Last Friday night I went to see my friend, Steven, in a production of Andrew Lloyd Webber’s “Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dream Coat” (he was great as Potiphar, who made his money as a BC real estate mogul investing in – what else? – pyramids! So cute.). I wanted to bring him something to congratulate him on a job well done – but what? If he were a girl, I would have picked up some flowers without giving it a second thought. We gals are easy that way. Even the toughest lass likes getting flowers, and take my word for it, any girl who says she wouldn’t love a gorgeous bouquet is, well, let’s just say that it’d be in your best interest to take a few steps back, lest her nose gets so long that it causes you any kind of bodily harm. (As a side note for the fellas, you should know that no matter what kind of gal you’re dealing with, you really, really can’t go wrong with some classy blooms. You just can’t. And may I suggest roses? Any color will do, especially if you ask the florist to make it a roses-only arrangement by getting rid of the carnations, baby’s breath, and those weird ferny fillers. Timeless and swoon-worthy, I’m telling you!). Although some dudes do appreciate a nice arrangement, Steven is not a flower guy. I figured that he would tell me he liked them and thank me for bringing them and then let them sit in the backseat of his car until they developed that really awful rotting flower smell, and really, that’s more like a punishment than a present. So I decided that instead of flowers, Steven would be getting…drum roll…wait for it…a box of homemade cookies! When this thought sprang into my mind, I became that particular brand of really great, over the top, crazy excited usually reserved for children on Christmas morning. If I were a cartoon, a light bulb and a bunch of obnoxious exclamation points would have popped up over my head. And it wasn’t just one of those ideas that seem great at the time but then turn out badly either. Steven loved them, and I was so pleased with the final product that I took it as a huge personal victory. It was such a triumph that I thought I’d share my tips to creating a fantastic baked goods gift with you on this here blog. Without further ado:
• Presentation is key: As a longtime Food Network junkie, I’ve learned over the years that we eat with our eyes first. To me, that means making it a priority to keep the presentation interesting. I’ve seen this theory taken to the extreme (a recent episode of “Iron Chef America” comes to mind, in which the challenger plated his squab with its dead, fried talon clutching a clove of roasted garlic – interesting, yes, yet at the same time undeniably gross), but I like to keep things simpler by presenting them in an understated, unfettered manner. That’s why, when it came to Steven’s gift ‘o goodies, I picked up a 7X7X4 classic pink cake box and tied it shut with silver string finished off in a simple, shoelace-style bow. It had a very vintage bakery feel to it, and I loved the look of it. Additional advantages? It was easy to carry around till the end of the musical, and I didn’t have to worry about getting a plate or plastic container back.
• "No pleasure endures unseasoned by variety."*: To me, there’s nothing more boring than a whole lot of the same thing. Because of that, I made Steven three kinds of cookies. I heard through the grapevine that he was an unabashed chocolate chip cookie fanatic, so I made the traditional (and, in my opinion, best) Nestle recipe that comes printed on the back of every bag of chocolate chips. Then I decided to up the gourmet factor a little bit with Chocolate White Chocolate Chunk Cookies and Blue Ribbon Almond Roca Cookies. I picked those recipes because they seemed to me to be upscale variations on the classic chocolate chip cookie, and the results were fantastic. The Chocolate White Chocolate Chunk was yummy, and I liked how the dark dough and white chocolate pieces came across as sort of a positive/negative version of the chocolate chip cookies. As for the Almond Roca Cookies, anything I say about them would be a complete understatement. They were fantastic. Additional advantage? You get to try out multiple recipes and might come up with a winner or two like I did.
• Never neglect the card: The thing about the cookie box is, you can’t just shove it into someone’s arms. It has to come with a little love attached (so cheesy/so true). It’s just like giving someone money – you give it to them in a card instead of pushing a wad of sweaty bills into their hand. I found a great card for Steven that was totally apropos and just looked right nestled on top of the box under the bow. Additional advantage? Once the whole gift was completed and assembled, it was a thoroughly classy affair. Ron Burgundy would be proud.
So there you have it, my tips for creating a fantastic baked goods gift. Next time you’re hard pressed for a present and the traditional gifts seem trite or inappropriate, take my word for it and serve up the cookie box. Additional advantage? Make enough cookies to gift, then gift yourself with the leftovers.
*This quote is attributed to Publilius Syrus, who is most certainly dead but still deserves credit. So thanks, Pub - you’ve got a box of delicious cookies coming your way in the afterlife, friend.
Monday, April 30, 2007
Wednesday, April 18, 2007
Our Dodgers, Ourselves
I live in California. Southern California, more specifically. One thing that the nonnative sect usually notes about this part of state is that the weather is always pretty much the same here - fairly temperate and, more often than not, completely lovely. Even though my aversion to the whole “California girl” image is substantial (and yours would be too if you were brunette and pale and bookish), I have to admit that I love California. There’s something nice about being able to wear flip-flops every day for eleven months of the year. Forget flip-flops – how about the fact that you can enjoy a nice day at the beach for that same period of time as well? Hell, think bigger than the beach – how about the fact that it’s totally possible to, if you were tremendously motivated (and in tremendous physical shape), surf in the ocean, ski in the mountains, and go four-wheeling in the desert, all in the same day? That’s actually pretty extraordinary. So Cal is pretty extraordinary. And I count it an extraordinary privilege to get to call myself her native daughter.
Still, as closely as I hold California to my heart, enjoy her many pleasures, and defend her countless virtues to bitter and lofty out-of-staters (whose outward hate is, I believe, secret envy of the sunshine-y, carefree beauty of my home turf), I have to confess that living here has a tendency to become somewhat tedious. I guess you could say that the grass is always greener on the other side, but that’s just it – the grass is always greener in So Cal, and while the absence of changing seasons makes it an awfully nice place to live, it robs you of a feeling of time and space and rhythm and a sense of the natural progression of things. It’s hard to differentiate between the months when they’re all just an endless parade of warm days strung together one right after the next. There’s really no winter or spring or summer or fall here. It’s just one long, sunny blur until we roll over the calendars in January and start again…that is, unless you’re a baseball fan. To baseball fans, there are two seasons, and two seasons exclusively, no matter where you live: Baseball season, when nothing else seems to hold as much importance as how your team did that day, and the off season, when you sit around waiting for baseball season to start up again. And if you are So Cal born and bred like me, there’s more than a fair chance that you’re a Dodger fan. And if you are indeed a Dodger fan…well, I feel your pain.
Is there anything or anyone in the world that can take your heart, break it, and put it back together again more effectively than the Dodgers? I doubt it. But that’s what they do. They take your already half empty glass, knock it over, then fill it to the brim before downing it, again and again and again, until it occurs to you that your life as a blue-bleeder is nothing more than several minor nervous breakdowns in nine inning increments, 162 times a year. But you love it. It makes you a sadist, sure, but you love it for those moments when it makes you an optimist. And, to be honest, at the core of every Dodger fan’s soul lies a hidden optimist. You would have to be to cherish a team who will unfailingly win enough games to get you thinking that this is the year they’re going to make something big happen, only to inexplicably lose their steam come September, taking your heart and your dreams of post season glory with them. Yet even then, you can’t deny that every time Vin Scully declares, “It’s time for Dodger baseball!” you know in your gut that those are the most beautiful and comforting words in the English language. The Dodgers – they do that to you.
When the train inevitably jumps the tracks, it becomes a spectacle that’s literally painful to watch. It’s like a stab in the heart. Most people say that the ungodly traffic is the reason Dodger fans leave the games in the seventh inning; I say it’s because we just can’t stand to see how bad the damage is when the wheels come off. Either way, you have to know that we’re listening to the game on the radio as we shake our heads and battle our way out of the parking lot. Because that’s what we do – we love them no matter how much they screw things up for us. We keep coming back for more because we know, somewhere in the depths of our souls, that the Dodgers can find their way back from whatever defeats they will most certainly suffer. We might not have a lot of proof to substantiate this claim, but still we cling desperately to the hope that our injured players might get it together and Kirk Gibson their way into baseball history, that our misfit infield will somehow morph itself into a kind of Garvey-Lopes-Russell-Cey magic machine, that when our pitchers take the mound, the memory of the greats like Koufax and Drysdale will be there with them, inspiring every pitch to dance over the plate. We hope for these things because we have no other choice than to hope for these things. For better or for worse, the Dodgers are inherently ours and vice versa.
Maybe being a Dodger fan is a fantastic metaphor for life: It’s a constant, devastating, bullish struggle. You have to be steadfast and unflinching and hopeful, because if you’re not, you have no chance whatsoever of succeeding – you’ve lost before you’ve even really begun. You’ll strike out – a lot – but you have to come to your next at-bat believing that the next pitch is your pitch. You may have lost by 20 runs today, but you have to know that you can win by that many tomorrow. It’s about recognizing and appreciating the fact that you’ll have another opportunity to make things right. It’s a blank scorecard. A freshly raked field. A clean uniform. Another at-bat. Another game. Another chance to start over. Maybe that’s a kind of beacon of hope that we could all use in our lives every once and a while. I’m more than okay with letting the Dodgers be that beacon for me.
Still, as closely as I hold California to my heart, enjoy her many pleasures, and defend her countless virtues to bitter and lofty out-of-staters (whose outward hate is, I believe, secret envy of the sunshine-y, carefree beauty of my home turf), I have to confess that living here has a tendency to become somewhat tedious. I guess you could say that the grass is always greener on the other side, but that’s just it – the grass is always greener in So Cal, and while the absence of changing seasons makes it an awfully nice place to live, it robs you of a feeling of time and space and rhythm and a sense of the natural progression of things. It’s hard to differentiate between the months when they’re all just an endless parade of warm days strung together one right after the next. There’s really no winter or spring or summer or fall here. It’s just one long, sunny blur until we roll over the calendars in January and start again…that is, unless you’re a baseball fan. To baseball fans, there are two seasons, and two seasons exclusively, no matter where you live: Baseball season, when nothing else seems to hold as much importance as how your team did that day, and the off season, when you sit around waiting for baseball season to start up again. And if you are So Cal born and bred like me, there’s more than a fair chance that you’re a Dodger fan. And if you are indeed a Dodger fan…well, I feel your pain.
Is there anything or anyone in the world that can take your heart, break it, and put it back together again more effectively than the Dodgers? I doubt it. But that’s what they do. They take your already half empty glass, knock it over, then fill it to the brim before downing it, again and again and again, until it occurs to you that your life as a blue-bleeder is nothing more than several minor nervous breakdowns in nine inning increments, 162 times a year. But you love it. It makes you a sadist, sure, but you love it for those moments when it makes you an optimist. And, to be honest, at the core of every Dodger fan’s soul lies a hidden optimist. You would have to be to cherish a team who will unfailingly win enough games to get you thinking that this is the year they’re going to make something big happen, only to inexplicably lose their steam come September, taking your heart and your dreams of post season glory with them. Yet even then, you can’t deny that every time Vin Scully declares, “It’s time for Dodger baseball!” you know in your gut that those are the most beautiful and comforting words in the English language. The Dodgers – they do that to you.
When the train inevitably jumps the tracks, it becomes a spectacle that’s literally painful to watch. It’s like a stab in the heart. Most people say that the ungodly traffic is the reason Dodger fans leave the games in the seventh inning; I say it’s because we just can’t stand to see how bad the damage is when the wheels come off. Either way, you have to know that we’re listening to the game on the radio as we shake our heads and battle our way out of the parking lot. Because that’s what we do – we love them no matter how much they screw things up for us. We keep coming back for more because we know, somewhere in the depths of our souls, that the Dodgers can find their way back from whatever defeats they will most certainly suffer. We might not have a lot of proof to substantiate this claim, but still we cling desperately to the hope that our injured players might get it together and Kirk Gibson their way into baseball history, that our misfit infield will somehow morph itself into a kind of Garvey-Lopes-Russell-Cey magic machine, that when our pitchers take the mound, the memory of the greats like Koufax and Drysdale will be there with them, inspiring every pitch to dance over the plate. We hope for these things because we have no other choice than to hope for these things. For better or for worse, the Dodgers are inherently ours and vice versa.
Maybe being a Dodger fan is a fantastic metaphor for life: It’s a constant, devastating, bullish struggle. You have to be steadfast and unflinching and hopeful, because if you’re not, you have no chance whatsoever of succeeding – you’ve lost before you’ve even really begun. You’ll strike out – a lot – but you have to come to your next at-bat believing that the next pitch is your pitch. You may have lost by 20 runs today, but you have to know that you can win by that many tomorrow. It’s about recognizing and appreciating the fact that you’ll have another opportunity to make things right. It’s a blank scorecard. A freshly raked field. A clean uniform. Another at-bat. Another game. Another chance to start over. Maybe that’s a kind of beacon of hope that we could all use in our lives every once and a while. I’m more than okay with letting the Dodgers be that beacon for me.
Tuesday, April 3, 2007
3 Things: March
I would now like to introduce you to "3 Things," which I hope will become a monthly tradition around here. At the end of each month, I'll hit you with three things that I enjoyed over the course of the previous four weeks. I try really hard not to be a pimp on this blog, mostly because I heard from my pals Djay and Shug that it's really hard out there for a pimp - I've got enough problems of my own, thank you very much - but also because I don't want this space to become one big billboard (especially since, hello, no one is paying us for the shout out - we ain't no fools!). Still, when I like something, I want to share it with the people around me, so I think this is a good compromise. Here we go!
1. Movie Madness Marathon (aka, “MMM”)
Last week, Andrea and I were on Spring Break. Neither of us has ever been a big time partier, generally preferring to spend quiet time at home rather than partaking in hours and hours of weirdly loud music and wildly unentertaining people. Because of this, it’s not so surprising that our big activity for Spring Break was an event that united our shared love for lounging, cooking and eating, and watching a crap load of DVDs: the Movie Madness Marathon. We’ve done this a couple of times before, once when we knocked out the whole “Lord of the Rings” trilogy in one sitting and another time when we pushed our way through almost 75% of a season of “24.” Those were exhausting times, but they were good times. It had been far too long since our last MMM, so we thought we would take this mutual time off to resurrect it, and I’m so glad that we did.
To get the ball rolling, we first used our combined Netflixing abilities to procure three movies: "For Your Consideration" (another one of Christopher Guest’s simple, brilliant mock docs), "The Departed" (Martin Scorsese’s Boston-based tale of two men on opposite sides of the law; also this year’s Best Picture Oscar winner), and "Stranger Than Fiction" (the one where your idea that it would be great to have someone directing your life, telling you what to do and what’s going to happen to you, gets totally shot to hell). Then we decided that we’d watch them in that order as well – start with funny lightness, follow it up with weight and drama, finish it off with a nudge-on-the-chin feel gooder. Finally, we figured we would make a veritable smorgasbord of delectable snacks to nibble on at our leisure while laying around in our loungewear, snuggled up in blankets and watching movies. The result: Pure magic. It turned out to be a completely marvelous day. We saw three great movies, ate some truly delicious snackery (Blue cheese stuffed mushrooms! Ham and cheese rolls! Caprese sandwiches! Limoncello cheesecake squares!), and spent hours of quality time together. And we were in loungewear! All day long in the loungewear. I defy you to come up with anything more perfect than that.
2. Which Brings Me to You: A Novel in Confessions by Steve Almond and Julianna Baggott
A few weeks ago, I was bogged down by some heavy required reading for class, and it seemed like all the books I chose to read for pleasure were inexplicably dark (and not just, “Wow, that was sad” dark, but, “Wow, if I keep reading books like this, I’m seriously not going to be able to get out of bed” dark) as well. For the sake of my sanity, I began the arduous process of seeking out some respectable (ie, non-cheeseball) light-hearted fare. I scoured Borders and couldn’t find anything that appealed to me (thereby confirming my theory that “respectable” and “light-hearted” are mutually exclusive in literary terms). I was all set to go home, defeated, and dive right into another hide-the-handgun novel when I saw something scribbled onto the back of my checkbook: the title of a novel I once read an excellent review of, jotted down hastily in purple ink. I don’t remember the last time I had a purple pen. I don’t remember when I made that notation. I don’t remember where I read that review. But none of that matters, because I trusted myself (my purple pen-having self, my checkbook writing self) and bought that book right on the spot. As it turns out, it was just what I needed to get myself out of my depressing book funk.
Which Brings Me to You is the story of a man and woman who meet at a wedding and have an awkward semi-sexual encounter that leads to the exchange of a series of letters laying out their past failures in love and life (those are the “confessions” referenced in the title). I bought it, read it in a day, and am now actively promoting it to all my friends, family, and, of course, blog buddies. Check it out – it’s smart, witty and real, which, let’s face it, you don’t get a lot of these days.
(And also, after reading this piece about his experience coauthoring a novel and this piece about his nephews and the entirety of this book tour diary, I think I sort of heart Steve Almond. How have I never read any of this guy’s work before? He’s smart, witty and real…I'm pretty sure I read somewhere that you don’t get a lot of that these days.)
3. The Colgate 360 toothbrush
Two things I’m always in the business of: 1) Getting my teeth whiter, and 2) Keeping my breath fresh. This fantastic toothbrush accomplishes both things, because not only does it have some soft rubber bristles to remove stains and keep you plaque free, it also has this weird nubby thing on the backside of the head that cleans both the inside of the cheeks and the tongue, ridding your mouth of bacteria that causes bad breath. In short, the brush is genius. The bottom line is, my teeth are super white, my breath is odor free, and you should throw away your old crappy toothbrush and use this one instead. Also, as previously stated, we don't get any kind of payment for recommending things like this, but maybe if someone told Colgate I’d be willing to receive compensation in the form of a lifetime supply of these toothbrushes they'd be willing to pony up. After all, this blog gets over three views a day. That’s got to be worth something. Pass it on.
1. Movie Madness Marathon (aka, “MMM”)
Last week, Andrea and I were on Spring Break. Neither of us has ever been a big time partier, generally preferring to spend quiet time at home rather than partaking in hours and hours of weirdly loud music and wildly unentertaining people. Because of this, it’s not so surprising that our big activity for Spring Break was an event that united our shared love for lounging, cooking and eating, and watching a crap load of DVDs: the Movie Madness Marathon. We’ve done this a couple of times before, once when we knocked out the whole “Lord of the Rings” trilogy in one sitting and another time when we pushed our way through almost 75% of a season of “24.” Those were exhausting times, but they were good times. It had been far too long since our last MMM, so we thought we would take this mutual time off to resurrect it, and I’m so glad that we did.
To get the ball rolling, we first used our combined Netflixing abilities to procure three movies: "For Your Consideration" (another one of Christopher Guest’s simple, brilliant mock docs), "The Departed" (Martin Scorsese’s Boston-based tale of two men on opposite sides of the law; also this year’s Best Picture Oscar winner), and "Stranger Than Fiction" (the one where your idea that it would be great to have someone directing your life, telling you what to do and what’s going to happen to you, gets totally shot to hell). Then we decided that we’d watch them in that order as well – start with funny lightness, follow it up with weight and drama, finish it off with a nudge-on-the-chin feel gooder. Finally, we figured we would make a veritable smorgasbord of delectable snacks to nibble on at our leisure while laying around in our loungewear, snuggled up in blankets and watching movies. The result: Pure magic. It turned out to be a completely marvelous day. We saw three great movies, ate some truly delicious snackery (Blue cheese stuffed mushrooms! Ham and cheese rolls! Caprese sandwiches! Limoncello cheesecake squares!), and spent hours of quality time together. And we were in loungewear! All day long in the loungewear. I defy you to come up with anything more perfect than that.
2. Which Brings Me to You: A Novel in Confessions by Steve Almond and Julianna Baggott
A few weeks ago, I was bogged down by some heavy required reading for class, and it seemed like all the books I chose to read for pleasure were inexplicably dark (and not just, “Wow, that was sad” dark, but, “Wow, if I keep reading books like this, I’m seriously not going to be able to get out of bed” dark) as well. For the sake of my sanity, I began the arduous process of seeking out some respectable (ie, non-cheeseball) light-hearted fare. I scoured Borders and couldn’t find anything that appealed to me (thereby confirming my theory that “respectable” and “light-hearted” are mutually exclusive in literary terms). I was all set to go home, defeated, and dive right into another hide-the-handgun novel when I saw something scribbled onto the back of my checkbook: the title of a novel I once read an excellent review of, jotted down hastily in purple ink. I don’t remember the last time I had a purple pen. I don’t remember when I made that notation. I don’t remember where I read that review. But none of that matters, because I trusted myself (my purple pen-having self, my checkbook writing self) and bought that book right on the spot. As it turns out, it was just what I needed to get myself out of my depressing book funk.
Which Brings Me to You is the story of a man and woman who meet at a wedding and have an awkward semi-sexual encounter that leads to the exchange of a series of letters laying out their past failures in love and life (those are the “confessions” referenced in the title). I bought it, read it in a day, and am now actively promoting it to all my friends, family, and, of course, blog buddies. Check it out – it’s smart, witty and real, which, let’s face it, you don’t get a lot of these days.
(And also, after reading this piece about his experience coauthoring a novel and this piece about his nephews and the entirety of this book tour diary, I think I sort of heart Steve Almond. How have I never read any of this guy’s work before? He’s smart, witty and real…I'm pretty sure I read somewhere that you don’t get a lot of that these days.)
3. The Colgate 360 toothbrush
Two things I’m always in the business of: 1) Getting my teeth whiter, and 2) Keeping my breath fresh. This fantastic toothbrush accomplishes both things, because not only does it have some soft rubber bristles to remove stains and keep you plaque free, it also has this weird nubby thing on the backside of the head that cleans both the inside of the cheeks and the tongue, ridding your mouth of bacteria that causes bad breath. In short, the brush is genius. The bottom line is, my teeth are super white, my breath is odor free, and you should throw away your old crappy toothbrush and use this one instead. Also, as previously stated, we don't get any kind of payment for recommending things like this, but maybe if someone told Colgate I’d be willing to receive compensation in the form of a lifetime supply of these toothbrushes they'd be willing to pony up. After all, this blog gets over three views a day. That’s got to be worth something. Pass it on.
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