Cake Love

I just learned about this and it's very exciting because officially, I'm pro-cupcake (and cake).

The Final Final

Tomorrow is my final final. YIPPEE!!!!

In case you can't tell, I'm thrilled this semester is almost over.

To celebrate, I am having Spaghetti-O's for dinner. While some people do not like the S-O's, I genuinely love them. I blame my parents and their Pavlovian conditioning for my love of Mr Boyardee's culinary creations.

Last weekend I was in SF for KM's wedding. I crafted a little blog post while on the plane trying to study. Unfortunately, my S-O's are calling and I only have a 30 min break before I get back to learning about Stage 4 pressure ulcers. Thus, that post will be posted another day. Probably tomorrow after my school peeps and I have our end-of-the-semester mimosa brunch.

One more thing. Here is a quick shout out to VM a new member of our ever-so-cool blogging circle. VM and I went to high school together and we were roommates in college. She also knows the Wombat and the Napper. I'll add her link to this blog tomorrow.

Explanation to Follow

The keys in the front door of my apartment are wrong. They are backwards. You have to turn the lock into the door jam to open it. And then the door sticks. Usually I try to unlock both locks and in the process relock them. Then when I finally do unlock them (for reals), the door sticks and makes me think I really didn’t unlock them in the first place. I try it again before I figure it out. Five minutes later the door finally is open. Monday was the first time that I opened both my locks without even thinking about it. I celebrated with…reading a chapter in one of my text books.

It is almost the end of the second week of school and some things (like how my door works!) are starting to click. I don’t have to think every minute about where I’m supposed to be and what I should be doing. My body has adjusted to appreciating six hours of sleep, satisfying adrenaline-induced hunger with what is cheap and backpack friendly, and feeling clear-headed only if I spend time with the treadmill.

Since living here I’ve eaten a lot of Indian take-out. It’s lasted longer than my normal food obsessions. I crave Indian food like it’s water. I can’t get enough of it. Which got me thinking…when I studied abroad in England I ate Indian food all the time. It filled the void that Mexican food occupied in my So Cal life. While I can still get Mexican food here in lovely B’more, I want Indian more. I wonder if my Indian cravings tap into some sort of conditioned you-are-away-from-home-but-will-survive neurological pathway from my time in the UK. Whatever the reason, I want it more than I can afford to buy it. So I’ve started to cook it myself! It’s not as good but it fills the need. For now.

So I’ve got my Indian food habits in place and my door unlocks with ease. It’s all coming together right? That’s how I felt on Monday. But then Tuesday hit and everything felt like it was falling apart. And by “everything” I really mean that school was hard that day. We had a crazy three hour lecture that left me staring at the prof--jaw dropped, eyes wide, peripheral blood vessels vasoconstricted (pale skin) all to non-verbally convey the expression: you’ve got to be kidding. The prof kept talking about things we didn’t understand and when we questioned it, her answer was, “I’ll explain later.”

Today was better then yesterday. We talked about how to give a male patient a bed bath. Someone asked what to do if the man gets “turned on.” We all laughed because every single one of us—girl and guy alike—wondered the same thing. We were instructed, in that situation, to act as though it weren’t a big deal, tell him something to the effect of, “It happens all the time,” and save any school-girl giggling until we’re safely in the lounge with our nurse friends.

When I left school the sky was dark. There was thunder, lighting and torrential rain. My friends and I missed the shuttle bus by seconds and got drenched. Cars drove by and splashed us with the puddles on the side of the road. We laughed through our shivering. All the laughter was good.

All the things that weren’t explained still haven’t been, but for the second time I was able to unlock my door with ease.

Today was better then yesterday. That is what matters.

TJ's, East Coast Style

Happy Sunday! I think it’s going to be difficult writing in here as much as I used to going forward, but I am going to try and commit to at least once a week.

Last Sunday I went to the local Trader Joes for the first time. The only TJs in the area is in the suburbs and due to MD law, they can’t sell wine. I used to buy most of my wine from TJs, so even before going I was prepared to have a different TJ’s experience. And there did turn out to be several other differences. As I walked up and down each aisle, I took a little mental inventory. It went like this: “Good, they carry my favorite salad dressing here,” “Oh no, where is the tomato gnocchi??” and “Wow…I’ve never seen this marinated tuna before.” In the end, this TJ carried most of the things I love. They even had a few new things that I tried since last Sunday and now love too. Which is a bonus. They do not, however, carry two HUGE staples of my So Cal existence. They don’t have my favorite frozen tomato gnocchi dish, and most importantly, THEY DON”T HAVE MY FAVORITE SALSA!!!! Yes, that’s right. The Roasted Tomatillo Salsa is not here in the east coast. And my second favorite salsa, The Medium Especial, isn’t there either. In fact they only had two or three fresh salsas available. I guess that should be expected—we’re much further from Mexico now--but still…a little piece of my heart chipped off and floated away as I noticed these items were not there. And as I noticed there was no space for them. And as I asked about them in panic to a near-by TJ’s employee. And as they confirmed they indeed do not carry such things.

To make the proverbial lemonade, I grabbed two of the three fresh salsas that were available and to my satisfaction, they were pretty good. Nothing STELLAR, but they will do. I even ate them in my normal pace and they were both gone within 36 hours. (I’ve gone back to my salsa-and-chip-as-a-meal pattern).

One of the other differences between this TJs and the ones back home: more seafood and seafood related items. I tried some lovely marinated ahi steaks. They were pretty good!

I also picked up some strawberries. I bought some strawberries the day before at the farmer’s market, but they were almost gone and strawberry season is almost over. Plus these strawberries were the largest I’d seen in a grocery store. Here’s one of them next to an apple. They were almost the same size.












The fact that they were so big made me wonder: are these organic or were they grown with hormones and other bad chemicals? I looked at the package and saw that these strawberries are actually from California. I had been kind of down that day, so when I noticed the strawberries were Californian, it made me sad. Also, they weren't organic. That made me sad too. I guess I had been blinded by their size. Size matters in the berry world.

Tastes Just Like....Pulvo

Spain, the Miniseries part 7

Towards the end of the trip we decided to hop over to Portugal for dinner one night. The town was a sleepy one and without a guide book, suggestions from locals, or knowledge of the Portuguese language, it was challenging finding a place to eat. When we finally did we had no idea what was on the menu. We used KA’s Spanish and my French to figure out a few items, and ended up ordering a couple of pulvo dishes. “Chicken” in Spanish is pollo and it's poulet in French. Thus it could follow that “chicken” in Portuguese, another Latin-based romance language bordering the Mediterranean, might be something like pulvo. Well it turns out that pulvo actually meant octopus. Octopus covered in slimy purple skin and tentacles. One of the pulvo dishes was gross (according to KA, as I wouldn’t eat it). The other one wasn’t so bad (after KA told me it was safe to eat). Yes, that meal was definitely something of a dining adventure.

Tapas y Vino

Spain, the Miniseries part 4

Spanish food, in general, seemed a little bland to me; bland in the sense that there wasn't a lot of seasoning and bland in the sense that it was a lot of the same thing all the time. They really love seafood and ham. I mean REALLY love it. They love ham so much, in fact, that there is a chain of stores called Museo de Jamon (Museum of Ham) where they sell various types of ham butcher-style, along with wine and beer to encourage good spirits and a jovial atmostphere while shopping. Everyone Museo de Jamon we passed was super crowded. By the end of the trip we were craving any other kind of food and inhaled burritos and Chinese during our layover on the way home.

The Spanish don’t really eat breakfast, as we know it. When they eat out they consume most of their meals in these café-bar concoctions that sell coffee, fresh squeezed OJ, liquor, beer, strange meat dishes, churros and the occasional sandwich from a bar. The Spanish eat small amounts all day and the “tapas” type meal is a very big part of the routine. It took awhile for KA and I to get into the pattern, to know what to order, when to order it, and where to get it. In the end we got our Spanish food-groove on and had our favorite dishes. For breakfast we ordered tostas (toast), zumo de naranja natural (fresh OJ) and café con leche (the nectar of the gods, in my opinion). For lunch we’d usually get bocadillos (sandwiches) or tortillas.

[Spainish tortillas are round, thick potato omelet things that are sliced into quiche-sized pieces. When we order we’d say, “Dos tortillas, por favor.” Then the server would look at us blankly. So we would say “tortillas” again, emphasizing a more Spanish style accent. And finally they would get what we were saying, and say “Ah…..tor-TIL-las!” We never thought we said it much differently than they did, but what do we know?]

Dinner was usually more adventurous but generally more of the same kind of thing (ham, seafood, tapas). One night I ordered vegetarian pasta at a touristy restaurant. The menu and the waiter confirmed that the dish had “no carne!” I ended up with a bowl of penne and shrimp floating in salt water. Yum.

Another thing to add about the Spanish dining experience: Tapas bars were kind of intimidating. People generally stand around near the bar, yelling what they want and throwing their trash on the floor. It’s hard to get space and hard to get attention from the servers. When you do get their attention, it’s scary to try and order something correctly with the limited time they give you. We were better about them in the end, but it took several days before we were brave enough to go in there and order with some authority.

While we got a bit tired of the some Spanish food, there are some really good things about their cuisine and the way they eat. I already mentioned we like tortillas. The café con leches are fantastic (the best one ever was in Bilbao). The availability of fresh OJ EVERYWHERE is something I could get used to. Seriously—every bar/café thing had a juicer and a big bowl of oranges next to it. They squeezed it when you ordered, and I made sure to drink the zumo every day. The arroz con leche (rice pudding) was great when we could find it. Same thing with paella. We went to a restaurant known for its paella on the last night and it was fantastic. I really liked the idea of eating small meals throughout the day. It’s good for the metabolism and it meant I rarely felt stuffed the way I do after an American meal out.

Another great thing about Spanish dining and food? The vino. Spanish wine is fan-freakin’-tastic. I never had a bad glass, even when it was just the house vino tinto (red wine). We tasted and bought a few bottles from an adorably passionate Galician man. He kept stumbling on his English and apologizing with the kind of drama I typically attribute to Italians. Spain is the third largest exporter of wine in the world, and according to the passionate Galician wine seller, Spanish wine is sold mature and ready to drink. Unlike French wine it doesn’t necessarily need to be stored prior to drinking. Others have since contested this idea saying that storage times depend on the bottle and grape, but I like the idea of it being ready for consumption right away. It seems appropriate, culturally, that Spanish wine is ready immediately while French wine needs to sit and wait awhile.

Updates

I got my apartment in B-more all lined up! YAY! That is a big weight off my shoulders. But I am still waiting on something even bigger: Financial Aid. Yuck.

In other news I spent last night with my “boyfriend”. I watched The Notebook.

And finally, I have a new addiction. Pink Berry. It's so yummy!! I want it ALL the time. Fortunately, and unfortunately, there's one only a couple miles away from my house. Fortunately, and unfortunately, I pass it whenever I get off the freeway to go home.

Eating the Doctors

Today is my last day at work and it hasn't been sad! It's just been very nice in fact. Yesterday they had cake for me and it was decorated with all the famous (and generally attractive!) TV doctors.

Here's a picture of the graphic on the cake.

They were going to write, "Knock 'em Dead!" on the top of the cake, but going into health care, they thought that might be a little inappropriate. Also, the Southpark character in the middle is me--although my hair is not that color, my head is not that disproportionate (I hope) and I think I dress better.

Since the cake was mine, I got to pick who I wanted to eat first. Even if it was right in the middle of the cake. So I ate Jack (from Lost), and then I ate McDreamy.

What's that you say? What's this about a double entendre? Huh?

My Crumble Cobbler Concoction

I decided to not go to class last night. There is no way I can complete the course requirements (with my upcoming move) so I figured there was no point in going. I embraced a can't do attitude; I gave in to sloth. Well, actually, I wasn't all that slothful. I decided to bake something in honor of the day. And the motivation to bake crept into a desire to cook. So I cooked a real, mom-like, balanced meal of lemon chicken, roasted sweet potatoes, and broccoli in a balsamic marinade. Then I made a mixed berry crumble. It ended up being more like a mixed berry cobbler because of several errors I made: 1) we didn't have enough flour; 2) I might have mixed the mixture too much. It said to lightly move around the flour with a fork just until moistened. I think I went a little crazy with the stirring. I am going to attribute this to stronger arm muscles (LOL); 3) I used 8 cups of berries but the recipe called for 6. It was still really good.

Which brings me to an observation. A couple of weeks ago I cooked some homemade tomato-y mac-and-cheese for a superbowl shindig. As I was making it, I could not believe the amount of cheese it called for. I'm a BIG fan of cheese, and even I had issue putting that much in. In the end I cut back slightly, used low fat where available, and did not create layers like the recipe called for. Instead of layering I created two separate pans and gave one to the General to take with her to a different superbowl party (thereby bringing cheesy goodness to the masses). When I ate some later that day I was shocked that it wasn't all that cheesy. In fact more cheese would have been good.

Last night, while making my crumble cobbler concoction, I was shocked at the amount of sugar it called for. But I dutifully packed and poured and was surprised in the end when the dessert was the perfect amount of just-right-sweet. These recipe writers really know there stuff.

As the General pointed out, if I think these dishes seem to have a lot of cheese and sugar but don't actually taste too decadent, then what about those things you eat that do? How much cheese and sugar needs to be added to make it too much? I am thinking SCARY amounts.

Dueling Philosphies

I keep forgetting that it's Valentine's day. I guess I am just preoccupied with other thoughts. My day isn't full of love and pink, it is full of sore muscles and structure. Wake up, workout, go to work, go to school. The structure is punctuated with thoughts of food. I feel like eating lots of it, but I have only brought oatmeal and cliff bars and veggies with me. I am still dreaming of the fabulous Indian meal I had last night. I want more of it. I am also trying to decide if/when I should drop one of the classes I am taking. CMB convinced me to go tonight at least. We'll be doing venous punctures on mannequins. He says it's good practice, even if I will have to learn how later regardless. He has a point, but then, not going would be really nice too. My right arm still sports a large bruise where a nurse botched up a blood test last week. It hurts and it kind of turns me off to the idea of learning how to impose such bruises on other people. Well, it turns me off to the idea TODAY at least. In regards to this situation, I am stuck between the philosophy of "learn as much as you can, be the best you can be, NOW" and "why work hard today when you'll be working so hard later?" Hmm....which one to pick and run with....

Recommendations:

Mr.FOB is a super cool organization that introduces you to various ethnic foods. It takes you to the best places, provides insight into dishes not normally served here, and provides some knowledge as to the way the food should be eaten. I joined up for the Indian meal they hosted last night and was blown away at how good it was. I eat a lot of Indian food, both locally and during my time in England, and I never had any of these specific dishes. And the best part? Mr. FOB was created by a friend of mine and her fellow students attending business school right now. I love supporting the new, cool things my friends do!

I just finished reading The Memory Keeper's Daugher. It was really good. It wasn't a White Oleander, Bel Canto, Fall on Your Knees kind of good, but it was enjoyable and interesting. It deals with secrets and how they can affect the lives of everyone involved. It gave some relevant, good insight into the human psyche, and in many ways I identified with portions of the experience and with pieces of the emotion at play.