For Hillary

This is just going to be a personal post. It’s not going to be inspiring (though, links at bottom) and it will definitely sound super selfish. Commiserating today has been helping me. So, this is where I am at for now.

I still feel sick. I’ve been crying for two days straight. My heart—and you know I mean this, because I hate talking about my heart—is broken into a million, billion pieces. For me, for Hillary, for our country, that we don’t get to see her as president. I wanted that more than anything.

On Tuesday night, before I went to sleep—around midday in East Coast time—I had never been so excited in my life. I’ve been waiting for this since the 2008 primaries. I’ve loved and admired Hillary for a really, really long time. I honestly don’t remember how I decided on her back then. I remember how excited and proud I was, standing in a New Haven library and filling in my ballot for her, to be voting for a woman, a strong, progressive, feminist, just fucking awesome badass woman. And I’ve been with her ever since—just, really quietly, because of all the times I’ve had people (mostly men) tell me I was wrong. And then. Well.

In my Russian conversation class today, when we were talking briefly about the election, my teacher said to me, “All the students have been in bad moods today, but you seem really upset. Why is this so close to you?” I just kinda mumbled, “It’s hard to say.” Partly because I didn’t want to start crying again, partly because many of the reasons were things I wouldn’t have felt safe saying while I’m living in this country, partly just because it is hard to explain.

I’m a Jewish, queer, slightly mentally ill woman. That’s not really why this scares me so much. I’m white, and I can hide the rest of it, which I do, most of the time, which I’m ashamed of. So, hi—here’s the truth. This election will change me. It’s hard to say “home” right now when I think of that place, but: I will do everything I can to change this country when I get home.

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I made baked ziti tonight (sort of). This post was going to be about it. About how it’s my home, but that sounded stupid. And it’s not MY home that matters. But this is how I am trying to make myself stop being so tired and sad and despairing and get up. It didn’t work, but I’ll try again.

 

I’m also collecting links to YES LET US GO FIGHT articles:

Ask Polly
Daily Kos
Deadspin
HuffPo
Jezebel
Leslie Knope (Vox)
Man Repeller
Medium 1
Medium 2
Slate

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How to: drink beer

Pretty much every time I go out for beers with my friend Sarah, I go, “Wait, what are hops? Are those the ones I like? Do I like lager? What’s an ale?” I don’t know why. She has never claimed to know very much about beer.

The original idea for this post was: It’s hot out this week and I don’t feel like cooking. I should do a “How to: drink beer” post and it will be like, open a beer and put it in your mouth. But then I realized that was dumb and not funny.

I spent a while today reading pretty much every single beer article on The Kitchn, and now I am a beer expert. (I also read this extraordinarily awesome Men’s Health slideshow.) I know things like:

-Hops are the flowers of the hop plant (related to hemp); they make things bitter. (Dear self, for future reference, you really like hops.)
-Lager is like normal beer—Budweiser, Miller, etc. (There are good lagers out there, though!) They are made with bottom-fermenting yeast, and they ferment at colder temperatures. Lagers are described as crisp, clean, etc.
-In contrast, ales are made with top-fermenting yeast and are “robust” and “complex.” (They are better than lagers. But NO JUDGMENT.)
-IPAs (India Pale Ale) are hoppy ales. I like them. A lot. They are hoppy because hops are a preservative, and they were brewed to withstand the trip from England to India (by boat, back in the day). Pale ales in general are made with paler malt—less roasted. I can’t even get into malt right now. OK, fine:
-Malt is actually malted barley. That is pretty much all I comprehend about malt. I don’t even know if it’s the same stuff as in bagels. Hold on. OK. Malt is “the term used for maltose sugar extracted from sprouted barley,” according to Epicurious (trustworthy). So it seems like it is probably the same thing. (Update: It’s the next day and I am still ridiculously confused by this. Help.)

I have totally lost the thread of this post. Right now I’m drinking Tenacious Traveler, from the House of Shandy Beer Co. It tastes like ginger and lemon (it tastes more like a shandy—beer+lemonade—than it does like beer); it’s really, really weird. You can’t really taste anything other than the ginger and lemon. I am mostly just mystified by the fact that they had it in my utterly sketchy East Harlem bodega. I’ve never heard of it before. But the label has a guy with a mustache, so that’s nice.

I have a very minor obsession with seasonal beer, so I may start commenting on them here. (The minor obsession just means that I usually get the seasonal beer when it’s on tap. But I think everyone does this. Also, this is more true in the fall, when I am on the ever-important quest for pumpkin beer.) Good night.

Spring vegetable orzo + how to: make a bechamel

The title of this post is kind of a lie. I was making this orzo dish that included a bechamel, and since the dish was pretty easy and cookingly uninteresting, I was like, ooh, I can teach everyone how to make a bechamel! But it turns out I am not qualified to do that, because I have no idea how to make a bechamel. I mean, the orzo came out very good, so I guess it was successful, but I had no idea what I was doing.

Béchamels are one of those classic French sauces that everyone thinks are difficult to make. Then every cookbook author goes, “You probably think béchamels are difficult to make, but they are super easy!” Then you try, and it turns out that no, they are actually really difficult and it always goes awry.

Martha Rose Shulman, who does the Recipes for Health column at the New York Times and is one of my favorites, says this about béchamels. Hers is an olive-oil bechamel instead of butter, since she is healthy, and I used her recipe because it was a part of her other recipe that I was using. And I am not confident enough to make my own béchamels, willy-nilly.

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A Call for Comfort [Food]

It’s not hard to deduce from my few posts that much of my initial cooking experience is owed to the blog smittenkitchen. Deb Perelman’s anyone-can-do-this adaptations of recipes from well-known sources eased me into the idea of producing real, edible meals in my very own home. Successes from those recipes gave me enough of an ego boost to host my own seder (gasp!). The only real victim here is my boyfriend (you may know him as my handy kitchen assistant) who was perfectly happy ordering in 6 nights a week, reserving the 7th night for Trader Joe’s amazing 99-cent macaroni and cheese. You know, the one from the box with the little packet of orange powder. Okay also maybe my wallet.

The finished product is spectacularly beautiful, with an orange hue you don’t often get with sticky buns.

To get to the point – I serendipitously happened upon the BAKED shop in Red Hook, Brooklyn around the same time this pumpkin cinnamon roll recipe popped up on smittenkitchen. It felt a little bit (a lot a bit) like fate, and it was probably less than 24 hours later that I ordered the BAKED: Elements cookbook from that site I sometimes refer to. Of course, having the recipe (and two versions at that) is only the beginning. Months went by without any legitimate reason to actually make these buns. I hardly ever kept my pantry full of specialty goods like pumpkin, bread flour, or whole milk (I suppose nobody keeps milk in the pantry, unless it’s that new-fangled ultra pasteurized stuff, which I am skeptical of). I can’t even believe I used to consider those “specialty.” I mean, really, I get anxious now when there isn’t pumpkin in my pantry, right alongside shelf-stable cartons of cream. Regardless, it wasn’t until life got a bit more interesting (if you want to put it that way) that I decided to finally spend a good few hours learning some new techniques and making something I’d be able to indulge in as days upon days continue to unfold. A true comfort food emerges. As a side note, I also made ice cream (technically malted frozen custard with chopped hazelnuts. Yes, you want some.). Next week calls for chocolate cake (so stay tuned).

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Under Pressure

In the spirit of the last few posts, tonight I’ll be going into a bit of minor detail on how to deal with a pressure cooker when making Indian style lentils. My household recently acquired one, after many weeks of deliberation over the huge range of styles, sizes, and brands. We were finally able to bust it out tonight and give it a spin. Luckily, it didn’t actually do any spinning, but we did duck for cover just in case.

Here is a picture of carrots, since it was requested of me to not include the picture of someone literally ducking for cover. I don’t like carrots, unless they’re candied, in pancakes, or, apparently, highly pressurized.

Our recipe for Curried Lentils came from a book we found at the NY Public Library called The Easy Pressure Cooker Cookbook. The ingredients were simple:
2 cups lentils (we used green)
1 cup coconut milk (we used light)
1 cup stock (we used vegetable)
2 tsp. madras curry powder (we used “hot curry” powder)
1 medium sweet onion, chopped
3 medium carrots, chopped
2 tbsp oil (we used olive)

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aux Anything

There comes a time when a young lady needs to graduate from cakes and cookies and move on to more exciting endeavors, like pastries and breads (or a convenient combination of the two, as this post demonstrates). I’ve always wanted to make Martha Stewart’s Babka recipe, but jumping right into one of the most complicated (and expensive!) yeast cakes just didn’t fit my rational personality. The solution- a brioche recipe from Joanne Chang’s FLOUR cookbook. This recipe is in no way quick. I started it on a Friday and didn’t totally finish the dealings until the following Sunday– as in, over a week later. The entire experience brought immense joy and satisfaction into my kitchen, and according to this blog’s owner, the brioche aux chocolate that came out of the big mess was “the best thing [she] ever tasted.” This blog post is meant to offer some beginner warnings for those of you thinking of trying this out. I have absolutely no natural baking skills- so every success of mine is a true wonder and thanks to a detailed recipe. Hopefully, other amateurs can learn from my mistakes.

Everything should start with your basic butter foundation.

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Saag paneer + how to: make cheese!

After ten, nay, maybe fifteen, years since my first attempt (in which Jacqui and I struggled with rennet and she ended up pouring whey all over my hands, as far as I remember), I have succeeded in creating cheese. Possibly. It is still sitting in the sink wrapped in cheesecloth being weighted down by a Dutch oven and a 28-ounce can of tomatoes. But it’s in there.

A couple days ago when I decided I wanted to make saag paneer, I intended it as a cheeseless (so just saag) side dish to red-lentil dal. Then I decided I absolutely had to make cheese, and then I decided not to bother with the dal, and then I decided not to even have it for dinner because it’s 9:19 p.m. and I am nowhere near finishing it. (I’m eating pizza and salad.)

Anyway. I came back from the laundromat, where I had been yelled at for not properly understanding the sign with their hours and for putting my clothes in to dry at an inopportune time vis-a-vis closing, and frantically began making cheese. A half gallon of milk went into the Dutch oven to boil; when I thought I spotted bubbles under the surface of the skin that had formed, I added three tbsp distilled white vinegar. Exactly what you ordinarily never want to happen to milk happened: it curdled.

I post a surprising number of gross-milk photos.

This was around the time that my whole apartment started smelling terrible. I poured the curds and whey into a cheese-cloth-lined colander in the sink and raced out to get the laundry from the dryer. Continue reading

How to: Make buttermilk

I used to always be really irritated whenever a recipe called for buttermilk, because it was always between one drop and half a cup, and no one wants to buy an entire quart because it will go bad. And somehow, buttermilk that has gone bad is even scarier than regular milk that has gone bad (which in itself is a true test of character).

Then I read this, which says that the buttermilk you buy in the supermarket isn’t even real buttermilk. (Actually, just now while searching for that article I found this, which says that that other article is a lie, but whatever. Slate is so angry.) So then I felt less bad about making my own “buttermilk” as a substitute.

It is super easy: Combine one cup of milk with one tablespoon of white vinegar or lemon juice. (I prefer lemon juice because I can’t stand the smell of vinegar, but my entire bottle of lemon juice recently leaked all over my fridge because I laid it on its side.)

EDIT: The slightly more correct way to do this is to add the tablespoon of acid first, then add milk up to the one-cup mark—so you’re adding very slightly less than one cup of milk.

(1 2/3 c, for a recipe.)

Then wait a while—five or ten minutes or so. That’s it. It will look curdled and may be a bit clumpy. (At least, mine was, so I hope that is normal.) Don’t drink it, that would probably be gross. Just put it in pancakes or whatnot.

Curdle-y

How to: Make brown sugar

White sugar is just brown sugar that’s had the molasses removed from it, so to make brown sugar you just add molasses back to white sugar. If you happen to have bought molasses for a random recipe, you can use it to make your own brown sugar, and then you don’t have to keep buying two different kinds of sugar. Ta-da.

This is a mise-en-place. Or maybe a mis-en-place. But I think the former. (The Prego jar on the left is my brown sugar container.)

I got the measuring spoons at a bridal shower.

Put one cup of white sugar in a bowl. Add one tablespoon of molasses.

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How to: Make burnt almond butter

I’m starting a new series where I teach you how to make ingredients. Mostly because I want to have all the recipes in an easily locatable place and don’t have to go all over the Internet the next time I want them.

This one is even less of a recipe than the others, though: almond butter.

I first made almond butter when I bought a bunch of raw almonds from Fairway intending to make chocolate-covered almonds, which I love. (I lost my taste for peanuts and peanut butter after using them in 15 mouse traps, so I had to move on to a different nut.) However, then I realized that buying ready-made chocolate-covered almonds from Fairway was less expensive per ounce, and I was really annoyed at myself and had no idea what to do with raw almonds. For some reason roasting them just seemed horribly daunting.

Anyway, eventually I roasted them, butterized them, and ate it very happily, mostly on pancakes with honey. When I ran out I decided I needed more. Trader Jacqui bought me some cheap almonds from Trader Joe’s, her homeland. I roasted them today while simultaneously crisping macaroni and cheese, and as a result waaay over-roasted them. This wasn’t actually clear until I started pulverizing them, but IMPORTANT NOTE: Your almond butter should NOT be the color mine is in these photos. I’m posting this anyway because the process is the same whether you have burnt the shit out of your almonds or not, but almond butter should be much lighter!!! Just keep that in mind. Continue reading