I suppose it's unsurprising to find that I've been procrastinating on procraftinating. Not only have I not been posting, I haven't been making. My shiny new sewing maching is sitting sad in the corner where it would thrive with projects if only there existed a table that costs less than the machine itself. Cooking has been dumbed down to boiling water, tossing something in and emptying the contents of my fridge over the strained remains. I haven't bought groceries in weeks so it's been a stomach adventure. With friends visiting, friends moving away and job openings desperate to lead me on, I've been too busy for anything other than fun and rejection. I never meant to take this out on you. You're just an innocent blog that just wanted some posts, maybe even a tag or two. I'm sorry it had to happen like this.
But it gets worse. With only a few people left in town and an overwhelming urge to run in place, I've found just enough idle time to weigh a stubborn thought of returning to school for a chance at a career. Not a job, a career. Fancy thoughts for a fanciful girl. To best chase these thoughts into reality, I have to put on my serious pants, return all my sewing books to the library and pretend I have a real shot at making it in the big girl world. So here I leave you with a second apology as I will be making myself scarce for the unforeseeable future.
I will miss you. I'll visit. Maybe with a pretty picture or an update. Give it time. We can make this work.
7.21.2011
7.05.2011
Garlic Crouton and the Feisty Greens
When I buy a load of bread, what I'm really doing is committing to a week of sandwiches. And I'm a sucker for a well-constructed sandwich. The bread is generally an overlooked ingredient but having made hundreds of sandwiches myself, I can attest that bread choice is where the crafting begins.
As bread slowly stales on its fridge throne, it becomes less and less sandwichable and, so long as mold busies itself with other spoilage endeavors, more and more French-toastable. Despite the yum factor, the plan is obviously flawed with daily potential to wake up to a science project in place of breakfast. The anticipation is usually too much to bear so I'm prone to chopping up the remaining bread into friendly little squares for croutonization, a noble death for any and all unwanted load ends.
The choice of shape is only dependent on where your imagination and knife can take you. I tossed these bad boys in some olive oil followed with many dashes of dried basil and thyme, a healthy sprinkle of salt and a handful of garlic powder. It's easy to overload on herbs here. Such power of restraint can seldom be wielded by mortals. Garlic enthusiasts might go nutzo with their garlic blends, prying open the plastic hatches for better dusting ability. I urge you to chase that feeling, but with taste testing caution. Once I found the flavor best suited to my salad style, I panned the final product for a 350 degree air bath.
With the occasional mid-bake toss, the soft squares turned crunchy by the half hour mark. As it cooled, I took turned my eyes to my humble little arugula plant.
With a few swift and satisfying cuts, I took down the entire plant, dressed it with cherry tomatoes, croutons, oil and vinegar and called it lunch.
A pathetically small lunch, but a punchy one. The arugula was particularly zesty without being overly spicy. After my five-bite amuse bouche, I cut up the roots with a knife, planted a few more seeds in the still nutritious-looking soil and hoped for the best. Then I went in search of a bigger meal.
As bread slowly stales on its fridge throne, it becomes less and less sandwichable and, so long as mold busies itself with other spoilage endeavors, more and more French-toastable. Despite the yum factor, the plan is obviously flawed with daily potential to wake up to a science project in place of breakfast. The anticipation is usually too much to bear so I'm prone to chopping up the remaining bread into friendly little squares for croutonization, a noble death for any and all unwanted load ends.
The choice of shape is only dependent on where your imagination and knife can take you. I tossed these bad boys in some olive oil followed with many dashes of dried basil and thyme, a healthy sprinkle of salt and a handful of garlic powder. It's easy to overload on herbs here. Such power of restraint can seldom be wielded by mortals. Garlic enthusiasts might go nutzo with their garlic blends, prying open the plastic hatches for better dusting ability. I urge you to chase that feeling, but with taste testing caution. Once I found the flavor best suited to my salad style, I panned the final product for a 350 degree air bath.
With the occasional mid-bake toss, the soft squares turned crunchy by the half hour mark. As it cooled, I took turned my eyes to my humble little arugula plant.
7.02.2011
The First Law of Garden Physics
The First Law of Garden Physics states: An unused pot will remain unused unless an external life force enters it and makes it their home.
The remaining laws are still a mystery to this lady posing as an amateur gardener. I wouldn't even call it a garden. It's more of a pot parade. Soon to be a plant parade.
After audio-booking Michael Pollan's In Defense of Food some months back, I've unsurprisingly been plotting to start a garden of the edible variety. There was much talk of this without any action, as it goes. Earlier this month I found the happy option of fresh basil plant for just a dollar more than the suffocated leaves that usually go bad within the week, likely well after I've remembered to buy pine nuts for a pesto. The plant wrappings seemed to imply that the plant was not long for the world, only that my basil would be fresh upon cutting, eventually leaving a naked stalk to be thrown out and replaced by yet another three dollar plant. Rebel that I am, I replanted the little fellow after finding it replenishing itself merrily with kitchen window sunlight and forgetful dribbles of water. Here's the little guy now:
He's kept his handsome figure but has been sprouting from the bottom ever since he got a fresh load of nutrients from below. Being my first plant in the garden, modest yet enduring, I felt a little guilty bringing home the monster bouquet of basil I impulsively bought while grocery shopping.
I also may have offended my new arugula plant by bringing home new seeds. And even after it toiled all night to push out two yellow flowers just to impress me and the bees.
Having read that basil flowers can detract from the bright flavors of its leaves, I turned back to the internets to see if I should cut these pretty little things off. Turns out, they're more of an indicator of when to throw an arugula feast. In fact, they pack some edible heat themselves with a kick of spice not unlike radishes (TIL: radishes are spicy-ish). I plan on mutilating the plant tonight for a salad and will report back with flower munching results.
Once I transferred the new additions, the intimidation level dropped. Unleashed, the basil looked like it was plucked from a sprawling Victorian garden with its leafy tentacles reaching outwards instead of upwards. The arugula seeds filled the vacant pots with specks and promises. Here I've provided a group mugshot for later comparison.
And I'll end with a quick note to anyone who might stumble across this new blog of mine: I don't actually know what I'm doing. I'm blazing through life as a permanent novice. So I welcome all the critique or advice you have time to muster.
After audio-booking Michael Pollan's In Defense of Food some months back, I've unsurprisingly been plotting to start a garden of the edible variety. There was much talk of this without any action, as it goes. Earlier this month I found the happy option of fresh basil plant for just a dollar more than the suffocated leaves that usually go bad within the week, likely well after I've remembered to buy pine nuts for a pesto. The plant wrappings seemed to imply that the plant was not long for the world, only that my basil would be fresh upon cutting, eventually leaving a naked stalk to be thrown out and replaced by yet another three dollar plant. Rebel that I am, I replanted the little fellow after finding it replenishing itself merrily with kitchen window sunlight and forgetful dribbles of water. Here's the little guy now:
He's kept his handsome figure but has been sprouting from the bottom ever since he got a fresh load of nutrients from below. Being my first plant in the garden, modest yet enduring, I felt a little guilty bringing home the monster bouquet of basil I impulsively bought while grocery shopping.
Having read that basil flowers can detract from the bright flavors of its leaves, I turned back to the internets to see if I should cut these pretty little things off. Turns out, they're more of an indicator of when to throw an arugula feast. In fact, they pack some edible heat themselves with a kick of spice not unlike radishes (TIL: radishes are spicy-ish). I plan on mutilating the plant tonight for a salad and will report back with flower munching results.
Once I transferred the new additions, the intimidation level dropped. Unleashed, the basil looked like it was plucked from a sprawling Victorian garden with its leafy tentacles reaching outwards instead of upwards. The arugula seeds filled the vacant pots with specks and promises. Here I've provided a group mugshot for later comparison.
10.27.2010
7.10.2010
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