Anpan

This weekend I took another break from work and school and lazed around watching Korean and Japanese television shows on the Internet. Watching Korean and Japanese television shows is a dangerous endeavor, because the characters on screen are always eating. 60% of the scenes are of someone answering a call or text on their cell phone. 80% of the scenes are of people having elaborate meals with family, meeting in coffee shops, or drinking in street stalls or clubs. And 40% of the scenes are of people answering cell phones while having meals or drinks (and lying dramatically about who is calling or why).

I have never once seen an episode of an Asian drama that did not try to give me the urge to get to the kitchen and cook something. But on Saturday night, I was especially stupid and clicked on a video of a show called The King of Baking: Kim Tak Gu. Take a wild guess what 80% of those scenes focus on. Half an hour into it, this anpan recipe from The Delectable Hodgepodge was in my bookmarks. Here it is Tamara-ized:

Dough
-1 cup bread flour
-1 cup white whole wheat flour
-1 small egg
-1/3 cup soy milk
-1 tablespoon butter
-1 heaping tablespoon sugar
-pinch salt
-1/2 teaspoon active dry yeast

Filling
-anko

On Sunday morning I drove all over town searching for anko, the sweet red bean paste that would turn an otherwise boring bun into a special stand-alone snack. I found some in Sahara Mart between the canned mangos and bags of MSG. By 11am I was staring through the window of the bread machine, wishing it would go faster.


Since the dough used milk, eggs, and butter instead of plain water and oil like my other bread recipes, it came out a lot smoother and denser than usual. Since I had halved the recipe, I made 7 balls and left them to rest for 15 minutes.


Then I cracked open my $3.49 can of sweetness.


Like the dough, this was a lot denser than I expected. It took quite a bit of muscle power to stir it up. But the consistency made it very convenient to fold into buns...no leaking or falling apart everywhere.



After rising for another hour, my beauties were brushed with egg and went into the oven.


And emerged as soft, shiny butterflies.


Pursuing that metaphor would take me down the path of eating butterflies, so I stop it here.



The finished product was not as sweet or squishy as the ones I ate in Japan, but I did that on purpose. Sugar does not hold me over until dinner, and squishy does not fare well in a purse. They taste better after cooling down a bit and giving the bean paste flavor some time to come out. Overall, I'm satisfied enough to call myself The Queen of Baking: Marnell Tamara Kim.

Kodo

Last night, Sweetie and I gussied up and went to the university auditorium for a performance by Kodo, a taiko drumming group. We weren't supposed to take photos, so here are some promo shots from other sites:





Let's put it this way. All you health-fanatic bloggers training for half-marathons and attending strength-training classes each morning: you're wusses. Lunge low to the side for half an hour while throwing your entire body weight against a canvas without missing a beat or collapsing, and you will have my respect.

Unfortunately, we didn't have as good a time at the show as we could have, because this was not a show suited to American audiences.

1) American audiences do not show up on time. They will trail in for 20 minutes after the start of the performance, walking right in front of people who were enjoying the show.

2) American audiences don't know the meaning of "dramatic pause." Give them two seconds of silence and they will clap.

3) American audiences are used to clapping and cheering when the singer hits the high note during the national anthem. They apply this habit when drummers are doing something that requires the utmost concentration for them to perform and for other people to hear.

4) American audiences have limited awareness of their impact on other people. They will show up to a performance with pneumonia and cough the entire way through sensitive, quiet numbers.

5) American parents believe their 7-year-old children can come to a performance that starts at 7:30 and watch men bang drums for two hours without getting bored. And they believe that when children are bored and tired, it's enough to command, "Sit down and be quiet," and they will listen.

Still, I'm glad we went to the live performance. You can't feel the bass through YouTube. Or pick up on the reverberations through the building on a CD. If you get the chance to see this group, which you will in a few weeks if you're on the East Coast, I highly recommend it.

25 Things You Don't Care To Know About Me

Yesterday on Carrot's 'n Cake, Tina pulled a US Weekly and revealed 25 things about herself that strangers on the internet probably did not know. Well. I have no legitimate blog material and I don't feel like doing the dishes, so I'm copy-catting the copy-cat.

I have no delusions that items on this list mean squat to any of you. But one of the great things about Web 2.0 is that I get to put as much worthless content on Google's servers as I want. Without further ado, here's 25 Things You Don't Care To Know About Me, But I'm Telling You Anyway:

1. When I was 7, I was officially the fourth best baton twirler in the United States.

2. When I was 16, I was officially the best teenage flute player south of Riverside County, California.

3. Over the years I've also played the piano, guitar, violin, oboe, and recorder. But I don't do brass.

4. Absolutely none of the skills listed above carried over into adulthood.

5. If it wasn't frowned upon by the medical community, I could happily eat breakfast foods for every meal.

6. I belong to no political party and never will.

7. I'm 100% atheist, but I was voted "Best Christian" by my college dorm in freshman year.

8. I'm inexplicably drawn to sparkly pink nail polish, but don't care for any other colors.

9. I'm vain enough that if I could choose between having perfect skin or not eating chocolate for a year, I would choose perfect skin. Perfect hair would probably lose out to Lindt though.

10. I dislike reading modern works of fiction almost as much as I hate reading outdated works of nonfiction.

11. When I interact with strangers, my eyes widen, my voice rises an octave, and I assume the demeanor of a 12-year-old girl. I don't do it on purpose; it's an intuitive defense strategy.

12. If I could pull off any hair color, I would want it to be auburn. This is thanks to the childhood idolization of Anne Shirley and Judy Garland.

13. My Myers-Briggs personality type is INTJ. Sweetie's is too.

14. The Opinion section of the newspaper makes me feel angry and depressed. Statistics make me feel safe. For the reason, see #13.

15. I will feel that I have "made it" in life when I have a dishwasher.

16. I can do almost anything in the kitchen, except break open an egg with one hand.

17. I have a complex about my flat nose. But I know enough about the dangers of rhinoplasty that I wouldn't go near a plastic surgeon if you paid me to have it remolded.

18. My right thumb is double-jointed.

19. Though I bitch and moan about snow, I actually prefer it to rain.

20. I'm pure nouveau riche. I don't give a Tinker's dam whether my jewelry is "real" or not, as long as it's sparkly. My wedding ring will come from a pawn shop.

21. If I won a million dollars, I would use it to pay off loans and the rest would go straight to the bank. I'd carry on as if it didn't exist, and then I could retire comfortably in a few decades without worries.

22. Rainbow Brite still makes me feel fuzzy inside.

23. I'm afraid of large animals and roller coasters. Roller coasters named after animals are the worst.

24. My profession will be related to IT, but I don't "do" emerging technologies. No smartphones, no tweeting, and absolutely no social bookmarking.

25. It was really difficult for me to come up with 25 tidbits about myself. I'm me almost all of the time, so I've gotten used to myself and find it hard to describe my idiosyncracies.

Musings, Rakes and Chatham's Tap

I think I'm spreading myself too thin. You know how I know? Because there's a bag of Wheat Thin crisps right next to my computer that is rapidly decreasing in weight. It supplanted a former bag of cookies, which was chasing a banana smoothie. I'm not binging; I'm trying to fill my stomach so it doesn't feel like it's falling apart at the seams. The acid reflux is back in full force, and I obviously need to address my coping mechanisms. But first a recap of the life that is leading my digestive juices to churn:

Lately I've been up to the gills in schoolwork. If my only purpose in life was to melt my body and soul into academia, like it used to be, this would not be a problem. Several big projects, weekly homework and hours of reading each night? Psh. That's like, high school. But all that plus work, my aspirations on the side and familial obligations, and you've got yourself an ulcer cocktail. I, of course, made my life even more fun by deciding to set up internships and follow up on the "extras." For example, heading straight to the public library and picking up a 300 page book just because my professor mentioned it in an email. Or chasing down instructions for specifying one-to-one relationships between tables in Microsoft Access because another one said it wasn't possible. I have to instate a new daily ritual: stand in front of the mirror and repeat the phrase, "I just need the piece of paper" until my resting heart rate goes down to the normal range.

Usually on weekends I try to pretend I'm still a minor and Mommy and Daddy will support me forever. But I couldn't do that this weekend, because Sweetie and I needed to visit Who while the ground was still clear from this bizarre heat wave. Who has been getting better recently--sort of--so with the advantage of two young bodies under his control, he was eager to finish lots of chores. Over this weekend there seemed to be one of three items in my hand at all times: a steering wheel, a rake, or a spatula.

Saturday was primarily the rake, and Sunday was almost entirely the steering wheel. In the morning I packed up and pushed Sweetie out the door as quickly as I could, because we were headed to Indianapolis for an event put on by Nintendo to promote the release of a new Pokemon game, Black & White. I'd used the gift card my mother sent back in November to print out a complimentary $10 off from Restaurant.com at a restaurant in Fishers: Chatham Tap. So we headed there first for lunch.

Supposedly an English pub, Chatham Tap is more like a casual date-night restaurant than an upscale bar. Fishers in general is like taking suburban Temecula, CA and smashing it face-first into rural/industrial Columbus, IN, then plopping it north of Indianapolis where all the affluent commuters like to hide from the rest of the state. This restaurant has that kind of flavor: built to look home-grown, but with a comfortable blanket of modern artificiality.

Because we had the coupon (which specified a $20 minimum purchase anyway), I complied with Sweetie's impulsive request for an appetizer: Portebello Mushroom Fries.


Sweetie was in lurve, and I was impressed. Mushrooms do not strike me as an easy vegetable to bread and deep-fry. They came with a spicy sauce for dipping, which Sweetie also lurved and almost panicked when the server tried to take it away.

For our entrees, Sweetie made the questionable decision to order a dish called "The Heartstopper."


I assumed they called it that because eating foods like this regularly will eventually clog your arteries, but apparently it has the ability to stop a fully grown male's heart during the meal. Sweetie, a once bottomless pit, barely survived the encounter, and he requested after leaving that I drive to Lowe's and find a nice wheelbarrow to cart him around the Pokemon event.

I chose the milder Veggie Black Bean burger.


It had a nice layer of guacamole on the bottom, and the bun was crisp on the outside and soft on the inside. I chose apples and pears for the side, because I didn't want anything fried after those mushrooms. Even with the "light" choices, I couldn't finish my meal either. For one thing, the patty was spicy. It was the kind of spice that creeps up on you, so I didn't notice that my mouth was on fire until halfway in. For another, those plates are a lot bigger than they look on camera. That burger was roughly two of the kind I would make at home.

However, I did not have any difficulties walking back to the car after that. Nor did we have any difficulties finding Castleton Mall, where the event was being held. We were surprised at the lack of confusion and wrong turns that usually accompany our trips out into the world, but Sweetie hypothesizes that we "leveled up" as travelers. We originally expected to just go into the mall, get Sweetie's Celebi and a few plush toys for our collection, and get out. But they made the event into a big activity, with demonstrations and free movie showings and whatnot. We didn't go to either of those, because the lines were long and the children were loud, but we did learn upon entering about a "scavenger hunt" of sorts. Booths handed out pamphlets with empty spaces for stamps, and if you went around collecting all of the stamps you could spin a wheel to win a prize. And when do we ever miss an opportunity for free things?

So we went through the mall collecting our stamps. Or rather, I went around collecting his stamps, because after being declared a pedophile by an employee at a local game shop, Sweetie doesn't like to advertise to people that he's into Pokemon (by the way, if you're ever in Bloomington, IN, please do not give your money to the Game Preserve on Kirkwood Avenue). After collecting the stamps, we waited in a surprisingly long line to spin the wheel. 6 of the 8 potential prizes were pencils with figures where the eraser should be, which was really lame. But Sweetie has a high Luck stat and managed to land on one of the other two, which earned us a free plushie!


This is Smugleaf. His name is not actually Smugleaf, but that's what Sweetie and his other pedophile friends called it before the official name was released by Nintendo. So when the people manning the booth asked which plushie he would like, he happily declared, "Smugleaf!" and earned confused stares from the both of them. He quickly tried to correct himself by saying its real name...in Japanese. Fortunately, only one of the three options looks remotely leaf-related, so they handed us the right one. And I saved $10!

After driving home I did laundry, cut Sweetie's hair (Who was supposed to do it, but he gave him a ridiculous bowl-cut), finished the readings for one class and tried to go through my weekly beauty-preserving routine. It isn't terribly effective because of the aforementioned high levels of stress. Eating ice cream and brownies for dinner probably doesn't help. I can't wait until my next real weekend when I can slow down and address all the things that are making me eat from that bag of Wheat Thins.

Barn Bombings

Last week, Japan cancelled its annual whale hunt thanks to the selfless and heroic acts of the Sea Shepherds, a group of activists that harasses and endangers impoverished fishermen for the amusement of Animal Planet audiences everywhere on Whale Wars. The Shepherds, self-proclaimed "pirates," throw ropes into propellers, toss flash bombs onto decks, and ram into other ships while sobbing into the camera about how much they lurve the whales.


When the cancellation was announced, the Australian government cheered and thousands of American donors to the Sea Shepherds' "cause" patted themselves on the back. Apparently, the Western world collectively appreciates Shamu's life more than those of the heartless humans eeking out a living with the permission of the International Whaling Commission (kinda like those indigenous communities in our own Alaska do...but hush and shush).

Well. Reading all the positive press about the Sea Shepherds has given me a smashing idea for a new show. Here's a rough draft of my pitch to the Discovery network, just so y'all have a heads up for what to watch on dull Tuesday nights next fall.


From the producers of Whale Wars comes the next big bleeding-heart hit to the small screen: Barn Bombings. Just like The Japanese are primitive, backwards people throwing harpoons at hapless creatures of the deep, The Average American is a Coke-guzzling fatty with the IQ of a sponge chowing down his happy way to a coronary bypass. Barn Bombings follows a courageous group of Hindus as they stand up for the rights of the bovine victims of America's national obsession with the Extra Value Meal.

Our sari-wearing heroes will circle the barren roads of the Midwest, doing Whatever It Takes to protect the sacred cow from the grasp of evil farmers. Hiding behind ski masks, they will throw bottles of rotten butter at silos. Tangle the gears of tractors with ropes. Ram their dilapidated Jeep into the sides of the barns holding their mammalian friends captive, with Jolly Roger unfurled. When Farmer Joe tries to throw them off his land, they will pretend to be mortally wounded and tell the media that the irascible demon came out with shotguns a-blazing.

After a year or so of candid coverage, representatives of foreign countries will formally condemn the United States for its inhumane treatment of animals. The Department of Agriculture will declare an end to the slaughter of livestock, and fast food chains will be no more. The people will raise their glasses in praise of the idiot teenagers activists who were willing to terrorize take a stand against those hard-up family farmers burger-downing psychos.

And the world will be reminded, just in time for a nice bath before bed, that justice will prevail.

Soy Scalloped Potatoes

Did everyone have a nice Valentine's Day? Mine was okay, but I woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning.

1) My class at 9am is taught by Ms. Deliberate Busywork. I am not happy with Ms. Busywork. After I submitted my assignment on Sunday, she emailed saying I had to redo it because "the instructions state" that I format the documents differently. The instructions state no such thing, and I had to reiterate her own inane assignment to her (nicely, humbly, and as non-threateningly as possible). Obviously, I shouldn't trust her to code security for my bank accounts.

2) Sugar hangover. Must consume oatmeal to stabilize hormones.

3) "That time of month" just happened to start the morning of Valentine's Day. This was bad, because I felt like a weak, puffy water balloon all day while spreading love and cheer. But it is also kind of fortuitous, because there's plenty of discount chocolate on the shelves for me just when I want it the most.

As for Valentine's Day itself, Sweetie and I didn't go out or anything. We lump Valentine's Day in with St. Patrick's Day, graduation day, and Little 5 weekend as "days one should not step foot in town if one wishes to keep all of one's limbs." Instead, I made a semi-elaborate, wallet-loving dinner at home of maple mustard chicken and scalloped potatoes for two.

-2 small potatoes (russet or red), sliced thin
-1 tablespoon butter
-quarter of an onion, chopped fine (or a shallot)
-1 teaspoon minced garlic
-1 tablespoon all-purpose flour
-1 cup plain soy milk (or real milk if all your enzymes are normal)
-shredded cheddar cheese
-salt and pepper to taste

Microwave the potato slices in a plastic baggie with water until tender, about 7 minutes (optionally boil, but I don't like draining nutrients away). Melt the butter in a small saucepan and saute the onion and garlic; add the flour. Whisk in the milk a bit at a time and simmer until thickened. Remove from heat and stir in a handful of shredded cheddar cheese. Season the cooked potato with salt and pepper and place on the bottom of an oiled baking dish. Pour the cheese sauce over the top, and top with a little extra shredded cheese.


Bake at 350° for 20 minutes, until slightly browned and bubbling.



Sweetie, of course, is one of those people who prefers the kind that comes from a box. If you're making it for those people, use more salt than you would for healthy blogger types.

Tension Taming

Today at the grocery store I was looking for a new herbal tea. I always have my Twinings English Breakfast in the mornings, but at night I like to switch it up.

Kroger stocks herbal teas by three primary companies: Stash, Bigalow, and Celestial Seasonings. Stash is always a good bet, but the selection is limited to the basics: chamomile, peppermint, rooibos etc. Bigalow is to "tea" as Taco Bell is to "meat." So I mosied over to the Celestial Seasonings section and found this pretty package:


If my vibes aren't making it through the tubes of the Internet intact, I have a lot of tension. Tension that needs taming with the calming aura of fire-breathing sharp-clawed dragons.

This afternoon I opened it up for snack time. What a nice scent! I wonder what's in it? I turned the box over to check. Looks like some peppermint, some ginger, some licorice, some...what the?


Apparently, catnip has a numbing effect on humans. But if Luna gets a whiff of this, I doubt my tension will be anything like tamed.

Not-so-fun Saturday

I will spend 50% of today working on an assignment due tomorrow afternoon. Not just any assignment, though...one specifically designed to drain the life energy of hapless students. A tedium to crown all tediums. A desert wasteland of busy work and pointless rules stretching the length of Nevada with no sign of purpose or real learning in sight.

And the best part of this? The fact that the professor made it a waste of time on purpose. I kid you not. She proudly stood in front of the class and told us, point blank, that she's giving us inane regulations because, "If you can't follow written directions, how can I trust you to code security for my bank accounts?" Which seems like a perfectly valid argument, until you look at its essence.

"How can I trust you to write code with valid syntax if you speak with prepositions at the end of your sentences?"

"How can I trust you to organize my databases if your desk is messy?"

"How can I trust you to follow procedure if you can't even tie a perfect Windsor knot?"

In essence, equating this cognitively deficient, purposeless puzzle to securing a website is like telling a samurai he must not be very good with a sword because he can't cut an apple into perfect fifths. Unlike a samurai, though, my method of proving otherwise would not be nearly as satisfying.

Friday Fails III

I have neglected assignments and personal projects practically pushing open my mental closet door, but I've also been neglecting this blog and I think it's about time for a few Friday Fails.

Fail #1
Yesterday, I was stuck on campus waiting until the last second to walk out to the cold, cold bus stop. My stomach was growling and I didn't want to be in a bad mood when I got home (because my relationship points with Sweetie usually take significant damage that way), so I bought a package of these:


No, the fail was not my obvious error in judgement in trusting an elf waving a sign advertising the amount of fat in his crackers. The fail was on the back of the package:


Please direct your attention to the final item on the list: "Natural flavor with other natural flavors." It's a super-flavor. Like chocolate with chocolate flavoring or rose-scented roses (which reminds me, Valentine's Day is coming up. Note to self: spread the love-with-other-loves). Plus, this means the crackers are good for me, because it must also be super-natural.

Fail #2
In the same vein, it's officially official: the school board is not going to use the referendum money to do anything they said they would. Oh wait, they didn't "say" they were going to do anything, as I pointed out in my post expressing disappointment that the referendum passed.

This week the board came out to say that the money will not be used to rehire all the teachers who lost their jobs, restore cut extracurricular programs, or reduce class sizes. And, one explicitly pointed out, they never promised that they would. See, they just pointed out some existing problems on websites, newspapers, and to impressionable young children. All they said was that there was a crisis and teachers aren't paid enough and the children will suffer suffer suffer if we don't give them our taxes. The voters just assumed that the money would be used to solve those problems. So if they want to use 50% of those taxes to start new literacy and cost-saving programs instead of restoring those boring old ones like having orchestras and teachers, well, that's their business.

Of course, certain people are a little put off. "Their tactics were disingenuous," they say. "That's not fair!" they say. Well, yeah. But if a jittery guy with dilated pupils comes up to you on the street and says Wall Street took his job and his kids are starving at home, you can't complain if he turns around to give that $20 to the heroin dealer behind him. This particular board has proven time and time again that they're manipulative SOBs. They pulled the plug on media specialists, then back-peddled to short-shaft the teachers leading extracurriculars instead without telling anyone first, just to get people riled up. They had their own teachers campaigning to their Kindergarten students to tell Mommy and Daddy to pass this referendum. They can't keep a single superintendent for more than one year, and are currently planning to put these new programs in motion under a temporary one until they can unearth a that golden executive-leader-in-the-rough who's tucked away somewhere.

The best thing to do when faced with such a stellar track record? Give them tons of money without getting a business plan in writing beforehand, of course. Like when your brother-in-law comes to you and says he wants to start up a new business with charitable overtones. Well, you know most of his business experience comes from getting fired from Burger King and scamming the neighbors out of money he says he'll use to repair that fence. But he has an honest face and it's for a "good cause," so the only thing you have to consider is whether there's enough in your checking account, right?

Lady Luck

A few days ago as I was coming home, I opened my mailbox and had won the lottery: new customer-specific Kroger coupons! I thought I'd used my luck quota for the day, until I reached my porch and found a little package wedged behind the screen door. The address said "4 Times Square, New York NY." I thought maybe we had dropped something with my name on it during New Years and some kind soul was returning it to me. But when I came inside and opened it:


Fabulous prizes! But it was too small to be a leg lamp....


Shiny.


Shinier.


Shiniest!

I didn't know anything about the product, and even if it came with a congratulatory note from the magazine, I don't automatically trust any cosmetics that land on my doorstep. So I looked it up online, and I have won a $34 tube of lipstick. $34! That's like...$30 more than I would usually spend on, well, anything.

I haven't tried it yet, because (a) I'm afraid of it, because expensive things are inherently frightening to me, and (b) it's a really bright coral color usually seen on fashionistas. And though I enter sweepstakes on the Glamour website, I don't exactly have a fashionista style. But I'm certainly not going to say "no" to free stuff.

It seems I've been having quite the lucky streak lately. First I won $30 worth of Amazon gift cards by answering trivia questions about cows, and now I'm getting free make-up. Now. Fingers crossed for the million dollar house I'm putting my name in the box for every morning.

My Little Pony, Where's Waldo, and Cinnamon Squiggle Cake

Yesterday I had my first happily productive day in a looong time. The catalyst was the weather, which crept above freezing just enough to let us escape the apartment complex. And when I can buy food and get rid of the full-to-bursting trash bags, my happiness meter rises from the red to glowing green.


Deliberately taking two days off from working and reading to watch silly dramas helped too. Novel idea: I think everyone should try not working for two days every week >.>

Anyway, the first order of business was to get Sweetie to GameStop, because he needed to pick up the latest My Little Pony release.


This is Blueberry Pie. He frolics in the flowers...I mean, "races across the land. It is said that north winds will somehow blow whenever it appears." In other words, Blueberry Pie is solely responsible for my worst winter ever.

After harvesting his pony, err, "legendary beast," Sweetie accompanied me to the pet shop and the library, where we entered the children's picture book section and pretended that we were picking something up for his niece. Who lives in Texas. See, Sweetie spends a lot of his free time putting together the missing pieces of a childhood he didn't get. And one of those missing pieces was Waldo, the infamous drawing who's always losing his stuff in crowds of people. After finding Waldo the first time in a badly arranged library section, he started finding him more specifically on every page. And after seeing those pages, I question what it was doing in the children's section at all.

A) Naked people.
B) British words that publishers take great care to extract from their American releases nowadays.
C) Mayhem and destruction everywhere.
And D) Naked people.

Apparently, the British have no qualms about showing their children topless sunbathers and scenes of gratuitous violence. People were maiming themselves left and right on the ski slopes, streakers where thumbing their noses at coppers chasing them on the race track, and shady men were smuggling stolen watches through airport security. Oh, the censors did their best to cover up some of the nudity with bikinis and Speedos, but they didn't get them all.

Now enough about the nonsense, let's get back to the contents. Four words: Cinnamon Swirl Tea Bread.



I stole this recipe from Marie of The English Kitchen. What can I say, Waldo had me itching to put the kettle on.


This recipe is going straight to my When-I-Run-A-B&B-folder. A cross between fresh French toast and pound cake, it's the closest I have ever come to baking something that smells and tastes like it came straight out of a Sarah Lee box. My swirling skills are lacking, but that's what makes it look handmade and special (yes, thank you, I will just keep telling myself that).

Cinnamon Swirl Squiggle Cake
-1/3 cup canola oil
-2 medium eggs
-6oz strained yogurt (I used 2% Fage...yes, that container that expired last month)
-splash of plain soy milk, or two more ounces of yogurt
-2 tsp vanilla extract
-heaping half cup sugar
-1 cup white whole wheat flour
-1 cup all-purpose flour
-1/2 tsp baking soda
-1 tsp baking powder
-pinch salt
-more sugar and cinnamon for swirling

Mix the wets (oil through sugar), and fold in the dries (flours through salt). Spread half the batter in an oiled loaf pan, and sprinkle sugar and cinnamon on top. Add the second half and repeat the sprinkling. Use a butter knife to make swirls in the batter. Bake at 350° for 55-60 minutes, or if you're me and have an outdated too-hot oven, 325° for 45-50 minutes, until it passes the toothpick test. Cool in the pan for ten minutes before turning out onto a cooling rack.

Marie advises storing the loaf wrapped tightly in plastic, but that's assuming you have guests/coworkers/neighbors to devour it. Being a selfish carb-hoarder, I cut it all up for myself and froze it with parchment paper between the slices. As you can see above, one of those slices made me very happy this morning with a mug of Twining's English Breakfast. It won't hold you for long, but who says you always have to eat oatmeal and spinach omelets?

What's My Name?

For giggles, Sweetie searched for my name in Google images yesterday. After a few profile avatars featuring the actual me, there were pictures of famous people who are not me. Unless I've unknowingly joined a boy band while sleepwalking. Then, starting on page 4, food. Lots of food. Food from my blog. Food from blogs I've commented on. Food in pots, in packages and cooling racks. Food I posted just last week and food I haven't made for months. Thanks to this blog, my name is automatically associated with soup, muffins, and lots of cake.

That, and some very happy statues, Victorian corsets, and a burning book. Mom and Dad must be so proud.

The collection of food pictures tied to my reputation is a little off-balance. There are very few savory dishes and a lot of baked goods and cakes, thanks in part to my laziness in taking pictures of my everyday meals and in part to my copious comments on Cake Wrecks. Today I'm going to edge that ratio one notch towards 1:1.


This, my dear readers, is Cheater's Nikujaga. Real nikujaga takes time to cook: you have to simmer that meat and veggies for a long time to get it to the perfect tenderness. Cheater's Nikujaga, on the other hand, combines the superpowers of the stove and the microwave to have it finished in 15. Just start simmering some noodles, microwave some 'taters until soft, and sautee some onion and carrot. Add the potatoes to the skillet, brown some ground beef in the same pan, cover with a cup of water and an indeterminate amount of mirin and soy sauce and simmer down to let the flavors seep in. When the noodles are done, pop them in a bowl, top with the meat and veggies, and you're done.

Now. I'm off to attempt to get my car out of the parking lot. I have no more spinach, and the world will stop turning if I don't buy more.

More Hatred for Winter

I'm having horrible luck this winter. First there was the blizzard during our trip to New York, and then I got a cold. And then there were the ice storms a few days ago, and now I have another cold! At least I can tell that this one will be much shorter than the two-week-long one in January. I couldn't swallow yesterday, but I've skipped straight to the chest congestion phase today.

I may have mentioned this before, but when other people get sick, they lose their appetites. When I get sick, I eat. Mostly junk. In fact, I can usually tell when I'm getting sick if I'm eating more than usual. It's my instinct to put energy into my body if I'm feeling weak. So Sweetie, being a horrible significant other, doesn't mind too much when I'm feeling ill, because I make lots of yummy food.


To you, this looks like a regular homemade pizza (betcha can't tell which part is mine :p). Actually, it's my first super-thin-crust New Jersey-style pizza. Instead of making it from bread dough as I used to, I made it from the same foccaccia-style dough I use to make pizza sticks. With minimal sauce and a higher oven temperature than usual, I'm this close to achieving the perfect crunch. The outer edges were especially crispy, but the middle could use some work. Also, if I'm going to turn up the temperature in the future, I should stick to regular pepperonis rather than turkey ones on Sweetie's portion; you can tell that I ran out of the former and had to use the other on that bottom section!

I hope other people are having a better winter than I am. I think I'm just going to hide in a box until someone tells me it's April.

Ice Day

Yesterday afternoon, the entire state shut down. Everyone fled the schools, the businesses, the streets for the safety of their homes. Everyone, that is, except for my university.

IU prides it self on never, ever closing for any reason. Ice and winter storm warnings across the country? Imminent danger to student life? Pshah. Put on an extra jacket, you yeller bellies. But yesterday, they broke character just a teensy weensy bit and cancelled classes. "But campus is still open!" they emphasized.

This morning I received an official email saying classes should resume as of 1pm today. "Everyone is encouraged to dress appropriately for winter weather and to exercise caution when walking across campus." My class is at precisely 1pm. So...I am to put on a hat and "cautiously" battle my way through a solid sheet of ice and roaring winds to get to campus, where I will be promptly struck by a car spinning out uncontrollably. Ha. Ha ha. Absolutely not.

Fortunately, my teacher agrees with me that discussing questionnaire design is less important than staying alive. So I'm eating my pancakes, sipping my tea, and not budging from the confines of this apartment until I can step onto my porch and not land back in the entryway on my rear.

By the way:


I think Punxsutawney Phil has lost a bit of his game.

I Missed the Memo

I knew it. I knew it I knew it I knew it. I knew the sunny weekend was too good to be true.

This morning I had an early class, so I decided to skip my usual Internet-checking routine before walking to the bus. Scratch that verb and replace it with sliding, skating, and at one point, crawling. But I was okay, because I knew the sun would come out soon and melt it all by the time I came home.

Got to school with my limbs barely intact. Found a computer to diddle away time before class. The Midwestern bloggers are talking about snow days and "storms of the century." Say what?


Weather.com says, "Fuck you."

I hope I can get home okay. It isn't currently raining, but I assume I will be pelted with ice in just a few hours. Dognabbit. I hate being a good girl.