You know it's a successful Thanksgiving weekend when by Sunday night every guest is gone and every last bit of the dinner has disappeared. I'm left with an empty refrigerator and three pounds to lose. It was worth it.
Monday, November 30, 2009
Thanksgiving Post Mortem
You know it's a successful Thanksgiving weekend when by Sunday night every guest is gone and every last bit of the dinner has disappeared. I'm left with an empty refrigerator and three pounds to lose. It was worth it.
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
Thanksgiving is Coming, Part II
High heat, low heat, to stuff or not to stuff, I am in a frenzy about how to cook my turkey. This year I decided to buy a heritage turkey. What this actually means I am not really sure except that it cost a lot and a turkey still had to die to feed my family. Now, after seemingly hours on the web it appears that I cannot cook this bird in the way my mother ordained so many years ago. (See previous post for details.) Ohmigod. My worse nightmare--an overdone, hockey puck turkey reminiscent of dried moccasin instead of the moist and succulent bird traditional on our table. And, may I add, all this agony over a part of the meal that I, a pesco/lacto/ovo vegetarian DO NOT EAT!! Oy vey to say the least.
Well, one thing my research has shown me--I do not have to brine this baby. Thank god. The last two years, I must have gone through a forest full of paper towels sopping up leaking turkey water in my refrigerator from brining bags that NEVER worked. Yuck!
So here's my battle plan: After much soul searching, I have made a decision to NOT stuff the bird. (My heart is beating as I write this.) I will roast it at 350 after massaging disgusting amounts of butter into and under the skin. I will take it out of the oven for the proverbial rest after it reaches an internal temp of 150. I will pray that I have not overcooked it but. . . che sera, sera.
Well, one thing my research has shown me--I do not have to brine this baby. Thank god. The last two years, I must have gone through a forest full of paper towels sopping up leaking turkey water in my refrigerator from brining bags that NEVER worked. Yuck!
So here's my battle plan: After much soul searching, I have made a decision to NOT stuff the bird. (My heart is beating as I write this.) I will roast it at 350 after massaging disgusting amounts of butter into and under the skin. I will take it out of the oven for the proverbial rest after it reaches an internal temp of 150. I will pray that I have not overcooked it but. . . che sera, sera.
Monday, November 23, 2009
Thanksgiving is Coming!
Fuck politics! Forget about reading! All I can think about right now is Thanksgiving. The holiday officially began for me last Friday when I pulled out my collection of miscellaneous recipes conveniently stored inside an ancient copy of The Silver Palate cookbook. (One year, I made the entire Silver Palate thanksgiving menu.) My recipes are tattered and stained now so I am thinking it might be time to annotate and copy them so that when I hand over my mother's hand painted turkey platter to Liz she'll have a road map for the holiday.
For years after my mom gave up the holiday and ceded me the platter I still called every Thanksgiving morning asking her once again to guide me through the turkey roasting process. Draping the bird with butter soaked cheesecloth, cooking it breast side down and constantly basting were her keys to a moist bird, rules which I continue to obey. I admit I've periodically flirted with the idea of a different cooking method--high heat, a foil tent, cooking the stuffing outside the bird but fear of producing a dry, overdone turkey like my Aunt Roz always prepared holds me back. My mom really did know best. Anyway, as Liz always tells me, Thanksgiving is all about tradition. No major changes allowed! I've managed to sneak in a few new things over the years--an apricot chutney that is faintly Indian in flavor, a luscious onion confit from Alice Waters--but god forbid I decide to vary my stuffing recipe (cornbread with sausage) or make the brussel sprouts a different way. Mutiny!!
Of course, our recent Thanksgivings have been incredibly enriched by the participation of the Pignataros. Now, we all look forward to the end of the meal and an array of gorgeous desserts lovingly baked by Alphonse. This year, we're starting a new tradition that I'm certain no one will object to. Alphonse is making pumpkin ravioli as a starter. I can't wait!
For years after my mom gave up the holiday and ceded me the platter I still called every Thanksgiving morning asking her once again to guide me through the turkey roasting process. Draping the bird with butter soaked cheesecloth, cooking it breast side down and constantly basting were her keys to a moist bird, rules which I continue to obey. I admit I've periodically flirted with the idea of a different cooking method--high heat, a foil tent, cooking the stuffing outside the bird but fear of producing a dry, overdone turkey like my Aunt Roz always prepared holds me back. My mom really did know best. Anyway, as Liz always tells me, Thanksgiving is all about tradition. No major changes allowed! I've managed to sneak in a few new things over the years--an apricot chutney that is faintly Indian in flavor, a luscious onion confit from Alice Waters--but god forbid I decide to vary my stuffing recipe (cornbread with sausage) or make the brussel sprouts a different way. Mutiny!!
Of course, our recent Thanksgivings have been incredibly enriched by the participation of the Pignataros. Now, we all look forward to the end of the meal and an array of gorgeous desserts lovingly baked by Alphonse. This year, we're starting a new tradition that I'm certain no one will object to. Alphonse is making pumpkin ravioli as a starter. I can't wait!
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
Abortion. . .Again
Maybe it's because I have finally gotten up from under the almost 900 pages of Arturo Bolano's 2666 that I can finally pay some attention to the health care debate. . .just in time to see a bunch of gutless Democrats (all men, of course) bow down to the right and vote for the Stupak/Pitts amendment. It just goes to show that you don't have to be a Republican to hate women.
Click here to read a really good essay on why that amendment sucks. Yet another reason to support the work of Women's Medical Fund.
Click here to read a really good essay on why that amendment sucks. Yet another reason to support the work of Women's Medical Fund.
Current Events
Via Kevin Drum:
So why is Sarah Palin so endlessly fascinating? The sex appeal that practically oozes out of every pore? Her perpetual family soap opera? A sense of besiegement and resentment so powerful it practically knocks you over every time she speaks? The fact that she actually seems to take pride in her complete lack of policy expertise? Her seemingly total lack of real self-awareness? The fact that she lies so casually it seems like she actually believes everything she makes up?
As a woman and a feminist, how am I supposed to feel about Sarah Palin--embarrassed, ashamed, outraged, confused. Is this what we worked and marched for--the spectacle of a woman politician being as equally ridiculous, as blithefully stupid, as blatantly mendacious and as stunningly mediocre as so many of her male counterparts and being celebrated and rewarded for just those qualities?
So why is Sarah Palin so endlessly fascinating? The sex appeal that practically oozes out of every pore? Her perpetual family soap opera? A sense of besiegement and resentment so powerful it practically knocks you over every time she speaks? The fact that she actually seems to take pride in her complete lack of policy expertise? Her seemingly total lack of real self-awareness? The fact that she lies so casually it seems like she actually believes everything she makes up?
As a woman and a feminist, how am I supposed to feel about Sarah Palin--embarrassed, ashamed, outraged, confused. Is this what we worked and marched for--the spectacle of a woman politician being as equally ridiculous, as blithefully stupid, as blatantly mendacious and as stunningly mediocre as so many of her male counterparts and being celebrated and rewarded for just those qualities?
Sunday, November 15, 2009
The End of An Era
Last week, I was suddenly overtaken by the need to cleanse. No I didn't start a juice diet or scrub my face with some sweet smelling unguent.
Instead I opened all of my closets and ruthlessly purged them of the clothes I never wear any more. I made an attempt to do this a few months ago but couldn't help but held on to a number of thing I just wasn't ready to part with despite the fact that chances of their ever be worn again were slim to none. (These days all I wear, it seems, are jeans or leggings or clothes to sweat in. ) But this time I grit my teeth and valiantly banished any sentimental feelings. Into the box slated for Linda's Stuff went a half a dozen very 80's pantsuits, the remnants of my working woman's wardrobe. I said a fond goodbye to the black silk Lagerfeld strapless number I wore to my 40th birthday party. (Hey, it still fits but strapless and me are not happening in this lifetime.) I packed away two vintage Ozbek silk jackets complete with power shoulders that I bought when Nan Duskin's left Walnut Street. (I think I wore each of them once.) Okay, there are probably a few items left in my closet that will never again see the light of day but. . .maybe next time.
Instead I opened all of my closets and ruthlessly purged them of the clothes I never wear any more. I made an attempt to do this a few months ago but couldn't help but held on to a number of thing I just wasn't ready to part with despite the fact that chances of their ever be worn again were slim to none. (These days all I wear, it seems, are jeans or leggings or clothes to sweat in. ) But this time I grit my teeth and valiantly banished any sentimental feelings. Into the box slated for Linda's Stuff went a half a dozen very 80's pantsuits, the remnants of my working woman's wardrobe. I said a fond goodbye to the black silk Lagerfeld strapless number I wore to my 40th birthday party. (Hey, it still fits but strapless and me are not happening in this lifetime.) I packed away two vintage Ozbek silk jackets complete with power shoulders that I bought when Nan Duskin's left Walnut Street. (I think I wore each of them once.) Okay, there are probably a few items left in my closet that will never again see the light of day but. . .maybe next time.
Monday, November 9, 2009
My Reading LIst
Truly there are not enough hours in the day, maybe days in the year, for me to read or reread all the books I want to. The pile of books next to the futon in my study (my number one spot to read) keeps growing as does the list of books to order I keep on my blackberry. Right now I am working my way through the 800+ pages of 2666, Roberto Bolano's posthumously published magnum opus. It's weird, exhilarating, but at times really difficult to read, sort of like watching a fantastic movie on the edge of your seat but one where you have to close your eyes at the gory or scary parts.
So why was it last night while I was delightfully zoned out in corpse pose at the end of my weekly restorative yoga class, that it suddenly came to me with great urgency that I absolutely, positively had to reread Wuthering Heights by Emily Bronte. (If only I could find my copy from freshman English class with all my underlinings and marginal notes. It would be like rediscovering lost love letters.) Probably because I had similar sensations when reading Wuthering Heights--totally caught up in the intense and hermetic world of the book and almost painfully hypersensitive to the passions of its characters.
So why was it last night while I was delightfully zoned out in corpse pose at the end of my weekly restorative yoga class, that it suddenly came to me with great urgency that I absolutely, positively had to reread Wuthering Heights by Emily Bronte. (If only I could find my copy from freshman English class with all my underlinings and marginal notes. It would be like rediscovering lost love letters.) Probably because I had similar sensations when reading Wuthering Heights--totally caught up in the intense and hermetic world of the book and almost painfully hypersensitive to the passions of its characters.
Friday, November 6, 2009
Way to Start the Weekend
It may seem frivolous to highlight this but reading the news this morning was so completely depressing that I needed an antidote. I feel a little bit like I am laughing while the world burns around me.
Sunday, November 1, 2009
What a Weekend!
From the sublime--grooving to Stevie Wonder for two and a half hours (!) on Friday night at the Borgata:
To the ridiculous--sitting outside in the rain for three and a half hours (!) watching the Phillies lose game 3 of the World Series on Saturday night:
To the ridiculous--sitting outside in the rain for three and a half hours (!) watching the Phillies lose game 3 of the World Series on Saturday night:
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