From a chief in my own mind to a chef in my own… er, someone else’s kitchen

My cooking club meets tonight and I’m hosting (at the home of the professor I’m house-sitting for; she very generously told me to feel free to throw parties, etc., and I’m taking her up on the offer by having my cooking club enjoy our meal in her amazing garden).

When I was a small child, I started many clubs. They struggled to find memberships, perhaps because the first thing I always did was appoint myself President. (My mom still has my kindergarten manifesto for the Girls' Club and Army.)

Let's hope my return to form with the cooking club is less totalitarian and more sustained!

{Photo from http://www.flickr.com/photos/rogersmith/232072232/}

The club is brand-new but we’ve already evolved what I think is a good system.
How it works:

• We rotate hosts. Hosts pick the menu (with input) and procure the ingredients, and pay for them.
• Guests bring wine. Guests have offered to bring other things (side dishes, dessert), but I think it’s important that we don’t establish this norm: this is a weekly affair and we’re all busy people. The burden is not bad if it’s only once a month or so that you have to do anything besides show up with a bottle of wine.
• We clean as we go so there’s no mess left for the host.
• We cook something large and everyone takes leftovers that should last at least another meal.

So how did I decide what we’d make?

• Labor-intensive. No point in having the club make something I could easily throw together myself. This is a chance to make recipes that I’d look at and say, “Sounds delicious, but what a lot of work…”
• But not too time-intensive: this is a weeknight, after all. We need to cook, clean, consume, gossip and get out at a reasonable hour.
• And then there are our individual proclivities. Like my friend Anna hates pineapple. And I can’t have too many meals that are heavy starches.

All of which considerations led me to…

Pistachio-crusted chicken with herbs and mustard cream sauce. Oh yes. Except we’re using thighs, not breasts, and we’re doubling that shit (and making even more than doubled sauce so everyone has additional leftovers for pasta, veggies or whatever we eat on our own time). I can’t wait.

Sunday Summary: The one being written from the awesome porch of my NEW HOME!!!!

In this week of packing and procrastinating…

Books finished:

• Only HERO, which I raced through. So fun!

Reading this week:

• Have begun the first Dortmunder book, HOT ROCKS. So far it is highly enjoyable.
• Many more teen LGBT books are making their way from Amazon’s warehouses to my home… please keep the suggestions coming!

There’s nothing like having to put all of my books into boxes to drive home the perils of being a book fetishist. I did better this time around about putting a bunch aside to give away, but I have also committed to a new Read or Die plan. That is, I’m taking a bunch of books I own, unread, yet deemed worthy of schlepping to my new home because, “I’ve always wanted to read that!”, and putting them on their own shelf. Every month I have to read the next one on the shelf — or I have to give it away. (I can mess with the order.) This month? Leon Trotsky’s autobiography, MY LIFE. It comes very highly recommended; time to see what all the fuss is about.

Best part of my new home? My roommate has a dog!!!!!

In other news, I have begun cooking. This is hugely exciting as I have always loved to eat, but have had limited skill at procuring my own foodstuffs except via parking myself at the local pub, where not only does everybody know my name, I know theirs, and we stop and talk when we see each other on the street, because I am there all the time like it is my home.

The drive to begin cooking was partly financial (I am trying to get my finances in order — part of the impetus to move — also encouraged by my having calculated that fully ten percent of my post-taxes-and-donations salary was going to wine. That does not, in fact, match my sense of what my priorities are.). I’ve also found that I feel an immense sense of accomplishment when I eat things I made. Ordinarily, I cook in enormous proportions and eat the leftovers for many days, but some friends and I are starting a group cooking night with leftovers exchange so we get some variety. I’m pretty sure this is the best idea I’ve ever had, after starting this blog.

Cooked this week:

• Curry, based on this recipe, except I added a lot more vegetables — eggplant, summer squash, mushrooms — and I kind of messed up the proportions, but it was delicious and fed me for six meals. Oh yeah, my cooking is very experimental, partly because I lack normal instruments of cooking (although during my move I located the measuring spoons… in a file cabinet!).
• Vegan chocolate pudding. I’ve been making lots of chocolate pudding lately; this was for one of the friends who aided my move. Secret ingredients? Cinnamon, cardamom and cayenne pepper. I should mention that I add cinnamon to more or less everything.

Learning to cook is only the latest in many respects in which I am growing up — though, some would say, a tad late. (In re: that link, I am 26.) I am getting over my spider phobia. I am becoming more organized and more chill. I am sorry to say that I have not, however, learned to drive.

Wednesday Words: They must have been magic brownies.

She left a vast pile of rich chocolate brownies on the kitchen table. He made up his mind not to touch them but even as he did so, he found that he had one in his hand.

– Paula Fox, ONE-EYED CAT

It’s always nice when you can really identify with a character… of course, Ned’s dilemma in this scene is gluttony vs. spite, whereas glut vs. laze is the defining quandary of my life.

Speaking of my piggishness: I am learning to cook (more on that soon), which is immensely exciting to me, and I’m overcome with the urge to throw dinner parties. I wanted to have an Eat Pig Like a Pig party before deciding that pork, etc are too expensive to buy for a lot of people. My boyfriend said I was the only person in the world who would think of throwing a party like that. Inexplicably, he did not appear to mean this as a compliment.

Wednesday Words: Variety is the spice of life

“So he laid out a nice simple picnic lunch. There was nothing but pie. But there were all nine kinds of pie that Harold liked best.”

– Crockett Johnson, HAROLD AND THE PURPLE CRAYON

An abundance of Katherines; a dearth of Colin

I really, really wanted to love AN ABUNDANCE OF KATHERINES.

My John Green kick started when a blogger whose writing advice I really respect raved about LOOKING FOR ALASKA. The next time I was having a really bad day, I bought myself a copy as compensation. Then promptly dropped it in a slush puddle, which actually did not improve my mood one bit.

But I liked that book quite a lot, so I started Green’s second book, AN ABUNDANCE OF KATHERINES, not long after. And kept reading it, very slowly, for a couple of weeks. I’d wanted to love it, and yet I did not.*

The problem is with Colin, our protagonist.

His deal is that he’s an uber super genius worried about not living up to his potential who keeps getting dumped by girls named Katherine. He whines about this a lot. He whines about not living up to his potential with a mournfulness that can only be achieved by those who, despite all protestations, really do believe deep down that even though they may never live up to anything, their status as a genius is impervious to all such evidence, even though on the surface that’s precisely what they’re denying. And he whines about getting dumped by Katherines with a persistence that is true to life, but not necessarily to conventions of good fiction.

When Colin has his “Eureka” — the epiphany that one’s probability of getting dumped in any particular relationship can be derived mathematically, a “theorem” around which the rest of the book will be built — I was so disengaged that I somehow missed the point, and was quite confused when he kept talking about this “Eureka” over the next several chapters.

Also, because I am in fact an even bigger geek than Colin, I will tell you that what this book is really about is the dangers of statistical overfitting.

Some "functions" should not be fit

Anyway, at first I thought the problem was compounded by Green’s use of third person narration, an unusual choice in young adult fiction. But I think that’s actually symptomatic of Green’s own failure to fully get inside Colin’s head.

Over on his own website, Green says that each one of his books starts with a strong mental picture of a character. For AN ABUNDANCE OF KATHERINES, that character was Colin’s best friend, Hassan. Interestingly, for LOOKING FOR ALASKA, it was also not the protagonist; Alaska, the character Green organized the book around, is a girl the protagonist, Pudge, is kind of obsessed with. But whereas ALASKA worked, KATHERINES, in my view, doesn’t quite — maybe because the reader is drawn into Pudge’s interest Alaska, whereas part of Colin’s problem is that, for much of the book, he actually is too self-involved to think about Hassan that much at all.

The thing, though? Hassan really is a fabulous character.

He’s a religious Muslim (so rare, except in books where that’s the whole point, like Randa Abdel-Fattah’s DOES MY HEAD LOOK BIG IN THIS?). He’s also totally crude, a damn good friend, and deeply hilarious. The times I like Colin are when he and Hassan are riffing off each other, and when Colin seems like he actually cares about his friend.

John Green really does know how to write friendships between boys; in particular, I like that he lets you see their genuine affection for one another without having them descend into sentimentality — or, if one ever does, he’s sure to get shit for it from the other.

Like, check out this scene, a turning point for Hassan’s character:

[Hassan's speaking:]

“…I’m a total non-doer. I’m just sucking food and water and money out of the world, and all I’m giving back is, ‘Hey, I’m really good at not-doing. Look at all the bad things I’m not doing! Now I’m going to tell you some jokes!’ “

Colin glanced over and saw Hassan sipping Mountain Dew. Feeling that he should say something, Colin said, “That’s a good spiritual revelation.”

“I’m not done yet, fugger. I was just drinking. So anyway…”

… and the scene goes on, but isn’t that a really well-done way to break up a heavy moment between teenage boys?

Sherman Alexie wrote in the ABSOLUTELY TRUE DIARY OF A PART-TIME INDIAN about how straight boys’ friendships are distorted by homophobia; John Green makes me feel the really heartfelt, intense emotions that teenage boys can nevertheless feel for one another. It’s a hopeful thing.

All this meant that I started really getting into the book in the middle, as I started to really believe in Colin and Hassan’s friendship. But — and I must now attach a spoiler alert, although I don’t think what I’m about to say will actually ruin much of the experience –

Sadly, the ending is really lame.

John Green seems like a big nerd who would be really awesome to hang out with.

– Not only wrapping things up too patly for my taste, but doing so via every character taking life-changing inspiration from the Kindest Factory Owner in the World. You can’t see me, but I’m still rolling my eyes.

In a way, I liked the book itself less than it convinced me I would really, really like John Green.

I keep reading his books less because I like them, than because I think he could grow into an author I really, really love.

* It’s a bit like this one particular cafeteria at my school. It’s a beautiful space, with tons of sunlight — no mean feat in “high of -12″ Wisconsin — and I always want it to be good, and it just… isn’t. What’s somewhat remarkable is that it has such a wide variety of food, all of which is bad. I vacillate between being impressed at the thoroughness and consistency with which it snatches mediocrity from the jaws of pleasantness, and just being regretful.

Also: there is something wrong with my higher-order inductive faculties; every time I’ve eaten there, I’ve made a mental note to order something different next time, but I’ve never internalized the conclusion that I should just eat someplace else.

Precocious Gourmets

One of the all time best books my dad ever bought for 50 cents on the street (this is actually a substantial category) is SMASHED POTATOES, edited by Jane G. Martel.  It presents “A kid’s-eye view of the kitchen” – recipes, complete with illustrations, written and drawn by elementary school children. It is not actually a kids’ book – it’s a book about kids aimed at adults. But its really one of the funniest things I’ve ever read, and at least 10 years after I first read it, I continue to laugh out loud whenever I pull it back off the shelf.

Some of the humor comes from a less-than-firm grasp on quantities of scale (“For Pie: 10 inches of dough, 3 apples, 7 pounds of sugar”) or difficulty with words (recipes for both “Basketti” and “Skabbetti” are included). But the best parts are descriptions and instructions that will absolutely not help you to produce any recognizable meal, and yet are unquestionably accurate. Corn beef stew “serves for a pretty long time if there’s only 3 people. (Eat out in between.)” When making Apple Cake, “remember – the cake is the same size as the pan.” To cook turkey, “Get the kitchen real hot, and from there on you just cook turkey.”

Funny quotes aside, though, the reason I write about this book here is that what makes it hilarious is its accurate portrayal of child-logic in all its glory: extremely observant of details, full of brilliant associations, and able to address questions no adult would think to ask. It may not align with the grown-up world, it may not be right, but it tends to be true. Possession of this genuine child logic is what makes so many of the best children’s book characters who they are. And reading that logic in action again prompts us to laugh not actually so much at the kids for being wrong, but at ourselves for having such a silly version of right.

Wednesday Words: Culinary Courage

“You can say a lot of bad things about Alabama, but you can’t say that Alabamans as a people are unduly afraid of deep fryers.”

– John Green, LOOKING FOR ALASKA

I do not like it, Emily I am

It’s a well-known and much made fun of fact amongst my friends that I am a very picky eater. Although I have expanded my menu somewhat since childhood (I no longer order chicken fingers in every restaurant situation), I am still notably and, I’ll admit it, sometimes slightly irrationally picky. I don’t like berries. Or 90% of vegetables. Or fish, except for salmon teriyaki.

So I’ve always had a special affinity for characters that take an emphatic stance about certain foods. I read BREAD AND JAM FOR FRANCES by Russell & Lillian Hoban, and I think “yes, when you’ve got a good thing, you stick with it!” Likewise, I’ve always cheered for Sam in Dr. Seuss’ GREEN EGGS AND HAM. 

My only complaint towards the genre is that in the end the character always tries whatever it is and discovers that they like it. Whereas in my experience, I’m generally quite happy just not eating it if I don’t want to. And when I’ve been pressured, coerced, or otherwise made to try something I didn’t want to try, I usually don’t like it. Besides which, if you take a stand like Sam’s, and go to the trouble of listing all those places where you will not eat the green eggs and ham, you stick with it! What kind of lesson does it teach our children about standing firm and sticking to your principles when he just suddenly caves right in? Talk about a flip-flopper. Let’s have a children’s book where the moral of the story is “if you don’t like it, or if no, you’ve never tried it so on some theoretical level perhaps you do not know and might like it, but frankly it just sounds yucky, (like, say green eggs)…well then don’t eat it.”

eeeewww