ay chico!

2011-09-15T22:41:00.000-07:00

hello world, it's me

for my LOLcats

2009-04-18T21:04:00.000-07:00

Based on this article, it looks like explaining LOLcats is challenging for even the most seasoned journalist:

“Just about every house in town is paying attention,” said Patrick Mulligan, a senior editor at Gotham Books who handled a 2008 book of cat photos with bizarre captions called “I Can Has Cheezburger?”

Isn't it cute when the nytimes tries to write about pop culture blog phenomena? They're always just a little too late.

why we have a future as travel writers

2009-04-12T11:55:00.000-07:00

an excerpt from one of the few books available about hiking the JMT:

The store and the campground both have public phones, which you will share with 1,000 other campers and visitors to Tuolumne Meadows; if you have the patience to wait, you can phone home, perhaps to discover your lover has fallen in love with someone else, then return to the JMT with a broken heart. But, after just a few miles on the trail, absorbing the beauty of magnificent Lyell Canyon, you will realize that your lover didn't deserve you anyway, that being on the JMT is much healthier and more exciting than living in the city with an ingrate, and you will proceed to have the great trip you deserve, relieved to know that you won't have to return home to the wrong person. (Saperstein, 15)

be on the lookout for a JMT guide co-authored by Harvill, Harvill, & Kizer come 2010!

hey, there's a beverage here!

2008-12-03T07:25:00.000-08:00

is it just me or is this article, like, 10 years too late?

i'm pretty sure our friend kate, who went to sleep on the floor covered with a washcloth after a night of them (circa 2000), would argue that the white russian revival is nothing new.

Though I can safely say none of us ever made it part of our breakfast ritual:

"Unlike a lot of Lebowski fans, Mr. Barber has a taste for the drink that predates his viewing of the movie. Several years ago, he said, he used to mix himself a White Russian every day for breakfast: “I called it the ‘Big Boy Milkshake.’ “

solo dino

2008-12-02T20:20:00.000-08:00

Now that I'm cooking for one (and thankfully not eating for two as a certain blogger soon will be!), I have to exercise a fair amount of restraint when it comes to grocery shopping. After surrendering a block each of parmesan and feta and a tub of hummus to mold monsters and sacrificing countless bags of soggy baby greens, I'm finally getting a handle on how much I can consume before losing the battle to bacteria.
It's not too hard to be realistic at Trader Joe's and at the Berkeley Bowl I'm practically ascetic! Any item that might require a cross-store trek is unceremoniously dropped from the shopping list.
Farmer's markets pose more of a challenge. I'm getting better though. Last saturday I turned a blind eye to the '3 bunches of greens for $5' bargain and limited myself to a single bunch of dino kale and a modest amount of broccoli raab.

The consequence of buying food for one is that I don't get to share with anyone else.
so here's what I've been making:

- dino kale sauteed with onions, capers, olives, garlic, lemon zest and red chili flakes served over whole wheat spaghetti with toasted walnuts and parmesan

- tonight: sauteed broccoli raab with garlic and chili flakes served over toast and topped with a fried egg

and yes, I add chili flakes to everything.

Happy Halloween!

2008-10-31T08:04:00.000-07:00

romantic musical face-off!

2008-10-23T16:41:00.000-07:00

These past few weeks of (f)unemployment have seen me a frequent library patron. Before you mistakenly think this a self-improving pursuit, I should reveal that my rentals are exclusively cookbooks, cds, and dvds. After my computer choked on a sadly scratched Doctor Zhivago*, I ended up watching Once last night. I thoroughly enjoyed the movie, but was struck by some uncanny similarities to ANOTHER love story about the creative process of songwriting.
I'm already loathe to admit that I've even seen the train wreck that is Music & Lyrics**, let alone that I've seen it twice (it was on a transatlantic flight!). But these multiple viewings did help me keep track of all the necessary ingredients of a music-centric love story:

1) An older, cynical musician with a penchant for vaguely "ethnic" necklaces. Straining while singing shows how deeply they feel the music.

2) A delightfully optimistic, quirky young girl who shakes up the guy's world with her musical talent and charming idiosyncrasies (m&l: drew's inability to hang up her coat, once: girl drags a vacuum around dublin). accents a plus! (though drew's is still unidentified and, quite probably, unintended)

3) Playing on a store piano is a good way to get the creative juices flowing! To be fair, the immigrant girl had to play in the store because she couldn't afford a piano. :(

4) Scarves!

So obviously, M&L had all the makings of a successful musical romance save that most crucial element: serviceable music and lyrics.***

*research for my 'White Russian' Halloween costume
** AND that I saw it in the theater
*** sample line: 'I need inspiration/not just another negotiation'

a series of unfortunate events

2008-10-17T17:13:00.000-07:00

Oakland, CA
10/17/08, 2:19 pm
Assault and consumption, serious injuries incurred. The perpetrator fled the scene of the crime. But not before numerous photos and a short movie of the binge were captured.

The survivors have been safely relocated and are awaiting psychiatric evaluations.

Oakland, CA
10/17/08, 2:25 pm
Mass homicide of some seriously lazy yeast.

I've seen pizza rise more than this fraking bread. My faith in the infallibility of the no-knead bread has been shattered.

Authorities are currently investigating squirrel in connection with the fallen loaf.

I braved the Bowl!

2008-09-23T20:16:00.000-07:00

After weeks of cautionary tales and a special report today from L.A. Times (courtesy of sf's best google monkey), it seemed it was high time to pay the infamous Berkeley Bowl a visit.
Since i heard there are no such things as off-hours where berkeley free-lancers, stroller moms, and endless varieties of produce are concerned, I decided to throw the ol' bowl for a loop and go at peak grocery shopping time: 5:30! The bowl saw right through my ruse, however. The lines stretching into the aisles confirmed that 5:30 pm continues to be the universal grocery hour.

Thankfully, the experience was relatively stress-(and cart-)free since there was nothing I really needed, save a few bananas. And once i reached that produce section, oh my god.
It was amazing. I didn't even get to take a full tour of the place since I spent more than enough time weighing the virtues of different banana bunches. Coventional? Single topless?(oohlala!) Medium-ripe? Organic? Fair-trade organic??* jeezus.

No fist fights or avocado lobbing to report, but I was side-swiped by a shopping cart AND repeatedly jostled in the check-out line by a pregnant women with a big bag and a bigger belly. And no, her "condition" does not excuse her in my book.

I expect things are really going to get cutthroat when I'm there as a cook with a shopping list and not as a tourist.
Those cart-crashers had better look out.

*Re: the bananas: I took the middle road and went for the morally dubious, but slightly cheaper 'organic from ecuador'. When I got home I saw that the housemates had opted for fair-trade, proving that they are better people than I and also ensuring that we'll have no banana mix-ups. At least not this week.

i went to ikea and all i got was a flerg

2008-09-17T15:24:00.001-07:00

and some bumerangs, so as not to leave empty handed.

what is this world coming to when my organizational needs can't be met by the swedes and their labyrinthine megastore?

Rae Lakes Round-up!

2008-09-08T08:06:00.000-07:00

I'm happy to report that I've survived my first backpacking trip! With Z and L as my intrepid guides (and mileage Nazis), I made it through four-days in the back country of King's Canyon. Now, take four days without access to our usual means of information-getting (namely, L's quick work on the interweb), and you can imagine the backlog of unanswered questions we had returning to civilization. Since L already resolved the blue jay-scrub jay debate (winner: blue jay), I'll try to take care of some of the outstanding questions.

Rae Lakes Q & A

Just how long is the Rae Lakes loop anyway?
With 10-mile days that seemed suspiciously like 12-mile ones, figuring distance was a tricky thing on this trip. The hiking book we used said the trail was 37 miles and some change. Hikers we met on the trail guessed 40. Every muscle fiber in my body votes 50+. Given these discrepancies, I think it's best we let the national park service settle this:

The loop is 46 miles long, and climbs from 5035' (1535m) at the trailhead to 11,978' (3651m) at Glen Pass.

What was that crazy constellation in the southern sky near the horizon?
Apparently, something I made up! My attempt to commit the pattern of stars to memory didn't help much when faced with these star charts, everything all connected with white lines. Maybe they were really stars of Piscis? I might not have been so far off with my Scorpio identification, though.
Bonus sighting: I think a really bright star we thought was the north star (before we realized we were facing south) was actually Jupiter!

Wait, the north star is always in the direction of the north pole?
Yes, Z. It is. Your skepticism will be warranted in, oh, about 12,000 years when Vega becomes the new north star.

Why are the rattlesnakes in King's Canyon so fraking lazy?
We saw two of these fellas on the trail and neither one could be troubled to give us the slightest hint of a rattle. Turns out the absence of their telltale warning system isn't a sign of reptilian apathy, but just a couple of snakes being badasses.

Coffee tea bags?
It's true! But don't worry, Z, no one is going to make you give up your mountain french press brew.

Is it best to let a blister heal naturally or lance it?
Jury is still out on this one. Personally, I hope it's the latter, because that's exactly what nurse-in-training Z did to mine last night!

Before the procedure:

knockin at heaven's door

2008-09-02T08:40:00.000-07:00

Is it possible to knock at the gates of hell? or do those just open right on up for you?

I make frequent reference to the fact that I am an old woman trapped in the body of a 24-year old (though with my gimpy knees, I'm beginning to suspect I actually have the body of someone over twice my age). Previously cited evidence include my pre-10pm bedtime, early rising (unemployment has compromised this one somewhat), reluctance to "go out", loudly bewailing my physical ailments, and chronic crotchety-ness. The latter is best seen in how agitated I became amidst the din raised by unruly brats during the REI labor day sale. I seem to have skipped over any maternal phase and landed with one foot in the grave.

Apparently the problem is worse than I thought.
Proof from the last week that my old age is becoming increasingly manifest:
1. A visiting friend (age 27--practically 30!) chided me for, "talking like you're on your deathbed." He then proceeded to imitate my piping laments.
2. My brother's surprise that I knew about google 411 or google texting. Come to think of it, the fact that I've figured out how to text message may have been what threw him.
3. A man slipped by me with an "Excuse me, sir" at the aforementioned REI sale. Androgeny has already set in!

I would add these to my ever-growing list of complaints except I just had a dream where I was back in college, trying to get into the classes I needed to complete my major. Reminded of the trials of youth, I think I'll just enjoy these final days.
And maybe get into a low-impact, women-only circuit training class.

welcome to san francisco!

2008-08-21T15:07:00.000-07:00

I'd say this clinches the San Francisco-Oakland debate were it not for L's advisory that everyone's car gets broken into in Oakland, too.

An oldie, but goodie

2008-07-18T20:24:00.000-07:00

The dangers of world of warcraft

What have I been reading?*

2008-05-11T13:10:00.000-07:00

In what is fast becoming an increasingly rare event, I finished a book last month. During an equally unusual bout of room cleaning (read: pile rearranging) I found my vocab list from said book. See, I tend to start books with all kinds of good intentions: I will read critically and carefully! I will remember what I'm reading a month from now! I will look up every word/reference I don't know!
It's this latter ambition that leads to the lists.

These lists haunt me. Because what usually happens is this: I write down and look up the first couple. Then I just write them down. And then the list reverts from lofty symbol of self-motivated learning back to lowly bookmark. And it'll probably stay a bookmark for a long while yet (see above on finishing books).

It's my second aspiration that keeps me from throwing them away. If I did that, how would I remember that I made it through pages 787-954 of Infinite Jest (at least 20 words of which I didn't understand**)? How would I know that on an unknown date I read something that referred to a General Gustavo Rojas Pirilla, overthrown in 1957?*** I wouldn't!
Last weekend I decided to actually look up some of the words from the list of this most recently completed tome. Since the details of the story have already gone the way of my college education, this was a revelatory process. A bit like reverse madlibs, filling in the story around the nouns and adjectives. So what on earth did I just read? Based on the small sampling below, something racy I think! Or maybe something about geology? Your guess is as good as mine.

talus - n. a sloping mass of rocky fragments at the base of a hill
defenestration - n. the act of throwing a thing or esp. a person out a window
abstruse - adj. hard to understand, esoteric
gedanken - n. a thought experiment, impractical but useful to consider
lapidary- adj. characterized by an exactitude and extreme refinement that suggests gem cutting
onanistic - adj. of or pertaining to masturbation, coitus interruptus (!)
priapic - adj. of or pertaining to Priapus; phallic
jeremiad - n. a prolonged lamentation or mournful complaint
logorrheic - adj. pathologically incoherent, repetitious speech; wearisome volubility

*or, another logorrheic post from kah
** These I at least have some hope of understanding one day. The book itself is a different matter.
*** Still couldn't tell you who this is

so, i'm not a blogger

2008-03-21T15:15:00.001-07:00

but i'm feeling obliged to start a nursing blog? is that a terrible idea? there are already a ton of blogs out there:
nursingzen.exobi.com
www.oneyearnurse.blogspot.com
riveracnp.blogspot.com
nurseteeny.wordpress.com
johnpaul.tumblr.com

... so i'm not sure that the general public needs to know my own harrowing tales from nursing school, but i thought that maybe friends/family would be curious to read the (very) occasional update. however, i tried setting up a new blog template the other day and it took me at least 3 hours to create a pre-fab ugly-as-all-hell blog with zero content and i had not one nice image to use as a banner so i just gave up. if/when the nurse blog is up and running, though, you'll be the first to know. happy friday!

for the future nurse

2008-03-05T19:28:00.000-08:00

not to cast doubt on your motivations, of course. this one just had your chic haircut.
besides, you've already got a doctor!

congratulations!!!

among the fallen

2008-02-15T19:21:00.000-08:00

Does the couple that quests together stay together?

reputable news source yahoo!news reports that the virtual RPG world of warcraft is having some real-life casualties. my favorite part is when 'well-spoken' victim jocelyn shares the progression of her disintegrating marriage:

"I bought the game for him for Christmas 2004, when it first came out. By May we had our first serious discussion about where our marriage was going, and by September I had moved out," she said.

as the 'offline' half of ay chico!, i'll leave critical analysis of this latest bit of WoW news to our resident draenei babe.

LCP: take THIS bread

2008-02-02T12:42:00.001-08:00

in an attempt to make up for the fact that about 50% of my 2007 reading list* consisted of young adult fiction, i'm trying to add a little diversity** to this year's picks. my current strategy is to check out library books with abandon in the hopes that, eventually, their overwhelming presence will inspire me to actually read one. failing that, there's still the chance that i'll accidentally pick something like this when i'm reaching for the amber spyglass (again).

now it's only february, but the results of this experiment in non-fiction reading are not encouraging. save for mounting late fees and a few new recipes (since i've decided cookbooks count as non-fiction), i would say the data points to an overall decline in reading. before i draw any hasty conclusions about the general unreadability of popular science writing, memoirs, and self-help books, i have to entertain the possibility that the fault lies in my selections.
take this book for example. i had high hopes for this book--a spot on npr, mention from z, set in san francisco, an amusing, if overdone, cover. it promised to be a short and sweet (and, fingers crossed, enlightening) read. but my progress, slow from the outset, has effectively stopped. the problem is that by page 30 ms. miles has already realized half a dozen of my dreams. she's studying in mexico, working as a chef, traveling, writing and working in nicaragua...oh, and all this by twenty-something as far as i can tell. rather than inspire, this frenzied activity only makes me want to throw in the towel--on this book, on this decade. since i'm obviously waay behind schedule on this whole life thing, i think i will just gracefully withdraw. maybe i'll give it another go when i'm thirty.

it's fitting then that when i make bread, i opt for a recipe that requires the minimum effort. at laura's request, the recipe for the mythical no-knead bread follows. since i can't even be bothered to knead a ball of dough for more than 15 seconds, one can hardly expect that i'll type out the instructions word for word.

Almost No-Knead Bread (from Cook's Illustrated)

3 C all purpose flour (or 2 C APF and 1 C WW flour)
1/4 tsp instant yeast
1 1/2 tsp table salt
3/4 C plus 2 T water, at room temp
1/4 C plus 2 T mild-flavored beer
1 T vinegar
(2 T honey if opting for the whole wheat version)

mix all those ingredients together in a bowl until a shaggy dough forms. cover bowl with plastic wrap and let sit at room temperature for 8-18 hours.

finish the beer you had to open to make the bread. maybe have another. the bread likes attention and rises faster if you check it every half hour so.

transfer dough to a floured work surface and knead 10-15 times. transfer dough to a parchment-lined skillet. oil surface of bread and cover loosely with plastic wrap. let rise until doubled in size, about 2 hours.

30 minutes before baking, preheat cast-iron dutch oven in an 500 degree oven. lightly flour top of dough, make a slit across the top, and, using the parchment paper, lower the dough into the dutch oven. replace lid. reduce temperature to 425 and bake covered for 30 min. remove lid and continue to bake for 20-30 min longer. remove bread from pot, transfer to wire rack and cool to room temp., about 2 hours.

*presently, 2008's list is 100% young adult fiction
** see how much i love diversity?

the writing process

2008-01-23T19:25:00.000-08:00

and a recent example of why zena should be everyone's editor:

"Conclusion: Nice short paragraph about how you are the total package"

LCP: muffins for the birds

2008-01-10T22:26:00.000-08:00

in preparation for the great vegan wheat-free apricot-bedazzled knock-off cookie bake (a lawsuit from whole foods will deem the winner), i present the inaugural little chef post for ay chico!

though she may dispute this claim, i'd like to think that z and i started down the whole grain highway together. granted, z was compressing whole wheat sandwich bread into dense little balls back when david bowie still graced the rear bumper of her car*, but in the kitchen at least, i think it was joint venture. our first steps were cautious--brown rice, whole wheat couscous, an early corn and quinoa experiment courtesy of menacing spoon-wielding deb (every bit as exacting as smiley deb, but with less pictures).
for the most part, we've kept apace of the other through the years. when it comes to millet, however, i fear i may have lost my traveling companion.
criticisms aimed at this humble grain run the gamut from long cooking time to an intolerable crunchiness in the finished product. with any luck, the following recipe will kill two birds with one muffin!

Birdseed Muffins**
not only does the millet go into the batter raw(!), but the crunch factor is what redeems these otherwise plain-jane muffins. recipe clandestinely scribbled (and necessarily adapted) from this book in the cookbook section at borders.

2 C whole wheat white flour
1 1/2 tsp baking power
3/4 tsp cinnamon
1/2 tsp salt
3/4 C millet (sources tell me this may benefit from a brief toasting on the stovetop-- i decided to save the 5 minutes and just dumped it in the bowl)
1/3 C sugar

1 C milk
1 egg
4 T melted butter
1 1/2 tsp vanilla

Preheat oven to 375 degrees. Mix dry ingredients together in one bowl. Whisk the wet ingredients together in another. Make a well in the dry ingredients and pour in the liquids. Mix together until just combined--don't overmix! Divide batter among 12 paper-lined muffin tins.
Bake 20-25 minutes. Let rest 30 minutes before serving.
Best eaten toasted with jam!

* now this adorns the rear bumper of her car
** alternative moniker could be smallpox muffins, but that's probably a backward step for the pro-millet campaign..

HAPPY BIRTHDAY AY CHICO!

2007-10-27T18:09:00.001-07:00

inspired by k's new mudblood crush AND aychico's first birthday (how the hell did that happen?!), i am very pleased to return to the blogosphere. yes, it has been an overly long hiatus and this, a terribly overdue post. dear readers, i am sorry to have let you down. but you must understand that there are many distractions competing for my attention these days: killing panthers for the nesingwary expedition camp, scouting for nursing schools in attractive locales, assembling the perfect steampunk ensemble for fall, feeding the bitch, bringing home the bacon, learning chemistry from satan, and finally, more often that not, dreaming about my future as a mountain mama with lots of babies (legal, not bastards) to boot!

i am still on page 424 of TIJ, which is to say, though much time has passed and though i keep myself busy, not a whole lot has changed.

it's good to be back.

my (future) half-breed boyfriend

2007-10-26T21:24:00.000-07:00

Listening to NPR today, I learned that major league baseball has it's first Navajo player, Jacoby Ellsbury.

Now baseball's always been a hard sell for me, but to Ellsbury I extend a warm Ya-ta-HEEEY! Half-Navajo, 6'1", AND Oregon-born...I may have it in me to become a Red Sox fan after all!

Editor's Note: Since its contributors together make one whole Navajo, the use of terms like 'half-breed' on Ay Chico! is permitted. Persons who are 1/16th Native American or less are advised against using such derogatory language so recklessly.

Know your party options! or, Pro-Choice Party Planning

2007-07-18T20:27:00.000-07:00

Like all important life choices, our discussion of whether to have a dinner party began after a drink or two. Maybe we were seduced by the endless promise of a mid-summer night, or perhaps it was just beer-fueled bonhomie, but early this week, aLo and decided there was nothing we'd rather do than have a party together.

Not only was it the perfect season for it, but it also seemed like we were finally ready to give party-throwing another go. After all, I was gainfully employed again, we'd passively agreed to stick around LA for another year, and, we reasoned, cohabitants far less responsible than we had parties all the time!
Plus, I'd been ready to parent some kind of soiree since the summer issues of Fine Cooking and Cook's Illustrated hit the stands. Heavy on the entertaining tips year-round, Chris Kimball and Co. really pull out the stops once July/August rolls around.

We went over all the little details that any pair of expecting entertainers would. After some debate we included a handful of confirmed no-shows on the guest list (simultaneously providing a little boost to our friend numbers and a salve for the guilty conscience); picked a time that ensured the majority would arrive before 9 but discouraged any sleep-overs (7:30); crunched the numbers til we arrived at the perfect food:drink ratio. I was already thinking of what we would call our little bundle of joy when we sent out the invites!

We were going to be hostesses!

Then, with the seed of our weekend spree only just planted, doubt set in.
Dinner the following night was a quieter affair, both of us pointedly avoiding the topic of the party we planned to bring into the world a few days hence.
Were we really ready to be the hostesses of a 15+ person dinner party? All my confidence drained away as I imagined our apartment come Saturday: the kitchen and living room transformed into an earthly Hell by my stubborn insistence that a broiler was a fitting substitute for a grill, our friends forced to stand around stiffly and stickily for lack of chairs, countertops filled with dishes in every stage of preparation but not a single one ready to be served. It was a sobering sight.

When we final worked up the nerve to address our unanticipated misgivings, aLo and I made the only choice we could: we aborted the weekend dinner party.

This isn't to say that we won't have an all-out party someday, just not this Saturday.
In the meantime, we think it's best to just take things slow. Which is why we've opted for the party equivalent of a goldfish, or maybe a hamster: a good old-fashioned Get-together. Guest list: 3.

Y.D.F.W.B.C.*

2007-04-24T18:06:00.000-07:00

When the number of pages standing between me and the end of DFW's massive tome slipped below 70, I began to suffer a wholly unexpected sense of anxiety. The seemingly unresolvable story lines were a concern, yes, but the bulk of my worries were more personal. Now that completion was imminent, what would I do when I actually finished? How would I possibly fill the surfeit of hours in a day without IJ?
Try as I might to draw out those final pages, the much-anticipated end came this weekend. And just as I foretold, I feel like there's a pretty sizable rectangular -shaped hole in my life now. Almost like 1.4 lbs of me just up and walked away.

***

When our ragtag bunch of readers first embarked on this literary odyssey there was talk of using ¡Ay Chico! as an online forum for book group discussions. This lofty plan was hatched during our sole book group meeting** and by the second mojito, I think we'd all pretty much forgotten about it.
But perhaps it's time to revisit those early schemes! Since some of our number are still in the stifling and clammy grip of IJ, I'll kick things off with something completely subjective and largely unrelated to the text itself.

1) Of the following words/phrases, which are most likely to infiltrate your everyday conversation and why? An example of usage follows each term.

- X
e.g. "Man, that woman with the build of a linebacker and suspiciously askew breasts is so hot, I would totally X her."
- eliminate one's map (including variations involving reconfiguration, etc.)
e.g. "Don't even think about calling Zena 'ma'am' unless you want your map seriously fucking reconfigured."
- the Moms/Himself
This pair is pretty self-explanatory, I think.
- tit on a plate
e.g. "For a chemical engineer -cum-playa veteran, reading about the chemical structure of countless drugs must be tit on a plate!"
- eating cheese (and variations thereof)
e.g. "Provided none of my coworkers eats cheese, my less-than stellar performance at work these last couple weeks will go unnoticed."
- Yrstruly
again, obvious, but e.g. "It's a shame yrstruly has already forgotten the majority of this book!"

Feel free to add to the list, team!
A little extra help finding things here.

* Year of the David Foster Wallace Book Club
** 75% attendance

PFK: peperonata pizza

2007-04-04T15:30:00.000-07:00

As requested by my squinty k, I present the peperonata recipe from Deborah Madison's "The Greens Cookbook"

Peperonata Pizza (makes one 10" pizza)

1 recipe pizza dough (see below)
1 T olive oil
2 red bell peppers (or 1 red, 1 yellow)
1/2 lb canned tomatoes, chopped
1 bay leaf
1/4 t dried thyme
3 cloves garlic, finely chopped
salt
pepper
2 T garlic oil (ie, minced garlic covered with oil for coating the dough)
2-3 oz mozzarella, grated
2-3 oz provolone, grated
a few cherry or pear tomatoes, sliced into halves or quarters
parmesan
4 T basil, cut into ribbons

Prepare pizza dough and set aside to rise in a warm place

Heat olive oil in skillet, saute bell peppers for 4 min over high heat. Add tomatoes, bay leaf, thyme, and garlic. Once tomato is bubbling, reduce heat and simmer for 10-15 min. Season w/salt and pepper. Raise heat at end of 15 min if necessary in order to reduce any extra liquid.

Preheat over to 500F (and if using pizza stone, warm stone for 20 min)

Shape dough. Brush with garlic oil and then add the peperonata mixture. Distribute mozzarella and provolone, arrange pear/cherry tomatoes on top, and season with salt and pepper.

Slide pizza onto the stone and bake on top shelf of the oven for 8-12 min, or until the edges and bottom are browned and the cheeses melted. Remove pizza from oven and garnish with parmesan and basil.

Invite a zinfandel tipple to dance in your mouth with the peperonata delight!

Pizza dough (makes one 10" pizza)

3 T hot water
3 T milk
1/2 package of active dry yeast
pinch of sugar
1 T olive oil
1/4 t salt
1 T rye flour
2 T whole wheat flour
5/8 C unbleached white flour

Combine water and milk (the mixture should not be much warmer than body temperature). Add yeast and sugar; stir to dissolve yeast. Mix in the olive oil, salt, rye flour, and ww flour. Gradually add white flour, stirring to make a soft, workable dough ("Make it work!"). Add only enough flour to keep the dough from sticking- the dough should be a little moist. Turn it out into a lightly floured surface and knead it for about 5 min. Put the dough into an oiled bowl and turn it once so the surface is coated in oil. Cover the bowl and let the dough rise in a warm place until it has doubled in bulk, about 35-40 min.

The Bicycle Diaries (Part 2): Casual Encounter 4 Life

2007-02-18T12:36:00.000-08:00

After a considerable mourning period, I decided it was time to move on with my life. Outlook would have wanted it.
However, when the haze of my whisky-drenched grief gave way to clear-headed sobriety, I realized I had been out of the game for some time. Granted, I'd had the occasional tryst, but nothing serious. Now it seemed that finding and securing a Good Bike was no longer the purview of my parents. Times had changed and I would have to change with them!
My first forays into the vast world of online bike hunting were disappointing. A "vintage" racing bike down in central LA turned out to be ratty, rusty number who could barely outrun the local helado push-cart. A promising road bike over at USC was, contrary to his supposed availability, still very much involved with some overbearing strumpet (or, "grad student").

Just when I was ready to resign myself to a life of bipedal solitude, fortune found me in the back alleys of craigslist: the casual encounters page. There, nestled unobtrusively between 'TRUE BELIEVER-IN SEARCH OF A REAL BEAUTIFUL WOMAN' and 'Turkish student looking for a friend as I visit', was my future: a svelte, speedy little Schwinn looking for a good time.

That was over a month ago and we're still going strong. Thanks craigslist!

Here's Schwinn getting acquainted with the other resident bike:
I'll have to keep an eye on those two..

The Bicycle Diaries (Part 1): A Fond Farewell to a Friend

2007-01-23T14:31:00.000-08:00

Diamondback Outlook, ?-2006

Diamondback Outlook, a stalwart bicycle of uncomprising character and long-time resident of Palo Alto, CA, died this last October. His age was unknown. So unexpected was his passing, it is only now, nearly three months later, that we find the strength to compose this obituary. The family suspects that foul-play was involved in his death.*

Little is known of Outlook's early years. Likely having his start in some factory in China, Outlook was uncharacteristically quiet about this period of his life. Though shrouded in the murky shadows of the past, one can conjecture that this was a tumultuous and troubled time, no doubt marked by constant relocation from warehouse to warehouse as he sold off various parts to finance an increasingly addictive opium habit.
By the time Outlook made his way to Palo Alto in the late 90's, he had cleaned up his act and was ready for new beginning. Life in this arcadian college town agreed with our weary traveler. He welcomed the familiar journey between home and school, with detours every so often to the more exotic locales of grocery store and library. Despite this relatively quiet existence, Outlook was no stranger to the occasional late night spree. He further proved that suburban life had in no way dulled his mountain bike breeding, making not one, but three separate trips to the harsh climes of the Nevada desert.

Unfortunately, this tranquility was rarely mirrored in his personal relationship with a temperamental history student. Nevertheless, Outlook proved to be a steadfast and constant companion, weathering the vicissitudes of a nearly decade long romance. Despite the promise of their first few years, domestic bliss was soon threatened by the philandering of his young partner (including, most recently, her brief fling with a younger hybrid model during a stay in Providence, RI). Throughout these trials, Outlook remained loyal to his fickle amour. His patience was ultimately rewarded and the two were reunited this summer. At the time of his death, the couple were making preparations to start a new life together in Los Angeles.
Outlook is survived by his now pedestrian lover and a rear bike light.

* An investigation is still underway, but prime suspects are the family.

Look for me on QVC!

2007-01-10T11:34:00.000-08:00

Through some baffling oversight, it would seem that the new year has cast me as social butterfly, newly emerged from the isolated chrysalis of 2006. With engagements lined up from Palms to Pasadena, this last weekend involved more travel and conversation than I typically see in a month. A happy consequence of rubbing elbows and other parts with LA's elite has been the meeting of that fabled Hollywood archetype: the aspiring writer/director/studio slave!
My excitement at finding these real-life examples of what was fast achieving mythical status in my mind is such that I can't help but press them for more information. Mention studios, agents, movie deals or Sundance and I'm all attention and encouragement. I even find myself asking the question I pointedly avoided when I encountered the Kerouac (and now Eggers) aspirants that proliferate ‘round the college campuses: “So, what do you write?”

I admit that this line of questioning is equal parts curiosity, mockery, and diversionary tactic. The longer I can keep them talking about their work, the longer I can put off answering the inevitable questions about mine (aka, the "summer" job that has become winter, and now, spring job). However, what started as polite interest has since developed a professional nature. I don't know if it was the fascinating description of the role of production assistants, the daily walks past any of the three studios in a two-block radius of my apartment, or simply proximity to that inspiring Hollywood sign, but I realize now that the solution to my career woes is right in front of me--television!
Why I didn't see it before is beyond me. I like television, after all. And now, thanks to TV on DVD and alloftv.net (courtesy of Z and Nicholas "finger on the pulse" Lowe, respectively), I'm watching it again. The way I figure it, I have a few paths I could pursue:
1. Put my name to good use and replicate the televsion success of the homonymous Lt. Thrace and Kara Saun. I think I can handle the drinking and smoking of the former. Matching the satorial talent of the latter could prove challenging...but I'll just play up the whole same name thing.
2. Take my amateur culinary creations to the small screen, à la Rachel or Giada. What I lack in perkiness or cleavage I can make up for in bizarre facial expressions!
3. Ride on the future screenwriting success of friend and coworker, Pepito. Maybe I can get him to write a part for me in a hit telenovela.

So before too long, I'll be trading in my living room for yours! Stay tuned!

happy new year!

2007-01-05T17:47:00.000-08:00

until i can figure how to upload big pics to blogger, i will have to provide a link.

poop

2006-12-08T14:48:00.000-08:00

how much poop could a poop-dog poop if a poop-dog could poop poop?

no, that doesn't work as nearly as well as the woodchuck song/tongue-twister. all the same, i needed good way to segue into the business of shit since the first day after my bday has been full of it. this morning, roxie, boston-terrier extraordinaire, defied routine regularity by pooping (successfully) 8 times on our mile long walk. in addition, there were many failed poop attempts that made ME look like the shitty dog owner, letting her dog poop all over pristine palo alto without bothering to pick up (and you know how i like to keep up my image).

other poop themes of the week include:
1) "theses" kind of rhymes with "feces".
2) side effects of iron supplements: they turn your stool black.

gross! happy friday.

responsibility

2006-12-07T19:12:00.000-08:00

readers might have noticed that one contributor to ¡ay chico! isn't exactly pulling her weight around here. however, before you leave angry comments and/or pleas for a respite from entries by kah, let me state that zah is off the hook for today.
it's her birthday!!
so she's off celebrating her twenty-eight years with the now single vince vaughn.

that's him in the back.

happy birthday z!!!

entomophobia

2006-12-07T16:37:00.000-08:00

the spider-in-the-bed incident* of last week had barely been filed away as memory before i was tested by another harrowing experience. today i faced that most reviled of insects, the one that i had managed to avoid meeting in close confines for all of my twenty-two years: a cockroach.

paralyzed for about five minutes, and then reduced to frantic pacing, all the while keeping an eye on the intruder, i contemplated my next move. my lease isn't up til july, but six months' rent seemed a small price to pay for the ability to sleep at night. i obviously couldn't kill this thing. informed by ani difranco lyrics tenaciously lodged in my brain since middle school, i was all too aware that this guy could leave "a puddle of pus on my wall." leaving it alone wasn't an option either. it would probably scuttle off to lay a billion little cockroach eggs somewhere in the apartment. with my luck, it had probably already started a little brood somewhere in the vicinity of my bed. nono, this thing had to be stopped now. armed with a piece of rolled-up cardboard in the event that i had a runner on my hands, i feigned a gutsiness i certainly didn't feel and imprisoned the bastard with an empty can. for good measure, i put a heavy metal stapler on top, lest it display legendary insectan strength and lift the can off itself.

whenever i display a squeamishness about bugs, my mom likes to wistfully recall the days when her daughter was made of stronger stuff. in her revisionist history, i appear as a merciless, methodical killer, squashing spiders and silverfish alike with nary a bat of the eyelash. my brother, meanwhile, figures in these reminiscences as a cowering bystander, a foil to my heroic seven-year-old self. i harbor no such delusions about my relationship to the phylum arthropoda; in a showdown, i'm the one that folds. however, even i have had, on occasion, to affect a facade of capability in order to deal with those initial scouts that prelude a full-out infestation. lately, this has involved capturing the offending spider or cricket with a cup and then leaving it there. eventually, i might work up the nerve to release the scourge on the outside world, but if i'm lucky, my housemate alexa will do it for me.

take this most recent visitor, for example. in the course of writing this, alexa has returned home from work and adroitly dispatched of the cockroach in the room. maybe i'll be able to stick around L.A. after all.

*last night, i finished off a spider that looked suspiciously like the one that had been at large since last week.

it's under the envelope.

you got flâneured

2006-11-03T15:05:00.000-08:00

'Don't expect to see too many "Captain Hookers" or "Super Sexy French Maids" tonight.'

Had I seen this advisory featured in the Daily Bruin on October 31st, there's little chance I would have made the drive across town to Westwood that evening. Thankfully, UCLA students remain as nonconformist as ever, blatantly defying this unfortunate trend toward "innovative" rather than "bare-all" costumes. Roaming the streets of Westwood-- with the estimable Dr. Flynn as envoy--, I was privileged to observe what was tantamount to an impromptu floor show. Humps and lovely lady lumps galore! With nary an '-ump' to my name, garbed in a haphazardly constructed mess of grocery bags and packing tape that was a little more Alison than Jeffrey, my interloper status was painfully obvious.

This familiar sense of displacement did not, however, prepare me for the intellectual upbraiding I received a few hours hence. My downfall began when the hostess of a recently evacuated party declared herself to be dressed as a flâneur for Halloween. A quick scan of her jeans, t-shirt and vest offered no visual clues as to what the hell a flâneur was. Nonetheless, I recklessly forged ahead, inquiring about the origins of this as-yet-unfamiliar French term, confident that all that schooling would eventually catch up to the situation at hand. It didn't. The coup de grâce occured when she cited Baudelaire as an example. I admitted ignorance and was served with, "If you don't know who Baudelaire is, then I can't tell you what a flâneur is." Ouch.

My pathetic, stammered attempt to recover lost ground was rightly dismissed. How was I to know that between swigs of rum and Cactus Cooler I would need to recall the course material of an art history class I took four years ago? Truth be told, the clearest memory I have of that class are of the professor's incongruously crisp New Balance sneakers.
Ministering to my wounded pride with more alcohol, I thought of all the information that had already abandoned me, and all that would follow (all the more rapidly now, given my preferred method of self-medication).

Fortunately, the past few days have afforded me a measure of clarity. The sun has set on my college days and it's best to accept this changing of the guard with grace and humility. That young flâneur is the future! Who am I to begrudge her all her knowledge and promise?

Along with this recently acquired wisdom, I have also adopted a new social policy, effective immediately. Before attending any social event I will need to know the academic background and scholarly persuasions of all persons likely to be present. This information must be provided at least five hours prior to said event, but ideally twenty-four or more.
Go ahead, sophmore, bring it. I got a stack of course readers and a lot of free time.

Special game, peanut butter sandwich

2006-10-18T21:11:00.000-07:00

Every now and then, Lance and I like to play a special game. It’s called: “Sock Monkey!” or “Peanut butter nipples!”. It goes like this: whenever we see the dog going down on her sock monkey, we race for the kitchen and grab the peanut butter. We flip a coin to see who goes first.

The winner puts peanut butter all over her body and then mentions something that she’d like to see the loser do to the sock monkey. The loser, in turn, feigns deafness, dumbness, or outright incomprehension. For example:

Zena: “Stick sock monkey’s tail up your corn hole and then race around the apartment at full speed! And don’t let the dog lick this peanut butter off of me!

Lance: “I’m running as fast as I can! I can’t take much more of this you wretched cur!”

It’s just so fun to pretend that you and your partner are fun-loving, carefree kids, crazy in love and veritable Einsteins in the kinky department. To wit:

Lance: “It will be my pleasure to please you (lick, click, bite, bite, nibble, nibble, tease ya). Dime mami”

Zena: “Ay que rico! Ay, ay, ay chico!”

As you can see, our game is really quite fun. You should try it — so long as both players are in on the plan, of course. Otherwise, it could get messy.

But all that said — sock monkeys and special games — I have to admit that even without these diversions, Lance is still the bestest boyfriend in the world and all you readers will never be as cute or as lucky or as happy as me!

(I had planned to post a recipe for a peanut butter sandwich here, but I’m too busy running my fingers through my man’s luxurious chest hair to be bothered.)

imaginary friends, mortal enemies

2006-10-10T21:10:00.000-07:00

many moons ago, i was introduced to orangette (one of the best food blogs that i've seen to date), by kah, who was introduced to the blog by her friend, laura. i have been obsessed, to put it mildly, with blogger molly's gorgeous writing and food pics ever since. i was kind of smitten at first-- i really wished that i could be her friend. we could hang out together in seattle and shop at farmers markets! hell, i even let out a squeak of excitement when i read her post announcing that she had just gotten engaged. i've made suppers of her chana masala, i love her myriad seasonal salads, and i drool over her brunch pics. but this is no love story. no, this story has a dark seedy underbelly. as some of you already know, it's a love/hate relationship between me and the lovely molly. we're the same age, which is unnerving, because she has already cooked/photographed/written more and more beautifully than i will ever write in my lifetime. yes, thanks to orangette, i have more than tapped int to my potential for insane, jealousy-induced rage.

so, i thought it might be fun for you and therapeutic for me if i just publically fessed up to my ridiculous inner competition with this stranger, who i've adopted as an imaginary friend/enemy.

with every orangette post, i go back and forth. friend or foe? a few weeks ago, she pulled some slow cooking shizz (a la deborah madison, whose recipes are tasty, but are painstakingly tedious) where she expounded on the joys of blanching, peeling, and seeding tomatoes (a process that is just so unncessary and unrewarding, right? ...right?) so i said, this is bullshit! i hate you! fuck your blog, i don't care for the new, clean, white blog template, anyways. but THEN miss molly posts this dreamy thing, and i feel like we can save this friendship. i take it all back, white makes for a nice blog background and it's okay that you will always be more dedicated to the kitchen than me.

(by the way, kah, if you're reading this, please make sure you have some overripe bananas sitting on YOUR counter this weekend, please.)

the moral of this story is: coconut-banana things make everything a-okay.

en busca de ketchup

2006-10-05T14:37:00.000-07:00

freed from the confines of a cubicle located directly in front of my boss, i'm becoming aware of the variety of activities a slow work day permits. why, i could start unpacking! update my resume! look for a job!

or i could attempt to verify the authenticity of last night's dinner condiments.

after a few passes by 'Los Balcones de Peru,' i'd accrued enough information from my hurried skimmings of the L.A. Weekly restaurant review in the window to give the place a try. in the absence of my usual dining partner, victor generously agreed to take a break from his regular diet of borscht and vodka to accompany me on my foray in the world of Peruvian cuisine.

apparently, the art of condiment mixing is highly regarded and widely practiced in Peru. in an attempt to make us comfortable, the owner of the restuarant gave us a tutorial in the precise task of blending ketchup, mustard, and a spicy green sauce to yield a distinct Peruvian ketchup (a favorite of the last Incan king, Atahualpa!).

unfortunately, my attempts to investigate further this superior take on the workhorse of American diners have not been terribly fruitful. the green component of is, i learned, called aji (but i don't know that i would trust SoCalTed's rendition of it). also, this sauce is not to be confused with Spanish pop group Las Ketchup, pictured above, whose 2002 hit 'the ketchup song' has become notorious for its glaring omission of this Peruvian variant.
i think a 2003 article from McSweeney's nicely summarizes the take-home lesson from this experience: making ketchup is too hard.

how many babies? so many!

2006-10-02T10:03:00.000-07:00

i entered into a new phase of adulthood this weekend after attending my first-ever-baby shower (as a guest, not as an expecting mama). it was quite an experience and not one that i wish to repeat anytime soon. now, i am someone who generally becomes very animated when i see a fat, happy, gurgling baby. hell, i think i even want to work with little people. but i must admit that was i had not adequately armed myself for this baby bonanza. of the sixteen adults present, only four of us were duds in the evolutionary sense. moms and dads proudly brandished and burped their babies while i emitted a couple cursory ooohs and aaahs and then promptly set to work on my beers. i sought comfort in the unattended spread of appetizers and i cringed as new moms explain to me how they "just lost" their taste for alcohol. the only party animal that i could relate to at the shower (other than my date who was helping me polish off all the remaining coronas in the cooler) was the friendly pitbull with the sad eyes. i could tell that she also understood how it felt to be overwhelmed by so much baby.

the party was a good reminder to me to enjoy my footloose and fancyfree lifestyle while i have it. and if i do become a soccer mom some day, for god's sake, please don't let me get too out of hand!

breakfasting with l. ron

2006-10-01T21:26:00.000-07:00

despite its oft-cited reputation, breakfast has only recently emerged a viable contender for most important meal of my day. dinner, which held the coveted position unchallenged for so long, has had to relinquish the title on more than a few occasions since that fateful day when i discovered the soothing properties of a good bowl of oatmeal. often, it's a fight too close to call, especially considering the accompanying beverages each has in its respective corner. coffee vs. wine -- both hold me in their sway. however, since the former is a socially acceptable addiction, we'll let breakfast take center stage for the moment.

moving to hollywood has provided the occasion for an uncommon number of breakfast outings. as my breakfasts are typically a solitary and painstakingly executed ritual, i consider it a risk to deliver the responsibility of this meal into the hands of strangers. thankfully, i was not alone as i crossed the thresholds of los angeles diners before noon; l. ron was with me.

the ubiquity of scientology takes on a physical dimension in my new neighborhood. my first breakfast out, at the unassuming victor's restaurant, was situated directly across from the Scientology Celebrity Centre International. no sightings with our omelets save for a fellow diner who alexa recognized as an art (read: fake) celebrity.
a few days later, the scientologists had slipped a little in rank, but my eggs were approaching sublimity. in addition to a clear view of the lesser believers relegated to the not-so-exclusive Church of Scientology--the sign out front reinforces this sense of the unexceptional: "Read Dianetics! Millions have!"--, square one dining also served up some amazing breakfast.

from bottom to top: grits* topped by a chantrelle mushroom ragout, two eggs, and feta baked to a crispy golden brown. the unlikely amalgam of textures and flavors contained within that little cast iron skillet--a crunchy crust of feta bits, runny egg yolk, creamy grits--yielded one Pefect Bite after the other.

oh. i also made muffins.

*re: grits, please note that the contributors to 'ay chico!' get excited about eating 'rice & shine.'

two pages double-spaced cannot contain her

2006-09-27T16:36:00.000-07:00

word up, we've got a *superstar* in our midst.
and she's infinitely more attractive than the eponymous har mar over there.
big ups to Z for finishing her nursing app!!

the squirrels are crazy

2006-09-22T10:35:00.000-07:00

Whether due to their unpredictable darting or eerily human-like little hands, squirrels evoke a passionate response in many of my friends. Based on two separate comments and a haphazardly conducted survey over the course of three years, I had decided that black squirrels were a California-specific population -- another little fact I could trot out at polite social gatherings on the East Coast. Kind of like the standing "in line" versus "on line" thing. I had intended this to be a kind of Science Times inquiry into the presence of the black squirrel in Palo Alto, a la the NYT. But alas, it's no longer Tuesday, and after some cusory searching, it turns out that these melanin-blessed rodents aren't so unique to the area after all. And I think it's safe to say that the hitherto unknown white squirrel would take top billing should these little guys decide to take their show to the road.
A little more searching and I discovered that however crazed the university-dwelling squirrels in the U.S. are, they're nothing compared to their desperate, carnivorous Russian counterparts.

From BBC News, December 2005:

Russian squirrel pack 'kills dog'
Squirrels have bitten to death a stray dog which was barking at them in a Russian park, local media report.
Passers-by were too late to stop the attack by the black squirrels in a village in the far east, which reportedly lasted about a minute.
...
"They literally gutted the dog," local journalist Anastasia Trubitsina told Komsomolskaya Pravda newspaper.
"When they saw the men, they scattered in different directions, taking pieces of their kill away with them."

Move over piranhas, these Russians can skeletonize a "big" dog in less than 30 seconds.

the plan

2006-09-18T16:02:00.000-07:00

wonderful news! the sisters have decided to enter the blogosphere as a united front! get ready for recipes, pics, burningman romanticals, and much, much more!

welcome!

2006-09-18T15:40:00.000-07:00

hello! this is my first post. just getting things set up right now, but i'll be putting up real content soon!