Wednesday, July 30, 2008
** I got him a new friend, a beautiful calico Ruykin.
Last night was awful, waking up repeatedly (an unusual occurrence, I've been napping in the afternoon because not well myself) with my hand in something smelly. I resist thinking that this may be his final decline and demand drycleaning.
Sunday, July 27, 2008
And she accidentally unplugged a freezer, melting a sculpture made of blood frozen in the shape of the artist's head, owned by her husband Charles Saatchi, while they were moving house.
Other arguments aside
for chocolate tart from Tartine
Cream together 1 cup plus 2 tablespoons butter and 1 cup sugar using an electric mixer. Mix in 2 eggs, one at a time. Add 3 1/2 cups flour, all at once, and mix to combine. Divide the dough in four discs and cool in the fridge at least two hours or overnight. Bake at 325F for about 15 minutes. 1/2 recipe will make 2 8 inch tart shells, extra dough can make sugar cookies.
6 oz bittersweet chocolate
1/2 cup butter
2/3 cup sugar (divided in two)
3 large eggs
Have tart shell ready for filling. Preheat oven to 325F. Put the chocolate in a heatproof mixing bowl. In a saucepan combine the butter and 1/3cup of the sugar. Place over medium-low heat and stir until the butter melts and the sugar dissolves. Pour the buter mixture over the chocolate and stir until the chocolate melts.
In a large mixing bowl, combine the remaining 1/3 cup sugar and the eggs. Beat the mixture on medium speed until it forms a thick ribbon when the whisk is lifted from the bowl.
Pour about 1/3 of the egg mixture into the melted chocolate, whisk to lighten the mixture, and then fold in the remaining egg mixture. Pour the filling into the pastry shell and smooth the surface. Bake 7-9 minutes and serve at room temperature. The tart will keep in the refrigerator for up to five days.
1 cup hazelnuts, toasted with skins rubbed off, or
1/4 cup whipping cream, beat to soft peaks, with a tablespoon if yogurt mixed in, and raspberries
.... but today I'm sick with a cold and consulted Nigella's recipe for chicken soup.
Saturday, July 26, 2008
Tuesday, July 22, 2008
This time last year this was my favourite one minute twenty-seven seconds of tv. Love David Milch (I mark tomorrow Deadwood day. If you haven't heard David Milch's director's commentary, episode 1 of season 1 on the DVD will have you in his whisky voiced thrall. There's a great print interview here).
Music is Joe Strummer, "Johnny Appleseed."
Monday, July 21, 2008
Friday, July 18, 2008
Thursday, July 17, 2008
Tuesday, July 15, 2008
via Jamie Oliver, with help from Violet, Klaus and Sunny Baudelaire, making do for Count Olaf's theater troupe
extra virgin olive oil
1 tin tuna packed in oil and vegetable broth
14 oz penne or spagetti
handful of kalamata olives, pitted and sliced, or tiny nicoise olives
1-3 small dried chillis, crumbled
2 handfuls (1 pint) ripe tomatoes, chopped (or cherry tomatoes, halved)
handful fresh oregano and parsley, or basil
salt and pepper
zest and juice of 1 lemon
Cook the pasta, drain, then add the rest of the first group of ingredients over heat, cooking until the tomatoes soften. Then add the green stuff, stir, and dress with the rest of the second group.
I seem to crave pasta in the heat. Similar cannot be said for blogging. Having been paranoid once, it feels like a switch in my brain has been permanently flipped. Enough small reminders and off I go. I feel a distinct need to get out of the kitchen.
Middle English feye, from Old English fǣge; akin to Old High German feigi doomed and perhaps to Old English fāh hostile, outlawed — more at foe
before 12th century
1 a: chiefly Scottish : fated to die : doomed b: marked by a foreboding of death or calamity
2 a: able to see into the future : visionary b: marked by an otherworldly air or attitude c: crazy, touched
3 a: excessively refined : precious b: quaintly unconventional : campy
— fey·ly adverb
— fey·ness noun
I'm feeling it today: DEATH! DEATH! DEATH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I saw two girls with awesome tatoos on the bus today. One was a walking momento mori.
Monday, July 14, 2008
Sunday, July 13, 2008
It was hot and I had the right shoes on, so I started wading up the creek. It was cold, but nicely so, and a few minnows seem to be back. Next time I'll take you with me and show you 500 year old tree stumps, and we'll see if we can both float in the hole there, over smooth pebbles and sand.
for reading the gossip about this harassed lady (discuss: the difference between the Jolie-Pitt clan and a zoo). So I'm making minor reparations by using a posed-for photo.
The ever-lovely Ms Jolie is reportedly doing marvelously well after giving birth to Knox Leon and Vivienne Marcheline Saturday night at the Lenval hospital in Nice. The boy weighed 5.03 pounds and the girl 5 pounds. Aww! Mum and Dad do pick great names. Hugs to big brothers and sisters Maddox, Pax, Zahara and Shiloh.
Saturday, July 12, 2008
Friday, July 11, 2008
Thursday, July 10, 2008
Sometimes I like to be talked at.
Today I read my horoscope over the shoulder of the man beside me on the bus and it said "shop!" So I walked into the first store off the bus and found the ideal belt for my dress for $2. Naturally I thought of the most stylish person I don't-know.
Monday, July 7, 2008
Sunday, July 6, 2008
In happier news, a new edition of Strunk and White's Elements of Style illustrated by Maira Kalman is now available in paperback.
My commas and I need help so I bought it then planned to return it because the book is five dollars cheaper online. When I pulled the book out of the plastic bag it was stored in I found that cat pee had gotten on the cover and soaked through the first ten pages.
The cat has style, confidence, sensitivitity and a wicked sense of entitlement.
The cat is not my cat, he is my sister's cat.
He travelled with her to her first apartment, and then when she moved to an island with a schmuck (not so bad, just, you know, a little dull, unless you like hunting with rednecks, and then there were their divergent problem-solving strategies), but the cat was against the rules when my sister moved in with her best friend.
This afternoon I wiped up his pee from the cover of one of my books (the cat has let his views on Patricia Clough be known, though honestly I think he hates all my books because he is constantly attempting to remove them from him hands) and then delicately reported that the pee had blood in it, and that our dear dear cat should be taken to the vet because he had a bladder infection.
Clearly SOMEONE had sympathy for the dear cat's plight, because, despite grandparents arriving (early) mom grabbed sister, jumped in the car and found a vet open on Sunday. They returned two hours later (German grandmother by then having expressed extreme boredom, mentally reformatted the garden, and begun reading aloud from furniture store catalogues) amidst phonecalls telling of the cat's immanent demise at the grand old age of 82 cat years. Christ.
"They didn't think to ask ME about putting the cat down, huh?" I said to assembled company. Half and hour later the dynamic duo returned home, plus cat. "He has a bladder infection," sister reported.
"I told you that."
"Antibiotics twice a day for seven days, and if it doesn't clear up he needs bloodwork to determine whether he is in kidney/liver failure." She was crying.
"Listen," I said, "he still has quality of life. He likes to go outside, he likes to lie on me and pin my hands to the bed, I cuddle him lots; he's doing just fine."
"I'm trying to be here for you," I said as she walked out of the room. I let the cat out, and let him back in. "Stupid insensitive veterinarian," I said when Aunt called prior to desert.
When my sister left she charged me with monitering the cat's quality of life. I tried to talk her in to a visit at her place, but she's afraid it'll upset him too much. She told me that 17 solar years would make him 86 in cat years. It's still me and my grumpy old man.
Friday, July 4, 2008
I don't. Sometimes when he meows at me I pick him up and make a little conversation. "Look how the dog is hiding under the desk, she's frightened of you." "See where I planted my tomatoes? There's a grove of them now, I hope it's hot enough for them there." "I like that new show Swingtown. It depicts people reacting instinctively to one another, and the ways they express caring. I could watch that pretty much endlessly, provided I also had yarn to play with."
Then he tries to wipe his nose on my face and I get a whiff of seafood-smelling snot.
Wednesday, July 2, 2008
While the fruit softens, add to the butter bowl 3 eggs, 1 tablespoons white sugar, 1/2 cup flour and 1/2 cup milk. Mix together with a fork. When the oven has reached temperature, pour the flour mixture over the fruit mixture, move the pan to the oven and bake for 20 minutes. Serve hot.
I've also made this with half of a large grapefruit, sliced thin with the skin on, a teaspoon of finely chopped fresh ginger and a teaspoon of ground spices, including black pepper, cardamon, three cloves, and some star anise.
Tuesday, July 1, 2008
For part of a year I went to U of T, Victoria College, making Pratt Library my home branch.
Its designers call it "high minded modernism".
A virtual tour is available.
Because Pratt was, well, full of prats, I spent a lot of time at The Trinity College Library, which smelled of cedar.
Trinity College Cambridge may have the Wren Library, but Trinity College Toronto has Sir William Osler's desk.
The University of Toronto system's main library is called Robarts. It's essentially a skyscraper, originally designed to be closed stacks, and from some angles looks like a giant turkey.
Gorgeous photo from here. Initially I found Robarts intimidating to find my way out of, and was afraid I'd get stuck inside forever. When I left I took a picture of the concrete stairwell with "this is not an emergency exit" painted in it.
The Greek at the top of my blog says something like, "hospital for the soul." It's taken from the Library of Alexandria. I think its modern incarnation is incredible.