the paper doll

I Don't Think It's Supposed to Taste Like That

 

Hey Y'all,

That's what my dinning room table looked like on Sunday.  I had The Musician's parents over for lunch to celebrate his mom's birthday.  And yes that's a special plate that says Happy Birthday used just for birthday occasions.  I'm sorry but I had no choice but to inherit the Martha Stewart gene.  It's a sickness most southern women suffer from.

Anyhoo, I did a little investigative work and discovered his mom's favorite dessert is some hot fudge cake she gets at Rush's.  So I whipped out my cookbooks in search of some approximation.  Betty Crocker came through for me with her Hot Fudge Sundae Cake recipe.

Now do y'all know the difference between canola oil and vegetable oil?  Because before 11pm on Saturday night I didn't.

I was so proud of myself for finding something similar to her favorite dessert and for having all the ingredients on hand in my new pantry that I couldn't wait to get started baking.  I just knew after she tasted this dessert she would adopt me as her second daughter.  And of course it'd get me in as the favorite in-law.  Maybe she'd even be so impressed she'd call The Musician and force him to ask for my hand in marriage.  This cake was the key to my future, everything hinged on it turning out well.

After 10 minutes of dreaming about my wedding dress I got everything mixed up and it came time to add the oil.  Turns out the bottle I had in my new pantry was canola oil NOT vegetable oil.  It being late Saturday nite I figured what the hey oil is oil is oil, right Internet?

Yeah, not so much it turns out.

After mixing everything up I settled in to lick the spoon and ICK.  It was the worst tasting batter I'd ever eaten.  Someone had put burnt popcorn in my chocolate.  Surly this was not how her favorite dessert was supposed to taste.  And if I was I wasn't sure I could have a mother-in-law who thought this was tasty.  I mean gag me with a wooden spoon this stuff tasted horrible.

I decided to bake it anyway and let The Musician be the judge when he got home.  Maybe my taste buds were just tired, or burned off, or crazy.  However, his reaction was even worse than mine.   The poor boy couldn't even swallow it and made a mad dash to the trashcan to spit it out.  Clearly, Betty did not mean for her Hot Fudge Sundae Cake to illicit such a response.

So at around 12am I made a run to our 24 hour grocery store to buy VEGETABLE oil.  And now I have a whole cake in my fridge that I don't know what to do with.  The dog can't eat it because it's chocolate and we can't eat it because it's gross. 

I'm thinking if I drown it in enough vanilla ice cream I might be able to choke it down.

But let this be a warning to you Internet.  When Betty Crocker says vegetable oil you better listen to her.

And better yet the whole ordeal begs the question-What the hell do you do with Canola oil and why do I have it in my pantry?

PS-The other cake I made a 1 o'clock in the morning turned out just fine.  She declared it tasted even better than the one she gets at Rush's.  So booya-I'm still the valedictorian of life.

Breaking Up is Hard to do

Dear Vegetarianism,

I'm thinking of quitting you.  Now don't get upset.  I'm just thinking about it.  I'm not going to do anything rash like say have a steak for dinner.

But I just feel like we're not working out anymore.  We've been together for so long.  15 or so years.  The passion just isn't there anymore, Vegetarianism.

And honestly I don't even really remember why we got together in the first place.  Something about cruelty to animals and needing attention and purple hair but really I just don't know anymore.

And with all the organic and free range stuff out there I feel like I just need to date around.  Explore my options.  A lot has changed since we first met, you know.

I've really gotten into cooking and experiencing great food and I gotta say, Vegetarianism, you really limit me.  You're always there saying I can't have things.  You often make things so complicated when we go out.  It's just a hassle sometimes.

And for what?  What are you doing for me Vegetarianism?

I feel like crap most of the time and all your alternatives are full of hard to pronounce words and chemicals.  I just don't think you're good for me anymore.

It's not natural.  And I believe cancer feeds on the not natural.  The preservatives, coloring, filler, and crap we put in our food.  Why just the other day I was reading the back of one of your boxes and I was aghast.  Sure you are low in fat and calories but good lord you pack some unknown things in your depths.

I was so disappointed in you.  I thought you were good for me.  But how can disodium guanylate, disodium inosinate, and succinic acid be good for me?  I feel sort of cheated.

Now I'm not talking about a divorce.  I could never get rid of you completely. 

But I might need a little break.  Just some time to think things over.

Ok?

I'll always love you and never forget you.  You taught me so much.

Love,

The Paper Doll

My Jerry Seinfeld post: I mean what is up with lettuce?

Dear Internet,

 

Now that we got that drink post out of the way I can tell you this.  I hate lettuce.  Yes lettuce.  Yet, I eat it almost daily.  Which has me thinking about the lettuce paradigm.

 

Who decided that lettuce would be the base for most salads?  Would be the filler in all sandwiches?  Have you tasted lettuce?  It’s like crunchy, dirty water.  And please before you tell me how I haven't had the right lettuce and radicchio and bib and butter lettuce all have wonderful distinctive tastes, let me tell you, ugh no they don’t.  You just think they do because you smoother them with your fancy vinaigrettes and candied pecans.

 

Lettuce isn’t good.  No one says, umm I can’t wait to get home and have a nice big bowl of lettuce.  Why then can one barely escape lettuce at lunchtime?

 

Sure you could order your sandwich without lettuce.  Unless you are a vegetarian, which I am.  Before you can even think no lettuce they’ve sprinkled it all over the bread.  It is assumed that you want it.  After all, you already requested a sandwich without meat.  No lettuce too?  This defies the very definition of sandwich.  What are you going to have if not lettuce and condiments?  If you do ask them to take it off then you have to stand there and be that asshole who’s holding up the line because you don’t like lettuce.  Because you prefer spinach instead.  And good lord how long does it take to pick lettuce off bread?

 

And a salad.  No one orders a salad for the lettuce.  Most of the time lettuce isn’t even listed as an ingredient.  You order a salad because of all the other stuff and the dressing.  You order a salad because you like blue cheese and cranberries.  The very nature of a salad is to hide the taste of lettuce.  You have to dress it, cover it up.  Because without dressing it’s naked.  And like most people, a naked salad is not a sight you want to behold.  Unless that salad is Brad Pitt or Ethan Hawke.

 

And it has virtually no nutritional value.  Paper would be a better source of vitamins and minerals.

 

Maybe I'll create a Facebook group or website.  PAL: People Against Lettuce.

 

-The Paper Doll thinks it has to be a pyramid scheme

If I Knew Then What I Know Now

Dear Real Simple Magazine,

You're not so simple.

You promised me an easy week night meal.  Only 15 minutes to prepare and a handful of ingredients. 

You wooed me with the promise of Parmesan and Rosemary.  I was amazed by your creativity.  Your SIMPLICITY.

So I gathered the necessary ingredients and set about making what you claimed would be a simple yet delicious meal.

I cooked those little sea shell pasta noodles according to the package directions just like you told me.  I didn't shred the chicken while the pasta cooked because I'm a vegetarian and I didn't think you'd mind if I left that out.  It wasn't your fault I skipped that step but my own moral code.  If I offended you I apologize.  But I don't see why you had to retaliate so harshly.

I followed the rest of the recipe.  I drained the pasta and reserved 1 1/4 cups of the water.  I returned the pasta to the pot and added the water, rosemary, 1/2 cup of Parmesan, 1/2 teaspoon salt, and 1/4 teaspoon of pepper.  (Ok so I didn't measure the cheese, or the salt, or the pepper, BUT I did measure the water and really seasoning is such a personal thing I don't see why it should matter.)

I stirred over medium-low heat for 2 minutes.

My mouth watered.  The fragrance curled up my nostrils and gave me the most delight.  I shook my fists in victory-You had done it again Real Simple.  You had given me an easy week night meal. 

And then I looked into the pot.

There was no creamy sauce like you promised.  No classic cook's trick about pasta water making a light, flavorful sauce when tossed with cheese and herbs.  It was a watery mess.

It looked like grass clippings and kindergarten paste.

I stirred some more thinking why maybe in my haste 2 full minutes hadn't passed.  I set a timer.  I whisked.

And nothing Real Simple. 

I very delicately scooped all 12 ounces of the pasta noodles out thinking that maybe I could whisk more effectively without them.

And nothing Real Simple.

Nothing worked.

Not pouring some of the water out, not adding more cheese.  Nothing.

So, long after 15 minutes had passed, I gave up on you and ate the noodles with butter and the leftover cheese just like I did as a kid.

And that Real Simple was real simple.

If only I had done that instead of trying to make YOUR simple week night meal.

-The Paper Doll is an uplifting gormandizer

Solution to World's Problem

All right listen up you freshmen bitches (name that movie) Internet,

I know a lot of people that have some crazy shit going on in their lives right now.  Crazy shit that can only be made better by one thing.

Cookies.

Yes.  Cookies.

I swear these are the best f-ing cookies you have ever eatten.  Even if you are busy, or don't bake, or think you suck at cooking I beg you to just make these cookies.  You won't regret it.

And I swear they WILL make everything so much better.

They don't call them World Peace cookies for nothing.

Reciepe ripped off from Smitten Kitchen.

-The Paper Doll says go forth and bake

World Peace/Korova Cookies
Paris Sweets, Dorie Greenspan

1¼ cups all-purpose flour
1/3 cup unsweetened cocoa powder
½ teaspoon baking soda
1 stick plus 3 tablespoons unsalted butter, at room temperature
2/3 cup (packed) light brown sugar
¼ cup sugar
½ teaspoon fleur de sel or ¼ teaspoon fine sea salt (or just some regular salt)
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
5 ounces bittersweet chocolate, chopped into chips, or a generous ¾ cup store-bought mini chocolate chips

Makes about 36 cookies

Sift the flour, cocoa and baking soda together.

Working with a stand mixer, preferably fitted with a paddle attachment, or with a hand mixer in a large bowl, beat the butter on medium speed until soft and creamy. Add both sugars, the salt and vanilla extract and beat for 2 minutes more.

Turn off the mixer. Pour in the flour, drape a kitchen towel over the stand mixer to protect yourself and your kitchen from flying flour and pulse the mixer at low speed about 5 times, a second or two each time. Take a peek — if there is still a lot of flour on the surface of the dough, pulse a couple of times more; if not, remove the towel. Continuing at low speed, mix for about 30 seconds more, just until the flour disappears into the dough — for the best texture, work the dough as little as possible once the flour is added, and don’t be concerned if the dough looks a little crumbly. Toss in the chocolate pieces and mix only to incorporate.

Turn the dough out onto a work surface, gather it together and divide it in half. Working with one half at a time, shape the dough into logs that are 1 1/2 inches in diameter. Wrap the logs in plastic wrap and refrigerate them for at least 3 hours. (The dough can be refrigerated for up to 3 days or frozen for up to 2 months. If you’ve frozen the dough, you needn’t defrost it before baking — just slice the logs into cookies and bake the cookies 1 minute longer.)

GETTING READY TO BAKE: Center a rack in the oven and preheat the oven to 325 degrees F. Line two baking sheets with parchment or silicone mats.

Working with a sharp thin knife, slice the logs into rounds that are 1/2 inch thick. (The rounds are likely to crack as you’re cutting them — don’t be concerned, just squeeze the bits back onto each cookie.) Arrange the rounds on the baking sheets, leaving about 1 inch between them.

Bake the cookies one sheet at a time for 12 minutes — they won’t look done, nor will they be firm, but that’s just the way they should be. Transfer the baking sheet to a cooling rack and let the cookies rest until they are only just warm, at which point you can serve them or let them reach room temperature.

SERVING: The cookies can be eaten when they are warm or at room temperature — I prefer them at room temperature, when the textural difference between the crumbly cookie and the chocolate bits is greatest — and are best suited to cold milk or hot coffee.

STORING: Packed airtight, cookies will keep at room temperature for up to 3 days (No way in hell); they can be frozen for up to 2 months.

My cooking philosophy is much like my philosophy on life

Dear Internet,

I am notorious for going to the grocery store and buying what looks good and then throwing something together sans recipe.

This has always worked great for me until I want to recreate my dinning experience.  So I'm going to start telling you about what I cook.

I know no one wants to hear about what I had for lunch but seriously it was good.  You should try it.

Plus I love coming up with really pompous names for otherwise normal stuff.

For instance, last night I made mushroom soup.  But doesn't it sound so much better when I say, "Last night I made wild mushroom and barley soup with wilted spinach topped with an herbed goat cheese?"

Like some how because I added 50 unnecessary words I automatically spent way more time and dirtied 5 more pots than had I just made mushroom soup.

Oh and how could I forget the Rustic Rosemary Bread.  Which is just code for I picked up one of those fancy loafs at the grocery store.

Here's how you too can eat overpriced fancy things all in the comfort of your own home.  That is if you're the sort of person who doesn't need quantities all measured out for you and can just drink wine and not worry about what you're fixin.

Wild Mushroom and Barley Soup with Wilted Spinach

Some mushrooms (I used baby bellas, shittake, button, and oyster.  But really whatever you have works.)

Shallots/Onions (Whichever of the noxious root vegetable you have.)

Garlic (Like a lot.  Like more than that.)

Herbs de Provence (Or something green and dried.  Tyme. Rosemary.  Basil.  Whatever.)

Butter/Olive Oil (And here I mean butter AND olive oil.  Like a lot.  Like a whole stick.  The more fattening the better.  The hotter the pan the faster the butter melts and the quicker you can forget how much you just put in.)

Red Wine (Enough for you to have a glass too.  More than a glass.  A whole bottle would be ideal.)

Vinegar (Balsamic, red, white, blue who cares.)

Worcestershire (A pat on the back for anyone who can tell me what the hell that stuff is.)

Broth (Beef is good.)

Already cooked barely (Or rice or couscous or pasta.  You gotta carb it up with something or else the butter feels lonely.  This not suppose to be healthy you know.)

Spinach (Way more than you think because that stuff shrivels up like Nicole Ritchie on a diet.)

You can add cream or milk but I didn't have any so I just crumbed some goat cheese on top.

Saute the chopped onions in the butter and olive oil.  When they're all pretty and sort of stuck to the pan add the wine to deglaze the pot.  Which really just means unstick the stuff from the bottom before it burns.

Add mushrooms and more butter or oil or both.  Shake in some vinegar and Worcestershire.  Salt and Pepper.  Herbs.  Garlic.

Cook until almost done.

Add the already cooked carbs of your choice and as much broth as you want.  Some like a lot of liquid some don't.  Add more wine if you want or just drink some more.

Bring up to a boil and add the chopped spinach.

At this point you could stir in the cream or milk or sour cream or cheese.

But I just turned the burner off ladled some into a bowl and topped with goat cheese.

Then I cut a big ole slab of my Rustic Rosemary Bread and sort of dunked that in there as I ate.

And voila!  A simple meal with a great big fancy name that you can impress your co-workers with when they ask you what you're having for lunch.  Oh just leftover Wild Mushroom Barely Soup with Wilted Spinach and Goat Cheese.

They'll hate you.

Fabulous Dahlin.  Fabulous.

You can also make this healthy by forgoing the butter and only using a little oil.  You really don't need much.  And skipping out on the cream, milk, cheese will lighten the load too.

Although with the workout you're going to get pronouncing the name of the soup I think keeping those items in there is just fine.

Just fine indeed.

-The Paper Doll is one pampered chef

I haz rabitz fud

Dear Internet,

I just got finished eating a whole bowl of mixed greens.  Which is just a fancy way of saying fizzy things, shrubs, and purple leafs. 

I topped of my gourmet lunch with a ramekin of dressing I found in the work fridge.  One whose provenance I'm unsure of but I think remained leftover after another one of my shi-shi salads from a couple of months ago.  Or years.  Or who knows it could have been a co-worker's who will tomorrow write a note worthy of passiveagressivenotes.com.   

I don't even like lettuce I think it taste like dirt.  And if you buy it in the bag, plastic.

If God had intended I eat this way he would have made me a rabbit.

I should be eating fried things, and chocolate, and drinking lots of hard liquor, and never getting any exercise like every good American.  The current contents of my fridge are so healthy they'd probably get me on the terrorist watch list should the government decide it's going to do more than just tap our phones.

I wish I could say I subject myself to such uninspiring culinary delights for health's sake, but I don't.  I'm far to vain for that.

No.  My nibbling on carrots, and fruit, and anything without flavor or fat is solely for the sake of my thighs.  That little part at the top that rubs together.  The part that should be a coveted triangle of air but looks more like an air raid black out.

I don't want to be super model skinny.  Or even model skinny.  I just don't want to wince when I put on my jeans.

I could insert some feminist bullshit about society and how fucked up it is women aren't happy with their bodies.  I could mention advertising agencies and Hollywood. 

But most of that is crap invented by fat ugly women in order to give themselves an excuse to be fat and ugly.  I'm not saying the airbrushed sized 0 models don't create an unobtainable ideal.  But if it were really a problem we'd have more size 0s instead of XXXs.  More anorexics than people scarfing down quarter pounders with cheese.

The notion of loving the body you have no matter the size is bunk.  Being 100 pounds over weight isn't pretty.  It's unhealthy.

(Insert rant about privileged Americans with no self restraint who always want more more more.  Even at the expense of their own health.)

This whole culture's mentality about food is disgusting. 

So I eat my salads and I bitch about it because ultimately I am one of those women who's trying to love the body she's in.  Just two sizes smaller and a little more firm.

-The Paper Doll contradicts herself she contains multitudes and lots of fiber 

And the Dish Ran Away with the Spoon

Dear Internet,

I feel so alive. 

With the help of the brilliant Musician I cleaned my kitchen, de-molded my refrigerator, and cooked the most delicious meal last nite.

Fish Tacos with homemade salsa, sour cream, and silvers of avocado.

I just ate the rest for lunch and it was beautiful.

I poached the fish in lime juice, cilantro, onion, and red pepper.  Tilapia because it's cheap and flakes well.

Then I stirred up some salsa.  So easy and way better than the store bought stuff.  Some tomatoes, tomatillos, onion, garlic, lime juice, cilantro, and jalapeno.  So fresh and good.

Roll it up in a tortilla with some avocado and sour cream and voila!

I use to cook all the time.

But between mom being sick and in the hospital, and me starting a grown up job, and buying a house plastic boxes of take out seemed to be the regular plate du jour.

I'm horrible at planning ahead and cooking just seemed too far out of reach by the time I got home, made a decision, went back to the grocery store, and started the meal.  Not to mention expensive when cooking for two on the budget of one.

Bless The Musician's heart but the boy likes to eat and I often found myself without leftovers and 50 dollars poorer.

But.

I also found myself 20 pounds heavier and not in the best of moods.

I firmly believe the, trash in trash out, motto.

I've been on Weight Watchers for about 6 weeks now and I can feel a difference in my body.  I sleep better, I'm not as crabby, my depression has lifted, my stomach isn't always in knots, I'm not as tired, my skin looks better.

I pay more attention to not only what I put in my mouth but how much of it I put.  I don't feel icky and stuffed after I eat.  I don't inhale my food.

I FEEL BETTER.

And that's reason enough for me to drag out the ole sauce pan.

Regular food postings and pictures are forthcoming.

-The Paper Doll is an Uplifting Gormandizer

please just indulge my crap

dear internet,

i feel like crap.

yes, crap.

once upon a time i ate fresh fruits and vegetables.  had a salad everyday.  and went to yoga an insane amount. 

i was a hippie minus the really bad footwear. 

but then.

i bought a house.  a huge house with many rooms to clean and a yard to tend.  and i met a boy.  a boy with many social events and a strong liking for pizza and beer.

and i just stopped taking care of me.

i got busy.  i wanted to do more important fun things than cook and grocery shop.  so i ditched yoga for bars and my salads for restaurants.

and i got fat.

not fat fat.  but i've gained a size or two.  a size that i don't own any clothing in so that when i get dressed i look like barbie wearing skipper's clothes (back when skipper was barbie's kid sister).

and while i'm not doing back flips about the way i look this is soo much more about the way i feel.

which is like crap, internet.

i'm tired and have no energy.  and i get winded walking up and down the stairs.  my mind is all fuzzy and i'm more irritable than i use to be.

i want to get moving.  to take the dog for walks after work.  to really commit to yoga again.

and to change my eating habits.

i know this is terribly boring for you to listen to.  but part of this blog is typing out my thoughts.  and the other part is holding myself accountable.  if i put it in writing i'm more likely to do it.

so i will take the dog for a walk three times a week.

i will go to yoga AT LEAST once a week.

i will go to the farmer's market once a week to stock up on fresh fruits and veggies.

i will prepare as many meals as i can and keep healthy things on hand.

i will let the battle with my body go and love the one i'm in.

i'm just tired of feeling like crap.  and when i feel like crap i'm more likely to make other people feel like crap.  and no one likes crap (including this post).

so enough of the crap.  i'm not dieting i'm banishing the crap.

-the paper doll apologizes for this crap post

call off the dogs

no need to send that search party i managed to follow that trail of beer bottle caps i left for myself.  (now now-don't get your hopes up-that was on the way IN TO the pit of desolation (WHAT?-i had to get my feet to mash the gas petal some how.  without a little coaxing there's no way in hell ANYONE would actually drive to this place.  through it on the way to somewhere else, maybe.  but the sole reason of getting in the car to reach a destination, NO**)-and we ALL know once inside alcohol is strictly foreboden*)

it actually wasn't THAT bad...  nana for once remembered that i was a vegetarian or else she just forgot to ask me if i wanted some turkey.  she didn't however forget to lob a huge chunk of congealed salad on to my chinette when i was scooping up a hefty portion of the macaroni. (on a side note: WHAT THE HELL IS CONGEALED SALAD?  AND REALLY DO WE NEED A JIGGLY MIXTURE OF FRUITS AND NUTS AND OTHER INDISTINGUISHABLE BITS OF FOOD FLOPPING AROUND ON OUR PLATES?  ISN'T THE CRANBERRY SAUCE ENOUGH?  THANKSGIVING IS THE ONLY HOLIDAY CRANBERRY SAUCE GETS.  LET'S LEAVE IT IN PEACE.  LET IT HAVE ITS ONE GLORY DAY.  RETIRE THE CONGEALED SALAD.  SAVE IT FOR MOTHER'S DAY.  HELL THROW IN FATHER'S DAY TOO.  JUST GET IT OFF MY DAMN PLATE) 

sorry for the all caps but i got some strong feelings about the congealed salad.  and bless you if you don't know or have never been exposed to the foulness of the congealed salad (for your sake don't google it-you're better off not knowing).  is it a salad?  is it a dessert?  it that a fruit? a vegetable?  the remains of thanksgivings past?  who knows? 

it wiggles and it jiggles.  it's frightening and deappetizing.  it's nana's specialty.  congealed salad.  congealed salad. (sing in manor of the adam's family theme song-but smush congealed salad into the syllables needed to fit into song) 

dear god on second thought send those dogs so they can drag my limp body to the asylum.

WHEN DID THIS BECOME A POST ABOUT CONGEALED SALAD. the train has left the tracks.  abort.  abort.

will fill you in with-the rest of the story-tomorrow.  after the THREE THANKSGIVINGS IN A ROW PLUS LEFTOVERS hangover wears off.  then maybe i'll be able to form coherent sentences that don't delve into the mysteries of refrigerated side items.

-until then this is one fat cat signing off

*my aunt did come prepared and after everyone had turned in for the nite she snuck in her arsenal of glass bottles where upon we stayed up until the wee hours trying to giggle as quietly as possible.

**if you actually think that i would drink and drive then there's nothing i can say to you because clearly you already live a pitiful miserable existence

defloured

taking the advice of the great MFK Fisher who wrote in The Art of Eating, "No yoga exercise, no meditation in a chapel filled with music will rid you of your blues better than the humble task of making your own bread," i set out to replicate the warm manna of parisian bakers: the baguette.

now baking has never been my thing. it's too structured really.  half a cup of this a tablespoon of that.  i've always been more of a dump this in, give it a stir, and see what happens kind of girl.  and recipes.  i never follow those. 

but being that this is a new phase in my life i figured what the hey we could all use a little more order in our lives. so follow the directions i did.

i don't believe what i got was what old MFK was talking about.  if it was structure i was seeking i sure got it. dense brick bats of break your teeth on me structure. not the light airy crunch of fresh baguettes i so fondly remember.  i'm fairly certain that i would be well armed if someone was to enter my apartment unwanted.

the lesson was not lost though.  as i measured kneaded and let rise i thought about what Mireille Guiliano so aptly said, "Learning to be comfortable in that space, when it's just you, takes practice.  But doing so diminishes the impulse to lie to yourself or run away.  You won't want to."  and she's right i felt a little more bien dans ma peau with every turn of the dough.