Red Nose

Candy Is Dandy*

Today's Holidailies prompt is "share a favorite recipe that you like to make at this time of year". Well, I've already shared the Best Pumpkin Pie in the Whole Entire World, so instead I'll share a new recipe I've been trying.

I say "trying" because I have not yet completely succeeded, I think. This recipe is for Old Fashioned Butterscotch, from that reliable old friend, The Joy of Cooking. It requires the use of a candy thermometer, so I am really out of my element. Nonetheless, because I love butterscotch I decided to try it.

The first time, I decided to make only half the recipe, because I didn't have quite enough brown sugar. Just as the boiling goo reached 300 degrees -- which is evidently something called the "hard crack" stage (and I refuse to indulge in the many cheap jokes that are begging to be -- sorry -- cracked) -- the bottom burned and the whole concoction smoked a great deal. I poured out patties of butterscotch onto foil nonetheless, but it tasted distinctly burnt. Aside tasting like dead campfire, the candy hardened up nicely. So the whole project was partially successful. Yes, I ate it. It really wasn't bad, if you like burnt.

Okay! Time to try again!

This time I was very nervous about burning the butterscotch, but I forged ahead and made an entire recipe. The goo had allllllmost reached 300 degrees when I chickened out and took it off the heat. I poured out the patties and waited.

Not burned! Tastes wonderful -- a mildly molassesy flavor, dark and sweet. However, the candy didn't really harden up; it remained soft and very chewy, like a Milk Dud without the chocolate coating.

But it's a very minor flaw. We are eating the patties at an alarming rate. So far I have avoided having them for breakfast, but it's only a matter of time.

Anyway, here's the recipe.

Ingredients

2 cups brown sugar
1/4 cup molasses
1/2 cup butter
2 tbsp vinegar
3 tbsp water

Method

Put all the ingredients in a heavy pan, big enough to allow for foaming. (Note: I don't know what that means, really, but it's in the Joy, so I repeat it here.)

Cook over quick heat (again, I have no idea what "quick heat" is, at least as opposed to "slow heat") until the sugar dissolves. Boil to the hard crack stage, 300 degrees Fahrenheit.

Use a teaspoon to drop onto foil or a buttered plate. The candy will form into thin patties. (I didn't do this; I poured the hot butterscotch into a Pyrex measuring cup and poured it onto the foil. It worked fine, especially if you don't care about having perfectly formed patties.)

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*Two pats on the head to the first person who can finish the quote in the title of this entry. An extra bonus pat if you can name the author!

Ten Things About Thanksgiving

Happy Day After Thanksgiving! Here are ten things about our holiday.

1. The holiday got off to a fine start Wednesday night as my Caps beat the Sabres 2-0. Ovie and Fehrsie scored and Varly stopped every shot he faced. Way to go, boys!

2. We spent much of the day in our pajamas.

3. We broke with tradition. Rather than watching Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade, we watched the Fred and Ginger marathon on TCM. You can't go wrong with Fred and Ginger! Flying Down to Rio is pretty saucy for its time, what with half-nekkid girls perched on airplane wings getting their tops blown hither and yon. 

4. I cooked nothing. No, I tell a lie. I heated up some soup and made some Bisquick biscuits for lunch.

5. I visited Mom for a little while. When I arrived she was struggling to drink some ice tea -- she didn't have a straw, so most of the tea was on her bib and the bed. I helped her out with that and alerted the staff, who cleaned her up. She was pretty sleepy the whole time, but we had a good visit.

6. Joe and I went to Annapolis to my cousin's place for dinner, and boy what a dinner it was! My cousin's wife is a fabulous cook. Roast turkey, dressing, mashed potatoes, sweet and sour carrots, sauerkraut, roasted brussels sprouts, rolls and butter, gravy, cranberry relish, pumpkin pie, wine, and coffee. I'm probably forgetting something, but it was a stellar feast for sure.

7. Roasted brussels sprouts are delicious! Normally I am not a brussels sprouts kind of gal, but these were good -- roasted with cloves of garlic, an asian-y sauce, and a bit of olive oil. I will have to get the recipe. (Of course, having the recipe is no guarantee that I will fix them.)

8. SonnyeBoy had dinner with his girlfriend's family. She is a lovely girl, so I am okay with this. Besides, I'll see him this weekend.

9. By the time we got home, the Fred and Ginger marathon was over, but the Pawn Stars marathon was on. Woo!

10. It's been cloudy and cold and misty for several days, including Thanksgiving, but somehow that didn't put a damper (sorry) on the day. 

Now I'm getting ready to head to the beach with my sister and brother-in-law, where we will winterize and close up the house. I'm looking forward to $2.00 electric bills!

What's Happening?

Hi!

I know, I know; it's been a while. Let's get caught up, shall we?

Mom

Mom continues to hold her own. This woman is amazing. She can sit in a wheelchair for a couple hours a day and carry on a conversation, but just when you think she might beat back death once again, the conversation takes a turn. I visited her yesterday and she told me she wanted to host Thanksgiving this year.

Yeah.

I decided to play along, not wanting to upset her by pointing out that it might be difficult to have eight people over for a big turkey dinner when you're pretty much bedridden. Instead, we planned out the meal. She had a blast, so I think I did the right thing there.

Hockey

My Capitals finally snapped their four-game losing streak by beating the San Jose Sharks 4-1! Then they beat the Nashville Predators in the shootout 3-2! My adopted son Alex Ovechkin is leading the league in goals and points. He's a beast, I tell you, a beast. And cute, in a Russian kind of way.

 

(Okay, I cheated. This shot is from the HD Jumbotron. Still!)

Lunch

I love a good Italian joint, so when the lovely and talented Deb suggested a nice place near both of us, I jumped at the chance. It had been way too long between lunch dates for Deb and me, so we really made the most of it. Good food, good friend, good visit!

Stuff on eBay

I'm cleaning out my jewelry box! If you're in the market for some nice pieces, check out my eBay auctions. I'll be putting more things up as the days go by and I dig deeper through my unused and lonely baubles, so check back often.

Good Stuff

Wow, October already!

It's been a busy few days, what with visiting Mom, deadlines at work, and emotional stuff, but it hasn't been all bad by any means.

My Caps have started their season off with a bang, winning the opener against the Bruins very decisively (4-1) and winning the home opener against the Maple Leafs slightly less decisively (6-4). This makes me very happy. Before the home opener, our newest banner was dropped from the rafters:

 

As is our wont (and because we wanted to be sure to snag a Mike Green bobblehead), Joe and I arrived downtown extra early. To pass the time, we wandered over to the Museum of American Art. I was quite taken with a wall-sized multimedia sculpture called "Electronic Superhighway" by Nam June Paik. It's a map of the USA in neon, with DVD players inserted in each "state" playing video specific to that state -- for example, Kansas is playing The Wizard of Oz.

 

This photo really doesn't do it justice. What was really cool was that right where DC would be was a camera, which meant that whoever walked by it was shown on the small video screen right beside it. So of course I had to try to capture that -- you can sort of see me in my Caps jersey here.

Today we went to the Redskins game, courtesy of my sister, where we cheered our team to victory -- a sloppy, sloppy victory, but a victory nonetheless. Let me tell you, my sis and her family do tailgating right.

The game was a roller coaster (kind of like my life at the moment), but we managed to overcome a 10-point deficit and hold on for a win.

So it was a good weekend, overall. The art inspires me, the Caps make me happy, and the Skins give me hope.

I'll take it.

When Good Desserts Go Bad

Years ago, my parents were about to celebrate their 56th wedding anniversary. My Pop was frail, wheelchair bound; my mom was his caregiver. We kids decided to have a nice dinner at their home, recreating our many Sunday dinners: standing rib roast with onions and tomatoes, mashed potatoes and gravy, vegetables, and dessert.

I volunteered to make the dessert.

I was doing one of many incarnations of Weight Watchers at the time, so I opted to make a dessert from one of my many Weight Watchers cookbooks. That way Pop could have some dessert (as if his eating a low-calorie, sugarless dessert would do any good at that point) and I could stay on my diet (more or less -- mostly less).

As is my wont, I put off selecting a recipe until the early afternoon before the dinner, so I had to find something that used ingredients that I already had. I figured I had hit pay dirt when I found a recipe for Apricot Fudge Torte.

It sounded great -- fruity, chocolatey, torte-y... perfect! I started mixing.

And substituting, because halfway through I realized that I really didn't have exactly the same ingredients that were called for in the recipe. More or less close, though. I don't really remember what I substituted for what (I have successfully repressed that part), but I do know that it came out looking and smelling decent. So I wrapped it up and off we went.

Dinner was lovely. The roast was perfectly done, just this side of rare, with the onions and tomatoes enhancing the flavor. Everything else was delightful, too.

Time for coffee and dessert! I sliced up the torte, giving everyone a generous slice, and served it with a smile.

Everyone took a bite.

My brother gagged. My mother's face kind of wrinkled up; Joe's eyes widened and he looked at me with dismay. Everyone else kind of pursed their lips together and paused.

"I hate to tell you this," my brother said, "but this thing is terrible!" My sisters agreed with him.

My brother-in-law choked down another bite. "Oh, I think it's okay," he said, clearly lying through his teeth.

I took my first bite and looked right at my brother-in-law. After being so nice, he did not deserve to suffer.

"They're right," I said. "It's awful." He put down his fork in relief.

How awful was it? Pretty damned awful. It was dry. It was bitter. It was not chocolate-y; it was chemical-y. It was a disaster. I consigned the rest of the torte to the trash.

The Apricot Fudge Torte is now one of the family legends. Every time we eat out at as a family, I get to live it down. Every time we get together for a pot-luck, I threaten to bring one.

Apricot Fudge Torte... my mouth waters just thinking of it.

Then I spit. And have some ice cream.

It Needs Handles

Late last week I was idly cruising through the BlogHer feed when I got tripped up by an article on lunch boxes, and that whole notion intrigued me, and so I started clicking on links, and then somehow I ended up here, and that just caused the whole idea of lunch boxes to get stuck in my brain.

Not just any old lunch boxes, mind you. I'm talking about very cool and groovy organizer lunch box systems, like bento boxes. I believe -- but I may be wrong -- that the bento box is the hip and happenin' awesome version of the lunch box.

They are also kind of expensive for a goddamn lunch box. Some of the nice ones I was perusing were close to thirty bucks, an expense that I cannot justify no matter how hard I try. But by now I was on a quest.

See, I've been pretty good about taking my lunch to work lately, a habit that has had many benefits, to wit:

• I have kept a significant amount of money in my pocket.
• I have used food that we bought, rather than letting rot in the fridge.
• I have actually cooked stuff to take for lunch, assuming you can count making tuna salad (recipe: one can tuna, one glob mayo; mix well) as "cooking".
• I have eaten fruit and vegetables.

So I did some more research, and lo! I found the Fit & Fresh Lunch On The Go.

Nine bucks at Target. That's not a suggestion; that's an order.

So I've used it for a couple days and I like it just fine.

Here is the LOTG all packed and ready to, well, go:

 

See that white thing in the middle? That's the handy-dandy freezer pack. I wrapped it in a paper towel to keep any condensation from dripping on my sammich. The towel doubles as a napkin, which I need, because I tend to slob stuff down the front of my shirt, because I am the epitome of dainty.

Here it the LOTG unpacked, prior to actual eatage:

Ain't that just the cutest? Dig the homemade cupcake! (Note: Not a buzzcake, either. Or an Apricot Fudge Torte.) (That's an inside joke, which only a very select few will understand. Remind me to tell you about it.)

So yeah. I like it. I will keep using it.

But it needs handles. Handles would make it perfect. Until I can devise a figure out how to do that, I'll schlep it in a grocery bag.

Hardcore Sunday

After the Nats game on Sunday, we decided to grab dinner at a Silver Spring institution, the Quarry House Tavern. How shall I describe the Quarry House?

One word pretty much says it: dive.

I had been to Quarry House exactly once before in my life; it was 30 years ago and I went with my boyfriend to drink beers. The place has not changed one bit.

Well, the layout, decor, and ambiance have not changed. It's still down a flight of steps, in a dark, slightly dank basement, with two weird, long, narrow rooms in a sort of an J shape. So I cool with that.

When we drove past, we noticed about half a dozen young men loitering around; a couple were wrassling with amps and other band stuff.

We should have taken the hint.

As we clambered down the steps, we noticed a sign on the door: HARDCORE SUNDAY!!

We should have taken the hint.

We wove through the first room -- no tables for four -- and made our way to the back room. A young woman, beguilingly decked out in a black vest over a black bra, drawled beerily, "Are you guys here to see the band?"

"We just want something to eat," I replied, because I wanted to avoid a cover charge, should there be one.

"Oh that's cool, you can sit anywhere," she slurred, waving vaguely toward a table.

We grabbed a table and ordered food and drink -- beers, burgers, BLTs, ice water, coke. The food part of the menu was two pages; the beer part of the menu was six pages.

Okay!

It slowly dawned on us that:

1. We were the only people over 30 (and well over 30 at that!).
2. We were the only people not wearing all black.
3. We were the only people who did have many types of bodily decorations.

Hardcore Sunday. Hmm. We should have taken the hint.

My sister and I located the rest room -- it was behind the biggest amp right by the band... niche. We had to navigate around band... members... and squeeze between the amps to get into the bathroom, but it was well-lit and clean and covered in interesting graffiti.

For example, over the sink:

CALL YOUR MOM!!

On the wall:

For 38 years I never had an orgasm. Then I met Keith.

Way to go, Keith!

Anyway, the food was delish. Really, really good -- my BLT was just about the best I've had in recent memory. So we were lulled.

The crowd started to congregate in the room. Mostly guys, mostly skinny, all in black. The women were also all in black, with pale faces and red lipstick.

Oh, and one of them had a two-year old with her.

Yes. A baby.

In a bar.

Then the standup comedian started. He was very very very... wrong. Extremely poor taste. Outrageously politically incorrect. Scatalogical. Filthy.

And fucking hilarious.

We should have taken the hint.

Right after the comedian came the next band.

The first, uh, chord? Opening note? How can I describe the crushing loudness? It made my teeth vibrate. It made my eyeballs retreat into my brain. It made my feet curl up and my butt clench. It was the loudest thing I have ever heard, and I have been to a John McLaughlin Mahavishnu Orchestra concert!

I could not distinguish instruments or voices or anything. My sister said that the... lyrics... for the first song consisted of "FUCK YOU! FUCK YOU! FUCK YOU!" and so on in a similar -- okay, identical -- vein.

Meanwhile, the crowd migrated to the very front of the room, where young men took turns running full tilt into each other and bouncing off the walls.

Literally. I am not even kidding.

We could not talk; it was stupid to even try. We laughed instead. When the first... song... was over, we cracked up. We were so out of our element! God bless you, kids; enjoy it. Turn the amps up to 11, slam dance to your heart's content, get it while you can.

But please find a babysitter next time, okay?

My brother and sister-in-law arrived during the second song. Now, my brother's idea of hard rock is Buddy Holly and the Crickets. Okay, maybe the Rolling Stones.

That was our cue to pay our check, tip our hats to the next generation, and bug out to Tastee Diner.

Vernal Equinox Love List

It's Friday AND the first day of astronomical Spring here in the Northern Hemisphere, a win-win if there ever was one.

Yeah, it's kinda cold here in the Nation's Capital, but it's blatantly sunny so I can forgive Mother Nature for her chilly attitude, especially since the redbuds and forsythia are already blooming. That kinda takes the chill off, yes it does.

Anyway, to celebrate springtime and all sorts of other things, here's a Love List.

I'm loving all kinds of things lately:

• Taking my lunch to work. Yes, really! I brought my lunch to work three days this week. Not only was it delicious, it helped a $20 bill stay in my wallet.
• Ovie's 50th goal! The Great 8 has now scored 50 or more goals in three of his four seasons in the NHL. Some people dislike his exuberant celebrations, but I love them because of his obvious love of the game.
• Shortbread cookies.
• Good jokes (well, maybe bad jokes, but definitely really really funny jokes), told really well, and introduced with Klezmer music.
• Redbud trees in bloom.
• Magnolia trees in bloom.
• Forsythia in bloom.
• Just about anything in bloom!
• MRI technicians who talk to you and tell you how long a scan will take and who give you a chance to pull the underwear out of your butt before sliding you into the tube and who can give a barely noticeable injection.
• MRI clinics that give you coupons for a free nosh at the local bagelry!
• Looking at MRI scans and seeing just how ooky your eyeballs look, but not seeing any obvious brain alligators.
• My happy place. I went to it yesterday during the MRI.
• Not having to cough during an MRI.
• The Evil Blanket of Perfect Warmth. I suppose that bears explaining. We have an old Army blanket -- you know, the green wool kind -- that has been washed many times until it's very very soft and completely non-itchy. It imparts the perfect amount of warmth over your body. However, if you cover yourself with the blanket while watching TV, you will never see what you intended to watch, because you will fall asleep instantaneously. And that is why it is Evil, but Perfect. And I love it.
• Twitter. It's dangeresque!
• Having sound bites on my iPod. I'll be listening to some good music and then..."Men don't just into window seats and die!" "No dear, he died first." "Well, how did he die?" "He died because he drank some wine... with poison in it." (First person who can name the movie that's from gets two pats on the head.)
• Lemonade.
• A'float Sushi in Pasadena, California. I'm going to Pasadena for work next week and will definitely have dinner there!
• SnackWells vanilla cream sandwich cookies and coffee -- hmm, I think I'll have some now!

The Great Cupcake Quest

Today is Joe's birthday!

I knew exactly what I wanted to get him. The inspiration came just the other day, when Joe went grocery shopping. He picked up a package of his favorite snacks, but! He left them in the grocery cart outside the store.

Poor Joey!

So, after work, I set out on my quest for these, in particular, the orange variety.

Yes. Other people might scorn this delicious snack cake, preferring the upscale versions now so prevalent around town. Joe, however, remains loyal to the confection with the creamy center.

Now you'd think this would be an easy quest. Pop into the local Quik-E-Mart, pick up a couple packs of the cupcakey goodness, done!

Alas, such was not the case.

My first stop was the local cash-only gas station and convenience store, because I needed gas and this station has the lowest prices in the neighborhood ($1.71, for the curious). The gas was gotten, but the convenience store was closed!

No problem -- there's a 7-11 right up the street.

Unfortunately, there were no Hostess cupcakes in the place. Donettes, yes. Honey Buns, but of course. Cupcakes? Not a one, not even the chocolate ones!

Sigh. Okay, there's a CVS across the street, although getting there is not as easy as it sounds. The traffic at this point is particularly heinous, especially at rush hour, so I gritted my teeth and waited until I could zip into the left turn lane so as to get to the CVS the back way.

Would my herculean effort be rewarded?

No, it would not. While I did find birthday candles and a great card, there was not a cupcake to be found. Ding-Dongs and Ho-Hos there were in abundance, but no cupcakes. I almost caved and bought a Whitman's Sampler, but resisted the urge. I would not, could not be denied!

Good thing the local Giant Food is merely a stone's throw away, assuming you can throw a stone across a six-lane highway. Off I went.

I searched the bakery section. Entenmann's! Little Debbie! TastyKake! Dammit!

And then, choirs of angels sang, for there they were, the elusive Hostess Orange Cupcake. I snatched up two packs and headed home, where I set up the birthday display.

I arranged three of the four tasty goodies on a plate, then set the last sweet treat on top for a two-tiered cupcake extravaganza. I lit the candle in the middle of the top cupcake, turned off the kitchen light, and called Joe in for his surprise.

I wish I had taken a picture, but the cupcakes didn't last long enough for me to get one.

Happy Birthday, baby!

Carnivorous

I just finished eating a very nice steak, deliciously juicy and medium rare, done to a turn on The George.

I love steak. Okay, not just steak; I love red meat. I have made peace with my carnivorous nature. I embrace it, in fact.

I grew up on red meat. My Pop was a steak and beef man, and my Mom made sure he got it at least three times a week. On Sundays she cooked up a big standing rib roast, with thick slices of onion and tomato jammed into slits on the edge of the meat. It was never cooked past medium rare, the more juice the better.

I judge all roast beef and prime rib by those Sunday roasts. My mouth waters just thinking of them.

In summer, Pop used to grill steaks and burgers on a little hibachi out on the patio. We always had a bottle of Lea & Perrin's to sauce up the tasty meats. To this day I love a little worcestershire on my steak.

Oh, I took a stab at giving up red meat when I was in college, but it was no use. I'd go home for dinner on Sundays. When a slab of perfectly cooked roast beef landed on my plate, I was a gone goose.

So I'm a theoretical vegetarian. I think it's a great idea, but there's nothing like a good steak.