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Here’s how you win Top Chef.

15 Aug

Full disclosure: this post won’t actually tell you how to win Top Chef. But it might make you feel like a better cook after comparing your culinary skills to mine. Continue at your discretion.

I love to cook and I think I’m pretty good at it, but lately I’ve been copping out. You might have noticed that I’ve been posting less frequently and that the quality of the posts is, um, lacking.

It’s not that I’m lazy, it’s that my eyes have been crossed with work since May. Lest you think I’m exaggerating: my OCD self has been tracking my work time in a spreadsheet and I’m putting in 60-80 hrs/wk. And (this is for you, Alan) I’m not even a lawyer! 

Bottom-line: I’ve been compromising on things I normally pride myself on: culinary feats, housekeeping, bill-balancing… grooming.

Before you get all judgmental on my ass: When you start working at 6am and stop at 10pm, it really doesn’t matter if you shower, because the fragrance you’re wearing is Crazy. And your outfit is Porky Pig. (Which means a shirt without pants, in case you missed that lesson.)

[Deep breath.]

Looks like pizza? Tastes like ass.

So back to cooking. I feel like I could write a cookbook for lazy chefs everywhere. Here’s a list of the top three meals I can make in under 15 minutes while hosting a conference call. Consider this my gift to you:

  • Toaster Pizzas! Kind of like the crappy Triscuit Pizza your friend’s mom tried to serve you in the 80’s when microwaves required lab goggles and a lead vest. But infinitely more awesome. Recipe: one English Muffin, pizza sauce, cheese, salami. Pop it in the toaster over and 10 minutes later… amazement!
  • Mexican Fiesta! Go ahead and mock me because it’s processed, but it’s better than appetizers in half the restaurants in this town. (If by “restaurant” you think I mean “bar happy hour spread.”) Recipe: one box Trader Joe’s mini beef tacos, one package Avocado’s Number Guacamole, also from Trader Joe’s. Pop tacos in the toaster oven. Accompany with one scoop of guacamole. Demolish.
  • Bastardized Wiener-Schnitzel! So this might actually qualify as cooking, but it’s shameful because there aren’t any veggies on the plate. Recipe: bread a pork chop with panko and parmesan. Boil spaetzel in a separate pot for 13 minutes while you fry the pork chop in olive oil. Once done, in the same pan: melt butter, white wine, capers, lemon juice, mushrooms and a tablespoon of good mustard. Dump sauce over drained noodles, throw the whole thing on top of the pork chop. Eat two of them and mentally don your lederhausen. Yodle.

Yes, there are more. So many more, I can’t continue listing them without shame. But if you’re curious, I recommend adding the following staples to your grocery list: kielbasa, gruyere, tomatoes, figs, bleu cheese, pesto, toilet paper.

Because it might taste good, but it’s rarely pretty.

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I suppose it’s still a form of addiction.

17 Mar

Alan and I have been watching “Breaking Bad” on Netflix. If you’re not familiar with the series, the premise is that a high school chemistry teacher – when diagnosed with terminal lung cancer – turns to cooking meth so he can squirrel away a nest egg to support his family after he’s gone. The show is somewhat graphic and has done wonders to educate me on the nuances of meth production and consumption.

Earlier this week I was working from home when I was struck by a somewhat horrifying profound realization: if DEA agents stormed through my door on a weekday, they might mistake me for a meth addict. Working form home may fuel productivity, but for true workaholics, there’s an ugly under-belly that I think most people gloss over…

Five similarities between me working from home and a meth-head:

  1. We both walk around the house in sweatpants and tank tops.
  2. A night’s sleep is 5-6 hours tops, and we stagger from bed to immediately pick up our addiction: theirs a meth pipe, mine a laptop.
  3. If interrogated, we would both struggle to accurately state the last time we actually showered.
  4. A frightening number of Mountain Dew cans are sitting around. (Mine in a recycling bin; theirs in babies’ cribs.)
  5. The only way we know if it’s time to brush our teeth is by feeling to see if the toothbrush is wet.

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Read the label: or not.

14 Jan

I’ve been offline for a week. I suppose you thought I was busy working. What if I told you I’d spent the last week curled up in the fetal position with my eyes pinched shut, waiting for the Mountain Dew lawsuit to just go away?

You know what I’m talking about, right? A guy tried to sue PepsiCo because he claims he found a mouse in his can of Mountain Dew.

But – in a revelation of logic that would’ve done Jessica Fletcher proud, PepsiCo’s scientists shut him down by (essentially) saying, “You’re lying. Know how we know? If a mouse HAD been trapped in the can, the chemicals in Mountain Dew would’ve reduced it to jelly before you opened the can. AH HA! LIAR!”

Hey PepsiCo: let’s file that one under “Winning the Battle, Losing the War.”

Alan (ever the lawyer) disagrees with me on this one. He considers this The. Best. Defense. Ever. Why? “Because seriously? Mountain Dew is florescent yellow. It GLOWS. No one is going to be surprised that it isn’t good for them to ingest. The only thing that is missing in their defense is, ‘DUH.'”

At this point in our conversation, I find it hard to keep eye contact. Because, um, shameful as this is to admit: I love Diet Mountain Dew. It is the best tasting flavor of florescent yellow I know. And as a fan of DMD, I believe it is my responsibility to drink it regularly – someone needs to help Pepsi diversify their consumer base for this product. Here’s my sense of the current consumer profile for Diet Mountain Dew:

Keepin' it classy. You're welcome, Pepsi.

Oh sure, I know it’s not health food. I didn’t think it was giving me a vitamin boost. I didn’t call it Magic Juice. But – and tell me if I have unrealistic standards here – I don’t expect something approved by the FDA to actively rot my innards. Sigh.

In related news, I’m thinking I might need to read the ingredient list on this a bit more closely before I spread it on my toast:

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I think *someone* needs a New Year cleanse.

2 Jan

I closed out 2011 by hitting a vinyasa yoga class Saturday morning before Alan and I left for our mini-getaway. Man, am I glad I did: it’s not every day your yoga instructor is drunk.

At least, I assume she was still buzzing from the night before. That’s actually giving her the benefit of the doubt. Otherwise, I’m not sure how I’d explain this class to a first-time yogi…

She walked in and said, “So. Wow. It’s New Year’s Eve. Well, not eve. But New Year’s Day Eve. Eve Day. You know what I mean, right?”

People were giggling, but generally going with her. Then she began her soliloquy.

“So the new year is a great time for reflection. And introspection. There are milestones and this is a big milestone. I mean, it’s a WHOLE NEW YEAR. Right? And how great is that? I don’t know about you, but I’m glad to see 2011 done. It was a weird year for me. Just really, really weird. Man, I hope 2012 is better. Because this is a time to reflect about what we want. And I want a better year. And we are all humans, and our energy joins together and if we raise it up… I’m getting choked up! I’m choking on my words!”

I wish I could tell you I took artistic license with that quote in the interest of humor. But I didn’t. That’s more or less what she said, though I think my version is less rambling than the actual speech. I’m pretty sure this is why yoga gets a bad rap.

And for the two people who weren’t smirking after this babble-fest, she took it up a notch. “I mean, a new year is a big deal. But this year? Not to be freaky or anything, but it’s 2012. You know: 2012! The world might be ending! Dom-dom-dom! Seriously, I quit my job because I was like, ‘If the world really DOES end in 2012, I want to LIVE now. Pretty intense, right?”

(c) FullChordPress - by Tim Garrett (www.fullchordpress.com)

After she “re-centered” herself, she continued. “So I had a whole lesson planned for this morning’s class, but I got an email on my way here from another yogi who teaches at another studio across town with 20 questions for reflection. So I thought it would be good to read these to you so you can meditate on them during today’s practice.”

She then went on to read all 20 questions rapid-fire. I barely had time to process one question before she moved on to the next. The only one I was able to fully digest was, “What was a source of unexpected joy in your life this year?” And reason I retained that one is because she paused and said, “Right? Like my sister had a baby this year. And that was totally unexpected. Huge surprise. Huge.”

Much like that yoga class. Unexpected joy, though probably for the wrong reasons.

Call me Nostradamus, but I think it’s safe to predict what her biggest source of unexpected joy will be  2012: waking up to realize the world didn’t end. In fact, I’ll go one further. Biggest lesson learned in 2012? Not to max out her credit cards based on the Mayan calendar.

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A Tip for the Yogis

27 Nov
Little Kitteh says “Namewste.”

For the yoga teachers who read my blog, let me offer you a tip: Keep the chanting simple.

We usually open and close class with a single group “OM.” I’ll admit, the first time I attended a yoga class, it freaked me out. For a minute I thought I’d accidentally joined a cult and they were going to shave my hair off while my eyes were closed.

But then I started to dig it. There’s something pretty powerful about people united in purpose, joining their voices together. It’s a good reminder of the interconnectedness of all life.

So now I’m cool with an OM, or even three OMs if we have an enthusiastic instructor, though sometimes I can’t stop my mind from focusing on the one clearly tone deaf person who seems to be willfully trying to create discord. (<–BTW, just me or does it seem like that word should be spelled “dischord?”)

However, one thing I am decidedly NOT cool with are the instructors who try to get all creative and work in full chants. I’ll use what is perhaps the simplest of chants to explain why chants – in general – are a bad idea.

Let’s take, “Om. Shanti. Shanti. Shanti.” It’s an invocation of peace, which is nice in theory. And the words are simple and easy to remember. The thing that makes it a mess is that the first two “shantis” go down tonally (like “Mary” in “Mary Had a Little Lamb) but the third “shanti” goes up.

While that seems pretty simple, inevitably there will be a new person in class who doesn’t know that. They try to play along and go with the crowd. They are timid on the first “Shanti” but then more confident on the second one since it’s a repetition of the first. But then, just when they’ve worked themselves up to full participation and go to belt out that third “Shanti,” the rest of the class throws a curve ball.

Now do you understand why it's called Porky Piggin?

It’s like we all told the person it was “No Pants Friday” but then when he shows up Porky Piggin, the rest of us are fully clothed.

This exact thing happened today, and the poor dude who got orphaned on the third “Shanti” scrambled to try to get his pitch to match the rest of the class. The result was that he sounded like Peter Brady when his voice was changing. And it struck me as ridiculously funny. So I started laughing. To the point where I had tears coming out my eyes.

When we opened our eyes and bowed to say “Namaste” (meaning “the light in me bows to the light in you”), I remained face-down on my mat, shaking with laughter. Someone else from class is probably home right now, writing her own blog entry about the crazy girl that was so moved by her practice, she wept.

I guess it depends how you define “moved.”

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