Tagged

P reminded me — I forgot to tag people after the meme. Pshazz, Rachael, Arielle, and Pam, consider yourselves tagged. Or not; these things are silly anyway, right?

Creamy cod? (and a meme)

Mmm… Cod.

Ok, maybe that’s not the first thing you thought when you saw this picture. Believe me, I was skeptical, too. Especially since I’m actually talking about bacala, or salt cod. Yah, the stuff you can probably cause some serious brain damage with if you decide to backhand someone with the nearest piece of dried fish.  But bear with me for a second; I promise, I won’t lead you astray. Unless, of course, you hate fish — in which case, I really can’t help you.

So imagine the best white fish you’ve ever had, paired ever so perfectly with amazingly buttery, completely creamy mashed potatoes. The combination of the creamy, buttery smoothness with that addictive fatty fish taste is essentially highlighted in this brandade, and pairs beautifully with crusty peasant bread and a few other basic necessities. Apart from that, we’ve been eating it all week, and aren’t sick of it yet. So if you’re curious about bacala, go try it!

On a completely unrelated note, I sometimes think it’d be cool to have a more interesting name. See, everyone knows a Liz or two, so when Marty memes me, he might not actually mean ME. But hey, I’ve never been memed, so I’ll give it a go regardless.

Here are the rules:
A) The rules of the game get posted at the beginning.
B) Each player answers the questions about himself or herself.
C) At the end of the post, the player then tags five people and posts their names, then goes to their blogs and leaves them a comment, letting them know they’ve been tagged and asking them to read your blog.

1) Ten years ago I was…
A very awkward high school student, and the new kid, at that.

2) Five things on today’s to-do list:
Update my publications list, finish a proposal, clean up my office, procrastinate on my blog, and wash lots of a scary amount of fries down with plenty of cheap beer (and an awesome Guinness cake).

3) Things I’d do if I were a billionaire:

Revolutionize the school cafeteria programs across the country in an effort to change food culture in the US for the better, set up some education programs to help people all over start local agriculture projects and make some progress on ending world hunger, and throw some serious money at revolutionizing the public transit / pedestrian / bike systems in the US in order to help wean us all off our gas guzzling lifestyle. Ok, that’d all probably take more than a few billion, but it’s good to dream, no? Alternatively, I could build my own radioactive beam facility. Frankly, I think the first few projects are more worthwhile (shh, don’t tell my lab!).

4) Three bad habits:

(1) I can’t make a decision to save my life, (2) I know I’ll forget people’s names unless I see them written, so I tend not to try very hard, and (3) Caffeine:Liz :: Speed:Everyone

5) Five places I’ve lived:

• San Jose, CA (don’t remember that one. Was it Santa Clara? I don’t know — somewhere near the two)
• Fresno, CA
• Salt Lake City, UT
• Los Angeles, CA
• Santa Barbara, CA
• New Haven, CT (Yes, that’s 6, but experimentalists can’t count anyway)

6) Six jobs I’ve had in my life:

Custodian, Returns Processor, Bakery clerk, Library slave, Medical records entry slave, Lab slave (see a theme?)

My first Pav

I think I finally figured out how to get James to eat some fruit.

Seriously — this is it. Those kiwis? He bought those about three weeks ago. I’m shocked — shocked — that they’re still intact (and tasty). And the strawberries? Leftovers from a cart I bought at TJ’s a whole two days ago. Why I still buy fruit at TJ’s is beyond me — I swear every “fresh” thing that comes from that store goes bad within a few days. But the ones we did manage to salvage were tasty, especially after I glazed them with some passionfruit pulp in syrup that James brought all the way back from Perth.

So, this is definitely my first pavlova. You can tell because I somehow wasn’t concerned about the fact that the recipe didn’t seem to indicate whether the pan should have a shape of some sort. Just pour it on a sheet pan and go, right? Um… NO. Not unless you like the smell of burning sugar.

Despite the mishap, though, it turned out pretty well. Mostly, it just didn’t have the body I was hoping for. (Kidding! I’m trying to see the bright side of all the footy going on in our house right now … Cut me some slack?) Ok, seriously, though — use a cake tin lined with parchment paper, so you’ll have a pretty cake-like thing to decorate. Just don’t forget the parchment; you need to flip it upside down to decorate it, and the underside will be spongy, a bit sticky, and almost marshmallow-like:

Not to mention delicious. And after you’re finished devouring this (decorations and all), you’ll have the energy to make the whole wheat challah I’m working on as I type. Stay tuned? In the meantime, counteract this dessert with Rachael’s awesome bran muffin recipe. Here’s my version, with chunks of marzipan and dried cherries in place of bananas:

Monster seedlings

Remember these?

Yes, believe it or not, all those cute little seedlings have taken over the front room in our house. It’s a perfect greenhouse, with full sun all day, at least one diligent person (not me) who remembers to give them water on occasion, and a nice breeze when we decide the air’s too perfect to keep outside. But I kind of want my desk back, so guess what our weekend plans are?  I think they’ll go nicely with the lettuce, shallots, strawberries, chard, and onions we already have out back. All are doing just fine, despite some seriously rocky soil, but I’m keeping my fingers crossed that they’ll survive our upcoming trip to California (two weeks! I’m so excited!). It’ll be a welcome break from days that seem to be filled with menial, must-do-now tasks. Like labeling the gamma cave.

Every single wire.  Anyone want to help?

A bit of crunch

I wasn’t even going to post today. It’s been one of those weeks, yet again, where we have no bread in the house, a random assortment of groceries we’re unlikely to get to, and a few too many takeout bills. But the lure of blog-related procrastination is a bit too much for me, it seems. Especially when I have a research proposal to write (due tomorrow!) for an experiment I’m not sure I’ll have time to do.

I guess what I’m trying to say is that this isn’t a real post. It’s just a place to share a few thoughts, and a recipe I wasn’t really sure I was going to share (notice the lack of prep photos?).  If you only have time to read one thing, check out Nathaniel Johnson’s article on raw milk in Harper’s Magazine (which I found via Bitten). It touches upon the history of pasteurization, what kind of farmers pasteurization regulations are actually trying to protect us from, and all in all, presents a pretty scary picture of the industrial dairy industry in this country. For the record, I’ll take my grass-fed raw milk from the friendly local farmer at the farmer’s market, thanks. Luckily, I have that choice here in Connecticut.

Otherwise, today was one of those days where it rains and rains until you think it’s never going to stop, and then transforms itself into a glorious, crisp evening, with streaming sunlight, chirping birds, and all sorts of other gorgeous signs of spring. The tulips even opened up, after a two-day hiatus. So what did I do? I went for a run, in my new, very funny looking shoes. I think they’re kind of hilarious, and I’m certain I look like a bit of a circus act running in them, but normal shoes seem to cause me trouble, so I thought I’d give them a try. They’re comfortable, and kind of awesome — provided you don’t spend too much time on concrete.

All this faux-barefoot running takes me back to about 18 years ago now, when I’d run around my grandmother’s neighborhood like a hoodlum, without shoes or fear of anything but the boy down the street that I sort of had a crush on (but only because I’d kissed his cheek when we were playing house one day, and it seemed appropriate somehow).  I’d run and run, playing pirates or princesses or some other nonsense, until it was time to go home for dinner, and I had to be coaxed into the car for the trip home. If I had been cooking back then, I think this jicama salad would have been the perfect antidote to a long day of playing pretend in the burning San Joaquin valley sun.