Year in Review

On Boxing Day I made a big decision: I am not going abroad in my junior year. With this new development in mind, today I revised my life plan and it is now much more manageable. Still not looking forward to taking physics, but hopefully it will improve the way I look at movement and the human body rather than make me tear my hair out. Over the past few days, all I've thought about is the future, so I think I'll take a break and spend a moment considering the past.


All things considered, my year has been good but not great. I declared my major, figured out what direction I wanted my life to take, choreographed a piece by myself that really came together, and was a kitchen manager for a brief period. This semester, I learned more about movement than I have in years in the strangest ways. I learned that listening to your body and moving the way it's pushing you to move opens up untapped treasures of knowledge: an unconventional thought, but it's the truth. Declaring as dance major has done me good, and will do me good, and I say, "God bless it!"

I've also experienced a lot of stress and pain. Half of my Smith friends went on medical leave this year, I lost an extraordinary cat, and I learned that the life of a baker is less about people extolling the virtues of your flaky pie crust and more about rolling dough alone in the kitchen while your friends have a dance party without you. I've felt hurt and betrayed. I've felt lonely and lost and angry, but I can always find solace in God and a good dance class.

TRIGGER WARNING: SOPPILY RELIGIOUS. I was very slipshod this semester; I didn't go to Mass nearly as often as I should have and I still haven't been to confession. Of course, at camp, I couldn't go to Mass, which led me to realize that I feel more comfortable when I know that there's a Catholic church near wherever I'm living. I need to know that I can get to a church when I need to, and I have to attend Mass regularly so I know automatically where to turn. The most difficult times for me are the times when there is nothing I can do to change a situation, and those are the times when I need to remember that God is always there.

I'm very lucky to have good friends and good people in my life. I have friends I can count on, who made me a birthday cake with a swan on it, who watched Legend of Korra with me, beatbox like champs, were guinea pigs for choreography even though they don't know how to dance. I've even made some new friends this semester! I will never stop being grateful for these crazy beautiful people who bring color and texture and life-sized mannequins into my world.

I won't be sorry to see this year end, but I look forward to becoming a better, smarter, kinder, stronger person than I am now. I'm going to win at 2013.

Sloth

Today was the laziest day I've had in a long time. Chem was canceled because we had an exam, but since I had already taken it, I lounged around doing nothing. Then at work, I realized that it was a fire drill, and I was only there for half an hour. There's plenty of stuff that needs doing and I didn't do any of it, and now I'm disgusted with myself. I know I';m doing it because my semester isn't busy enough and I'm not taking enough classes. Thank God I'll be busier next semester. I hate being this lazy.

OOH OOH OOH

Also, I got into Bare Bones! My dance will be shown on Saturday, December 8th at 7pm.

Scheduling my life

I've kinda-sorta registered for all my classes for spring semester! And they are as follows:

Organic Chemistry
Cell Biology
Dance in the New Millennium (300-level)
Dance in the Community
Ballet IV

I'm especially excited for Dance in the Community, because we'll get to perform for people and teach dance workshops! It'll be amazing! I was planning on taking Statistics, but I think that'll have to happen over the summer while I do my PRAXIS. I'm sure it'll be easier than taking Bio over the summer. This is more of a balance between science and dance, plus I'll take care of one of my 300 level requirements.

As usual, an evening of tweaking my schedule turned into obsessing over graduate school. (Yessssss.) BU actually seems like it's trying to seduce me, with its 99.5% graduation rate and 100% of its student body finding jobs within 6 months after graduation. I would love to stay in Massachusetts, and I'd especially love to stay in Boston. I like the idea of moving to a city and discovering it for myself. Caroline lived in Boston a few summers ago and my mom went there for undergrad, but I've only been twice and I'd love to explore and learn about it. I think it would be an excellent place to hide in my apartment and study, but I guess pretty much any city is suited for those purposes.

Smoothing out the wrinkles

Tomorrow is the adjudication for the Bare Bones concert-- for all intents and purposes, a super important audition. I was having mini panic attacks thinking about it, and worrying about it, and worrying that it's Monday evening right now and I forgot to go, and I worked myself up into knots of anxiety when I decided to read my favorite book and take a bath.

I Capture the Castle is a book I keep around just in case I need comfort. Normally when I have a problem I talk to my sisters, but since this isn't a problem that they can help me solve, it makes sense to turn to a book. When I picked it up this weekend I had the happy realization that the character Neil kind of reminds me of my brother-in-law (which is complicated in the context of the plot, but I'm talking about the character alone). I swear I wasn't trying to make that happen, but I'm glad that it did.

Lying in the bath calmed me down significantly, and reading the tail end of the novel completely took my mind off my worries. I consider myself very fortunate that my stress and anxiety is often dispelled by cups of hot tea, guided meditation, or taking a dance class. At the end of such activities I have a fresh perspective and feel at least somewhat revived. It's good to be so easy to please.

Hurriposting

Top 5 Recipes: A Wish List (as in, recipes I want to make):

1. Miso Soup
2. Julia Child's Soupe a l'Oignion
3. Baguette (for real this time)
4. Lemon curd. (It's just such a pleasurable experience.)
5. Any kind of gumbo so I can practice making a roux

But as for things I can't stop thinking about eating:

1. Brutti ma Buoni, these amazing Italian cookies my Aunt Grace makes whose name translates to "ugly but good." Italians, you kill it on a regular basis. 
2. Chicken with 40 cloves of garlic as described by Smitten Kitchen

I'm not even hungry, I just keep thinking about roasted chicken, garlic, and those cookies.

So. Not last post but the post before, I told you that there's a book I loved as a child but would not let my own children go near. This statement is not entirely accurate. When I was but a lass, I read these books obsessively (yeah, I know, that doesn't narrow it down. I have an obsessive personality; sue me.) but did not realize, no matter how many times my family told me, that these books were seriously creepy, to the point where I'd be uncomfortable with my child reading them. This is a universe where no one ever dies...even if they've been chopped into tiny pieces with a cleaver or eaten by a dragon. I'm talking about....

I took great pride in having read all fourteen in the series, plus Sea Fairies and The Life and Times of Santa Claus to boot. I didn't have any classmates who had read that many....or any of them, actually. My parents had read them all....I think, at some point, but years and years ago, so I couldn't talk to anybody about these crazy-ass books that I loved so much. 

I'm conflicted about the Oz books because I was not in a great emotional place when I became obsessed with them. When I was nine, I didn't have any friends and my teacher was the first adult I had ever met who did not like me. Do you remember meeting your first adult who didn't like you, or at least didn't like you as much as you were used to being liked? I was used to people loving me, or at least putting up with my weirdness, but Mrs. Lonergan (name burned into my brain via shame and humiliation) did not tolerate a child as silly as I was, and I did not know how to respond to this treatment. So for a full year, I retreated into books (and as I later realized, dance), because I literally did not have anywhere else to go. I was in an emotional state where I didn't see how messed up the Oz books were. I just saw that they were pretty and shiny and the mean guys were punished. 

Apart from the super-creepy "you never die, no matter how hard you try or how much you're suffering" thing that Baum states at least once in every book, the world is pretty awesome! There's a village made of people who are puzzles, there are miniature pigs who do tricks, everyone's pretty much nice all the time, and there's basically no poverty. My favorite of the series has always been The Road to Oz, because it has the most interesting and unusual characters. For example: 

Johnny Doo it, capable of solving any problem ever.

The Shaggy Man, who's basically a hobo, only he possesses the Love Magnet, so everyone loves him and does whatever he wants. He's friends with Johnny Doo it for this reason. He's just irresistible. 

And of course, Polychrome, daughter of the rainbow, who eats things like dew-drops and mist-cakes and whines a lot. But she's hot, so she can get away with it. 

It's a magical world....but still super weird. What do you think? Are the Oz books too creepy to let your kids read? I doubt I could handle reading them to my children. 

Swiss Pumpkin: Reichl disappoints

When I was growing up, I loved reading Ruth Reichl's autobiographical book Tender At the Bone. I identified with a child who grew up in the kitchen, as my parents regarded my sisters and I as really short sous chefs. (Parents, I jest.) I once tried to make a tart that she describes as transcendental, but I found it pretty pedestrian. "Surely," I thought, "surely I must have gotten it wrong!" I tried closing my eyes while eating it, but it was seriously underwhelming.

I'm beginning to think Ruth Reichl is just terrible at recipes (not to mention relationships. Burn!), because yesterday, Alice and I made her recipe for Swiss Pumpkin and it was terrible. We had gotten a free pumpkin at Harvest Fest, and weren't sure what to do with it, so I suggested this recipe that I had read about so many times. Reichl invented it and apparently made it multiple times for lots of people, all of whom received it favorably.

Here's how it works. You hollow out a pumpkin, layer it with French bread and some kind of Swiss cheese, then fill it up with cream and bake it at 300 for 2 hours. Simple enough. I remembered my mother making this for us when I was little, ladling out pumpkin soup straight from the pumpkin. We swapped cream for whole milk because we could get that free from the dining halls and took some cheddar from lunch. I knew it probably wouldn't taste as strong, but figured it would work out fine. For bread we went to Hungry Ghost and got a French batard that had made astounding French toast that day for breakfast. Everything was ready to go.

I first became suspicious when the recipe called for hardly any seasoning. Nutmeg, black pepper, and salt was all that was mentioned. We added some fresh chives from my Mason jar garden, but for some reason the spices were added last, on top of the milk. Then the pumpkin started to leak from the bottom. It was a little leak, but we were worried that all the milk would dribble out and the whole thing would be ruined. Desperate, we stopped up the bottom with extra bread and baked it in a baking dish.

It smelled pretty good. We scooped out some bread and cheese into teacups and took a bite.

It was bland. So bland. It was soggy, milky bread and some chunks of pumpkin. It tasted like high-end baby food, if your baby will only eat food served straight from a gourd. And in that moment, I remembered why my mother only made this recipe once: because it's not delicious.

At least it only cost five bucks to make.

That charming ingenious pig

Last night, I went to a class screening of Bamboozled that was so upsetting I actually felt sick to my stomach. Without hyperbole, that movie was the most upsetting thing I have ever seen in my life. So when I left to catch the bus back home (why yes, this was a night screening at Hampshire), I felt the need to hear a loved one's voice. I called Emily, which was nice. I really enjoy talking to my family, for several reasons. Firstly, they are my family and I love them and like to know what's happening in their lives. Secondly, we all have very similar senses of humor, so they actually get my jokes. What a welcome change. Thirdly, we tend to share very definitive opinions on controversial topics. Whenever I learn that a friend has a very strong opinion on, say......homeopathy, I usually just change the subject, because homeopathy makes me very irritated and the fact that there are people who think it really works is so exasperating that I'm prone to violent outbursts of the kind that end friendships. So when I call my sisters and the talk turns to brownies, homeschooling, or manners, I don't have to censor myself and can freely say that people who frost brownies deserve to be shot. It's very soothing.

But one of the best things about talking to my family is talking to them about books, especially children's books. Obviously, my immediate family all read the same books when we were growing up; my parents gave us their favorites and they naturally read what we read throughout our childhoods. From age seven or eight till far older than strictly appropriate, my favorite books were the Freddy the Pig books by Walter R. Brooks.

Freddy is a talking pig who lives on a farm in Central New York. He writes poetry, is a detective, plays football, and writes a newspaper....among other things. Freddy does all kinds of wonderful and interesting things, and just because the books are about talking animals (all the other animals in the area can talk, not just the ones on that farm and not just Freddy), does not make them cutesy. Freddy gets involved with starting a republic on the farm, for one, and there's a book about him handling a dictator rat, although that's one I've never read. Some of the books were better than others, but even the worst was pretty good. They also taught me a lot of interesting things, such as what a mustache cup is, a lot of interesting proverbs, and words like "peculiar" and "sophisticated" and "phaeton."

The Freddy books were remarkable in that the supporting cast was every bit as delightful as the main character. Some favorites include: Jinx the black cat who yowled outside people houses in the middle of the night to collect scrap metal for the war effort; Mrs. Wiggins the cow who, while not very intelligent, is full of common sense; Mr. Boomshmidt the circus owner who has animals putting up tents, taking tickets, and a lion for a yes-man. I love them all.

The Freddy books are absolutely books I will read my future kids. Coming up soon: the series of children books that I adored but will not let my kids touch with a ten-foot pole. 

Tastes of Autumn, Part 3: Hot Fudge Pudding Cake

People joke about how autumn online and autumn in real life are completely different, but in the Pioneer Valley, there's no difference. The place is so idyllic I sometimes wonder if I'm living on a movie set.

Yesterday was jacketless weather, so Alice and Rebecca and I went for a walk in residential Northampton and went house-spotting. (There's no point in leaf-spotting when your current town is so ridiculously gorgeous.) I have previously mentioned how I like to imagine my own life in certain houses, and Alice and I share similar tastes. I like a wraparound porch, a screened-in porch in the back or on the side, and I'm very partial to yellow houses. We strolled through the nicest little area with cozy houses that had lazy fat cats and children in abundance and a neighborhood park. It was beautiful and happy and I wanted to pick a house and start having babies right there.

Then on a whim, we went up the hill and the houses suddenly got very swank. People gave us funny looks, and there were three or four cars per driveway. It was simply too fancy. We couldn't take it and left as soon as we could.

This recipe is a relic from 1950's housewife-y cookbooks, but I love it the most. Cooks Illustrated makes a big deal about how its humble appearance doesn't make it any less delicious, but I think it's perfect. Here is an unpretentious dessert that smells and tastes incredible. You get a moist, chewy brownie with fudge sauce on the bottom, perfect with ice cream and a snap to make (although it uses hella dishes, jsyk).

Enjoy!

Hot Fudge Pudding Cake

Source: Baking Illustrated

Ingredients: 

2 tsp instant coffee

1 1/2 c water

2/3 c Dutch-process cocoa* 

1/3 c packed brown sugar

1 c granulated sugar

6 T unsalted butter

2 oz bittersweet or semisweet chocolate, chopped

3/4 c unbleached all-purpose flour

2 tsp baking powder

1 T vanilla 

1/3 c milk

1/4 tsp salt

1 large egg yolk

Directions: 

1. Adjust an oven rack to the lower-middle position and preheat the oven to 325 degrees. Lightly spray an 8-inch glass or ceramic baking dish with nonstick cooking spray**. Stir the instant coffee into the water; set aside to dissolve. Stir together 1/3 c of the cocoa, the brown sugar, and 1/3 c of the granulated sugar in a small bowl, breaking up any large clumps with your fingers. Set aside. Melt the butter, chocolate, and the remaining 1/3 c of cocoa in a small bowl set over a saucepan of barely simmering water (or in a saucepan set over low heat. Who needs another dish to wash?); whisk until smooth and set aside to cool slightly. Whisk the flour and baking powder in a small bowl to combine; set aside. Whisk the remaining 2/3 c granulated sugar with the vanilla, milk, and salt in a medium bowl until combined; whisk in the yolk. Add the chocolate mixture and whisk to combine. Add the flour mixture and whisk until the batter is evenly moistened. 
2. Pour the batter into the prepared baking dish and spread evenly to the sides and corners. Sprinkle the cocoa mixture evenly over the batter (the cocoa mixture should cover the entire surface of the batter); pour the coffee mixture gently over the cocoa mixture. It will look super weird but just roll with it. Bake until the cake is puffed and bubbling and just beginning to pull away from the sides of the baking dish, about 45 minutes. (Do not overbake.) Cool the cake in the dish on a wire rack about 25 minutes before serving. 

*The recipe says Dutch-process makes all the difference, but the cake was still mind-blowing with Hershey's. Use what you have. 

**I love parchment paper as much as the next baker, but you want your cake to have direct contact with the pan or it won't bake as thoroughly. 

Top 5 things I dislike about my Dance History class

1. It seems like every reading we do has that nasty, self-congratulatory, "aren't I so deep and intelligent" kind of introductory section in which the author uses a pretty simple word like "form," then goes on to explain for three or four paragraphs what "form" means to them, and what they mean when they say it. If you're making one word do that much work, I certainly hope you're paying it overtime. 
2. One of the professors wrote the textbook for the class. I am highly scornful of professors who do that. You may be an expert in the field, but I'm sure you aren't the only expert. There are plenty of other people who write about African-American protest traditions; it's a fairly popular subject. So get over yourself and don't assign your own book as required reading. 
3. While we're on the subject of readings, I have to say this: the class is called "Dance in the 20th Century: African-American Protest Traditions." Maybe a third of the assigned readings are about dance. Even fewer are about protest traditions. While things like the origins of the blues and the psychology surrounding the Freedmen's Bureau are certainly interesting, I signed up for a class in dance history. I feel like I have to beg my professors to actually talk about dance history, which they almost never do. That brings me to my next point....
4. What are my professors talking about, if not dance history? Why, they're one-upping each other, of course! Something in their relationship is rotten or off-balance, because any time one of them makes a point, the other one feels pressure to respond immediately with a better point. This vicious cycle frequently spins them far off-topic, and their long-winded theoretical monologues are not nearly as interesting as the very subtle looks on their faces. When Professor A is talking, Professor B looks mildly irritated and impatient, like someone who's waiting for the right time to get up and use the bathroom, and she frequently exchanges Looks with the TA. When Professor B is talking, Professor A takes on a really interesting look that is best described as a smile on top of a sneer. (When I described this look to Zaineb, she said, "This class must be boring if you're spending so much time analyzing their faces!") It's juuuuuuust short of condescension. Highly distracting and not at all educational. 
5. By far the worst part of this class is the knowledge that if I had just taken it at Smith (which, as it turns out, I could have), I would be taking it with my favorite professor, who is my favorite professor largely because of her competence. 

Wardrobe malfunction

It's been a rough couple of weeks for me, clothing-wise. My old reliable leotard split its seams...actually quite a while ago, and though I tried to repair them, the fact remained that I was simply too big for this leotard. The splits grew and grew until they finally were large enough to put a hand through (but the stitches I made still held, so good for me). Then I retired the soldier that had served me so well and had to look for a new recruit. (I apologize for the military metaphor; I just finished Monstrous Regiment.) I recently ordered a new leotard which arrived today, but upon opening the package, I discovered that it had been made with medium sized pixies in mind rather than actual medium-sized women. Do ballet dancers just....never have boobs? Because I have yet to find a leotard that helps me on that score. Sure, the stereotype is wicked skinny girls, but most of the ballet dancers I've met do not fit that description. This isn't a body image concern, just a practical issue. Leotards don't fit me, but they are my favorite item of dance apparel. Busty Girl Comics should tackle the issue so I'll at least find it funny.

Then, this past week, I discovered that my favorite pants had a rip on the inner thigh that was most unladylike. Since I tend to sit with my legs wide apart, I knew that this issue would have to be remedied, so this morning, I sewed up the rip. Not twenty minutes later, another rip right below where I ha sewed opened up again! I am distressed! I thought the whole point of buying high-quality clothes was that they lasted longer. What gives? (Not my pants, apparently.) It's very disappointing when your nicest pants become your raggedy pants. I want to look neat and tidy, not sloppy, but apparently my clothing has other ideas.

Life plan UPDATE!

Spring schedule: completed! I'll be taking Organic Chemistry, Statistics, Cell Bio, and Ballet IV (finally!). It'll be heavy, but I won't have to take a class over the summer with Bio out of the way. I can focus on working with a physical therapist and maybe even get a weekend job. How crazy is it that I know where I'd want to apply? I have pretty kickass credentials on account of being a kitchen manager at 18, so I'd have a decent shot working the grills somewhere, and I know just which places hire for the summer. I will be successful through sheer force of will.

17 credits and a ballet class to boot. It feels really good to be so driven again.

Rigid schedule

I am a very Type-A person, and I can prove it! I have a life plan: on my parents' refrigerator, there is a chart that maps every remaining semester of college (and summers) and the classes I need to take if I want to apply to physical therapy programs. Guess what? None of these classes are associated with the dance major! Tra la la. This semester, I have embarked on my life plan by taking Chemistry. Next semester, I'll be taking Chem II and Statistics. This summer, I'll do my PRAXIS at a physical therapy clinic and take Cell Biology. It feels good to have things planned out.

However, life is messy, and things get stuck in the creek sometimes. This week I decided that I had to drop a work shift. Rather, my mother told me that my schedule is insane and I should drop a work shift. Of course, she was right, but I stressed out over it anyway.
To put this in perspective, my Wednesday schedule is as follows:

11:00-12:10--> Chemistry
12:10-12:30--> Eat lunch en route to the Quad
12:30-5:15--> Work
5:30-6:00--> Dinner
6:15--> Take bus to Hampshire
7:00-9:00--> Class screening
9:10--> Bus home
9:30--> Arrive home, start homework

Yes, I have a late start to my day, but it's still crazy and I don't ever have time to eat. This change will be for the best. Now all I have to do is plan my spring schedule!

Tastes of Autumn, Part 2: Mountain Day

Mountain Day Pumpkin Pie

Very slightly adapted from Cooks Illustrated

Ingredients

1 prebaked pie shell, whatever recipe you prefer

2 c plain canned pumpkin puree

1 cup packed light brown sugar (original recipe says dark, but the molasses flavor was a little too overpowering for my taste)

2 tsp ground ginger

2 tsp ground cinnamon

1 tsp grated nutmeg

1/4 tsp ground cloves

1/2 tsp salt

2/3 c heavy cream

2/3 c milk

4 large eggs

Directions:

1. FOR THE PIE SHELL: Partially bake the crust until light golden brown. 
2. FOR THE FILLING: Meanwhile, process the pumpkin puree, brown sugar, spices and salt in a food processor for 1 minute until combined. Transfer the pumpkin mixture to a 3-quart heavy-bottomed saucepan; bring it to a sputtering simmer over medium-high heat. Cook the pumpkin, stirring constantly, until thick and shiny, about 5 minutes. 
3. As soon as the pie shell comes out of the oven, adjust an oven rack to the lowest position and increase the oven temperature to 400 degrees. Whisk the heavy cream and milk into the pumpkin and bring to a bare simmer. Process the eggs in a food processor until the whites and yolks are combined, about 5 seconds. With the motor running, slowly pour about half of the hot pumpkin mixture through the feed tube. Stop the machine and add remaining pumpkin mixture. Process 30 seconds longer. 
4. Immediately pour the warm filling into the hot pie shell. (Ladle any excess filling into the pie after it has baked 5 minutes or so--by this time the filling will have settled.) Bake the pie until the filling is puffed, dry-looking, and lightly cracked around the edges, and the center still wiggles like gelatin when the pie is gently shaken, about 25 minutes. Cool on wire rack for at least 1 hour. 

Let the wild relaxation begin!

I love Maurice Sendak with all of my heart (except for the parts that are reserved for the Muppets and Russell & Lillian Hoban), but seriously, "Let the wild rumpus begin!" sounds 10 billion times more exciting than "Let the wild rumpus start!" You need an extra syllable in there, Sendak. Get it together, bro.

Today marks the beginning of Fall Break! I have been so stressed and exhausted this past week, folks, you don't even know. After dance on Thursday, I was too tired to smile, so the contented rush that comes from a really good dance class was lost! What a shame! But now I am on break, and my break started (as all good breaks should) with a trip to the library.

I finally signed up for a Forbes library card, and I have to say that library is stunningly beautiful. It's like the Utica, NY train station: beauty where you least expect it. I've embarked upon an incredible journey this weekend. I am beginning Terry Pratchett's Discworld series. So far I'm about 2/3 of the way into The Amazing Maurice and his Educated Rodents, which is really good in a horrifying sort of way. No wonder Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett work so well together. They both seem to enjoy seeing how much horror you can pull off when your writing is very compelling. Undoubtedly this series will leave me weeping, but I'm still going to read it....just like how Season 7 of Doctor Who is making me whimper with sadness, but that hasn't stopped me from watching it.

You know what they say: vacations don't count unless they leave you cringing and sobbing in a corner.

Extension of the heart

One of the many, many reasons I love my Contemporary class is that we get to dance to live music. Dancing to an accompanist versus a CD makes a huge difference, for starters because all the accompanists I've known are very kind. When I was twelve years old, I went to a really fancy ballet summer school for two weeks. I had dreamed of attending for years and when I got there, I was absolutely petrified. At the first class I was scared stiff--literally, rigid with anxiety. Because my last name starts with "A" I was at the end of the barre, facing the accompanist. He was a white-haired Russian man (I learned his lineage later) with an enormous face. We did the first combination on one side, and after he struck the final chord, this man took in my wide-eyed, terrified face, and gave me a thumbs-up from under the piano. I felt reassurance wash over me like a wave, my tense muscles relaxed, and I turned to the other side, ready to dance. That man is my hero. I would never have gotten to where I am today without that tiny gesture of support.

Accompanists are also truly great artists, and our accompanist (whose name is Tony) is no exception. He plays up to four or five instruments at any given time: a drum between his knees, shakers on his ankles, a keyboard, this weird wind instrument that attaches to the keyboard, and he also has pre-recorded sounds that he blends with his instruments. A series of bird calls is in heavy rotation, which really confused me the first week of class. Tony plays the sunrise. He played the fog that rolled in this morning and dusk with mosquitoes coming out and at times, it feels like he plays pure emotion. His drums are a pulse, and the piano is breath. I can't put into words how beautiful this man's music is, nor how grateful I am that I get to dance to it twice a week. It's not easy playing for dancers. Teachers can be very exacting about tempo and style, and of course you aren't the center of attention no matter how well you play.

At the end of each class, we applaud Candice (you always applaud the teacher. If you've never taken a dance class, take note! Your teacher, no matter what technique you are studying, is giving you a gift of time, knowledge and experience. It's very rude to just walk away at the end of class without acknowledging that gift. Applaud and thank them personally for good measure.), and then applaud for Tony. Our applause for Tony consists of the class crouching down and pounding the floor with our palms. I don't know the background of this gesture, but I understand it and appreciate it.

Tastes of autumn

I am a true Buffalo girl. When the weather is sunny and hot I'm pretty happy, but nothing perks me up like lousy weather. Gray, wet, cold days are wonderful, because they're perfect days for cooking. My favorite meal I prepared this summer was macaroni and cheese, one rainy day when it was stormy and gray and chilly outside and we almost lost power. The kitchen was warm and cozy as Shane made the macaroni and I made garlic broccoli so delicious that all of the campers ate it. We assembled our own parts of the meal independently, and as I broke the broccoli into bite-sized pieces and listened to the entire oeuvre of Neko Case, I felt completely content.

On Thursday, I didn't have much homework, the night was cold, and I was looking for a reason to feel cozy, so I stole a bunch of apples from a dining hall and made applesauce. Applesauce, as my beloved Laurie Colwin says, "is a snap to make as it actually makes itself." I had been daydreaming about applesauce as a companion to this gingerbread cake that I want to make for Christmas (Emily, your thoughts? I know you're not crazy about gingerbread, but this cake......), and such a night almost demanded applesauce.

In case you've never made applesauce before, here's a recipe, in brief. Peel and slice a few McIntosh apples (specified because they turn to mush beautifully, but Granny Smiths just fold their arms and glare when faced with heat), add a bit of water to the pot, cover and cook at low heat. When I say "a few," I used six medium-sized and it made enough for about six teacups of applesauce. The result makes the whole house smell warm and homey and is completely delicious without any added sugar. You can add cinnamon or honey or whatever you want, but I think homemade applesauce is best when unadulterated. Now go make some.

TODAY'S MUSIC: "Bohemian Rhapsody." My friends are cleaning their suite, and I am being their DJ.

With exhaustion comes peace

Tuesdays and Thursdays are my busiest days, but I love them the best. I get up early for Contemporary at 9, then hop a bus to Hampshire around 11:30, and I have "Dance in the 20th Century: African American Protest Traditions," followed by Making Dances 2. Then I jump on a bus and go home.

It sounds like it would be tedious and unpleasant, but it's really wonderful. First of all, I have Contemporary with Candice Salyers, one of my favorite humans on this Earth. Five lessons in with her, I feel like my style and understanding of the way I move has changed forever. I'm already getting the bun out and learning to loosen up. (Shockingly, a full semester of musical theater jazz did nothing for my style; I continued to dance everything like ballet, only in a backwards hinge.) Having dance first thing wakes me up, and I feel like my whole body is ready to face the day and embrace the world. I frequently bounce out of class feeling chipper and grinning obnoxiously at strangers.

The bus to Hampshire takes about 20 minutes (there's rarely much traffic), and I enjoy that time to just hang out in my own head for a while. In high school I think the real reason why I was so chockablock with neuroses was because I spent so much time on buses or waiting for them, with nothing else to do but think. Now, my schedule is so busy that the opportunity to just be with my own thoughts is something I relish. My profound thoughts on these bus rides usually revolve around the houses the bus passes, which ones I'd like to live in, and what my life might be like if I lived in them. This is the difference between Erika's relationship with architecture and my own. She likes to design houses in accordance with what she knows about people and their lives, what they might need space for. I like to imagine slipping into a house and by extension, somebody's life. This mentality probably just proves that I've read "The Lone Pilgrim" too many times, but it's still a fun game to play.

As for Hampshire classes, they're very interesting and fun, and my professors are very knowledgeable, but the thing that really blows my mind is how friendly everyone is. Complete strangers have walked up to me and started up conversations on multiple occasions. Sure, they might be hitting on me, but I think it's more likely that Hampshirites are just very social creatures. Anyway, I don't really love dance history that much, but that's just because I don't like analyzing articles. (See: why I am not a history major.) We get to see all kinds of wonderful dances that are all-new to me, and that is remarkable. Making Dances is probably my favorite class right now, or at least tied. It's certainly my smallest class; there are only five of us. Like all of my current and previous dance professors, Daphne is pretty groovy (word chosen for connotations) but very down-to-earth and thoughtful as well. In her class, I've come up with the best material I've ever produced, and the best part is that the majority of her teaching is guidance. The magic was in me all along!

At 3:45, I get on the bus headed home, mind racing with ideas for choreography and body so exhausted I sometimes wonder if I'll have to ride till the end of the line. Today I learned a very important lesson: if I don't save the cookie from lunch for the bus ride home, I will have to crawl up Bedford Terrace on my hands and knees. Dancers are the ultimate masochists. If we don't feel completely ravaged, we're all disappointed. My grueling day leaves me blissfully content.

Free radicals and tannins, just the thing for heating the synapses

I like to come home to a cup of tea at the end of the day, and lately I've noticed that the kind of tea I want is a good indicator of the kind of day I've had. Lately my first choice has been Earl Gray, which pretty much means that my day has been long. On Wednesday, when I had to go to Hampshire at 7pm and waited for the bus for an hour (although talking to Emily on the phone passed the time wonderfully. I got so many dirty looks when I said I think children should learn how to work within the establishment), Alice offered to make me tea. When she asked me what I wanted, I knew I wanted something fragrant, because I had worked at the daycare center that day and all I had smelled for hours was bleach and urine. (No romantic ideas about babies over here.) She made me a cup of jasmine, which was the best thing I had smelled all day.

Today Baldwin went to the Alumnae House for tea, which was very nice and everything was fancy. I can't imagine what it would be like to stay in the Alumnae House, but I'm sure it would make me feel either very wealthy or very poor. I spend a lot of time thinking about what I would serve people if I ever had a formal tea. Of course, the menu varies a little, depending on the season, but some of the absolutes include: currant scones, lemon curd, and clotted cream. If I ever host a real tea, I think I will actually make a raspberry jelly roll cake, because when else are you going to do it?
My teas will be legend--wait for it....pass the cream I think this tea needs a little DARY! Yes. I went there.

Mountain Day 2012: in which nothing goes as planned

Yesterday was Mountain Day! It was really unexpected, because a) it's rarely on Tuesdays or Thursdays and b) this is only the second week of classes. CAROLLLL!!!!
So. My house got a van and a whole bunch of cars, and we drove to a nearby orchard for some apple picking. However, it's still so early in the season that the farmers would not allow us to pick our own apples. Lots of them weren't even ripe. My mother's family motto is "Stick with the original plan," a philosophy that has given me some interesting stories and even more surprisingly fun picnics in various kinds of non-picnic weather, so I was all for clowning around in apple trees and exploring the orchard, but that plan was vetoed. We drove back home and Alice, Steve and I made pumpkin pie. I think I'll post the recipe later, because it was a fantastic pie that was significantly cheaper than the one Steve and I made last year.
Mountain Day may have been unusually early, but it was still really fun. A day ending in pie is a day well spent.

Master of my fate

I have gone through a few places of employment in my young life, and I have had a variety of interesting bosses and supervisors. They have been sadistic, incompetent, kind, capable, or some mixture of the aforesaid traits. However, my current boss is really wonderful, because not only is she courteous to her workers, she is also really good at her job. She kind of reminds me of Tina Fey, but I think that's just the haircut and the fact that they both have husbands named Jeff.
As far as I can tell, she never planned on working at a daycare center; she grew up on a Minnesota farm with six siblings. (Speaking of which, I finally worked up the courage to ask her, and it is true that in Minnesota, they put mayonnaise on everything.) She moved to Massachusetts because her then-boyfriend now-husband is getting his doctorate at UMass. The other two teachers in my group have similar "my man was moving here, so I went with him" stories, and this fascinates me. They talk about this like it's no big deal, but I can't imagine picking up and moving as a result of someone else's decision. They seem pretty satisfied with their lives, but I'm still getting used to the fact that sometimes your plans don't work out and life takes you completely by surprise. Maybe I've read Invictus one too many times.

Haha, gotcha. I don't read poetry! But still. This wants consideration.

Calm before the storm

All my friends have a ton of work already, but I don't have any assignments yet. Tomorrow I'm starting Chem (technically I had Chem on Friday, but with a different professor) and working from 12:15 to 5:15. The original plan was African dance on Monday nights, but I don't think I can do that, especially since I have  to start rehearsals for my piece for Making Dances 2 very soon. Things are going to get crazy starting tomorrow, and I'm trying to enjoy my free time now, but to be honest, being the only one with nothing to do is making me nervous. It feels like I'm in that stress dream where you've forgotten to do all your work all semester. Soon I'll be back in my favorite soundproof room, listening to Matt & Kim and writing out all my notes, then typing up what I've written out for further retention.

Speaking of Making Dances 2, my professor seems very nice but (predictably) she's a little vague. She told us to explore as many kinds of music and as many styles of dance as possible, but she didn't provide any examples of what dances we should see. As it happens, I am not nearly as well versed about specific dances as I should be, so I am left with nowhere to start. Today I watched Paul Taylor's Esplanade, which completely blew me away. It's remarkable in that the actual movement is very simple; except for the very end of the piece, the dancers primarily run in and out of various formations. That description makes the dance sound dull, however, and it's one of the most stirring pieces of choreography I've ever seen. The dancers are extraordinary! Their energy and precision (just because they were mostly running and shifting weight, doesn't mean they were sloppy. Every breath and blink was deliberate) drive the whole piece. The best performances come from casts who are really comfortable with each other and relate to each other really well. More than anything, that's what I want to see in my piece, but you can't force people to be close. I have to let it happen. Roll with it. Everything will work out.

Smif^3 returns, more socially awkward than ever!

HONS training lasted a week (give or take a little) of nonstop lectures about resources, wellness, how to be a leader, and I still find myself feeling a lot like I felt at camp this summer. Not when I was in the kitchen cooking--I'm awesome at that-- but when I ventured out amongst the campers and they had problems I could not solve or even respond appropriately to. I once had a conversation with a nine-year-old (let's call her Hannah) about her friend, Girl A (names omitted because I forgot them) who wanted to be friends with a new camper, Girl B. Hannah felt she was losing Girl A's friendship because she and Girl B didn't get along, so they couldn't hang out together, but Girl A and Girl B were inseparable. The solution to this problem, of course, is "don't be a nine-year-old girl." Obviously this was not feasible for Hannah, but as I could not think of a solution that might actually work, I just sat there awkwardly and made sympathetic noises. Then I changed the subject.

You'd think that my lack of helpfulness would be because counselors went through problem-solver training or something, something I did not do because it would be nonessential for kitchen staff. Guess what? There was no such training! The counselors were just more competent than I. Now I have gone through training, and I still don't feel prepared. Like it or not, during orientation, a HONS is pretty much a camp counselor, and the biggest difference is substance consumption. I really want to be good at my job, I just hope I don't freak people out on account of being overzealous or socially awkward.

I think the most helpful thing will be to figure out my approach to problem solving. It might be that whenever I want to talk to anybody about anything serious, I'll have to invite them over for tea, or to take a walk, or just into the kitchen. Maybe it's just my friends and family, but I have found that people are more willing to open up when doing something other than talking, and even more willing if they're in a kitchen. Even if they aren't cooking! I bet it has something to do with childhood associations, and a kitchen reminds you of home or at least the stereotypical home atmosphere, so you subconsciously relax.

I can do this. And hey, if I ruin everything, I can always move out.

Today's music: Michelle Shocked, album Short Sharp Shocked. If I ever write my own cookbook, I'd like to add songs that correspond to each recipe. A lot of vegan cookbooks do that, but those songs are all metal. Silly vegans! Food responds best to love, not rage!

The passive-aggressive cook

We all have our culinary goals. Caroline's goal is to be able to create meals off the cuff, without having to rely on recipes. Emily (not my sister) has mastered the art of baking for people with sensitivities. My goal is to be able to bake with scientific precision. I'm something like my Aunt Grace in this respect; the main course is important, but dessert is where the real fun begins.

And I'm sure someday I'll be allowed to bake again. Maybe I'll have to wait till I go back to Smith, but eventually it'll happen.

Definition of insanity

For years now, I've been making rhubarb pie for family picnics, and I really thought I had it nailed. I made the same recipe over and over: James Beard's rhubarb pie (no strawberries) and Fannie Farmer's pastry recipe. I thought I knew what I was doing.

But I did not! Oh I did not. The pie I made yesterday is to my previous rhubarb pies as an flat balloon is to an inflated one. In some cases, this comparison is literal; yesterday's pastry actually increased in size and puffed up beautifully, and it had enough filling for once. On the flip side, my former end product was half-filled at best, the pastry was flat and tough, and the recipe called for flour to absorb the moisture, so it was usually pretty dry.

I should have stopped making this pie after the first time I made it. At most, I should have attempted it twice, realized that the results were identically uninspiring, and just quit. But I persisted. Why did I insist that I was doing it right?

Technically, I was correct; after all, I followed the recipe to the letter. But the pie was wrong. Why didn't I see it before?

An even more interesting question: Why did I continue using shortening even though Aria (former boss, professional pastry chef) said you get better results with butter? Why??

Who knows, I'm just stubborn. Anyway. All-butter pastry makes all the difference and I'm never going back.

Would you?

I'm beginning to see why Caroline says she follows certain blogs despite hating them. I was so in love with How Sweet Eats, but lately the recipes have all been bizarre and I can't help but notice that the author must be exhausting to live with. She sounds like so much work! Couple that with interminable grilled cheese sandwich recipes (a different kind of unusual cheese and fruit-based salsa every time), and I think I'd go insane.

It's decided. I could never marry a food blogger.

That being said, Emily's blogging about food for the Columbia Daily Tribune! Unlike many food bloggers, Emily is actually delightful and eats vegetables on a regular basis. Go read her stuff, she's funnier than I am.

Badly lit food porn: true to the genre

Browned butter brownies. Recipe here. 

Oh man, I think I want those brownies now. 

The surprisingly poofy bao dough. My mom and dad set up stations: he divided the dough, she rolled it out, I made the filling, and we all filled the bao. 

My cat oversees the rolling process. 

Aren't these honeys? We got a little overzealous and over-filled a few, but not by much. 

It's a thing of beauty. 

And delicious to boot. 

Cha Sui Bao

I want to preface this recipe by saying that it's a time commitment, but if you manage you time properly it'll take about a full day rather than a full weekend, and the end result is very, very good; my sources tell me that it tastes just like bao you'd get at dim sum. (OK, my parents said that. That sounds a lot less professional than "my sources," though.)

Original recipe is here, but I found it hard to follow, so I'll condense and simplify it for you right here. Metric measurements on original site, as I find the side by side measurements a tad confusing. I also think that a full day's work for only twelve bao is absurd, so double or nothing, my friends!

PHASE ONE: CHA SUI

Ingredients:

2 pork fillets/tenderloins (roughly 2-2.5 pounds)
8 large cloves of garlic, crushed
2 teaspoons (3 gm) ginger, grated
2 tablespoons peanut oil
3 tablespoons maltose (you can substitute honey)
3 tablespoons honey
4 tablespoons hoisin sauce
2 tablespoons light soy sauce
2 tablespoons dark soy sauce (NOTE: I used dark soy sauce only and it came out fine.)
2 teaspoons oyster sauce
2 tablespoons shaoxing cooking wine
1 teaspoon (2 gm) ground white pepper
pinch of salt
1 teaspoon (2 gm) five spice powder
1 teaspoon sesame oil
1 teaspoon pillar box red food colouring (which I didn't use because a. I don't trust food coloring and b. I couldn't find it. It's just an aesthetic thing, though.)

Directions:

1. Trim the pork loin to remove fat and tendon and slice lengthways so you have two long pieces, then cut in half. By cutting the pork in to smaller pieces to marinate you will end up with more flavoursome char sui. If you want to leave the pork in one piece you can do this as well. Place in container that you will be marinating them in. I used a Pyrex baking dish. 
2. Combine all the other ingredients in a bowl and mix well to combine. 
3. Cover pork well with the marinade mixture. Marinate overnight, and remember to flip the pork if not completely covered. Reserve the marinade for basting when cooking the pork. (NOTE: Now, there are several options as to how you can cook the pork. I just popped it in the oven, but the original recipe says barbecue yielded the best results, which I'm inclined to believe. For simplicity's sake, here's the instruction for oven roasted pork, and feel free to poke around and explore other methods.) Pre-heat oven to moderate 350°F. Cover a baking tray with foil or baking paper, and place on top of this a rack on which to cook the pork.
4. Place pork on the rack and place in oven. Bake for approximately 10 minutes, basting and turning.
5. Turn the heat up to 400°F for the final 20 minutes as this will aid the charring. Cook until cooked through. And since it's pork, don't forget to take the internal temperature. Pork is done when its internal temperature is 160 degrees, or 145 if you're feeling frisky and get your pork from a reputable source. 

PHASE TWO: BAKED CHA SUI BAO 

Bao can be baked or steamed, but I'm providing the baked version because that's what I made and it doesn't require any special equipment.

A: Dough
Ingredients:

2½ teaspoons (1 packet) of dried yeast
¼ cup sugar
½ cup warm water
2 cups plain flour
1 egg (medium size - slightly beaten)
3 tablespoons oil
½ teaspoon salt
Egg wash: 1 egg beaten with a dash of water

Directions:

1. Place the sugar and warm water in a bowl, mix until the sugar has dissolved. Add yeast and leave it for 10 - 15 minutes until it becomes all frothy.
2. Sift flour in to a large bowl.
3. Add yeast mixture, egg, oil and salt and stir. Bring the flour mixture together with your hands.
4. Place dough on a well floured surface and knead for approximately 10 minutes.The dough will be very sticky. When you have finished kneading, it should be smooth and slightly elastic.
5. Place in a lightly oiled bowl and cover with a damp cloth. Leave to rise. Original says wait for the dough to double in size, but I let it rise an extra hour and a half, so it was about three times bigger and beautifully light. But it's your call. This will take from 1 - 2 hours depending on weather conditions and your schedule at that time. 
6. While dough is rising, make the filling, since it needs time to cool. Dough recipe will be continued when you've made your filling. 

B: Filling
Ingredients:

Char sui (finely diced) This is, for all intents and purposes, as much char sui as the recipe above yielded.
4 green onions/spring onions (finely sliced)
2 tablespoons hoisin
2 tablespoons dark soy sauce
2 teaspoon sesame oil
1/2 cup chicken stock
2 teaspoon corn starch
1 tablespoon vegetable oil

Directions:

1. Heat the vegetable oil in a wok or pan.
2. Add diced char sui to the wok/pan and stir then add spring onions, cook for 1 minute.
3. Add hoisin, dark soy sauce and sesame oil to the pork mixture, stir fry for one minute.
4. Mix cornflour and stock together and then add to the pork mixture.
5. Stir well and keep cooking until the mixture thickens, 1 or 2 minutes.
6. Remove mixture from wok/pan and place in a bowl to cool. Set aside until ready to use.

Made your filling? Is your dough ready? Beautiful! Let's continue.

Filling your bao:

1. Preheat the oven to 400 degrees. 
2. Once dough has doubled in size knock back and divide in to 24 portions and shape in to round balls.
3. Use a rolling pin to roll out to approximately 2 inches in diameter. Then pick the piece of dough up and gently pull the edges to enlarge to about 3 inches in diameter. This ensures that your dough is thicker in the center, so your bao don't split down the middle. It's not an attractive look, though it may make a comeback in the spring season. 
4. Place a good sized tablespoon of filling on the dough circle. It will be very tempting to over-fill, but don't you do it, or your bao will explode. Then gather the edges and seal your bun. 
5. Place the bun seal side down on your baking tray. Repeat until all dough rounds have been filled. 
6. Once all buns are complete, brush surface with egg wash.
7. Place your bao in the oven and bake for 10-15 minutes or until golden brown. Best to just eyeball it; when your bao are done you'll definitely be able to tell. I'll be posting pictures in just a few minutes. 

So that's that! Go out to your nearest Asian grocery, get all the esoteric ingredients you need for the filling and marinade, get a pork tenderloin at Price-Rite, and get cooking!

Virtue

I was going to make a Buffalo post about churches and supportive religious communities today when I went downtown to get my permit (yeah, I'm in college and don't have a permit, nbd), but no sooner did I arrive at the bus stop and sit down than I was visited by something out of a cartoon or Alexander's Terrible, Horrible, No-Good, Very Bad Day. I sat on the little bench under the bus shelter, and a car drove through a big puddle of nasty scummy water and splashed it all over me! I made noises of distress and anger, but the culprit was long gone. Clearly, this was a sign from the universe. I was not supposed to go downtown today.

So I went home and took a bath instead.

For dinner, I made the most virtuous meal imaginable: Red lentil cauliflower curry. It's a recipe from the Mennonite cookbook Simply in Season, but I had to find it online because I don't own the book. I think the recipe might have been off somehow: the meal tasted fine, but when I served it up, it was just a big bowl of vegetables and not much sauce. When I had this meal before, this was not the result.

Still, it was healthy.

The 5 steps to reading Julie/Julia

Step 1. Start reading Julie/Julia
Step 2. Think about how mean the author is
Step 3. Debate whether or not you should stop reading the book
Step 4. Consider the movie and wish it had just been a film adaptation of My Life in France instead
Step 4. Stop reading Julie/Julia and pick up My Life in France
Step 5. Francelust.

Bike adventures

I haven't had much to do since finishing my work for my first year of college (dear God I'm getting old). After spending far too much time watching Torchwood and hanging around the house, I've taken to riding my bike around town. I wish I could take pictures of my adventures, but my camera is being very strange and refusing to stay on. I was in a basement secondhand store the other day when I discovered this, and it was very frustrating. My camera is kind of old and not very good, but it is a digital camera and I wanted to take pictures of sable hats and pewter tankards. (Like the ones that sing in Beauty and the Beast! It was way cool.) Even though I couldn't photodocument my adventures, they were still nice.

Today I went to the park with my bike and ate my lunch at the zoo. Not in the zoo, mind you--I'm far too cheap for that, and going to the zoo alone doesn't sound as fun as going with people. A nice thing about the Buffalo zoo is that there are some cages that face outward onto the street, so you can casually look in on some animals, decide that you want a better view, and then go in and pay. Tightwad that I am, I just took advantage of the zoo's kindness and ate my lunch outside the buffalo cage. When I was little, Emily and I would hang out at the buffalo cage when we were waiting for Caroline's soccer practices to finish. She would pretend that looking at the animals without paying wasn't allowed, so we alternated standing guard while the other one looked at the buffaloes.

Today, I ate part of my lunch with the buffaloes, then moved to the giraffes. Giraffes always remind me of my old friend Veronica. She isn't super tall, she's actually shorter than I am, but giraffes always remind me of her anyway. I sat on the grass, eating my pineapple, looking at the giraffes and thinking about Veronica and Questionable Content. (Slurrrrp.) It was a nice afternoon.

Buffalo Buffalo Buffalo: the local movement

For my first Buffalo Buffalo Buffalo installment, I'd like to discuss something very dear to my heart: the local movement. I don't mean local foods, although that's also very popular: I mean local businesses. It's not news to anyone that small businesses have it tough these days. Chain restaurants and giant superstores make it hard for a small, family-owned business to survive, especially in the United States.

But not in Buffalo!

In Buffalo, local restaurants have the edge. A few years ago, just a few blocks away from my house, Elmwood Tacos and Subs was so popular that it actually put a Burger King out of business. The majority of restaurants in the city are locally owned and keep money in the local economy (as you can see from the poster above). 

Money! In the local economy! Y'all realize what this means. The citizens of Buffalo are doing their bit to help the city, one sandwich at a time. 

Browned butter brownies for friends and enemies

Hello, my lovely friends! Tonight, I'd like to share with you one of my favorite recipes: browned butter brownies. They are legendary and browning butter, while time-intensive, is a useful and delicious social skill.  For a very helpful step-by-step tutorial, click here.

Potential uses for these brownies: 

1. If you have a mortal enemy and are looking to bump them off in a kindly fashion,
2. If you need to butter someone up before asking them for a large sum of money (oh snap that just happened),
3. If you're trying to seduce a foodie,
4. If you're trying to seduce someone who has a mouth and likes to put food inside it,
5. If you need a present for a teacher or friend,
6. NOMS.

Brown butter browniesModified from Alice Medrich, published in Bon Appetit, Feb. 2011Makes 16 brownies

• INGREDIENTS
• 2½ sticks of unsalted butter (Don’t freak out! You’ll only really use half of it.)

• 1 cup sugar

• ¾ cup unsweetened cocoa powder (you’d be amazed at how much difference there is in cocoa powders; get a good quality one)

• ¼ teaspoon salt

• 1 teaspoon vanilla extract

• 2 teaspoons water

• 2 large eggs, cold

• 1/3 cup plus 1 tablespoon all-purpose flour

• 1 cup walnuts, lightly toasted

DIRECTIONS

1. Preheat oven to 325 F.

1. Line an 8×8-inch baking pan with aluminum foil, pressing it into the corners of the pan and leaving a couple inches of overhang. (You’re going to use this to lift the brownies out later. Genius! This is what you get for using recipes written by real professionals.) Rub a little butter over the foil to grease it.

1. Melt and brown butter, as described above.

1. While the butter is still in the early stages of cooking, combine the sugar, cocoa and salt in a fairly heatproof bowl.

1. Have a second heatproof cup or bowl ready. When the milk solids are beautifully browned, either pour or scoop out ½ cup (8 tablespoons) of the butter into that cup, being careful to keep all the browned bits with you in the pan. Then all at once dump the butter from the pan into the bowl with the cocoa mixture. Scrape in all the browned bits stuck to the pan, unless they’re burnt. Add the vanilla and water, and stir to blend. It will come together like rough concrete. The mixture should be fairly hot; let cool for 5 minutes. (You get to keep the extra butter for other uses; store in fridge.)

1. Beat in one of the eggs vigorously. It will look horrible. The butter will probably separate out of the cocoa/sugar mass, and it will start to make you very sad. About now, you will be cursing. Beat in the second egg, though, and watch it all come back together. Egg saves the day!

1. When your mixture looks shiny and uniform, add the flour and stir until blended. The recipe continues: “Beat vigorously 60 strokes.” And seriously, they’re not kidding. As you work it, the gluten will develop in the flour and make it firmer and tougher. Just take a breath, hold on and crank it.

1. Stir in the nuts, and scrape the batter into the baking pan. Bake 25 minutes, or until a toothpick in the center comes out not quite clean (there should be a few moist crumbs sticking to it). Cool the pan on a rack, then lift the brownies out with the foil. Cut into four strips, and quarter those to make 16 brownies.

Pictures to follow. 

Moving forward

It's been a while since my last post, because my Kinesiology final took up all of my spare time and thought. I was working stage crew for the grad students' spring event Tuesday through Thursday, and I kept my notes and Sci Fi textbook (Trail Guide to the Body, the perfect textbook for any anatomy student)with me the whole time. I used my little squeeze flashlight to study during breaks.

Working stage crew was very fun; I was in charge of sound and got to play with projections too, which was interesting. Dance Production is required for my major, and I was surprised by how much fun I had. I've never been terribly tech-savvy, but now I know how to use a sound board, and thanks to Jazz Ensemble, I know how to set one up too. I've been filing this information under "Technology," a file which was previously close to empty. Plus I got a little tiny crew bear!

I only had my Kinesiology final to take, and since it wasn't done through the registrar, I took it on Friday so I could go home today. My parents should be here in about an hour, and I'm sitting in my packed-up room on my stripped bed and trying really hard not to muse over the past year. As Emily (not my sister) so aptly put it, "You can't live you life looking backwards, or you'll fall over and trip," so I'm trying to keep moving forward. I still have two assignments left: a Sci Fi final that's half done and my Comp manifesto, in which I have to describe my beliefs as a choreographer using any medium other than dance. Then next weekend we're taking Caroline to Baltimore, so I'd better get used to moving boxes.

Better post to come later, and keep an eye out for a feature coming soon: Buffalo Buffalo Buffalo, a feature in which I post things I love about my hometown (with pictures)! I'll be taking the old bike up and down the town to prove to Alice that Buffalo is not the hellhole that I may have accidentally indicated it was.

Swag

I got an A on a Sci Fi quiz this week! When I looked down at my grade, I started doing a sauntering kind of victory dance down the long hallway in Mendenhall: head-banging, shaking my shoulders, and muttering "I know my stuff!" Sure I may have looked slightly insane, but I think I earned it.

Veganing, the Next Generation

I've been feeling really gross for almost a week now. (Physically, that is. We aren't going to continue with the loss of confidence thing from the previous post.) My brain is fuzzy and I can't focus, my mouth feels like an old sock, and I--I--
I've lost interest in food.

I know, it's shocking.

Today in Sci Fi my professor mentioned listening to your gut and being aware of what you're eating and how you're feeling, and I had an epiphany.

I'm going vegan for a few days. Just until my body clears itself up and gets organized. I can't afford to have fuzzy brain during finals, and even one meal without cheese or meat made me feel a little better. I wish I had a blender, because I've been daydreaming about smoothies all day today, but we make do with what we have.

So. Today for lunch I had a big ol' salad. It wasn't vegan because I put hard-boiled eggs in, but I didn't have any meat or cheese, and I think I'm on the road to slightly better.

UPDATE: Yeah I'm not going vegan. But I won't be eating meat for a few days. So... wooo.

Insecure Monday

I mentioned this towards the end of my last post, and I want to discuss it now. I'm trying to find my place at Smith and figure out who I am and what I'm good for and all that jazz, but while I definitely feel like a Smithie, I don't feel like a dance major. Technically I'm still undeclared, but come on now. I love my classes and my professors, and I want to take all the dance classes ever, but something isn't right. 

As for the ESS minor, forget about that. I belong in that department about as much as I belong on the athletics fields. When I tell people that I'm an ESS minor, I feel like I'm lying to them. 

And here's why. 

I have this idea that each department has a particular type of person that is best suited for that particular area of study. I realize that I'm stereotyping, but writing out this post is just intended for me to organize my thoughts. If I offend anyone, I apologize. 

To resume. The dance department, interesting and wonderful though the classes may be, is full of people who think things about dance that really don't resonate with me. I'm sure I could steer myself towards more conscientious behavior while in class, but I am taking Musical Theater Dance. It's sometimes hard to ponder the head-tail connection while I'm pretending to be a showgirl. God knows that's hard enough for me. 

I keep thinking that I'm trying to be at least four different people at different points throughout my day. In Comp and Sci Fi, I'm trying to be analytical and deep about not only dance but movement. In Kinesiology, I'm trying not to make an ass of myself. (At this point that's really the best I can strive for.) In Jazz, I'm just really uncomfortable with awkward movements that I don't feel feminine enough to execute properly. In French class, I feel like I'm missing something, but more often, a lot of things; not the right style, attitude, not talkative enough, not confident enough, not understanding enough of what my professor is saying. 

This is especially weird because I think of myself as a relatively self-assured person. My classes have just been making me hella insecure about life lately, and I'd like to know what gives. 

Why I will never be an athlete

I told Caroline that I wouldn't join crew because it's a cult, but that's only one relatively insignificant reason. Clearly I don't have a big problem with cults: I'm a dance major.

Here's the real reason. I don't mind working out, and I actually kind of enjoy it if I'm not too distracted, but my workouts have to be on my own terms (because I am a baby). If someone forces me into doing something difficult and I'm not 100% on board, within minutes I'll start contemplating murder.

Take the time I went to spinning with my two sisters. Caroline was very into spinning and talked me into joining her. Figuring I was out of shape and needed to get ready for dance in the spring semester, I agreed. My thoughts:

AT FIRST:

"This isn't too bad. I can do this."

TEN MINUTES LATER:

"The Allman Brothers? Who in their right mind listens to jam bands while working out? Or, you know, ever?"

FIVE MINUTES AFTER THAT:

"Dear God this is hard. I just want to stop, but I can't, or Caroline would judge me!"

TWENTY MINUTES IN:

"I AM GOING TO MURDER EVERYONE. THE ALLMAN BROTHERS, THIS SPINNING INSTRUCTOR, AND ESPECIALLY CAROLINE!!!!"

Sorry, Caroline.

That was pretty much how it went down in Kinesiology today. It was another day with exercises that are hard for me to do in a neutral way, like jump and land on one foot. After hearing that instruction, I did a saute and landed with my right foot in coupe. My partner didn't say anything for awhile, then she said, "I think you're missing the point of this exercise."

NO! I was doing the exercise properly, because life is better in turnout. You can balance better, jump higher, and lift your leg higher, too. I do not understand why people refuse to make their lives exponentially easier. If you did all exercises in turnout, THEY WOULD ALL BE EASIER!

Ahem.

I've been mulling over Kinesiology and the Dance Department and my place at Smith for a while now, but that's a story for a later date. I just wanted to share that I am not an athletic person, and I have just realized that I never will be. If you were entertaining the possibility of me starting a pole-vaulting career, now's the time to give up that hope.

Gotta Have You

That was the song of my autumn.

I usually take any opportunity to look back and consider how far I've come over the past few weeks/months/years, but I'm trying to do that less. In the words of my brilliant friend Emily, "You can't live your whole life looking backwards, or you'll fall over and trip."

Of course she's right; she almost always is. (It's not a good idea to stay up till 3 a.m. watching Korean dramas, but aside from that her impulses are usually spot on.) I don't have to remind myself to keep moving forward very often, but there are some songs that just describe certain periods of my life so well that it's occasionally hard to resist.

Friday afternoons

In the spirit of Lesson #13 that I have learned at Smith, today I'd like to share with you some of my favorite teas. If you bribe me with these teas I'd be willing to do almost anything for you. And if you were to give me a sardine, of course, there wouldn't be anything you couldn't obtain from me.

1. Lemon Ginger tea. Brand: Stash. This is the best tea in the world for sickness. It feels like a magical brew that burns a little if you drink it too fast. You can feel the wellness pouring down your throat.
2. Jasmine Green blend. I forgot the brand, which is a pity, because this tea is beautiful. The jasmine smells lovely, and the green tea gives it a really smooth taste. Jasmine tea reminds me of my HR. The two are just linked in my mind. Two great things that are often found together.
3. Pomegranate Raspberry with Green tea blend. Brand: Stash. This is the first fruity tea I ever bought for myself, and it was a good choice. It's fruity, but not overpoweringly so, and it's not so delicate that you can't taste the flavor. This tea is also an appealing red color and dyes the teabag. The only downside to this tea is that the teabags can only be used once. The second cup will smell like fruit but taste like water.
4. "Awake" tea: mint tea with tarragon. Brand: Tazo. This is nice tea for the morning, especially if you start the morning feeling queasy. The mint settles out your stomach and starts you on a fresh note, but the tarragon keeps it from being overpowering. I drank this a lot at Unirondack. Contrary to the impression I seem to be creating, I was not pregnant at the time.
5. White tea with chrysanthemum and raspberry. Brand: Bigelow. The best for last. This tea is exquisite: the flavors are balanced, it's not sweet, just flavorful, and it's light and clear. A cup of this tea leaves me refreshed and prepared to take on the world. As if that weren't enough, it makes killer iced tea. I'm going to drink a cup of it now!

Sorry

I apologize too much. I think this is a side effect of living so close to the Canadian border or possibly just being female, because I apologize for things that are in no way my fault. I apologize when people tell me they're not feeling well. That doesn't make any sense! I didn't poison them, so why should I be apologizing? Precision of language is a virtue.

But when I try to focus on my apologies and stop them, they just flood out of me even more often. What am I supposed to do?

French propaganda

I have a deep-seated obsession with France. I like the language well enough, but I've always been really enamored with France: the food, the people, the Frenchness of France. This is all thanks to my mother. She feels the same way about France; I mean, I know she likes the language but that's not really what it's all about for her. It's a much deeper, fuller love that I don't think I can articulate. But I think I understand it, because the books she gave me when I was little make the picture a little clearer.

And with that introduction, I present to you: Book Installment #2: French Propaganda of My Childhood. Let's just dive in, shall we?

1. A lot, a lot, a lot of "learn to speak French!" picture books, but my favorite was always If I Lived in France.

This book was like a tasting menu as far as language books go. It followed the life of one very oddly-drawn boy if he lived in France for, let's say, about a year. There was a loose plot that was basically, "Check it, guys! France is SO COOL!" and maybe seven or eight vocabulary words per page. The boy wandered around willy-nilly, exploring France and all its wonders. I was very proud of myself the day I finally figured out the proper pronunciation of "boulangerie" (which means "bakery"). I spent hours puzzling over that word, and when I finally nailed it, I met my mom at the door squealing excitedly, "Mommy, I can say it! I can say it! It's 'bou-lahn-jair-ee!'"

Most important lesson: Pronunciation guides are bullshit. Listen to the word if you want to learn how to say it properly.

2. The Sweetest Fig. I was planning on making a separate "Bizarrely Dark Children's Books" post, but then I came up with this idea and liked it better.

The Sweetest Fig was about a French dentist (so you know he's evil) who apparently took lessons in money management from his old copy of Jack in the Beanstalk and never learned how to treat animals properly. An old, very poor woman with an awful toothache begs him to take care of her, and when he finally does so, she can only pay him with two figs, which she says "will make your dreams come true."He doesn't believe her and eats one right before going to bed. Turns out the old woman was right! The dentist has a dream about being in public in his underwear and...what do you know! The next day he's at the Eiffel Tower in his underwear! How embarrassing!

Then he spends a long time studying lucid dreams and mind control and giving his dog the odd kick in his free moments, so he can dream about being fabulously wealthy. [Spoiler alert] He's all set to make his dreams come true...when the dog eats the last fig! The dentist beats the fear of God into the dog (no, I'm not joking. He really beats his dog.) and goes to sleep. The next morning...the dog is human and the dentist is his dog. Forever. The end!

This book was really sinister, but it was set in France...and the illustrations were gorgeous. Whatever mixed impressions this book may have given me, it still influenced my life profoundly.

Most important lesson: I learned that you should never mistreat anything. Never.

3. Ooh La La (Max In Love). This book was one of a series about a canine poet named Max. These books were, more than anything else, really complicated. Max writes poems and goes to Paris and Hollywood and all sorts of interesting adventures, but they were full of innuendo and complex wit and jokes that the target audience could not be expected to understand. They sure baffled me. Even with my French language books, there were bilingual puns that eluded me, and since they were puns, my mother couldn't explain them. I remember puzzling over these books for almost as long as "boulangerie," and it didn't help that each page had about a novel's worth of text written in cursive:

Look at that. Does that stuff make any sense to you? I sure couldn't understand it.

But regardless of comprehension, I liked the book because it showed me layers of Paris and layers of the French language that were all new. The incomprehensible puns, the pages where the word "bleu" was repeated approximately every other word: they spelled something out to me. They made me want to go to Paris and look, just look. They made me want to nose around and see what I could see.

Most important lesson: a person who recites a spontaneous poem about you at a poetry slam is mentally unbalanced and you should run from them at top speed.

4. Linnea in Monet's Garden. Now this was the gold standard. This book is, in a nutshell, the reason why I have to study abroad in France. When I was little, I hated my name with a burning passion. I thought it was stupid and ugly and different and I hated it. Reading this book and developing a fondness for Monet started to change my mind. This book was about a little girl and her adult friend who went to France to see Monet's garden and his paintings. It was a wonderfully composed book: there were pictures of Monet and his garden, pictures of the garden now, and drawings of the flowers. It was beautiful.

I liked Linnea. She was an American girl who liked France, and not just Paris, which was a refreshing change. I loved the garden and I loved the pictures so much. I got this book long after learning how to read, but the plot barely interested me. Why read the story when there were such beautiful flowers to look at? I liked the cats and the flowers and the paintings. I liked it all.

Most important lesson: Get to Monet's garden somehow.

This concludes our installment. Exit is out the back, I apologize for sounding pretentious, and Happy Easter.