On Friday, the King Arthur Flour company, based in Vermont, took its baking demonstration road show to the Portland, ME Holiday Inn by the Bay, which also hosts the fantastic Chili and Chowder Challenge. The King Arthur people do free demos throughout the country with the opportunity to ask questions, and at the competitive price of $0.00 I couldn't pass up an excuse to leave the house in the middle of the day. I even slipped out of my old-man slippers and into my young-man sneakers. Plus I had visions of free samples floating in my head.
At noon they were demonstrating how to make tasty, flaky pie crust and chocolate tart crust. Stasia and I made some pie for Thanksgiving last year so, um, experts? But as the Germans say, "man lernt nie aus," aka "you never stop learning." I never even started learning, so this would be as good a time as any.
The conference room was good-sized and most of the seats were filled, so I'd say maybe 100 people were there. I stood in the back just to prove I could still stand, and I lowered the average visitor age by 20 years, easily. I suppose most youngsters (i.e. the non-retired) are either working or, I dunno, sleeping? at midday on a Friday, so I infiltrated the secret baking circle at great personal risk of embarrassment to bring you the hottest tips in pie-baking.
Our very nice, teachful teacher worked at the front of the room and we followed her movements on a projector screen (German word for projector: "der Beamer," which does in fact come from the verb "beamen," or, "to beam." The Germans are funny like that). We had little recipe/tip pamphlets so we could follow along. I wished I had brought a pen to take more notes but when I got home I jotted down as many tips as I could remember. Those tips will follow.
After the demonstration, during which our teacher made everything seem so simple that I was chomping at the bit to try it myself, just because I'd be a fool not to take advantage of a treat which practically bakes itself when under the manipulation of a trained professional and no one else, they had a raffle. They had bags of flour, boxes of mixes, and sundry nifty gifties to give away. I won a box of Cranberry-Orange scone mix, but I just quietly raised my hand instead of making a happy sound as suggested by the hosts. I thought about saying "happy sound" but I didn't want them to revoke my winning raffle ticket for mocking the system.
Scones are something Stasia and I learned to make from scratch in London (from our Taiwanese-Canadian roommate, C.J., naturally) but hey, free mix. On our way out, they also gave us little rubber scrapers (this sounds lame but makes me very excited to scrape and level and, well, maybe mix a little and that's it) and $10 gift cards (off a purchase of $20 or more, but flour never goes out of style).
So basically I made a tidy profit. And I'm likely to buy King Arthur Flour (again, since I'm sure we have some already) so good marketing ploy, King Arthur Flour. I haven't put my newfound pie knowledge to use yet, but when Stasia gets home tomorrow I promise that will change. Callaghan Test Pie on the horizon! That's all from your intrepid baking correspondent for now, so enjoy the tips I could remember, most of which are probably painfully obvious to those of you who use that mysterious organ in your heads for something other than storing Office Space trivia:
- Use butter, not something like shortening. Specifically cold, cold butter, along with ice cold water. You don't want the butter melting from over-working either. You want butter spots in your dough.
- Don't scoop flour directly with your measuring cup. This compresses the flour, meaning you scoop extra flour, which can really add up in a large recipe. Use a separate scoop to pour flour into your measuring cup, then use a flat surface (such as a handy dandy rubber scraper, boo-yah!) to scrape lightly across the top to level the flour.
- Another way to prevent bad measurements is to weigh your ingredients, which always wins out over just eyeballing if you want better quality. But it requires a kitchen scale and patience, neither of which I have in abundance.
- Here's a bad habit Stasia and I have: using the solids-measuring cups for liquid as well. To get the right amount with these measuring cups that come right to the top, you have to fill them straight to the top perfectly, which is hard to do and you're probably going to spill some before getting it in the bowl. Be sure to use the taller, see-through pitcher-style measuring cups with multiple lines so you can get a better measure and pour. As an example, if you're trying to measure 1 cup of water, use a measuring tool the has lines for 1 cup and 2 cups so you can see when you've reached 1 cup. Like the previous tip, this requires some sort of forethought, willingness to dirty extra dishes, and perhaps even patience, reducing its attractiveness.
- After you wrap your ball(s) of dough in plastic, flatten the ball so it will cool faster and more evenly when you put it in the fridge before rolling it out. You can also put the dough, or the pre-made pie crust, or even the pre-made pie in the freezer and keep it for about 6 months with no discernible loss in quality. If you take a pre-made pie out of the freezer you can put it directly into the oven, just add 20 minutes extra baking time to account for thawing.
- Don't roll your dough back and forth. Go out from the center in different directions, like the rays of the sun. Also, don't roll over the edge of the dough so your pin hits the surface. This can compress it oddly and lead to misshapen, cracked edges.
- Put your pan over above the dough so you can see if the dough is rolled out enough to then hang over the edges of the pan. Once the dough is rolled out properly, fold it in half, then in half again. (At this point, if you're working with the top crust, make four little steam-release cuts in the dough near the point of the triangle so you'll end up with the steam vents near the middle when you unfold the dough.) Place that rounded triangle of dough in the pan with the point of the triangle in the center, then simply unfold your dough to get it safely in the pan.
- If you're making a double-crust pie with a top crust, make sure you roll out and prepare both crusts first. Then set the bottom crust in the pan, dump in the filling, and put the top crust on right after. This allows you to pop the pie into the oven right away, which prevents the bottom crust from absorbing a lot of extra moisture from the filling.
- Use a glass/Pyrex pan for pies so you can actually see the bottom of the pie crust and ensure it's getting baked thoroughly. Also, in a conventional bottom-heated oven, put the pie on the bottom rack (not the floor of the oven but the bottom rack level) for 20 minutes to start then move it to the middle. This helps set the bottom. (If you're using a convection oven, which uses air to heat the oven equally, set the temperature about 25 degrees Fahrenheit lower than you would for a normal oven.)
- If you use frozen fruit for a pie, add up to 3 tablespoons of corn starch to thicken the filling.
- A pre-made but unbaked pie can last in the freezer for up to 6 months. Flour in a sealed container can last up to a year. Whole wheat flour should be frozen since it has the wheat germ and enzymes which can spoil easier.
- There's a white whole wheat flour which can fool whole-wheat -haters into thinking they're getting the normal stuff.
- Trivia: vanilla comes from a type of orchid native to Mexico. The plant has since been successfully grown in other countries, including Madagascar, which now produces the majority of the world's vanilla, called Madagascar-Bourbon vanilla. Bourbon refers to the region in which it's grown. I always thought it was alcoholic vanilla. I still like it, but I definitely like it less now. I'll have to add my own bourbon in the future.
Friday, March 25, 2011
Thursday, March 24, 2011
Wrong Colored Food
First I heard they'd turned blueberries pink. Is this like when they try to make games for girls? Were blueberries not selling well enough with the 12-25 year old female demographic? Will they also utilize the delicate Japanese art of growing perfect apples to imprint the blue pinkberr--er, pink blueberries with Hello, Kitty symbols and further corner the lucrative squealing teen girl market?
Now I hear they've turned garlic black. Garlic finally found its much needed street cred.
Bad jokes aside, I can't wait to try these two food innovations. If it's true that, as described, the pink blueberries are "sweet and flavorful," then they sound just like normal blueberries. But looks matter too, and they'd certainly make for a nice oddity for the backyard.
If it's true that, as described, the fermented black garlic "tastes much sweeter than traditional garlic" AND "doesn't leave you with bad breath," well that's progress we can all agree on. Except for the "sweeter" part because I'm fine with the current taste of garlic and until I taste a sweeter one I'm having a hard time imagining it. Will I put it in ice cream instead of spaghetti sauce? Also, I don't know how the price compares to regular garlic cloves because I don't remember what garlic costs at the store. But I'm guessing the fermenting process plus the increased rarity of black garlic makes it more expensive. My friends are cool, and all, but are they worth it?
All this talk of wrong colored food makes me want some right tasting food (and of course makes me think of the greatest Family Guy joke ever: wrong sounding muppets). Maybe I'll make a peanut butter milkshake tonight. Or a chocolate peanut butter milkshake. Lots of recipes for "chocolate peanut butter milkshakes" call for vanilla ice cream with chocolate sauce. Why not just skip the sauce and use chocolate ice cream to begin with? That's all we have, since vanilla ice cream's not worth keeping around.
Then maybe I can approximate the Colonel Parker milkshake from the UK's chain of American-style diners helpfully named "The Diner." The Colonel Parker is a hard shake, i.e. a shake with hard liquor, not a shake that isn't soft: peanut butter, vanilla ice cream, and Four Roses bourbon, and it is delightful, and will probably be even more delightful with chocolate ice cream and with any other kind of bourbon. I recently got a 1.75 liter bottle of Jim Beam white label for $5 (after rebate...$20 before rebate, which is still good, but not $5 good) from the New Hampshire liquor store, so I got that goin' for me, which is nice.
Now I hear they've turned garlic black. Garlic finally found its much needed street cred.
Bad jokes aside, I can't wait to try these two food innovations. If it's true that, as described, the pink blueberries are "sweet and flavorful," then they sound just like normal blueberries. But looks matter too, and they'd certainly make for a nice oddity for the backyard.
If it's true that, as described, the fermented black garlic "tastes much sweeter than traditional garlic" AND "doesn't leave you with bad breath," well that's progress we can all agree on. Except for the "sweeter" part because I'm fine with the current taste of garlic and until I taste a sweeter one I'm having a hard time imagining it. Will I put it in ice cream instead of spaghetti sauce? Also, I don't know how the price compares to regular garlic cloves because I don't remember what garlic costs at the store. But I'm guessing the fermenting process plus the increased rarity of black garlic makes it more expensive. My friends are cool, and all, but are they worth it?
All this talk of wrong colored food makes me want some right tasting food (and of course makes me think of the greatest Family Guy joke ever: wrong sounding muppets). Maybe I'll make a peanut butter milkshake tonight. Or a chocolate peanut butter milkshake. Lots of recipes for "chocolate peanut butter milkshakes" call for vanilla ice cream with chocolate sauce. Why not just skip the sauce and use chocolate ice cream to begin with? That's all we have, since vanilla ice cream's not worth keeping around.
Then maybe I can approximate the Colonel Parker milkshake from the UK's chain of American-style diners helpfully named "The Diner." The Colonel Parker is a hard shake, i.e. a shake with hard liquor, not a shake that isn't soft: peanut butter, vanilla ice cream, and Four Roses bourbon, and it is delightful, and will probably be even more delightful with chocolate ice cream and with any other kind of bourbon. I recently got a 1.75 liter bottle of Jim Beam white label for $5 (after rebate...$20 before rebate, which is still good, but not $5 good) from the New Hampshire liquor store, so I got that goin' for me, which is nice.
Tuesday, March 22, 2011
Velocipede
On Thursday the weather got nice. Remember that? It feels like a lifetime ago.
Though I love to bike, filling tires is about as far as my limited bike-care ability goes. So I hauled my bike out of the shed, stomped on the rickety foot pump about 800 times, and finally got the proper PSI of air into my tires. Then I put my slightly less limited bike-knowledge and deductive skills to good use and assessed the chain as "too dry." Considering the bike sat in the shed for over two years, I felt confident in my assessment. Dry chain = bad.
I've seen a chain lubed before and I figured with a combination of spotty memory and BicycleTutor.com I could take that major step and lube my own chain, thereby doubling my practical bike skills. I know where the rags are and I know where the stuff like WD40 is. So far so good! Is WD40 kosher, though? Thankfully I looked it up. Turns out WD40 strips stuff from metal, which means it's great for cleaning off gunk and rust but won't make the chain any less dry when you're through. I'd have to take my search on the road.
Since there are no bike shops in sleepy little South Portland, I went to the hardware store. I found some Tri-Flow, which seemed like a possibility, but I realized if I didn't want to waste my money on the wrong product and risk ruining my chain, I'd better get some actual bike advice from an actual bike shop. These flashes of insight just strike me sometimes; I can't explain them.
Next blind spot in my knowledge: what bike shop to go to. There are about six in Portland but I've only ever been to CycleMania, and I wasn't 100% satisfied with the last tune-up I got there, so I started searching. There wasn't much feedback online to guide me until I spotted a little gem called Portland Velocipede. If the name alone weren't enough of a draw, there were multiple glowing reviews on the google maps site, it was the closest shop on my route, it had an amazing logo, and it focused on retro, solid-steel-on-wheels, European-style city cycles. I tend to ride sporty bikes but you know I appreciate a good European-style cycle, perfect not only for cruising but also for convincing your non-biker friends to go cruising.
I didn't make it to Portland Velocipede on Thursday, though, so my bike ride had to wait.
On Friday, the weather got NICE. Remember that? It feels like a lifetime ago.
As we hit a record high temperature of 67 degrees Fahrenheit, my bike ride could no longer wait, car or no car, lube or no lube. In shorts, t-shirt, and sunglasses I braved the Casco Bay Bridge for my first time ever. What a terrible choice! The wind was unusually strong, enough to give cars some trouble, which meant I was nearly blown off the bridge. While trying to breathe in as little dust as possible in the intense sandstorm, I wished for the first time that my bike were as heavy as some of those European cruisers.
It was worth it, ultimately. I can't say enough good about Gillian and Josh, the owners of Portland Velocipede. They've got a great attitude, a great shop, and great customer service. Josh put some lube on my chain before I even bought anything and after I had talked their ears off for a while. Josh explained all kinds of technical stuff, Gillian told me all about the shop and the wares, Josh measured my chain to make sure it was still in good condition (it is, somehow, despite my utter lack of care), and I had an excellent time hanging out.
I bought some Chainj lube (top notch quality; not the number one in pure lube power but certainly number one in bio-degradable lube power, according to Josh). I left my Chainj on the counter while joking about the change purse in my European-style wallet (I lost my American-style one with everything in it last weekend). I returned sheepishly the next day and picked up my Chainj.
Bottom line: check out Portland Velocipede, even if you prefer your ride more sporty than European. They've been around for a year and should stick around for many more. They're good people doing good work, offering good advice, and fostering good community. And like at Two Fat Cats Bakery, the main area is completely open so it feels welcoming and you can see all that's going on, which in the case of Portland Velocipede involves less baking and more bike tuning, which is cool in its own way if not strictly edible.
Though I love to bike, filling tires is about as far as my limited bike-care ability goes. So I hauled my bike out of the shed, stomped on the rickety foot pump about 800 times, and finally got the proper PSI of air into my tires. Then I put my slightly less limited bike-knowledge and deductive skills to good use and assessed the chain as "too dry." Considering the bike sat in the shed for over two years, I felt confident in my assessment. Dry chain = bad.
I've seen a chain lubed before and I figured with a combination of spotty memory and BicycleTutor.com I could take that major step and lube my own chain, thereby doubling my practical bike skills. I know where the rags are and I know where the stuff like WD40 is. So far so good! Is WD40 kosher, though? Thankfully I looked it up. Turns out WD40 strips stuff from metal, which means it's great for cleaning off gunk and rust but won't make the chain any less dry when you're through. I'd have to take my search on the road.
Since there are no bike shops in sleepy little South Portland, I went to the hardware store. I found some Tri-Flow, which seemed like a possibility, but I realized if I didn't want to waste my money on the wrong product and risk ruining my chain, I'd better get some actual bike advice from an actual bike shop. These flashes of insight just strike me sometimes; I can't explain them.
Next blind spot in my knowledge: what bike shop to go to. There are about six in Portland but I've only ever been to CycleMania, and I wasn't 100% satisfied with the last tune-up I got there, so I started searching. There wasn't much feedback online to guide me until I spotted a little gem called Portland Velocipede. If the name alone weren't enough of a draw, there were multiple glowing reviews on the google maps site, it was the closest shop on my route, it had an amazing logo, and it focused on retro, solid-steel-on-wheels, European-style city cycles. I tend to ride sporty bikes but you know I appreciate a good European-style cycle, perfect not only for cruising but also for convincing your non-biker friends to go cruising.
I didn't make it to Portland Velocipede on Thursday, though, so my bike ride had to wait.
On Friday, the weather got NICE. Remember that? It feels like a lifetime ago.
As we hit a record high temperature of 67 degrees Fahrenheit, my bike ride could no longer wait, car or no car, lube or no lube. In shorts, t-shirt, and sunglasses I braved the Casco Bay Bridge for my first time ever. What a terrible choice! The wind was unusually strong, enough to give cars some trouble, which meant I was nearly blown off the bridge. While trying to breathe in as little dust as possible in the intense sandstorm, I wished for the first time that my bike were as heavy as some of those European cruisers.
It was worth it, ultimately. I can't say enough good about Gillian and Josh, the owners of Portland Velocipede. They've got a great attitude, a great shop, and great customer service. Josh put some lube on my chain before I even bought anything and after I had talked their ears off for a while. Josh explained all kinds of technical stuff, Gillian told me all about the shop and the wares, Josh measured my chain to make sure it was still in good condition (it is, somehow, despite my utter lack of care), and I had an excellent time hanging out.
I bought some Chainj lube (top notch quality; not the number one in pure lube power but certainly number one in bio-degradable lube power, according to Josh). I left my Chainj on the counter while joking about the change purse in my European-style wallet (I lost my American-style one with everything in it last weekend). I returned sheepishly the next day and picked up my Chainj.
Bottom line: check out Portland Velocipede, even if you prefer your ride more sporty than European. They've been around for a year and should stick around for many more. They're good people doing good work, offering good advice, and fostering good community. And like at Two Fat Cats Bakery, the main area is completely open so it feels welcoming and you can see all that's going on, which in the case of Portland Velocipede involves less baking and more bike tuning, which is cool in its own way if not strictly edible.
Sunday, March 20, 2011
Cake Fake-Out
Good birthday cake is hard to come by. For my mom's birthday I thought about trying to make one, but I haven't done cake for a long time. I probably would have needed a test run, and it was too short notice by the time I thought of it. On that note, let me know if you need a test cake made. Maybe for a friend whom you don't really like. Or for a dog's birthday. Or a school bake sale. Kids will buy anything with their parents' money.
So instead, my dad and I headed into Portland to check out Two Fat Cats Bakery. It occupies prime real estate, practically sandwiched between the fantastic Italian grocery store Micucci's and the decadent Duckfat restaurant. I had never even noticed Two Fat Cats, set back as it is, but my dad had and was surely a fan.
As we stepped inside, I was smitten: you go down a few steps and straight into a kitchen, basically. This main area is cozy, not too big but open so you can see all that's going on: cakes and cupcakes being frosted, fruit being peeled for pies, many wonderful aspects of baking that might normally be hidden away. I'm a fan of these set-ups where you can observe and admire the process behind the delicious product.
The employees were terribly friendly and obviously enjoying their work. One even humored me with a laugh and a "That's what we aim for!" when I suggested that a cake looked "good enough to eat," which I'm sure she had never heard before. Don't take me out in public.
We took home an 8" chocolate cake with chocolate frosting -- or should I say chocolate frosting with chocolate cake? Seriously, here is a bakery that understands when I ask for a "cake" it's only because polite society considers it rude when I inject frosting directly into my veins. "Cake" is about pushing the laws of structural engineering to their limits in order to find the largest possible ratio of frosting to non-frosting-material. The cake is a lie: frosting is the truth.
That's why frosting is so important. You need thick, rich, gooey buttercream frosting, and lots of it. And this cake has frosting: I promise you there's more frosting than cake involved here. Here's where it all started to go wrong, though: for some reason I thought that, as with most foods, cakes needed to be protected from the detrimental effects of heat. I forgot that cakes are impervious to harm, protected as they are by thick frosting shields (and thick plastic cake covers, just to keep stray cat fur off).
I admit it: I put the cake in the fridge (for its own good, I told it). HUGE mistake.
Never put the cake in the fridge! Even hours after we took it out of the fridge, the frosting was still too hard. You do not want your frosting hardening unless you're making some kind of Ganache or maybe a scale model of Mount Everest. So when I had a piece of cake last night, though the taste was amazing, the texture was off. It was just too hard and slightly waxy. I couldn't understand how it had gone so wrong.
Thankfully the cake is also big enough that my mom was able to rescue it. She left the cake out on the counter overnight (covered, of course...don't need any stray cat fut or deep cat paw prints in it, despite the bakery's name). What a difference. Today the cake was perfect. The frosting had warmed to its optimal temperature and softened to its ideal consistency. Frosting delivery system is a go!
I only wish the Two Fat Cats' website had a picture of their logo, because it is worth seeing. I promise I'll start taking pictures again soon. Until then you'd better head to Two Fat Cats yourself and come by some good birthday cake. Otherwise you're gonna end up with a Callaghan test cake, which belongs in an ACME catalog.
So instead, my dad and I headed into Portland to check out Two Fat Cats Bakery. It occupies prime real estate, practically sandwiched between the fantastic Italian grocery store Micucci's and the decadent Duckfat restaurant. I had never even noticed Two Fat Cats, set back as it is, but my dad had and was surely a fan.
As we stepped inside, I was smitten: you go down a few steps and straight into a kitchen, basically. This main area is cozy, not too big but open so you can see all that's going on: cakes and cupcakes being frosted, fruit being peeled for pies, many wonderful aspects of baking that might normally be hidden away. I'm a fan of these set-ups where you can observe and admire the process behind the delicious product.
The employees were terribly friendly and obviously enjoying their work. One even humored me with a laugh and a "That's what we aim for!" when I suggested that a cake looked "good enough to eat," which I'm sure she had never heard before. Don't take me out in public.
We took home an 8" chocolate cake with chocolate frosting -- or should I say chocolate frosting with chocolate cake? Seriously, here is a bakery that understands when I ask for a "cake" it's only because polite society considers it rude when I inject frosting directly into my veins. "Cake" is about pushing the laws of structural engineering to their limits in order to find the largest possible ratio of frosting to non-frosting-material. The cake is a lie: frosting is the truth.
That's why frosting is so important. You need thick, rich, gooey buttercream frosting, and lots of it. And this cake has frosting: I promise you there's more frosting than cake involved here. Here's where it all started to go wrong, though: for some reason I thought that, as with most foods, cakes needed to be protected from the detrimental effects of heat. I forgot that cakes are impervious to harm, protected as they are by thick frosting shields (and thick plastic cake covers, just to keep stray cat fur off).
I admit it: I put the cake in the fridge (for its own good, I told it). HUGE mistake.
Never put the cake in the fridge! Even hours after we took it out of the fridge, the frosting was still too hard. You do not want your frosting hardening unless you're making some kind of Ganache or maybe a scale model of Mount Everest. So when I had a piece of cake last night, though the taste was amazing, the texture was off. It was just too hard and slightly waxy. I couldn't understand how it had gone so wrong.
Thankfully the cake is also big enough that my mom was able to rescue it. She left the cake out on the counter overnight (covered, of course...don't need any stray cat fut or deep cat paw prints in it, despite the bakery's name). What a difference. Today the cake was perfect. The frosting had warmed to its optimal temperature and softened to its ideal consistency. Frosting delivery system is a go!
I only wish the Two Fat Cats' website had a picture of their logo, because it is worth seeing. I promise I'll start taking pictures again soon. Until then you'd better head to Two Fat Cats yourself and come by some good birthday cake. Otherwise you're gonna end up with a Callaghan test cake, which belongs in an ACME catalog.
Saturday, March 19, 2011
Slainte
Happy belated St. Paddy's Day! I didn't fulfill the drunken part of the stereotype, though my dad busted out his Bushmills 21 Year Old whiskey and we each had a taste of that. It's incredible stuff, to be sure. It comes in what's basically a silk-lined, wooden coffin, though, so calling it the water of life seems somehow contradictory. It's been laid back to rest in the liquor cabinet until the next big occasion -- my dad's birthday, maybe?
Naturally, we made a proper Irish dinner. My mom and I made corned beef, carrots, and potatoes in the slow cooker, cabbage in a pot with some of the corned beef juice (why don't they sell that in with the orange juice, I ask you), and Irish soda bread.
I had never made corned beef and she had never done it in a slow cooker, so we used sort of a combination of a few recipes, including the one at A Year of Slow Cooking. We used a bottle of Sam Adams Boston Lager plus a bit of water for the liquid. I liked the flavor it gave; my mom thought it was too strong and probably wouldn't do the beef in the slow cooker again. I was pleased with the results and will be eating leftovers soon.
My mom has a recipe she usually uses for Irish soda bread but Alena sent us the link to the one she tried this year, saying it was worth trying, so we went with that. Someone in the comments suggested "traditional" Irish soda bread doesn't have such niceties as sugar in it, which makes this kind of modern loaf more of an Irish soda cake, but admitted the Irish probably would have used sugar if they could have afforded it. So we'll forgive ourselves the breach with tradition.
It's a good thing my mom was supervising or else I definitely would have over-mixed and over-kneaded the dough. I need more practice with bread-making; the fact that it's possible to get overzealous and ruin the dough makes it more advanced than my usual fare. This stuff is pretty simple to whip up and you don't have to spread the process out over days to let it rise or anything, but the dough definitely ends up sticky and tricky to handle. Because of this, we ignored the suggestion of the recipe to form a ball and put it on a baking sheet; instead we put the dough in a shallow cake pan the way my mom normally does, so it automatically took that shape. We also drizzled some melted butter and sugar on top to make it extra crispalicious.
It came out great. I haven't had soda bread for years so I can't say how it compares, but I've eaten it every day since we made it: sometimes with butter, sometimes with honey, and today without anything because even like that it's tasty.
No cooking or leftovers today, though: it's my mom's birthday, so we're going out to Paciarino in Portland for a nice Italian dinner. Happy birthday, ma! Here's the card I made -- eat your heart out, Hallmark.
Fabian and Hojo will learn to get along eventually. For love.
Naturally, we made a proper Irish dinner. My mom and I made corned beef, carrots, and potatoes in the slow cooker, cabbage in a pot with some of the corned beef juice (why don't they sell that in with the orange juice, I ask you), and Irish soda bread.
I had never made corned beef and she had never done it in a slow cooker, so we used sort of a combination of a few recipes, including the one at A Year of Slow Cooking. We used a bottle of Sam Adams Boston Lager plus a bit of water for the liquid. I liked the flavor it gave; my mom thought it was too strong and probably wouldn't do the beef in the slow cooker again. I was pleased with the results and will be eating leftovers soon.
My mom has a recipe she usually uses for Irish soda bread but Alena sent us the link to the one she tried this year, saying it was worth trying, so we went with that. Someone in the comments suggested "traditional" Irish soda bread doesn't have such niceties as sugar in it, which makes this kind of modern loaf more of an Irish soda cake, but admitted the Irish probably would have used sugar if they could have afforded it. So we'll forgive ourselves the breach with tradition.
It's a good thing my mom was supervising or else I definitely would have over-mixed and over-kneaded the dough. I need more practice with bread-making; the fact that it's possible to get overzealous and ruin the dough makes it more advanced than my usual fare. This stuff is pretty simple to whip up and you don't have to spread the process out over days to let it rise or anything, but the dough definitely ends up sticky and tricky to handle. Because of this, we ignored the suggestion of the recipe to form a ball and put it on a baking sheet; instead we put the dough in a shallow cake pan the way my mom normally does, so it automatically took that shape. We also drizzled some melted butter and sugar on top to make it extra crispalicious.
It came out great. I haven't had soda bread for years so I can't say how it compares, but I've eaten it every day since we made it: sometimes with butter, sometimes with honey, and today without anything because even like that it's tasty.
No cooking or leftovers today, though: it's my mom's birthday, so we're going out to Paciarino in Portland for a nice Italian dinner. Happy birthday, ma! Here's the card I made -- eat your heart out, Hallmark.
Fabian and Hojo will learn to get along eventually. For love.
Wednesday, March 16, 2011
Peanut Butter Topping
I don't eat much ice cream, and when I'm on my own I never keep it around. My parents' freezer is well stocked with it, though, and they often have sundaes for dessert. I've been allowing them to make me sundaes, too (see how magnanimous I am? I don't refuse their offer of ice cream nor do I deny them the joy of making sundaes for me. You can see why they keep me around).
If you're eating ice cream in a bowl, it has to be a sundae, which means it has to have some kind of topping. We use both hot fudge and caramel. "Amazing," you say, right? "What more could you need?"
I'm glad you asked.
I don't know why I thought of it recently, but all of a sudden I needed peanut butter topping, like the stuff you can get at Friendly's, but why would I want to actually go to Friendly's? I figured there must be a recipe online and I could make it myself. Then I could eat it. Then I could make some more and give it as a gift to my sister, who loves it at least as much as I do, and that way I could feel less greedy since I wouldn't be making peanut butter topping for myself per se, I'd just be testing it on myself so it'd be great when I gave it to her. Self-justification complete!
But her birthday's not until September and her Christmas isn't until December, so screw it, let's just ruin the surprise now. She'll have to make it herself, but at least this way she can pour it into her St. Paddy's Day Mint Milkshake tomorrow since I know she's got a weird thing for mint + peanut butter combos.
There weren't too many recipes out there, and even fewer had actual user feedback, so after extensive, exhaustive, grueling peanut butter topping recipe research, here's the one I went with at allrecipes.com.
Warning: do not use the recipe as listed! This is why I wanted a recipe with user feedback: almost all of the commenters exclaimed that the topping came out way too sweet. I mean, it calls for an entire CUP of white sugar to only 1/2 a cup of peanut butter. What insanity is that? So here is the revised recipe, as suggested by a few commenters and now verified by Your Pal, Adam:
Peanut Butter Topping for Ice Cream:
1/3 C sugar
1/3 C water
2/3 C smooth peanut butter
Mix together the white sugar and water in a small saucepan over high heat and bring to a boil; boil for one minute. Remove from heat and stir in the peanut butter until melted and well blended. Use a whisk or hand-blender to whip it into a nice thick sauce. Pour the warm sauce over ice cream to serve.
I wasn't sure what to expect, but this was absolutely delicious. My mom doesn't dig peanut butter the way the rest of us do, but even she enjoyed the taste she had. This made enough for a couple servings of leftovers even after my dad and I had a generous helping each -- with my mom's homemade hot fudge, of course. Sundae-making 101: always combine toppings when you have the opportunity because More = Better^2. While peanut butter topping alone is superior to hot fudge or caramel, together any of those forms an unstoppable duo (or trio if you're just gettin' wild with it). I'll let you know if there are any serious issues with reheating it after refrigerating it, but I don't expect there to be a problem.
This recipe is excellent, involves three simple ingredients, and takes roughly three minutes to throw together: one minute to bring sugar-water to a boil, one minute of boiling, and one minute of stirring/whipping. Now you have no reason to go to Friendly's. You do have another reason to exercise. (Sorry about that one.)
Edit, March 18, 2011:
The sauce keeps very well in a covered bowl in the fridge. It might have been even thicker the second time around, so if you find while microwaving it that you need to soften it up don't hesitate to stir a splash of water in there. See? It's getting healthier already.
If you're eating ice cream in a bowl, it has to be a sundae, which means it has to have some kind of topping. We use both hot fudge and caramel. "Amazing," you say, right? "What more could you need?"
I'm glad you asked.
I don't know why I thought of it recently, but all of a sudden I needed peanut butter topping, like the stuff you can get at Friendly's, but why would I want to actually go to Friendly's? I figured there must be a recipe online and I could make it myself. Then I could eat it. Then I could make some more and give it as a gift to my sister, who loves it at least as much as I do, and that way I could feel less greedy since I wouldn't be making peanut butter topping for myself per se, I'd just be testing it on myself so it'd be great when I gave it to her. Self-justification complete!
But her birthday's not until September and her Christmas isn't until December, so screw it, let's just ruin the surprise now. She'll have to make it herself, but at least this way she can pour it into her St. Paddy's Day Mint Milkshake tomorrow since I know she's got a weird thing for mint + peanut butter combos.
There weren't too many recipes out there, and even fewer had actual user feedback, so after extensive, exhaustive, grueling peanut butter topping recipe research, here's the one I went with at allrecipes.com.
Warning: do not use the recipe as listed! This is why I wanted a recipe with user feedback: almost all of the commenters exclaimed that the topping came out way too sweet. I mean, it calls for an entire CUP of white sugar to only 1/2 a cup of peanut butter. What insanity is that? So here is the revised recipe, as suggested by a few commenters and now verified by Your Pal, Adam:
Peanut Butter Topping for Ice Cream:
1/3 C sugar
1/3 C water
2/3 C smooth peanut butter
Mix together the white sugar and water in a small saucepan over high heat and bring to a boil; boil for one minute. Remove from heat and stir in the peanut butter until melted and well blended. Use a whisk or hand-blender to whip it into a nice thick sauce. Pour the warm sauce over ice cream to serve.
I wasn't sure what to expect, but this was absolutely delicious. My mom doesn't dig peanut butter the way the rest of us do, but even she enjoyed the taste she had. This made enough for a couple servings of leftovers even after my dad and I had a generous helping each -- with my mom's homemade hot fudge, of course. Sundae-making 101: always combine toppings when you have the opportunity because More = Better^2. While peanut butter topping alone is superior to hot fudge or caramel, together any of those forms an unstoppable duo (or trio if you're just gettin' wild with it). I'll let you know if there are any serious issues with reheating it after refrigerating it, but I don't expect there to be a problem.
This recipe is excellent, involves three simple ingredients, and takes roughly three minutes to throw together: one minute to bring sugar-water to a boil, one minute of boiling, and one minute of stirring/whipping. Now you have no reason to go to Friendly's. You do have another reason to exercise. (Sorry about that one.)
Edit, March 18, 2011:
The sauce keeps very well in a covered bowl in the fridge. It might have been even thicker the second time around, so if you find while microwaving it that you need to soften it up don't hesitate to stir a splash of water in there. See? It's getting healthier already.
Tuesday, March 15, 2011
I Sell Comics!
The sun was shining until almost 7pm today. That plus my recent 100th post calls for a celebration. It's time for the unveiling of a new monkey picture:
Could we be entering a new Gorilla Age of Comics here? Only time will tell. But if so, I've got our t-shirt image ready.
Monday, March 14, 2011
Tennessee Truffle Shuffle
The other night, when making those delicious Peanut Butter-Oatmeal Chocolate Chip Cookies, I wanted to make sure I had something like the "rolled oats" that the recipe called for. I knew we had "thick & rough milled" oats and whatever Quaker Oats are...but were they rolled enough? Google, what are rolled oats?
Enter foodsubs.com, aka The Cook's Thesaurus!
This site is so useful. Some parts are admittedly easier to parse than others. If I try to consider individual types of oats and suss out their differences, the letters on the page start to swim and my brain atrophies. But from that mess of swimming letters and brain-mush and pictures of oats that look exactly the same, so much the same, I'd say the point is use whatever oats you have for whatever you're doing because what can it matter in a world where they canceled Firefly but they're still looking for ways to keep Two and a Half Men on life support, what can anything matter!
So I just went with Quaker Oats. It was fine, because any oats are fine. Let's leave it at that.
Check out the green onions & leeks section, though, and you can find out that green onions are scallions are shallots (in Australia!) are spring onions (Fruehlingszwiebeln in Germany!) are Chinese onions (in China?) are stone leeks are cibols! And none of these is a leek! (Don't be fooled by the stone leek, it's a notorious fraud.) And there's even something called a Tennessee truffle, aka a ramp. (Sometimes also masquerading as a wild leek -- were you fooled?) Humble origins, foodie prices. Crazy!
Plus, you can see freaky pictures, like a puddle of mustard oil, which can be found terrorizing internet goers at the oils & cooking sprays section! It haunts my dreams. And Indian markets, apparently.
What are you waiting for? The Cook's Thesaurus: learn to make your food sound exotic even if it's the same old crap.
Enter foodsubs.com, aka The Cook's Thesaurus!
This site is so useful. Some parts are admittedly easier to parse than others. If I try to consider individual types of oats and suss out their differences, the letters on the page start to swim and my brain atrophies. But from that mess of swimming letters and brain-mush and pictures of oats that look exactly the same, so much the same, I'd say the point is use whatever oats you have for whatever you're doing because what can it matter in a world where they canceled Firefly but they're still looking for ways to keep Two and a Half Men on life support, what can anything matter!
So I just went with Quaker Oats. It was fine, because any oats are fine. Let's leave it at that.
Check out the green onions & leeks section, though, and you can find out that green onions are scallions are shallots (in Australia!) are spring onions (Fruehlingszwiebeln in Germany!) are Chinese onions (in China?) are stone leeks are cibols! And none of these is a leek! (Don't be fooled by the stone leek, it's a notorious fraud.) And there's even something called a Tennessee truffle, aka a ramp. (Sometimes also masquerading as a wild leek -- were you fooled?) Humble origins, foodie prices. Crazy!
Plus, you can see freaky pictures, like a puddle of mustard oil, which can be found terrorizing internet goers at the oils & cooking sprays section! It haunts my dreams. And Indian markets, apparently.
What are you waiting for? The Cook's Thesaurus: learn to make your food sound exotic even if it's the same old crap.
Saturday, March 12, 2011
Pesto Change-o!
I hadn't even realized, but the previous post was my 100th. Does that qualify me as "prolific"? If I had known I was reaching such a milestone, I probably would have drawn a crazy monkey picture to celebrate, because that's really my bread-and-butter. I should get my dad to guest-blog to explain the gorilla-comics phenomenon in more detail, but for now suffice it to say I'm like DC Comics: I find my product makes a bigger splash when it's got a monkey attached.
...
Hello again; are you done learning about the "Gorilla Age of Comics" and enjoying each and every brilliant Perry Bible Fellowship comic? No? Take your time, I'll just be here drawing monkey-fueled disasters (I bet they're behind that situation in Japan).
Okay, enough of that. Assemble!
As suggested by the punny title, I came here to talk about pesto. The green stuff, made from basil, is great; the red stuff, with sun-dried tomatoes added to the mix and sometimes called "pesto rosso," is even better. I'm pretty new to the pesto scene. I've never made it myself since, in the mere couple of years I've really been aware of pesto, I've never had a food processor nor a surplus of fresh basil (I'm still waiting for the invitation to Casa de Drew Lafiandra to try their homemade pesto).
So, not surprisingly, I've still got a lot to learn about the delicious, herby stuff. It has come to my attention that pesto can be more than just "basil, with or without sun-dried tomatoes" An article at rodale.com has the scoop:
I don't use ice cubes unless I'm drinking whiskey -- even then I only need two rocks -- so chalk this up as a second reason for me to have an ice cube tray in the freezer (in my theoretical future-freezer). I just need to make sure I don't confuse the ice cubes. I'll try a lot of things, but pesto-whiskey isn't on the list...yet.
Anybody ever tried other kinds of pesto, either bought or homemade?
...
Hello again; are you done learning about the "Gorilla Age of Comics" and enjoying each and every brilliant Perry Bible Fellowship comic? No? Take your time, I'll just be here drawing monkey-fueled disasters (I bet they're behind that situation in Japan).
Okay, enough of that. Assemble!
As suggested by the punny title, I came here to talk about pesto. The green stuff, made from basil, is great; the red stuff, with sun-dried tomatoes added to the mix and sometimes called "pesto rosso," is even better. I'm pretty new to the pesto scene. I've never made it myself since, in the mere couple of years I've really been aware of pesto, I've never had a food processor nor a surplus of fresh basil (I'm still waiting for the invitation to Casa de Drew Lafiandra to try their homemade pesto).
So, not surprisingly, I've still got a lot to learn about the delicious, herby stuff. It has come to my attention that pesto can be more than just "basil, with or without sun-dried tomatoes" An article at rodale.com has the scoop:
"At its most traditional, Italian pesto is made from fresh basil leaves, olive oil, Parmigiano-Reggiano cheese, and raw pine nuts, all of which are ground to a smooth paste in a mortar and pestle (in fact, the word "pesto" comes from the verb 'pestare,' which means 'to crush,' as with a pestle). But with modern preparation methods (food processor!) and a little creativity, you can make pesto from just about any herb or green veggie (alone or in combinations), along with oil, some sort of nut (raw or roasted), some sort of cheese, and garlic or some other seasoning."So many pestos (pestoes?). One of the best reasons for making it is so extra herbs/greens you have don't go bad on you, which can happen quickly. Pesto keeps well, especially with all that delicious, preserving oil, and the article suggests you "freeze it in an ice cube tray and pop the frozen cubes into an airtight container. Drop a cube or two into soup for a flavor lift, or thaw and toss with hot pasta for a quick meal."
I don't use ice cubes unless I'm drinking whiskey -- even then I only need two rocks -- so chalk this up as a second reason for me to have an ice cube tray in the freezer (in my theoretical future-freezer). I just need to make sure I don't confuse the ice cubes. I'll try a lot of things, but pesto-whiskey isn't on the list...yet.
Anybody ever tried other kinds of pesto, either bought or homemade?
Thursday, March 10, 2011
Where's Munich?
As with Miller-McCune, I had never before heard of The Ecologist, "the world's leading environmental affairs magazine" according to its About Us section. Via And Dutch I just came across The Ecologist's list of "Top 10...Euro cities to cycle".
I skimmed the list, awaiting glowing praise for Munich along the lines of "flat city perfect for those of all skill levels and bike types; wide, well-kept bike paths between the street and the sidewalk on nearly every street; gorgeous scenery whether you're headed to the local bar or cruising along the river Isar on your way to a monastery or out-of-the-way Biergarten; safe, flourishing bike culture overall."
I don't see Munich. Where's Munich? Wait a second, don't tell me...
LONDON?
And no Munich? You can't be serious.
I've only lived in a few European cities and I've only visited half of the ones on this list, but four months of living in and one month of biking in London is enough for me to guarantee you it doesn't belong on this list, even less so when Munich didn't make the cut. London has a dearth of bike lanes (aside from "suggested" ones that run in the street), the ballyhooed Boris Bikes rental system is still in its infancy (it might have opened for the general public by now...), and the bike "superhighways" are about 20% complete.
Even if you've never been to London, tell me what feeling you get from reading the first few lines of its description:
As a matter of fact, based on The Ecologist's descriptions alone, you get the sense that some of these cities are not like the others, some of these cities just don't belong. Here are some delightful excerpts from the section on Paris: "many hazards...infamously crazy drivers...vehicular terrors are best avoided...." Wow, 1 Euro for an unlimited day pass of 30 minute journeys sounds steeper if my Paris life expectancy is only 5 minutes. If I die, do they pro-rate the fee? No? Merde.
If you don't like Munich, fine, don't put it on your "Top ten favorite Euro Cities" list, but it deserves to be on a list of top Euro-cycle Cities. Otherwise maybe the list should have been called "Top 10...Euro Cities we think are neat to go sightseeing in, like that one with that big Tower and the one where they drive on the wrong side, and maybe you should try it on a bike if you can find one, 'cause we hear some people are doin' that these days, and maybe they're a little cheaper and more ubiquitous than they used to be, and we're an eco-magazine so, hey, green!"
But I guess it'd be hard to sneak that one by your editor.
I skimmed the list, awaiting glowing praise for Munich along the lines of "flat city perfect for those of all skill levels and bike types; wide, well-kept bike paths between the street and the sidewalk on nearly every street; gorgeous scenery whether you're headed to the local bar or cruising along the river Isar on your way to a monastery or out-of-the-way Biergarten; safe, flourishing bike culture overall."
I don't see Munich. Where's Munich? Wait a second, don't tell me...
LONDON?
And no Munich? You can't be serious.
I've only lived in a few European cities and I've only visited half of the ones on this list, but four months of living in and one month of biking in London is enough for me to guarantee you it doesn't belong on this list, even less so when Munich didn't make the cut. London has a dearth of bike lanes (aside from "suggested" ones that run in the street), the ballyhooed Boris Bikes rental system is still in its infancy (it might have opened for the general public by now...), and the bike "superhighways" are about 20% complete.
Even if you've never been to London, tell me what feeling you get from reading the first few lines of its description:
Why it’s great: Cycling in London used to be pretty dreadful thanks to an unfortunate combination of rain and aggressive drivers but since the first two Barclays Cycle Superhighways launched last summer, things have become a little easier.So in a section about why it's "great," London is hailed as having made the leap from "pretty dreadful" to..."a little easier"? Thanks for the tip, Ecologist! I can't wait to be ground into the rain-slicked pavement by aggressive drivers!
As a matter of fact, based on The Ecologist's descriptions alone, you get the sense that some of these cities are not like the others, some of these cities just don't belong. Here are some delightful excerpts from the section on Paris: "many hazards...infamously crazy drivers...vehicular terrors are best avoided...." Wow, 1 Euro for an unlimited day pass of 30 minute journeys sounds steeper if my Paris life expectancy is only 5 minutes. If I die, do they pro-rate the fee? No? Merde.
If you don't like Munich, fine, don't put it on your "Top ten favorite Euro Cities" list, but it deserves to be on a list of top Euro-cycle Cities. Otherwise maybe the list should have been called "Top 10...Euro Cities we think are neat to go sightseeing in, like that one with that big Tower and the one where they drive on the wrong side, and maybe you should try it on a bike if you can find one, 'cause we hear some people are doin' that these days, and maybe they're a little cheaper and more ubiquitous than they used to be, and we're an eco-magazine so, hey, green!"
But I guess it'd be hard to sneak that one by your editor.
Slugging and Baking
As a quick follow-up to my previous post, my mom is pretty sure that my uncle used to "slug" to work, which makes sense since he works for the government and lives just outside of DC. Plus, he's kind of a hippie once you get past that faux-conservative exterior, so I bet he was happy to undermine the auto industry's profits. My mom thinks she and my dad might have slugged with him one day to get into the city. I'd think that kind of thing would be hard to forget: standing quietly in line, getting in a random strangers car when called like some sort of prostitute, riding silently into the city for free? Guess I'll have to ask my uncle and see if he's got more to tell me about it.
And as a quick follow-up to a Facebook post from last night, the Peanut Butter-Oatmeal Chocolate Chip Cookies from the Brown Eyed Baker site were awesome. Stasia thinks raisins are wrinkly, healthy chocolate chips, but I reject that notion and demand actual chocolate in my cookies. Peanut butter always helps, too, both in flavor and shape. Not that I care much about the shape of cookies since all I really want is to under-cook them for maximum softness and gooeyness, but it can be satisfying (and easier to pick them up) when they don't end up pancake-flat every time. Handy tip. Otherwise just do what Stasia and I sometimes do: eat your fresh cookies with a spoon. Then you can sell it as "breakfast" easier. Put away the Cookie Crisp.
I didn't get any pics, but there's more dough in the fridge so maybe I will next time the cookies come out of the oven. We were going to try the technique described on the site for giving an extra-wrinkly, crispy (is wrinkly+crispy where "crinkly" comes from?) texture to the top of the cookies
Edit, March 20, 2011:
The dough dries out very quickly when kept in the fridge. The cookies still turned out well the second time around, but I wouldn't recommend saving the dough for more than a night, maybe two.
And as a quick follow-up to a Facebook post from last night, the Peanut Butter-Oatmeal Chocolate Chip Cookies from the Brown Eyed Baker site were awesome. Stasia thinks raisins are wrinkly, healthy chocolate chips, but I reject that notion and demand actual chocolate in my cookies. Peanut butter always helps, too, both in flavor and shape. Not that I care much about the shape of cookies since all I really want is to under-cook them for maximum softness and gooeyness, but it can be satisfying (and easier to pick them up) when they don't end up pancake-flat every time. Handy tip. Otherwise just do what Stasia and I sometimes do: eat your fresh cookies with a spoon. Then you can sell it as "breakfast" easier. Put away the Cookie Crisp.
I didn't get any pics, but there's more dough in the fridge so maybe I will next time the cookies come out of the oven. We were going to try the technique described on the site for giving an extra-wrinkly, crispy (is wrinkly+crispy where "crinkly" comes from?) texture to the top of the cookies
To shape, basically roll the dough into ball, then pull it apart in half (so the jagged edges are facing each other), then turn those halves up (so the jagged edges are now facing up), then press them together (side by side) to make them round again, with the jagged edges on top. Hope that explanation helps!but we didn't end up making the balls of dough as big as suggested in the recipe (believe me, I tried to make them huge but I was overruled as usual), so it was hard to pull off the proper method. Still, delicious, and I will be trying other recipes from the site for SURE. These Italian Pigu sound delicious, simple enough for me, and hilarious, which is my ideal foodstuff. Heh: Pigu.
Edit, March 20, 2011:
The dough dries out very quickly when kept in the fridge. The cookies still turned out well the second time around, but I wouldn't recommend saving the dough for more than a night, maybe two.
Tuesday, March 08, 2011
Slugging and Sleeping
I don't know why I haven't heard of Miller-McCune before, but it seems like a fantastic magazine/site. The surprisingly long article on Slugging held my attention to the last. Over the past few years living in Europe I discovered the joys of ridesharing, aka carpooling, and have lamented its absence in the USA. Everyone here has a car; no one seems to want to share his car with strangers. We don't like nor trust strangers here. I'm a trustworthy, semi-likable stranger without a car, people! Stop shutting me out.
Quite different from the typically longer-distance sharing that happens in Europe, it turns out DC and San Francisco are a couple of places that have had a strange ridesharing system for over 30 years. Irked by traffic jams and HOV lanes, it is workers in and around these two major cities that have casually organized a better way. Talk about an awful name, though, "slugging." Here's the suggested origin story:
After spending an inordinate amount of time reading this fascinating piece, I was drawn to A Day in the Life of a Sleepy Student, which will please Stasia, who is incensed at the early start of a high schooler's day (seriously: ask her). I haven't made it all the way through yet, since the screen is starting to make my eyes burn and I need to get the word out here before I burrow squintingly back into my mole-hole for the evening, but I like what I've read so far and I'll certainly be exploring the Miller-McCune site in more depth soon.
The articles are massive, which is sometimes a turn-off when I'm reading something on a computer (see: eyes burning), but they're interesting, well-written, and most importantly they aren't spread out across 5 or 10 pages but rather contained on a single, very tall page. Web sites aren't subject to the space restrictions of the printed page, but sites like The Washington Post and Slate insist on making me load multiple pages for each piece I try to read, which is possibly a way of suggesting more length/depth than actually exists and is certainly a way of maximizing page views (Slate even goes so far as to automatically refresh its pages every minute or so in its quest to inflate its numbers).
Slideshows and multiple-page articles are infuriating and unnecessary and should go the way of AOL's cd-mailing bombardment and other relics of an age when "the Internet" and its benefits were completely misunderstood. Make the piece as long as it takes, utilizing the magic of the web, and let me use my handy scroll wheel to read it without interruptions. I'm more likely to finish it, revisit it, and discuss it if I can easily search and access the entire piece this way. You can slap ads up and down both sides of the page, I don't care; just don't ruin my reading experience or I won't keep reading. Though it could do without the awkward, hyphenated name, Miller-McCune seems to understand what it takes to captivate a reader.
Quite different from the typically longer-distance sharing that happens in Europe, it turns out DC and San Francisco are a couple of places that have had a strange ridesharing system for over 30 years. Irked by traffic jams and HOV lanes, it is workers in and around these two major cities that have casually organized a better way. Talk about an awful name, though, "slugging." Here's the suggested origin story:
When LeBlanc moved to the area in the mid-1990s, slugging was already entrenched. It was born alongside the I-395 HOV in the 1970s. According to the slugs’ creation story, drivers quickly realized they could get people in their cars and qualify for the new lanes by poaching waiting passengers from bus stops. Bitter bus drivers are credited with coining the term “slug,” originally a derogatory reference that has been amiably reappropriated."Slug" doesn't sound like it refers to anything specific about the practice, and I have a hard time believing bus drivers would use such a tame insult...am I missing some historical connotation there? I'll have to ask my family and friends in DC if they've heard of this system, which sounds really cool but also so specific to the surrounding layout and circumstances that it would be impossible to try to export it. But these are the cases that give hope that even Americans can change their travel habits if under enough time or cost pressure.
After spending an inordinate amount of time reading this fascinating piece, I was drawn to A Day in the Life of a Sleepy Student, which will please Stasia, who is incensed at the early start of a high schooler's day (seriously: ask her). I haven't made it all the way through yet, since the screen is starting to make my eyes burn and I need to get the word out here before I burrow squintingly back into my mole-hole for the evening, but I like what I've read so far and I'll certainly be exploring the Miller-McCune site in more depth soon.
The articles are massive, which is sometimes a turn-off when I'm reading something on a computer (see: eyes burning), but they're interesting, well-written, and most importantly they aren't spread out across 5 or 10 pages but rather contained on a single, very tall page. Web sites aren't subject to the space restrictions of the printed page, but sites like The Washington Post and Slate insist on making me load multiple pages for each piece I try to read, which is possibly a way of suggesting more length/depth than actually exists and is certainly a way of maximizing page views (Slate even goes so far as to automatically refresh its pages every minute or so in its quest to inflate its numbers).
Slideshows and multiple-page articles are infuriating and unnecessary and should go the way of AOL's cd-mailing bombardment and other relics of an age when "the Internet" and its benefits were completely misunderstood. Make the piece as long as it takes, utilizing the magic of the web, and let me use my handy scroll wheel to read it without interruptions. I'm more likely to finish it, revisit it, and discuss it if I can easily search and access the entire piece this way. You can slap ads up and down both sides of the page, I don't care; just don't ruin my reading experience or I won't keep reading. Though it could do without the awkward, hyphenated name, Miller-McCune seems to understand what it takes to captivate a reader.
Wednesday, August 20, 2008
Highly Specialized
If you thought that 2001 Florida State University Bobble Head you found on eBay was cool (it's not, by the way -- bobble heads are what's wrong with today's youth, that and methamphetamines), check out what this scientist got for his obsessive bidding habits and 20 British pounds: "eBay Insect Fossil is New Species."
If you thought the weirdest part about that article was finding a new species of aphid in a fossil bought for 20 British pounds from a guy in Lithuania through eBay, you didn't read carefully enough. Allow me:
"Dr Harrington sent the specimen to Professor Ole Heie, a fossil aphid expert in Denmark."
Sometimes I feel inadequate for not having studied anything more specific than "English" and "German," but a "fossil aphid expert"? You win, Danish scientist. You win.
If you thought the weirdest part about that article was finding a new species of aphid in a fossil bought for 20 British pounds from a guy in Lithuania through eBay, you didn't read carefully enough. Allow me:
"Dr Harrington sent the specimen to Professor Ole Heie, a fossil aphid expert in Denmark."
Sometimes I feel inadequate for not having studied anything more specific than "English" and "German," but a "fossil aphid expert"? You win, Danish scientist. You win.
Thursday, June 12, 2008
One Little Monkey, Fishing In A Stream
I try to find time to blog about non-monkey related issues, but ever since this threat was made clear to me, I can't help but spread the word when new secrets of the monkey revolt are uncovered.
The latest monkey business to fear? Monkey anglers: "Scientists find monkeys who know how to fish." According to a couple of scientists, "'[This behavior is] an indication of how little we know about the species'" and "'If you provide them with an opportunity to get something tasty, they will do their best to get it.'" A species, about which we know very little, willing to do whatever it takes to get something tasty? If you're still willing to give them the benefit of the doubt, maybe you'd better take a look at another skill monkeys have been cultivating in their tree houses:
The latest monkey business to fear? Monkey anglers: "Scientists find monkeys who know how to fish." According to a couple of scientists, "'[This behavior is] an indication of how little we know about the species'" and "'If you provide them with an opportunity to get something tasty, they will do their best to get it.'" A species, about which we know very little, willing to do whatever it takes to get something tasty? If you're still willing to give them the benefit of the doubt, maybe you'd better take a look at another skill monkeys have been cultivating in their tree houses:
I bet they're already better cooks than the British.
Oh, and just in case Robochimps with a taste for human meat aren't enough for you, take a look at one last passage from the article: "[Fuentes] said it affirms his belief that their ability to thrive in urban and rural environments from Indonesia to northern Thailand could offer lessons for endangered species." When these lint-pickers pass on cooking lessons to other species, we will be overrun. Our bacon is literally and figuratively fried if we don't act quickly.
Monday, June 09, 2008
Monkey Defense
Recently, I blogged about the gravest yet coolest metallic threat to humanity since Mechagodzilla: Robochimps (small wonder then that "the first Mechagodzilla was created as a weapon of destruction by a race of ape-like aliens, sometimes known as Simians or the Black Hole aliens [emphasis added]"). After the horrifying video and my particularly chilling artist's rendering of the likely fate of the human race, you were all ready to swallow your cyanide pills and take your chances with an angry God.
Well, not ALL of you. Having been burned before by monkey-transmitted diseases, those troopers on the front line in Africa have turned the tables: "Humans Likely Making Chimps Sick."
As very few of you probably know, one of my dreams is to be a zeppelin pilot, which, while ridiculous, is feasible, considering they're still flown near Lake Constance in Germany. In case that isn't enough to convince you, I present another article as Exhibit B: "Could Zeppelins airships soon be gracing our skies again?" Through my staggering powers of deduction, I can tell you that the answer to that question is a resounding "YES." Rather than use my words, I will again resort to an infinitely more useful and amusing crudely drawn explanation:
Too many robochimps, not enough zeppelins?
Problem solved.
Well, not ALL of you. Having been burned before by monkey-transmitted diseases, those troopers on the front line in Africa have turned the tables: "Humans Likely Making Chimps Sick."
As very few of you probably know, one of my dreams is to be a zeppelin pilot, which, while ridiculous, is feasible, considering they're still flown near Lake Constance in Germany. In case that isn't enough to convince you, I present another article as Exhibit B: "Could Zeppelins airships soon be gracing our skies again?" Through my staggering powers of deduction, I can tell you that the answer to that question is a resounding "YES." Rather than use my words, I will again resort to an infinitely more useful and amusing crudely drawn explanation:
Too many robochimps, not enough zeppelins?
Problem solved.
Friday, June 06, 2008
Sunny Heidelberg
I found out on Tuesday that Dave, a close friend from college, would be spending Wednesday night in Heidelberg. He's on a 25 day European tour with a busload of Americans, so I suppose Heidelberg was the perfect place for them to stop in Germany. Heidelberg is the ultimate in American, or simply English-speaking, destinations in this country. It seems like it's a beautiful city, but every time I go there it rains on my parade. It rained right as we got there for Walpuergisnacht about a month ago and it rained the entire time I was there on Wednesday.
Dave and the girls were supposed to arrive between 6 and 7 PM, so I got there at 6. I then found out that their bus driver had gotten held up in the matter of a ticket that the company had left unpaid since 1999, so they wouldn't be arriving until 10. We eventually had an awesome night, but before that...well, I did what I could to kill 4 hours alone in Heidelberg, including nursing a drink at a bar and eating dinner very slowly, but I still spent ages wandering or simply twiddling my thumbs in the drizzle.
At one point I was sitting in a square near the old town hall and the Holy Ghost Church, when some strange German man came by, asking in a slurred English, "Are you English?" I replied in the negative, which elicited a, "Oh. You look English." I repeated, "Well, I'm not," which he took as an invitation to sit near me. What he asked next was hilarious in its rudeness and absurdity. But I don't think I should write it.
Since anyone can view this, and in fact I offer it to employers as evidence of my writing skills, I still haven't quite figured out what level of language I should use on this blog. It's not even as if I'm personally using controversial language, I'm simply trying to tell a story, and stories need the facts. But when certain language is involved, people have a hard time looking past it to see the big picture.
I could pull the standard "s***," but I'm not about to censor myself with a line of asterisks because that's about as repressed and immature as it gets. Contrary to popular belief, censoring things only gives them power. You're better off trying to educate people as opposed to "protecting" them by pulling a curtain in front of everything you find morally reprehensible.
On the other hand, it's wise to pick one's battles, and while employers are hopefully impressed by independent and challenging thoughts, I'm not sure it's worth the risk right now. I suppose there's a thin line between "asset" and "liability" in this world, so for now I'll just leave the best part of the story up to your imagination. I still can't tell if this is the right decision: I'd love some feedback on if I should just go ahead and say what happened despite the inclusion of a word that has a long and unfortunate history in America. I need a different perspective on it.
Dave and the girls were supposed to arrive between 6 and 7 PM, so I got there at 6. I then found out that their bus driver had gotten held up in the matter of a ticket that the company had left unpaid since 1999, so they wouldn't be arriving until 10. We eventually had an awesome night, but before that...well, I did what I could to kill 4 hours alone in Heidelberg, including nursing a drink at a bar and eating dinner very slowly, but I still spent ages wandering or simply twiddling my thumbs in the drizzle.
At one point I was sitting in a square near the old town hall and the Holy Ghost Church, when some strange German man came by, asking in a slurred English, "Are you English?" I replied in the negative, which elicited a, "Oh. You look English." I repeated, "Well, I'm not," which he took as an invitation to sit near me. What he asked next was hilarious in its rudeness and absurdity. But I don't think I should write it.
Since anyone can view this, and in fact I offer it to employers as evidence of my writing skills, I still haven't quite figured out what level of language I should use on this blog. It's not even as if I'm personally using controversial language, I'm simply trying to tell a story, and stories need the facts. But when certain language is involved, people have a hard time looking past it to see the big picture.
I could pull the standard "s***," but I'm not about to censor myself with a line of asterisks because that's about as repressed and immature as it gets. Contrary to popular belief, censoring things only gives them power. You're better off trying to educate people as opposed to "protecting" them by pulling a curtain in front of everything you find morally reprehensible.
On the other hand, it's wise to pick one's battles, and while employers are hopefully impressed by independent and challenging thoughts, I'm not sure it's worth the risk right now. I suppose there's a thin line between "asset" and "liability" in this world, so for now I'll just leave the best part of the story up to your imagination. I still can't tell if this is the right decision: I'd love some feedback on if I should just go ahead and say what happened despite the inclusion of a word that has a long and unfortunate history in America. I need a different perspective on it.
Tuesday, June 03, 2008
Luckee Mee Follow-Up
Wayne, chief strategist, tireless organizer, and fearless leader of Mother Tongue Ultimate (new homepage eventually here), left an interesting comment on a recent post, "Luckee Me." It was refreshingly concise compared to his post-game speeches (no offense, but unless I'm caught standing between two beautiful girls, I'd rather wrap things up quickly and get a drink of water!), but I'll still cut right to the most important part, regarding Robert Pesch, whom you might remember as one of the best players in Europe:
"Sure he's good to play with; I just wish he'd smile every now and then! :-)"
This comment, combined with my second Mother Tongue tourney from this past weekend, did remind me that while playing with the Mainz experts is like attending a private, prestigious Ultimate University Grad School, playing with a motley crew of middling to excellent Mother Tongue pick-ups is like attending a public, partying Frisbee State U. And I was never one to keep my head in the books at the complete expense of my personal enjoyment.
Case in point: another triumph for personal enjoyment.
Maybe it's my skill level, maybe it's that my last couple unfortunate years of track gave me an aversion to strictly organized team sports (or maybe it's my injured foot right now), but whatever it is, I get more kicks playing in tourneys in the more relaxed MT atmosphere than I do playing in tourneys with the highly focused Mainzers.
That's not to say I don't try to win when I'm with MT or that I don't have fun when I'm with Mainz. But when it comes to certain things, especially leisure time activities, I'm less competitive by nature than some people. And Frisbee is a strange mix of intense training/competition and casual socializing where I lean toward the casual aspect. If it involves throwing a disc around and it happens on a weekend, it still feels like having a picnic or hanging out with friends at the beach.
Maybe I'll get to the point where I'm completely focused on training and winning, but it's more likely I'll continue in this vein, similar to my sister with her various weekend sports, playing as much as I can but more for the camaraderie and cocktails. As I said, I enjoy a fierce struggle and a well-earned win, but it doesn't kill me to lose on the field as long as I'm enjoying the whole experience, which is easier with some groups than with others.
"Sure he's good to play with; I just wish he'd smile every now and then! :-)"
This comment, combined with my second Mother Tongue tourney from this past weekend, did remind me that while playing with the Mainz experts is like attending a private, prestigious Ultimate University Grad School, playing with a motley crew of middling to excellent Mother Tongue pick-ups is like attending a public, partying Frisbee State U. And I was never one to keep my head in the books at the complete expense of my personal enjoyment.
Case in point: another triumph for personal enjoyment.
That's not to say I don't try to win when I'm with MT or that I don't have fun when I'm with Mainz. But when it comes to certain things, especially leisure time activities, I'm less competitive by nature than some people. And Frisbee is a strange mix of intense training/competition and casual socializing where I lean toward the casual aspect. If it involves throwing a disc around and it happens on a weekend, it still feels like having a picnic or hanging out with friends at the beach.
Maybe I'll get to the point where I'm completely focused on training and winning, but it's more likely I'll continue in this vein, similar to my sister with her various weekend sports, playing as much as I can but more for the camaraderie and cocktails. As I said, I enjoy a fierce struggle and a well-earned win, but it doesn't kill me to lose on the field as long as I'm enjoying the whole experience, which is easier with some groups than with others.
Monday, June 02, 2008
Win The Party
I was at an Ultimate Frisbee tournament in Duesseldorf this weekend with Mother Tongue, the native English-speaking team. The tourney was called either "Splatsch" or "Splash" depending on which sign you walked past, but either way the location was appropriately placed next to a large indoor and outdoor swimming pool.
The weather was terrible on Saturday, but we won a few games and held our own against some high level opponents, including the eventual tournament winners, the German Masters. "Masters" in this case means they're all over 30 years old, which means they might have some aches and pains but they also have a boatload of experience. We, on the other hand, have mostly students, and at this tourney we even had Louis, the 11-and-a-half year old son of another member, Ian, playing. He scored his only point of the tourney against the German Masters, which seemed appropriate. After our 7-4 loss, we asked the Masters to add up their years of experience: 196. In comparison, our team had 70 at most. What can ya do?
Saturday night, after dinner at perhaps the only tasty Mexican restaurant in Germany, a bunch of the team gathered to sample some liquid wares. Some of the Duesseldorf team members were still up since they were hosting the tourney, but most everyone else had gone to bed by midnight for some reason. We had beaten the hosts that morning, but our first game on Sunday at 9:30 was scheduled to be a rematch, which explains why they were so generous when we started calling for free shots. Of course a plan like "let's make them useless for the game tomorrow" isn't hard to pull off when the "victims" are the ones who start demanding unlimited free shots. The best drink of the night was a Jaegermeister-style liquor called "Killepitsch," which as you might notice lends itself to a couple of crude mispronunciations, which as you have already surmised we exploited to the fullest.
As the night continued, Ben, Garrett, and I were the ones from our team clearly enjoying ourselves the most, and eventually were the only ones left. We noticed that there was only one other group of non-hosts still up. It was maddening because couldn't they see that WE were going to win this party? They were sitting around playing some strange card game and not even drinking, yet preventing us from being the last men standing. So we told our host/enabler, Nico, to bring a bottle over there and make them indulge. Allegedly they took a shot each and then accused us of not having done so, and things were just pretty strange, and at some point they left. Awesome, right? No, because then three more guys showed up.
Kyle, an American from Oregon who had played one game with us before some of our other teammates arrived, and two of his regular teammates had been swimming and now they were back, claiming that WE couldn't win the party because THEY were still at the party. After an extended standoff, we got the Duesseldorf hosts to declare us the winners for sticking with it the whole time. But to quell the protests of the other three, we magnanimously offered a final challenge: arm wrestling.
It was agreed, and we faced off at a picnic table. Let's put it this way: they had one guy who was either Danish or Dutch, I forget now although maybe Dutch since Ben kept calling him the Flying Dutchman, and he was the individual champion. He put down all three of us like infants. Unfortunately for him, his two buddies were featherweights even compared to us, and we ended up winning 6-3. PARTY WINNERS.
Our carousing and celebratory dip in the pool was enough to wake the dead, or at least every person camped out in a tent, each of whom knew at 5 AM that we three had won the party. Obviously they were delighted for us.
Then the next day we got destroyed by Duesseldorf. Before you say it, this actually had little to do with their plan of exhausting us since most of the team hadn't fallen for it/embraced it the way Garrett, Ben, and I did. We had plenty of subs and fresh legs and eager beavers. We just couldn't beat the same team twice. Nico spent almost the entire game just slumped in a lawn chair on the sidelines, engaging in some serious schadenfreude, until Ben roared across the field for him to get up and play a freaking point, which he sheepishly did.
It came down to the whistle for the last point, and when Duesseldorf got the frisbee on a turnover, Wayne called an audible, which resulted in everyone on our defense tackling Nico off the field. Annabelle, Ian's 8 year old daughter who was in since we were down 12-2 anyway, stayed on the field, apparently frightening the Duesseldorf team, beause they managed to drop the frisbee even with a seven against one tiny girl situation. We scored the final point, which felt like a victory after our satisfying tactic.
We ended up 13th out of 23 teams, and the announcer graciously reminded those gathered that although we hadn't won the tournament, we had won the party. Sometimes the highlights happen off the field.
The weather was terrible on Saturday, but we won a few games and held our own against some high level opponents, including the eventual tournament winners, the German Masters. "Masters" in this case means they're all over 30 years old, which means they might have some aches and pains but they also have a boatload of experience. We, on the other hand, have mostly students, and at this tourney we even had Louis, the 11-and-a-half year old son of another member, Ian, playing. He scored his only point of the tourney against the German Masters, which seemed appropriate. After our 7-4 loss, we asked the Masters to add up their years of experience: 196. In comparison, our team had 70 at most. What can ya do?
Saturday night, after dinner at perhaps the only tasty Mexican restaurant in Germany, a bunch of the team gathered to sample some liquid wares. Some of the Duesseldorf team members were still up since they were hosting the tourney, but most everyone else had gone to bed by midnight for some reason. We had beaten the hosts that morning, but our first game on Sunday at 9:30 was scheduled to be a rematch, which explains why they were so generous when we started calling for free shots. Of course a plan like "let's make them useless for the game tomorrow" isn't hard to pull off when the "victims" are the ones who start demanding unlimited free shots. The best drink of the night was a Jaegermeister-style liquor called "Killepitsch," which as you might notice lends itself to a couple of crude mispronunciations, which as you have already surmised we exploited to the fullest.
As the night continued, Ben, Garrett, and I were the ones from our team clearly enjoying ourselves the most, and eventually were the only ones left. We noticed that there was only one other group of non-hosts still up. It was maddening because couldn't they see that WE were going to win this party? They were sitting around playing some strange card game and not even drinking, yet preventing us from being the last men standing. So we told our host/enabler, Nico, to bring a bottle over there and make them indulge. Allegedly they took a shot each and then accused us of not having done so, and things were just pretty strange, and at some point they left. Awesome, right? No, because then three more guys showed up.
Kyle, an American from Oregon who had played one game with us before some of our other teammates arrived, and two of his regular teammates had been swimming and now they were back, claiming that WE couldn't win the party because THEY were still at the party. After an extended standoff, we got the Duesseldorf hosts to declare us the winners for sticking with it the whole time. But to quell the protests of the other three, we magnanimously offered a final challenge: arm wrestling.
It was agreed, and we faced off at a picnic table. Let's put it this way: they had one guy who was either Danish or Dutch, I forget now although maybe Dutch since Ben kept calling him the Flying Dutchman, and he was the individual champion. He put down all three of us like infants. Unfortunately for him, his two buddies were featherweights even compared to us, and we ended up winning 6-3. PARTY WINNERS.
Our carousing and celebratory dip in the pool was enough to wake the dead, or at least every person camped out in a tent, each of whom knew at 5 AM that we three had won the party. Obviously they were delighted for us.
Then the next day we got destroyed by Duesseldorf. Before you say it, this actually had little to do with their plan of exhausting us since most of the team hadn't fallen for it/embraced it the way Garrett, Ben, and I did. We had plenty of subs and fresh legs and eager beavers. We just couldn't beat the same team twice. Nico spent almost the entire game just slumped in a lawn chair on the sidelines, engaging in some serious schadenfreude, until Ben roared across the field for him to get up and play a freaking point, which he sheepishly did.
It came down to the whistle for the last point, and when Duesseldorf got the frisbee on a turnover, Wayne called an audible, which resulted in everyone on our defense tackling Nico off the field. Annabelle, Ian's 8 year old daughter who was in since we were down 12-2 anyway, stayed on the field, apparently frightening the Duesseldorf team, beause they managed to drop the frisbee even with a seven against one tiny girl situation. We scored the final point, which felt like a victory after our satisfying tactic.
We ended up 13th out of 23 teams, and the announcer graciously reminded those gathered that although we hadn't won the tournament, we had won the party. Sometimes the highlights happen off the field.
Thursday, May 29, 2008
Robochimp
You have to see this, if only to prepare for the worst: Monkey's Brain Controls Robot Arm.
The phrase, "Monkeys have been able to control robotic limbs using only their thoughts, scientists report," is simultaneously the RADDEST and most FRIGHTENING thing I've ever heard (and subsequently seen: for some reason I couldn't view the video on the BBC site, so I googled one and believe you me, it will blow your feeble human mind).
If Cyborg Monkeys don't upset and/or excite you, you have no soul. While I support the concept of Cyborg Monkeys with every ounce of my being in theory, this is absolutely not the way to retain our spot at the top of the food chain. Sure, right now maybe they're only "able to use the robot arm to feed themselves treats," but what about when they crave more? What about when one "marshmallow" or a couple of "chunks of fruit" every 20 seconds no longer satisfies them? WHAT THEN?
Oh, I think you know what then:
The phrase, "Monkeys have been able to control robotic limbs using only their thoughts, scientists report," is simultaneously the RADDEST and most FRIGHTENING thing I've ever heard (and subsequently seen: for some reason I couldn't view the video on the BBC site, so I googled one and believe you me, it will blow your feeble human mind).
If Cyborg Monkeys don't upset and/or excite you, you have no soul. While I support the concept of Cyborg Monkeys with every ounce of my being in theory, this is absolutely not the way to retain our spot at the top of the food chain. Sure, right now maybe they're only "able to use the robot arm to feed themselves treats," but what about when they crave more? What about when one "marshmallow" or a couple of "chunks of fruit" every 20 seconds no longer satisfies them? WHAT THEN?
Oh, I think you know what then:
Wednesday, May 28, 2008
Funny Business
There's a clown school in Mainz.
Judging by the home page, they have plans to translate the site into English and some other silly language I've never heard of, "Français," but unfortunately for those of you who can't read German and really want to know more, you'll have to wait until they get their act in gear. Maybe I should offer my translating services.
But if you click around in there, you'll at least get to see some, uh, nice, artsy pictures of, well, clowns. Like so:
I know we've all seen The Simpsons' classic interpretation of clown school, but what do you think clown school is really like? Do they wear the whole outfit every day? If everyone's a class clown, how do you act up and disrupt class: comb your hair, wash your face, and sit quietly with your hand in the air until the teacher calls on you? Do you give your teacher cream pies instead of apples? Does everyone carpool to class? I just can't imagine what kind of atmosphere you'd find at a clown school, but I bet the tests are a joke.
As many of you know from my screennames/email addresses over the years, clowns fascinate me. In theory, clowns, and their predecessors, jesters, are like noble stand-up comedians. All they want to do is make people laugh without hurting anybody except themselves in a Three Stooges kind of way. And yet I'd venture to say that clowns are some of the most feared and hated creatures in our culture today. Think of examples such as Stephen King's It or The Joker. Heck, just think of the mass of bawling kids at a circus if a clown waddles up and makes with the slapstick. You were probably one of those bawling kids; for all I know, you might still be, with your Coulrophobia and "Can't sleep, clown will eat me" protestations.
Clowns can't win. I mean, you try to do somethin' nice for people...what a world, huh? I guess what I'm sayin' is, don't be a fool, don't go to clown school.
Judging by the home page, they have plans to translate the site into English and some other silly language I've never heard of, "Français," but unfortunately for those of you who can't read German and really want to know more, you'll have to wait until they get their act in gear. Maybe I should offer my translating services.
But if you click around in there, you'll at least get to see some, uh, nice, artsy pictures of, well, clowns. Like so:
I know we've all seen The Simpsons' classic interpretation of clown school, but what do you think clown school is really like? Do they wear the whole outfit every day? If everyone's a class clown, how do you act up and disrupt class: comb your hair, wash your face, and sit quietly with your hand in the air until the teacher calls on you? Do you give your teacher cream pies instead of apples? Does everyone carpool to class? I just can't imagine what kind of atmosphere you'd find at a clown school, but I bet the tests are a joke.
As many of you know from my screennames/email addresses over the years, clowns fascinate me. In theory, clowns, and their predecessors, jesters, are like noble stand-up comedians. All they want to do is make people laugh without hurting anybody except themselves in a Three Stooges kind of way. And yet I'd venture to say that clowns are some of the most feared and hated creatures in our culture today. Think of examples such as Stephen King's It or The Joker. Heck, just think of the mass of bawling kids at a circus if a clown waddles up and makes with the slapstick. You were probably one of those bawling kids; for all I know, you might still be, with your Coulrophobia and "Can't sleep, clown will eat me" protestations.
Clowns can't win. I mean, you try to do somethin' nice for people...what a world, huh? I guess what I'm sayin' is, don't be a fool, don't go to clown school.
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