds me of my own life back in those hazy days before Dr. Feldman got the prescriptions balanced just so. Reading through it is, for me, like a walk down memory lane, a stroll through the past, a slow backward stumble into the three-day benders, stomach pumps and small town jails of yesteryear. It’s nostalgia with a twist, or perhaps twisted nostalgia would be a better description. Anyways…
Kitchen Slattern 