There's a woman in my aerobics class that I don't much like. She's a backstabber, and has the most unpleasant smile. The always backs up three feet and screws up the rows while whoever has the misfortune (sometimes me) to be standing behind her scrabbles for floor space.
Worse, she doesn't have an honest movement. Her twee little butt shakes and hand flaps drive me crazy. The appears unable to extend an arm or a leg or move with any vigor at all. I don't know WTF she's doing, but it's not aerobics. There's 80 year olds in the class who exhibit more energy than she does.
Why do some people get under your skin? It's not even personal. Usually I like most everyone until there's a sufficient reason not to. Her I didn't like from the day I first set foot in the class. It is chemistry? Hard to say.
Enough about the aerobically challenged one.
Today is a frenzy of cooking I made french bread and a minestrone with Italian sausage. Not vegetarian of course, but muy delicioso. Tomorrow we're smoking some salmon and eating more bread and soup.
Annie the cat has escaped twice today, both times S.O.'s doing. She's enjoying the nice evening and the birds are batshit, esp the catbird. Well, whatchagonna do? She'll come in when she's hungry. Hope the cat-chasing dog doesn't spot her. The whippet.
Going upstairs to watch the Barefoot Contessta. Can't wait to see the new Julia Child movie.
Grapeshot, who expects those in an aerobics class to actually do aerobics.
Showing posts with label Barefoot Contessa. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Barefoot Contessa. Show all posts
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
Sunday, March 29, 2009
Competitive Cooking
When I was in junior high and accompanied the pastor's daughter to the Wednesday Night Christian Fellowship suppers in the church basement, one of the biggest culinary delights of the spread (and a spread it was) was Mrs. Dahm's poppyseed cake. She made it for every supper, and no one had the recipe. It was white cake and a gooey layer and poppyseeds. Scrumptious. Maybe I wouldn't like it anymore, but back then it was oh-so-good. The good Lutheran woman's reluctance to share her recipe was my first inkling that cooks could be, well, competitive.
The second jolt was at a New Year's Eve party at my friend's house in Syosset, Long Island. We were trolling for hors d'oeuvres, and I made meatballs, always a popular offering, especially in the 70's when people didn't shun beef. A mutual friend, a male, made the comment that I was really a good cook and the meatballs "weren't very competitive," i.e. I could have made a showier dish and garnered more . . . what? compliments? admiration? Who knows.
The New Year's Eve group remained friends forever, and my friend and I used to cook on houseparty weekend's in East Hampton. We had some really cool menus and we cooked together, collaboratively, which is the way women have cooked for millenia. No mention of competition. The host made a fab Key Lime Pie, other guests made lunch or helped with dinner, the hostess, a non-cook, did the dishes. S.O. contributed his fantastic cocktail, the Sea Breeze. We were a happy crowd.
Then came the food channel. I love the Barefoot Contessa, and Paula and Giada and even Rachel and some of the guys. What I don't love are the frantic emo-laden competitions with tears and flashing knives and racing against the clock and the frantic urge to win, win win. This is not cooking as the world knows it. This is something else, rather ugly, actually.
Even the NY Times got into the action this week, pitting two food writers against each other, but the judge (the food critic) had enough sense to delare the competition a draw and just enjoy the meals. As we all should.
This competive cooking is crazy, and it must deter newcomers to the cooking life, which can actually be rather relaxing and easy if one times things right. So. Enough said. I made my poppyseed lemon cake today, and tonight we have a South Beach Diet chicken salad, both yummy. Last night I made a Spanish dish with scrod, and that was toothsome as well. No hurry involved. Working deliberately is one thing. Racing around the kitchen like a bloody fool is quite another.
Grapeshot
The second jolt was at a New Year's Eve party at my friend's house in Syosset, Long Island. We were trolling for hors d'oeuvres, and I made meatballs, always a popular offering, especially in the 70's when people didn't shun beef. A mutual friend, a male, made the comment that I was really a good cook and the meatballs "weren't very competitive," i.e. I could have made a showier dish and garnered more . . . what? compliments? admiration? Who knows.
The New Year's Eve group remained friends forever, and my friend and I used to cook on houseparty weekend's in East Hampton. We had some really cool menus and we cooked together, collaboratively, which is the way women have cooked for millenia. No mention of competition. The host made a fab Key Lime Pie, other guests made lunch or helped with dinner, the hostess, a non-cook, did the dishes. S.O. contributed his fantastic cocktail, the Sea Breeze. We were a happy crowd.
Then came the food channel. I love the Barefoot Contessa, and Paula and Giada and even Rachel and some of the guys. What I don't love are the frantic emo-laden competitions with tears and flashing knives and racing against the clock and the frantic urge to win, win win. This is not cooking as the world knows it. This is something else, rather ugly, actually.
Even the NY Times got into the action this week, pitting two food writers against each other, but the judge (the food critic) had enough sense to delare the competition a draw and just enjoy the meals. As we all should.
This competive cooking is crazy, and it must deter newcomers to the cooking life, which can actually be rather relaxing and easy if one times things right. So. Enough said. I made my poppyseed lemon cake today, and tonight we have a South Beach Diet chicken salad, both yummy. Last night I made a Spanish dish with scrod, and that was toothsome as well. No hurry involved. Working deliberately is one thing. Racing around the kitchen like a bloody fool is quite another.
Grapeshot
Friday, February 01, 2008
Bad Habits of 2008 + My Shabby Little Secret
O.K., so I've been working out during the new year, but not one, but two new habits are gaining ground and it's so annoying.
1) TV Watching
2) Eating after dinner
For years, I barely watched anything. Lost? The Wire? American Idol? Never seen nuthin.'
Last summer I began watching the Glen Close legal series on Fox, Damages, and was hooked. Didn't miss a single one. Fox was pushing Nip/Tuck which I always thought was a reality series. Not so. Loved the ads and the music and started watching Nip/Tuck. It's sick, it's vapid, dammit,it's addictive. I've missed a few, but basically I'm now a Nip/Tuck watcher. Love the Jerry David show, Curb Y0ur Enthusiasm --I laugh like an idiot. It's so weird but I identify with him. My shabby little secret.
What else? The food channel. I read that people hated Rachel Ray, so I had to find out why. Watched her program. Hey, they're wrong! She's fun, she's perky, she cooks dinner in half an hour. What's not to like? I love the Barefoot Contessa, the southern lady, practically homemade or whatever it's called, love Emeril, and Gaia. Have you noticed the cleavage and no one ever wears an apron or splashes or splatters or absentmindedly wipes her hands on her butt, forgetting momentarily she isn't wearing jeans? Love the Food Channel. I watch it while ironing or if I feel like lying down for a nap, which thank god, is one bad habit I haven't adopted.
This eating after dinner. I know where it comes from. Comes from eating a #%^^&**diet dinner, and then about 9:30 the munchies arrive. A substantial solid high cal dinner would never do that. You rub your stomach and groan. First I nip into the cookies, just one, then the chocolate, a small piece, then the nuts--way too many. Hell, I should have had mashed potatoes and gravy.
So I am also watching public TV and the History Channel and the last 30 minutes of whatever movie is on--tonight it was Married To the Mob and always a hoot. In short I am becoming an indiscriminate viewer. Like the Miami Crime Scene Investigation. But then I always liked Miami Vice. Vice is good in Miami, not so good in Boston.
The rains came and the thunder just rolled and Annie the Cat took off out her her rocking chair and ran under something. Today is Friday, remember, Cat Blog Day, and so a mention is O.K. Thisbe has been coming into the home office all week, and Annie chases her out.
Still no bean dip at Roche Bros., but I was vocally lamenting lack and a fellow shopper said, "Stop and Stop" has it, and everyone else has stopped carrying it, so I need to get some before The Big Game. Last night I even watched a Super Bowl program on HBO. I mean, really.
Writers will do anything to avoid writing. But I can't believe I'm watching TV. But now I'm writing. Blog doesn't count. Blogging is what we do to avoid the NOVEL. For shame.
Bye
1) TV Watching
2) Eating after dinner
For years, I barely watched anything. Lost? The Wire? American Idol? Never seen nuthin.'
Last summer I began watching the Glen Close legal series on Fox, Damages, and was hooked. Didn't miss a single one. Fox was pushing Nip/Tuck which I always thought was a reality series. Not so. Loved the ads and the music and started watching Nip/Tuck. It's sick, it's vapid, dammit,it's addictive. I've missed a few, but basically I'm now a Nip/Tuck watcher. Love the Jerry David show, Curb Y0ur Enthusiasm --I laugh like an idiot. It's so weird but I identify with him. My shabby little secret.
What else? The food channel. I read that people hated Rachel Ray, so I had to find out why. Watched her program. Hey, they're wrong! She's fun, she's perky, she cooks dinner in half an hour. What's not to like? I love the Barefoot Contessa, the southern lady, practically homemade or whatever it's called, love Emeril, and Gaia. Have you noticed the cleavage and no one ever wears an apron or splashes or splatters or absentmindedly wipes her hands on her butt, forgetting momentarily she isn't wearing jeans? Love the Food Channel. I watch it while ironing or if I feel like lying down for a nap, which thank god, is one bad habit I haven't adopted.
This eating after dinner. I know where it comes from. Comes from eating a #%^^&**diet dinner, and then about 9:30 the munchies arrive. A substantial solid high cal dinner would never do that. You rub your stomach and groan. First I nip into the cookies, just one, then the chocolate, a small piece, then the nuts--way too many. Hell, I should have had mashed potatoes and gravy.
So I am also watching public TV and the History Channel and the last 30 minutes of whatever movie is on--tonight it was Married To the Mob and always a hoot. In short I am becoming an indiscriminate viewer. Like the Miami Crime Scene Investigation. But then I always liked Miami Vice. Vice is good in Miami, not so good in Boston.
The rains came and the thunder just rolled and Annie the Cat took off out her her rocking chair and ran under something. Today is Friday, remember, Cat Blog Day, and so a mention is O.K. Thisbe has been coming into the home office all week, and Annie chases her out.
Still no bean dip at Roche Bros., but I was vocally lamenting lack and a fellow shopper said, "Stop and Stop" has it, and everyone else has stopped carrying it, so I need to get some before The Big Game. Last night I even watched a Super Bowl program on HBO. I mean, really.
Writers will do anything to avoid writing. But I can't believe I'm watching TV. But now I'm writing. Blog doesn't count. Blogging is what we do to avoid the NOVEL. For shame.
Bye
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