Down the Hasenfeffer Hole

Somewhere along the way I became a foodie. It started out innocently enough. I found a blog, 101 Cookbooks, that had recipes for vegetarians. Thinking that my overly carnivorous diet could probably use some healthy introductions, I made a mental note of the blog and visited it occasionally. But as we all know, some things are gateways. 101 Cookbooks was my gateway into food porn. Food porn isn't as shameful as regular porn. You can view it at work or your parent's house. But it elicits similar reactions of "Ooooh, that looks good!" Food porn is frequently accompanied by pictures, and almost always includes directions on how to recreate the porn in your own kitchen. By the time I hit VanillaGarlic, a blog mainly devoted to foods of the baked persuasion, I'd fallen far down the rabbit hole into culinary decadence.

My foodie emergence actually reignited my desire to like eggs. For 22 years and 50 weeks I was a stalwart egg-hater. Now I have tried to like eggs for a long time (my parents can attest that I did so frequently and vigilantly). Every time, my attempts were foiled by a texture and taste seemingly so vile I couldn't even imagine people would attempt to eat it. My foodie revelations taught me that anything can be done (This attitude excludes sweet peppers. I hate them, they're atrocious, and I don't WANT to like them.). So every day for two weeks, I ate a minimum of two eggs. Overeasy, over medium, fried, poached, soft boiled, scrambled. I ate them on sandwiches, by themselves, with ketchup (reminding me that I don't like ketchup). And a strange thing happened. I started to like them. And then I started to get obsessed. Eggs, I found, are an easy and delicious food that can be cooked in no more than 10 minutes on any given occasion. They're good all day long, particularly on English muffins when accompanied by cheese. The end result, apparently, is that I make fantastic eggs a ton of different ways. They're now my roommate's and friends' favorite request at my apartment. I suppose it's nice to know I make something well.

My foodie adventures have also taken me into cooking rather adventurous cupcakes. A favored concoction of mine was a chocolate cupcake with dark chocolate ganache filling and a mocha buttercream frosting. I, of course, won't touch this cupcake due to its chocolatey nature. Work, however, seemed to give rave reviews that suggest I should probably start to write these things down.

Indulging my food-adoring self, I got a Cuisinart for my birthday, which I have wanted since I was approximately 12. Wanting to commemorate the occasion of such a grown-up piece of kitchen equipment, I decided that I'd have to make something extra delicious for its first use - White Chocolate raspberry scones. I suppose I'll have to trek out to Whole Foods for some decent white chocolate, but I bet it will be worth the trip and expense when delightfully English pastries make their way out of my oven. For now, however, it sits in its box, sad that I'm too afraid to use it on something I've never made before (soup) and unwilling to use it for something simple (cupcakes). Tonight, however, I will certainly open the box and assemble the very shiny new parts in order to quell my need to play with it. I'm turning rather domestic, and I think I'm ok with that.

Gastronomique Bizarre

Sometimes I am faced with the fact that I'm a picky eater. And not just any picky eater. No, I have to shun the most normal and widely accepted foods in the whole damned country. Let's start with:

I was ordering Girl Scout Cookies from a co-worker whose daughter is a Girl Scout. Three boxes of Trefoils (my favorite), two boxes of Samoas, and one box of Tagalongs, the first question out of the aforementioned co-workers mouth is: "No Thin Mints?" How can I possibly make this clear? Mint and chocolate do not go together for me. I find the combination possibly the most vile thing I've ever tasted. I can't help it. The mere smell of Thin Mints makes me nauseous enough that I asked a roommate to keep them out of sight and smell. I love mint. I tolerate chocolate. But never shall the two pass my lips combined!

Eggs. Oh eggs. I've tried so hard with you. Everyone likes eggs, or seemingly so. Eggs make eating breakfast anywhere nearly impossible, particularly since I gave up bacon in some deluded Lenten attempt. Every year I try eggs a few ways, just to make sure I still dislike them. I've found a way I can feasibly ingest them without seeing them in reverse, but it involves so much cheese, butter, and salt as to render the poor things unrecognizable (but confirming my belief that I'll eat almost anything covered in enough cheese). Scrambled, overeasy, fried, poached, omelettes, frittattas, quiche, and even pork fried rice have fallen due to my dislike of the unfortunate egg. What's sad is I want to like them. Life would be so much easier that way. Confused yet? Yeah, well I love French toast. We've never quite figured that one out, although I think it's the syrup.

Peppers. I cannot stress this enough: I will not eat something in which I can taste peppers of the sweet Bell-style variety. Jalapenos are fine, chilis are awesome, habaneros are probably too spicy, but I'll give them a go. Sweet peppers are disgusting, and one of the only ways I'll turn down a perfectly good piece of pizza. Why? Because they seep their flavor into everything they touch. Ask my mother. Never liked peppers, never will, and won't even give them the time of day I've tried with eggs!

The list of foods I passionately hate is pretty short (see above). But then we get to the normal, indulgent foods that I can simply do without and have no desire to ever eat. After stating this seeming blasphemy, I'm generally given looks like I'm a three-headed monster or some sort of inhuman alien sent to spy on Earth. I assure you that's not the case. I simply could live without ice cream, apple pie, chocolate, doughnuts, cake, cookies, any form of vending machine candy, and pancakes. Occasionally I'll eat one of the aforementioned foods, but I never quite got the hang of liking chocolate and I can only eat it in really small quantities. I'm the only person I know who eats ONE Samoa at a time and then puts the box away. Ok, I realize I'm weird, but it was on my mind so I figured I'd share.

And just for Mom, cuz I know she wants to know: The only way I've managed to swallow an egg without completely turning my nose up - fried in 1 tbsp of butter per egg, yolk broken, covered in cheddar cheese, and topped with a hefty portion of salt. They didn't sit well, but they stayed down (beer helped).

Someone Stepped On My Arm

I had rugby practice with the Furies tonight. It was the third practice of the season - a scrimmage vs. Georgetown. Tonight I remembered all those things I'd seemingly forgotten (except for organizational skills, as my playing still resembles that of an extraordinarily gun-shy rookie who can't recognize a place in the ruck; some things can only be re-taught over time). I forgot how nice it was to go into work with bruises, everyone on the Metro thinking I was beaten at home, and everyone at work wondering how in God's name I'd gotten such a large purple bruise on my forearm (someone stepped on it in a ruck, it happens).

I forgot how much pain is involved, and how the pain factor exponentially dissipates over the practices until the running is considerably more onerous than a forceful tackle (that would be where I'm at right now).

I forgot that I'm one of the only people on most teams who loves pro rugby so furiously that I will skip playing a game to watch my team. I have absolutely no regrets about how much I love Wales, and I will not apologize - it's SIX NATIONS, people, and it only comes once a year!

I completely forgot about the camaraderie. I mean, I remembered in theory, but the drink-ups are by far the most friendly portions of my life, where everyone gets along, even if they don't necessarily like each other. The fact is, we all play rugby, we all like the big hits, and we'll all skull our pints at the end of a match.

Now I just need to remember to run sprint drills!

Change I Can Believe In

Watching the Inauguration yesterday, I was struck by the nervousness of Barack while taking his oath. An understandable and endearing moment, the humanity of the new president was laid bare by the raw emotion on his face. As the historic event unfolded, I paid close attention, particularly during the speech. What I heard lifted me up and gave me a better understanding of President Obama, and a belief that he is well suited for his new position. That did not preclude him from making mistakes. That being said, what I give you is trivia, and a little bit more.

"Forty-four Americans have now taken the presidential oath." Well, no they haven't. There have been forty four presidential terms. Since Grover Cleveland's two terms weren't consecutive, while there have been forty four presidents, there have only been 43 men who have sworn that oath. Now, by mentioning this to friends, I have gotten a few laughs, a few inquisitive looks, and a few raw and extremely hurtful tirades about how I am "disgusting" for even mentioning the minor miscalculation.

I'm concerned by these reactions. I meant no disrespect to our new president. I made no comments about his ability to fulfill the duties of his office. All I mentioned was a bit of trivia - something I found interesting. Above all, these inexplicably angry remarks remind me that America is STILL not tolerant. When I voice something against the mainstream liberal youth, I have been met overwhelmingly by spitting rage disproportionate to the remarks made. I'm not overly political, and I have nothing against Barack Obama. Sure, I didn't vote for him, but I strongly believe he will be a good and hard-working president, with America's best interests always at the forefront of his mind. Why, then, the outrage over something irrefutable?

I am hopeful. I am hopeful that Obama's administration may effect some change here, in my life. I am hopeful that he will bring change not only to the American economy and educational system, but also to the minds of the young, the old, the liberal, the conservative. Just because someone mentions something contrary to your beliefs does not mean it should spark outrage. President Obama made a mistake in his first address as president. Contrary to thinking it makes him somehow unqualified, I am glad. I'm glad that he's fallible. He makes mistakes and needs to apologize. I'm shocked mostly because these outrageous responses were to the fact that Obama is human. That may shock and offend some of you, but frankly, it comforts me a great deal.

Goo Goo, Ga Ga

My sister had a baby. December 15th, 2008, at 8:46 at night, my family got 7 pounds, 8 ounces bigger. My sister, relieved to be in the "fun" phase of pregnancy (meaning that it's OVER), took home my niece, a beautiful baby girl with dark blue eyes and what my mother swears will turn into strawberry blonde hair. Regardless of the color of her hair, she's perfect and tiny and beautiful and all sorts of delicate . . . until she pees/poops/burps/farts, when she seems less like a little girl and considerably more like a human smell machine. Don't get me wrong, I think my niece is perfect. Precious few things are more adorable than hearing a 10-day-old infant hiccuping. I swear to you, it's incredibly amusing. But it's a little less adorable when she shoots fecal matter at the individual unlucky enough to be changing her. Go figure, my sister doesn't really want me to change her diaper. Instead of protesting, I was genuinely happy that my job is to coo at her and play with her hands while she screams her bloody head off in the baby version of "I WAS HAPPY THE WAY I WAS! WHY ARE YOU TAKING ME OUT OF MY WARM AND SQUISHY ENVIRONMENT?!"

She sleeps a lot. I didn't get much eye-to-eye time with her, which is ok, because the next time I see her, she'll be able to hold her head up. And soon enough, she'll be grabbing at my face with a baby's super-strong grip. Let's just hope she doesn't go for the eyes. But having a niece or a nephew is transforming. All of a sudden there's someone who matters more to you than you do, even if it's just a little irrational. You get all the good without the changings and the feedings and the wailing. When she's older, maybe she'll talk to me about concerns she can't talk to Mom and Dad about. It makes me think that 2009 is going to be a great year - the year my niece is baptized, the year marking the day I officially became an adult and started working full-time and moved into a grown-up apartment, the year my niece turns one, and maybe, just maybe, the year she starts to learn to walk (although I'm not holding my breath on that one - I didn't walk until I was 18 months old).

Apropos of Nothing

I liked this. It's from Doug Savage, the comic can be found here: http://www.savagechickens.com/2005/07/weird-vs-normal.html