Bezyaitstvo's Revenge: Crepe Success

(Sorry, couldn't help myself.)

Because once I just knew I could salvage the frankenblin recipe I tried this morning, I went ahead and tweaked the proportions, made another batch, and got very different (much improved) results.

Original recipe:
1/2 cup skim milk
2/3 cup water
1/4 cup butter, melted
2 tablespoons vanilla extract
1 cup all-purpose flour
1 tablespoon white sugar
1/4 teaspoon salt

What I did (approximately):
2/3 cup milk
1 3/4 cup water
2.5 tablespoons butter, melted (1/4 cup is 4)
1 cup flour
1 tablespoon sugar
1/2 teaspoon salt

Basically all I did was decrease the butter and increase the other liquids, especially the water, and man, what a difference! The batter was much runnier, which it's supposed to be for a thin blin-crepe-thing, and in fact if I did it again I might put in even more water. They still cooked fast and flipped quickly, and I still think I overgreased the pan-- I have this bizarre fear that they're going to stick to the pan and tear apart, even though that hasn't even come close to happening once. Because the batter is thinner it spreads out in the pan very nicely, and I've also perfected my ladling wrist so that they come out pretty damn circular every time (seriously, use a ladle, not a spoon-- huge difference, both in shape and how they cook).

Because they were thinner they were much more flexible, like actual blini, so I was able to fold them over and make nice little sandwiches for my father and I. Same deal as last time-- slather in horseradish, put on some swiss and turkey or roast beef, cook in pan till cheese is gooey. MUCH better-- the overpowering stick-to-the-roof-of-your-mouth quality is totally gone, and the blin frames its contents instead of dominating it.

so I still have to work on aesthetics with these, Constantinople wasn't built in a day

In my opinion it wasn't "chewy", which is a complaint I've heard about eggless pancake-things, and while I haven't tried these with eggs yet, I'm not sure why I'd bother (when I get around to making real buckwheat blini, of course, that's another story).

My long suffering father is used to me inflicting the results of my kitchen experiments on him, and because he is kind he always pretends to like what I plate up, but I could tell he actually liked these-- when I told him there were more in the kitchen he didn't even wait for me to leave to get up to fetch more. Cheap, fun, quick, simple, delicious, very customizable-- what more could you want? Definitely going in my regular rotation.

Bezyaitstvo: the heretical blinwich

Got a ridiculous craving for blini this morning and decided to try my hand (I've never made them before, somehow). Unfortunately, we had no eggs, so I went with this "eggless crepe" recipe-- a far cry from my intention, but when you get a drunk desire to cook at 5am, well, you cook.

I skipped the vanilla extract but otherwise followed it as written. I think that the batter was much too thick and I definitely consistently overgreased the pan (I was using a "vegetable oil spray" instead of actual vegetable oil, which probably didn't help), but all things considered, as a first attempt, things went okay. 

I'm not sure what the point of eggless crepes are, since they're still not vegan, but if you're wondering whether they're edible-- most certainly! Mine came out very thick in that stick-to-the-roof-of-your-mouth way; I'll find out once I buy eggs whether their addition would've prevented that. Because the batter was so thick it was a huge pain to get it to spread thinly enough in the pan, which meant the pseudo-blini-crepes were thicker and had a smaller diameter than is ideal. They also didn't fold the way they should-- I put some peach jam into one and folded it over for my father, and while it didn't break in half, it did crack pretty ugly.

I ended up making myself a little breakfast sandwich with 'em, since they were all relatively small: spread a decent amount of horseradish sauce on one side, put on a couple slices of deli sliced turkey and a slice of swiss cheese, top with another horseradish'd "blin", cook in pan on medium heat til cheese is melty and the turkey warm (flip if you think the bottom blin is getting overcooked), and voila-- incredibly filling breakfast.

heretical blinwich

So, again, far from ideal, but if all you've got is flour, butter, and milk, you've got a lot more than you think!

Here is a legitimately interesting rundown of ways to substitute eggs in various recipes-- worth reading just to give you a better sense of the many different functions eggs serve in different dishes, even if you have no interest in cooking without them.

In which pretension takes many forms

1. I finally gave in and started myself a tumblr.

2. I realized that all the creaky nuts and bolts in my brain that start turning when I cook also rev up when reading about proper cocktails. I fear, o my brothers, that I am becoming a liquor snob. To that end, here's my current bar (limited, of course, by my budget):

• Jack Daniels Tennessee Whiskey
• Ruskova Vodka
• Green Chartreuse
• Leroux Creme de Cacao
• Paolo Lazzaroni & Figli Maraschino
• Kraken Black Rum
• Kahlua*

Some cocktails I've enjoyed with that bizarre collection of bottles (NB: when I mean juice, I write juice; if not assume the real thing):

The Final Ward

Courtesy of Phil Ward at Death & Co, a bar I almost had the pleasure of visiting a few weeks ago when I was in the East Village. Rye, green chartreuse, maraschino, and lemon juice-- had to sub in Jack for the rye, and while it was still incredibly delicious, the sweetness of the Jack was really too much. Still, one of the best cocktails I've had recently-- go for it.

Pago Pago

What it's supposed to be: gold rum, pineapple, lime juice, green chartreuse, white creme de cacao.

What I drank: that, with regular creme de cacao instead (was lucky enough to be with a friend who had some gold rum on hand at the time).

I am always pretty skeptical of creme de cacao and bought it only because I've heard it can work wonders with chartreuse, so expect some experimentation on that front. This one, at least, was pretty good.

"Pineapple Julep with Ginger"

Put this one in quotes because I'm not sure how fair it is to call this a julep, but hey, I had some ginger beer laying around I'd been meaning to get rid of, so why not? Bourbon (used Jack), simple syrup (skipped it), ginger beer, pineapple, and mint. I didn't have any mint, and man was I sad-- this is a perfectly passable summer drink as is, but I think the mint would've leveled it up.

The Black Pearl

This sounded fascinating right from the start: black rum, light rum, pineapple juice, balsamic reduction, and ginger beer. I wanted to try this just to see how the balsamic reduction fit in, but by the time I got to it (I was at a friend's showing off my new shaker that night) I was too lazy to whip some up. So, minus the balsamic,  and with gold instead of light, it's certainly tasty, but nothing particularly interesting, and I can think of better things to do with the Kraken. I do intend to mix it up proper at some point, though, so stay tuned.

With all that in mind, what do you suggest? I know, I know, I need to get my hands on some gin if I really want to mix with chartreuse, and probably pick up some blood orange bitters-- but if you have suggestions, fire away!

*I like Kahlua in espresso "martinis", sometimes. There, I said it. Your disdain has no power over me.

Founders Imperial Stout (Review)

I've always been more of a defender of book cover-judging than most, but especially when it comes to beer. The first beer I ever liked was North Coast's Russian Imperial Stout Old Rasputin, which I ordered solely because of its name. The double headed eagle on this gorgeous Founders Imperial Stout similarly heralds glad tidings.

Since the exquisite Cask Republic opened in New Haven in early 2011 I've been spending ever more of my bar budget (read: the contents of my wallet not earmarked for other poisons) on imperial IPAs, since they tend to have a lower price-to-ABV ratio than my beloved dark beers. Now that I'm back on Long Island for a bit, I visited the local beer distributor and picked up a pack of these babies, having had only the best experiences with Founders (the Dirty Bastard in particular comes to mind).

Like going back to vodka after a semester of bourbon, my very first sip reminded me why my heart lies far east of the Rhine*.

This stuff pours like motor oil-- some dark elixir of bitterness meted out in small vials during the reign of Richard III, flowing like an endless silk handkerchief from a felled magician's sleeve into the glass. I didn't have the proper glassware for it (something more akin to a brandy snifter is more appropriate), but I didn't mind, since the smaller circumference of the glass kept the head alive for quite a while. This thing is chewy and resilient; the head's got a deep caramel color to it and looks so solid I could float a wafer on it (actually, I probably could have).

With 90 IBUs this stout isn't for the faint of heart-- I've never had a beer so bitter I didn't like it, so I was in heaven. Have you ever had a really strong dark chocolate, like 70 or 80% cocoa? If you didn't like that, I'm not sure you'd like this. It's 10.5% ABV so if you're used to weaker beers, prepare yourself-- it goes down pretty easy, although as it warms up in the glass the ethanol does assert itself a little more. Beers like this should be served at what's called "cellar temperature" (50-55 degrees), so if you're looking for something to cool yourself off in these June days go find a pilsner or something (I've always found a nice maibock works well, personally).

Make sure you give this a proper smell (this is where the brandy snifter is helpful)-- as any wine or beer snob will tell you, scent strongly affects taste, so if you just go at it without acclimating your olfactories you're missing out.

There's not much carbonation here, in keeping with its overall weight, and this isn't a beer to rush through, or to accompany food. If you think Guinness is heavy, well, you're downright mistaken-- I can tackle a Guinness and a burger easily, but this one's gonna demand your full attention, and you won't be sorry to give it. Particularly toward the end it almost recalled some barleywines I've had in terms of mouth feel, so if you like a poppy beer this brew's not for you. If you like Guinness, you might still enjoy this beer, but be warned: dry and/or Irish stouts are lighter in about everything but color (lower ABV, less bitter, less heavy), so while I'll never sway anyone from trying an excellent beer, you might want to work your way up to this one.

In 2010 this beer took home the bronze for American-Style Imperial Stouts in the World Beer Cup, in case it's pedigree you're after. I read it described somewhere as "a contemplative beer", and I can't say I disagree-- it's a lot to take in, and while I've had more than one in a sitting before I wouldn't necessarily recommend it. The flavors and weight can get overpowering after a while, and now that I'm on my second six-pack of the stuff in two weeks I think it's best when balanced out by a nice simple ale, or even cider.

Happy drinking, folks-- maybe next time I won't review something horribly out-of-season.

PS: For those curious, I did graduate. Onward and upward, I suppose.

*"Russian Imperial Stouts" come from England. Also this is technically an American-Style Imperial Stout, but I won't say anything if you won't.

Beats, Blood, and the Bourgeoisie

Text of my speech on Resolved: I have seen the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness at the annual Yale Political Union Party Prize Debate last night. I spoke in the negative. I with my teammate Alex Fisher took 2nd Place (again, blech).

- - - - -

I cannot say, ladies and gentlemen, that I have seen the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness, for to say that something is destroyable is to suggest that it was created, that it lived. With sadness I admit that I can say no such thing about my generation. What I have seen, Mr Speaker, is a generation of still births, of children born into a desanguinated world to leech away her last drops of blood and beauty, to make perpetual her torpid afternoon of the soul.

I pity my generation because it seems we were never given a chance. Like an unholy Hegelian synthesis of the Greatest Generation and the Baby Boomers, we are both practical minded and narcissistic, risk averse and self-indulgent, mature enough to spurn the recklessness of Woodstock and the Beats but frivolous enough to maintain a cultured bourgeois adolescence until our 40s.

Unlike some others tonight, I do not define madness as “that which I like” (or dislike, as the case may be), and so while the defining traits of my generation bewilder and sadden me I cannot name them lunacy.

Man is by nature a petty and fearful creature, for in the recesses of his mind and depths of his soul he knows, in the way the moth knows light to be beautiful and the vine knows to grow toward the sun, that he is insufficient, he is incomplete. His carnal fear perverts this knowledge into a veneration of, and sacred duty to protect, that which is immediately perceivable, attained, and obviously his. We have made an idol of our fear, but no longer do we name it God: now we bend before the altars of comfort, security, health, and success, and tell ourselves in the wordless dialogue of our souls that we are responsible to something nobler than our own inescapable mortal terror.

It is the mad ones who have the wholly unjustified courage to give themselves over fully to the arbitrariness of life, who know that, as Don Colacho says, “everything in the world rests on its own final ‘just because.’” The mad ones know their fear is just, and give themselves over in faith to whatever may be. Zorba the Greek says that he lives as though he should die any minute, in contrast to the old man he meets planting an almond tree, who lives as though he should never die. The mad ones reject modernity as described by Colacho, that collection of things which “seem to allow us to escape the human condition.”

It is common to associate madness and extremism, and not unreasonably so, but it is not against mediocrity or smallness of ambition that I speak. I concur heartily with Chesterton when he says that “mere existence, reduced to its most primary limits, is extraordinary enough to be exciting.” On the contrary, it is the pietistic devotion to certainty and the self-drawn maps of our lives that sterilizes and blinds us to the beautiful absurdity of the world, which, as Chekhov and Kafka have shown us, can be found even from a census bureau or insurance office.

I will not lie and tell you that the prism of madness, of looking upon all things in wonder and with sacred awe, of spurning the well-considered boundaries and protections that have grown up through centuries of civilization, comes without a price. Madness is that which unites Eros and Thanatos in communion with the beautiful, the good, and the true. In Eastern Christendom this is known as kenosis, the paradoxical idea that we can only be filled once we have emptied ourselves, just as Christ, in death, fulfilled His nature, and conquered death thereby. It is the madness of martyrs, the call from heaven not all of us have yet been given the grace to hear; yes, ladies and gentlemen, it is indeed a call to destruction. But none that I will dare call best ignore its sonorous ring.

Who will be the martyrs of our generation, ladies and gentlemen? Has our culture given us the courage to say, “I know that there is more within me than breath”? Standing as I am on the precipice of adulthood I do not know, and so, foolishly, madly, I hope.

What a cobweb your life is!

A man that only dreams of this perishable life and does not think of the eternal, heavenly life! Consider--what is your transitory life? It is a constant laying in of fuel (meaning food) in order that the fire of our life may continue to burn and should not grow feeble, in order that our house (meaning the body) should keep warm, and that the continually changing life of our body should be restored by means of the nourishing parts of the organs of other living creatures, who are deprived of life in order to keep up the life of our body. Indeed, what an insignificant cobweb your life is, man! You are obliged twice daily to strengthen the interior of your body by means of supports to keep it sound (that is, you are obliged to fortify yourself twice every day by food and drink), and every night, daily, you must lock up your soul in your body, shutting up all the sensations of the body, like the shutters of a house, in order that the soul may not live outside the body, but within it, giving it warmth and life. What a cobweb your life is, and how easy it is to tear it asunder! Be humble and reverent before the Life eternal!

 - Saint John of Kronstadt

Observations

(Explanation here.)

So, my ten day beer fast now over (yes, I refrained from beer even on Independence Day, though I did have some whiskey), things I noticed:

1. I've lost weight

2. I've spent less money on alcohol
3. I've spent almost no time in bars

4. The few times I was in a bar, I ordered diet cola as a mixer, and it was less mortifying than I'd assumed it would be

These results have prompted me to continue my fast indefinitely. Why on earth did I ever develop a taste for the stuff in the first place? Heavens. This, my friends, is why I will never care to make myself enjoy wine, or expensive food; there's simply no sense in such things.

Now I'm faced with the challenge of picking my next trial, and I must say this will be more daunting than the first two. I love Google reader and beer dearly, but in fact my quality of life increased upon giving them up. What remains on my original list (make-up, non-liturgical music, swearing, all alcohol [haha, that's a joke!...], significantly cutting back on smoking) would all actually be rather difficult. Giving up jewelry for a bit, while a tragic pain, would be more on par with the two previous challenges. What do you lot think? Anything more creative I can tackle? Considering sleeping on my floor for ten days, but, in all seriousness, that would be a false ascesis; I can sleep anywhere with no discomfort when I choose to, and am not overfond of sleep to begin with. Giving up film and television strikes me as a potential option (by which I mean giving up Hulu and Youtube, as I don't own a television and Netflix doesn't work with my OS).

On a much more sincere and somber note, my grandmother greatly appreciates all those of you who've prayed for her have done. Thank you, truly.

Does it count as a double blind study if I'm drunk the whole time?

Hi, my name is Tristyn, and I'm addicted to Google Reader.

I have 233 subscriptions (there are 11 different blogs under my "Tobacco" tag alone), scroll through on average 600 - 800 posts a day, and, I realized, retain precious little of what I read. So! A few weeks ago, I decided to give it up for 10 days-- not a very long period of time, but long enough for me to notice some changes in my habits.

For one, I read a lot more, proper books! That was wonderful. I also noticed that I basically didn't use computers at all once I banned myself from Reader, especially since I have a smart phone, and thus can check email, gchat, and look up any necessary information on its browser. This has interesting implications for future hardware purchases, to say the least.

The blogs and whatnot I subscribe to aren't all feckless drivel, mind you, but I found what I missed most was feeling "informed". I'm definitely a news junkie, but couldn't be bothered to read any newspapers or what-have-you to keep up; that habit was too alien. I chafed most whenever friends would discuss the primary (and really, what else is there to discuss in this great wide world), but having come back now it's very clear that I missed very little. This piece by Ben Dolnick quite accurately sums up my feelings about the entire matter (it's hilarious and scarily on the nose, highly recommend it), and I recognize that really, while I do think it's important to be politically aware yada yada, the kind of newswatching I do is of no more consequence than obsessively following sports statistics.

I found that I was much more likely to actually read posts/articles that were emailed to me or posted on my Facebook wall, relatively "starved" for contemporary content as I was. Yep, I'm admitting it: if you email something to me or a panlist I'm on, the chances aren't super high that I'm going to read it-- trying to be better about that now, though.

I also realized that I have no idea what most of the blogs I read are called. Reader just mashes them all up into a convenient little feed, and while in the moment I'll note the author or the source, if I wanted to recall later where I'd read such-and-such about Hieromonk so-and-so, I'd have to either wade through the archives or try to remember a few key phrases and conduct a search. Whether I read something on The Vigilant Citizen or Hit & Run is not an irrelevant fact (or hell, Pactum Serva contra Leitourgeia kai Qurbana, though admittedly the times when there'd be room for that kind of confusion are probably rare).

Finally, the social aspect: I follow 30 something people on Reader, and my favorite feature is definitely sharing and commenting, particularly as most of them live in DC (or elsewhere, I think there are other places in this country, right?) and I don't get to see them very often (and especially now, as New Haven is rather depopulated in the summer). I don't understand Reader users who don't join a hive.

So all in all it's been fruitful, and I am trying to cut back a bit, read my subscriptions more actively instead of just skimming everything and retaining nothing, and consciously make more time when I close the laptop and just read a damn book.

So now I'm going to give something else up for ten days: beer.

This might sound silly to you, as I'm sure there are plenty of people who go ten days without drinking beer and don't even notice it. I, however, have taken to drinking beer pretty much daily for the past few months, and that is good neither for my wallet, nor my waistline, nor my soul-- and of course, I don't want to be the sort of person who drinks more beer than hard liquor, which is rapidly what I'm becoming.

After that, I'm considering in some order giving up the following things: Pandora/iTunes (ie all non-liturgical music), makeup (which will be incredibly difficult for me), jewelry, perhaps alcohol altogether, and perhaps something like cutting back to only 5 cigarettes/day (right now I try to keep to half a pack a day). Any other suggestions? Anything food related wouldn't be terribly interesting, as I'm rather used to that sort of thing and don't find it difficult or strange.

I don't speak German, but I can if you like

While having dinner with my (paternal, non-Slovak) grandmother the other day, she wondered aloud to whom she ought leave her engagement ring- me, or my other female cousin, who lives in Florida. Unsurprisingly the entire table immediately drowned in awkward, I forced out a laugh, told her not to speak of such things, and tried to move the conversation along. My mother, however, simply said this: "Well you know Tristyn's a gypsy, she loves her jewelry. She'd take good care of it."

Jackie O I ain't, let's say-- I've been known to wear ten rings at once, and usually try to pack as much cheap costume jewelry on my arms and face as possible without further piercings (I've even become incredibly adept at pulling everything off very rapidly at TSA checkpoints, to the silent amusement of everyone standing around me). I get this from my maternal grandmother, who, while slightly more subtle than I, similarly finds understatement overrated.

I've been staying with her for the past few days and, after Red Eye ended last night (she hasn't been able to sleep much lately), she took me to her bedroom and pulled out bags and bags of costume jewelry she's collected over the years that she no longer has cause to wear, and asked me what I'd like. I thought I'd highlight a few particularly cool pieces here.

First, the above set, which I've dubbed 'the steampunk earrings'. You place the end of the screw and the metal backing around your ear, and screw it in until it's tight-- it actually doesn't need a piercing. They take a while to put on, but the cool factor compensates.

Is it just me or is this incredibly Gaga? My grandmother is 85, by the way.

Speaking of Gaga, I still haven't listened to Born This Way all the way through, but based on what I have heard she's releasing all the worst ones as singles. "Edge of Glory", really? I also don't really understand how "Born This Way" is on the same album as "Government Hooker" and "Scheisse"-- both of which I've been obsessed with since that Mugler show, which so, so sadly has been taken off Youtube. All that's left are shorter versions with varying mixes laid on top, not the show as it happened-- this one's pretty good, though, and I love this remix, even if "Born This Way" does make an appearance (and yes, I've mentioned this show before, but in case you missed it the first time around, I'm giving you a second chance):

Father's Day, witbier, and mules

Apologies for the radio silence; my laptop's been out of commission for two weeks (still is) and I can rarely be arsed to schlep over to the library when something blog-worthy pops into my head. That said, came across an amusing passage in BLGF today that I realized I could turn into a belated Father's Day post.

Here (Serb, Orthodox) Constantine is recounting the difficulty of establishing friendly relations with his (German, Lutheran) mother-in-law:

"And from her side the efforts to be friends with me are often not very good, though in time she came to like me. It is so with the white beer. Do you know white beer? It is the last of all that is fade in the world, and it is adored by the petite bourgeoisie in Germany. They go to the beer-gardens in the woods and by the lakes and with their little eyes they look at the beauties of their Germany, and they drink white beer, which is the most silly thing you can drink, for it does not taste of anything and cannot make you drunk. It is just like the life of the petit bourgeois in liquid form, but it is gross in its nothingness, so that some of them who have shame do not like it, and order raspberry syrup to add to it. But there are those who are not ashamed of being fade and they would not spoil it with a flavour, and they order 'ein Weisses mit ohne...' Mit ohne, mit ohne, could you have anything that is better for the soul of the petite bourgeoisie that is asked what it wants and says, 'I want it with without.' That is to be lost, to be damned beyond all recovery, and yet there they are very happy, they sit in their beer-gardens and ask for mit ohne. It is altogether delicious, it is one of those discords in the universe that remind us how beautifully God works when He works to be nasty. 

Once I said this in front of the mother-in-law, and do you know ever after she gives me to drink this horrible white beer. And my wife has tried to tell her she should not do so, and my mother-in-law says, 'You are foolish, I have heard him say he likes very much mit ohne,' and my wife she says, 'No, you have it wrong, it is the expression mit ohne he likes,' and my mother-in-law says, 'How can you say such nonsense, why should he be pleased when people say they will have white beer without raspberry syrup?' And to that there is nothing to be said, so I must drink white beer, though I am a Serb and therefore not a petit bourgeois, but a lord and a peasant."

(In case you couldn't figure it out, "white beer" is wheat beer, so if you're one of those ridiculous hefewiezen/ Belgian white types, Constantine's bitching about you.)

This called to mind the day I came back from Russia. Driving back to the Island from JFK, my father asked me how it came to be that I found a mule to ride in the middle of St Petersburg. Now I drank quite a bit in the motherland, but not so much that I'd ride a mule, tell my father about it, and forget the entire episode. Suddenly I remembered that sometime during my final week, when I was having a very rough go of things for a variety of reasons, I'd made my Facebook status, "Got to get behind the mule in the morning and plow." This is, of course, a lyric from one of my favorite Tom Waits songs, aptly titled "Get behind the mule", which is basically about sucking it up and putting your emotional shit on the back burner because there's work to be done. My father, of course, had simply assumed that I'd gone mule riding.

Big Jack Earl was 8'1
He stood in the road and he cried
He couldn't make her love him
Couldn't make her stay
But tell the good Lord that he tried

Got to get behind the Mule
In the morning and plow

(It's also a song about trying to cover up a murder and associated business, but that does not concern the present narrative.)

Point is, my father thought I was literally plowing a field instead of being vaguely emo. He is the best. May we all strive to think so well of our loved ones!

But silk ties are the best medicine of all!

Prepare yourselves, I'm about to defend doctors.

"A small but committed pack of New York lawmakers has proposed a bill that would bar doctors and other hospital staffers from wearing neckties at the office. Are the lawmakers jealous of the uniform? Perhaps. But, according to State Senator Diane Savino, the law will help save lives. 'Adopting a hygienic dress code for medical professionals means less infections, less lawsuits, and lower medical malpractice premiums,' Savino explained."

The fact that needless fear-mongering is more dangerous than whatever infintesimal number of infections ties nurture aside, this is just one more (admittedly minor) consequence of the modern's rejection of authority, rank, honor, and other such antiquated notions. Hyperbolic, yes, but bear with me: reducing all doctors to one-size-fits-all elastic band-hemmed scrubs in varying pastel hues reduces them also the level of their patients, clad similarly in formless gowns. They are functionaries, simply being paid to do a job, deserving neither respect nor deference. In a way it's an extension of the technocratic mindset-- there is nothing in any one doctor that ought distinguish him from any other person-- bodies are scientific, you see, and can therefore be diagnosed and treated according to rigorous objective criteria, requiring no degree of judgment or trust on behalf of either the doctor or the patient. Eventually we will have algorithms to take care of this for us.

Where once it would be reassuring to see a professionally clad doctor, as presumably our lives are to some degree in his hands, and his self-presentation helps me to trust him, we now bypass the personal altogether and trust in objective science-- except that medicine, medicine, of all things, objective is not. There are nearly infinite personal considerations that must be addressed before a doctor can make a proper diagnosis or treatment recommendation: lifestyle constraints, patient neuroses, wary and hysterical family members, etc, not even counting the decidedly messy and often unrigorous way diagnoses are made in the first place (not that I blame modern medicine for having failed to catch up to the technological absurdities routinely on display in any American hospital drama you'd care to name), and the myriad competing medications available for prescription. If professional, dignified attire does anything at all to increase the perception of the doctor as not just a technician but an authority (especially if it helps doctors realize that about themselves), I say we're losing something important when we nix the ties.

More fun with mushrooms and onions

Because you can never have too much!

Unlike yesterday's more traditional recipe, this is more of a hodgepodge of ideas and flavors I've encountered over time. A lot of it sounds weird in that Cincinnati chili kind of way, but if you like the ingredients separately you will like them together (guaranteed or your money back). It's surprisingly delicious, if I do say so myself.

I like these recipes as well because they don't really involve any overly artificial ingredients-- not that I have any ground to stand on here, but is it really in the spirit of the fast to eat expensive vegan imitation meat all the time (asking as someone who's done that many times herself)? Insert misappropriation of 2 Corinthians 3:6 here, etc.

And so without further ado I present: 

LENTEN TRIUMVIRATE PASTA 

The 'triumvirate' refers to what, to me, are fasting staples: onions, mushrooms, and nuts (contra my usual staples: coffee, cigarettes, and booze). Figured a "Trinity" joke would also not be in the spirit of the fast...

THE "MEAT" (inspired by this)

1 onion, chopped

approx 8-10 oz mushrooms, sliced (again, I just used white mushrooms but any will do)

1 tablespoon garlic paste (would probably be better to use cloves, but I have none)

approx 2 tablespoons oil

approx two handfuls of dry roasted peanuts, smashed up a bit (I usually put them in a Ziploc bag and smash them with a jar-- fun and easy! Note: a) I have small hands and b) really like peanuts-- use your judgment.)

3 teaspoons red wine vinegar

3 teaspoons soy sauce

2 teaspoons sugar

1. In a bowl, mix together the vinegar, soy sauce, and sugar until the sugar dissolves. Set aside.

2. Warm the oil in a skillet/wok/whatever over medium-high heat.

3. Throw in the onions and the garlic and swirl around for a minute or two.

4. Add in the mushrooms. Cook over medium heat til they soften and wilt- five minutes or so?

5. Add soy sauce mixture and peanuts, cook til liquid evaporates.

I'm not even sure why I bother eating things that aren't mushrooms and onions.

THE SAUCE (very slightly modified recipe taken from here)

1/4 cup smooth peanut butter (I never eat peanut butter so I just used what was in my parents' pantry, but opt for a saltier one over a sweeter one if you can)

2 tablespoons honey

3 tablespoons soy sauce (their recipe says two tablespoons-- I thought it needed more soy sauce to balance out the sweetness, but taste as you go and figure out what you like)

Just mix it all together in a bowl. It will eventually achieve an even consistency, I promise. If too sweet, add a bit of salt.

ASSEMBLY

I think this would all go much better with rice noodles, but I don't have any so I just boiled up some thin spaghetti. Mix the peanut butter sauce into the spaghetti thoroughly- you really want to coat the noodles. Then mix in your mushroom-onion-peanut mixture. Add some crumbled peanuts on top if you like. Should serve about two, I think.

I was really surprised by how good this is, even with the pasta-- the texture of the noodles goes well with the weight of the sauce. Enjoy!

Mushroom Stifado

In addition to being one of my favorite dishes, mushroom stifado is Lent friendly. I actually have access to a kitchen this week because I'm visiting my parents, so I thought I'd walk you through the recipe. The one I work from is based mostly on this, with a few changes.

INGREDIENTS

"Only let me tell you, Rakitin, that though I am
bad, I did make a wonderful onion stew."

1/2 cup vegetable oil. The recipe says olive oil; I think any kind of oil is probably fine and vegetable oil is Lent appropriate. The recipe also says to use 1 cup-- the first time I made this I did that and it came out way too oily. This time I used 3/4 and it was still much too greasy for my taste, so I say go with 1/2.

3 to 4 medium onions. My rule here is one onion per person-- that may sound crazy, but it isn't, I promise.

2 cloves garlic, sliced. I didn't have any garlic cloves and used about a teaspoon of minced garlic instead, but then I don't like garlic very much-- use more or less to taste.

When in doubt, chop another onion. Seriously.

1 1/2 lb mushrooms, halved. I'm not the kind of person who measures things when she cooks, so I have no idea how many mushrooms I actually used-- just make sure you use roughly twice as much mushroom as onion. It doesn't really matter what kind you use; this time I used a basic white mushroom but crimini or portabello works nicely too. Leave them in pretty big chunks, and for the love of all that is good in the world don't throw away the stems-- I have no patience for you people. There is no reason not to eat perfectly good mushroom stems, especially in a stew.

1/2 cup red wine vinegar.

1 1/4 cup pulped tomatoes. I just used canned peeled tomatoes. If you do that, be sure to chop them up a bit before throwing them in the pot-- they should still be in large chunks, but not whole.

1 stick cinnamon. This is the kind of ingredient I tend to end up ignoring when I cook, and really, it's true that the dish will still be perfectly edible without the cinnamon, but your kitchen will be a wonder to behold if you have it. Throw in two if you like.

1 bay leaf. Didn't have any bay leaves this time around, but go for it if you have some.
1 teaspoon sea salt.

It begins.

1 teaspoon grated pepper. The recipe says 1/4 teaspoon, but that is too small an amount for anyone to care about, and I like pepper.

DIRECTIONS

1. This is a one pot recipe folks-- everything listed up there goes into the pot together, so bear that in mind when figuring out what size pot to use. Warm the oil in it for a bit, then add the onions.

2. Swirl 'em a round a bit (medium heat), keep 'em in there till they soften and get a bit translucent.

3. Add garlic, cook for another minute or so.

4. Add mushrooms, stir around till they're all coated with oil, continue cooking on medium heat about five minutes.

Nearly done!

5. Add red wine vinegar, stir.

6. Add tomatoes, cinnamon, bay leaf, salt, pepper, stir, combine well.

7. The liquid should almost cover all the ingredients, but not quite. If there isn't enough, add water.

8. Cook uncovered on low-medium heat (erring on the low side to make sure none of it scorches) for about an hour, or until most of the liquid reduces. Stir every so often to prevent sticking, more often as it cooks longer.

I served it over a basic rice pilaf, but you could also serve it over noodles, potatoes, or simply with bread. Should yield about three to four servings; two to three if you're cooking for guests.

Plating is not my forte.

What I look like while cooking this:

(Why someone bothered uploading this video, I could not say.)