I haven't stopped baking

Hello!


I've been a very lazy blogger.  I could list all my excuses, such as dealing with a rather odd breakup and buying a ticket to visit family in North Dakota this summer, but instead I'll just say:


Look forward to Peach Cobbler Cheesecake and Delicious 9 Grain Bread!

By Friday, I'll have them both posted.  With pictures!!!!!

Always Shocking, Never (actually) Shocked

I'm always shocked when I eat something I would put on a "no" list, such as Bomb Ass Mac-N- Cheese followed by Banana Bread Bread Pudding (topped with Nutella and drops of crème anglaise), that I did not actually gain a hundred pounds, or even five pounds.  NOT A SINGLE EXTRA POUND.  Not even a food baby, I'm just full.  I might even venture to say that I'm simply satisfied.

If you're wondering what a "no" list is, it's something that those of us who are crazy and neurotic and obsessed with counting calories and grams of fat put on a list (whether it's mental or written, doesn't matter.  Mine happens to be internally stored somewhere between "crazy things to say when you're fighting with your significant other" and "mean things to say to yourself after you've said crazy things to your significant other."  It's such a happy place, don't you think?

Anyway.  Bomb Ass Mac 'N Cheese is a specialty of mine and above mentioned significant other.  I make the noodles, sauce and insist on adding veggies while he fries chicken in a whole lot of olive oil with a whole lot of herbs and spices.  We made it shortly after I moved to Hawaii, while we were broke as a joke and liked to split a 40 of Micky's with our meals.

We've certainly moved on from that point and now enjoy a cheap glass of chianti and some Coors Lite with our meals (or whenever), but this recipe was just asking to be made again.  It's what I like to think of as a edible drug, or something you don't ever NOT want in your mouth.  The pumpkin custard my mother makes is another such food, I'll post that sometime.  Probably in the fall.  Because I'm behind on posting recipes anyway.  Alright, I'm babbling. 

Here's what we all came here to look at anyway.  Currently no pictures, but the recipes are delicious even if you don't get to see them first.

Banana what? Banana Bread!

This is what I'd like to think of as a house-keeping post.  Because frankly, no one should go any of their lives without a good loaf of homemade banana bread.  Banana nut is better, and banana chocolate chip is the best if you're feeling decadent and rich.

This is one I've been using since I lived in a house with other cancers (I'm one too, so there was a lot of drama at the house.  Plus I may or may not have slept with one of my roommate's significant others.  I was recently out of a long relationship, also just recently "out," so things got out of control.  Anyway, I remember this recipe because I made it a lot and the roommate who I screwed over said to me, after our confrontation, "I think this might be a good thing.  Sometimes it takes horrible things like this to see people as real instead of just caricatures.  You're a real.  You have real flaws.  You're not just a cartoon in the kitchen baking banana bread."

I moved out shortly thereafter, but I'll never forget what she said.

So dear friends, this is the recipe for Guilty and Sexually Deviant Banana Bread, from the Cartoon in the Kitchen!

Anger makes me bake strange things.

It has been incredibly windy on Oahu as of late.  According to The Weather Channel the wind is blowing 20mph with 25mph gusts.  I ride my bike around this lovely *cough*dirty*cough* city of mine and let me tell you, it is unpleasant when the wind is this bad.  I can sit on my two wheels and, if I'm facing the wind, actually go backwards.  So if the wind is coming at me from one side or the other, I go kind of sideways and have to put an extra push in my pedaling to stay upright. 

This has been going on for close to a week now, ever since the tsunami hit us. 

It makes me mad.

What makes me even more mad?  Why I'm going to tell you!

Being on the road with the pissy, cranky, ignorant, and generally mean motorists in Waikiki and the surrounding areas.  Two days ago,  I was struggling against the wind on my way home from a quick jaunt to the store to grab some soy milk (the boyfriend and I are both lactose intolerant) and beer (we are not beer intolerant, not ever) to go with dinner (I made a fresh salad, Spicy Buffalo Chicken bake, with Banana Bread Bread Pudding) when this guy honks at me.  HONKS at me.  Even at the best of times I do not take well to being honked at.  So when I'm already cranky from having to push my way through the wind to get home (I should also mention I'd just spent 2 hours at the gym as well, so I also smelled kinda funny and wanted to shower, which is makings for cranky right there) being honked at super, extra pissed me off.  So, I stopped in the middle of the road.  I actually pulled myself into the middle of it sideways, and stopped, giving the guy the dirtiest look ever.  EVER. 

If looks could kill this guy would have died a very painful death followed by burning followed by hell. 

Anyway, I'm in the middle of the road and the guy says, "What's that?"

"Why didn't you just go around me?"  I had been avoiding a giant pot-hole that always makes my hoo-ha sore to ride over when he honked.

"I was trying to be POLITE, but you were in the middle of the fucking road!" 

"No, I wasn't.  Make your turn asshole."  He had his right blinker on, so I flipped the guy off and went on my merry way.


Today on my WAY to the store, still against the wind, another man got very upset with me.  There is a crosswalk that goes from the right-hand sidewalk to the grocery store on the left of the road, where I buy almost all of my groceries.  I waited patiently for the cars going the same direction as me to pass (I was on the road, as a proper cyclist should be), and I crossed to the turn lane, which is halfway between where I was and the grocery store on the crosswalk.  This guy STOPS.  Just stops, even though I had obviously stopped long before he got to me and SCREAMS at me, "WHAT'RE YOU DOING IN THE CROSSWALK!  GET THE FUCK OUT OF THE CROSSWALK.  CROSSWALK!  CROSSWALKS ARE FOR WALKING!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" Wow, really?  Good thing I'm in the turn lane.

Which is what I told him, followed by a very loud bellow of, "TURN LANE ASSHOLE!"  Then I proceeded to lock my bike up on the bike rack, go inside, and sob like a crazy person in the milk aisle.

Sufficed to say, I had a rough morning.  When I got back to my cave, I proceeded to put groceries away with the knowledge that I had one beer from the other night left, 3/4 of a lime, and two cartons of raspberries (buy one get one free!).  This thought had been forming for a while, and now it was coming to fruition: Lime Raspberry Beer Bread! 

I'm a huge fan of Bud Lite Lime, but on my first eventful trip to the store (soy milk and beer) I came accross Rising Moon Spring Ale, the seasonal beer from Blue Moon.  I love me a good Blue Moon with orange, so I checked it out.  I'm glad I did too, because it was perfect.  Limey and crisp, with a much deeper finish than any light beer can accomplish.  Besides, I could tell it would make perfect bread.

So today, distraught from Mr. Angry-pants (among other things), I proceeded to make just what I'd set out to.  I'm still not sure why, or what exactly I was thinking, but I decided to add in a couple few drops of food coloring to the mix.  Perhaps it's the flavor I was going for that I felt called for it, or maybe it was merely that I saw the box of food color sitting atop some obscure spice jar in the pantry while I was grabbing baking powder.  I don't know.  I do know, however, that the green makes this bread look like Christmas and Spring all rolled into one yummy, carby, concoction.  Besides that, it also made me smile when I told my boyfriend as he left for a job interview today that I was making green bread.  He looked mildly confused, but unsurprised.

I'd love to watch you eat

I don't know how it began exactly, but I love to watch people eat. It's a sensual, slightly erotic, very personal, pleasure of mine. I should also say that I don't like to watch just anyone eat. Well, I do enjoy watching most people eat, but there are levels of it for me. The people I like to watch the most are those who eat with reckless abandon; the ones who enjoy every mouthful of everything they eat, and won't stop eating until their taste buds are satisfied. These are the people who eat the way I want to live life. They lick their taco-bell wrappers clean, they suck the sugar off their fingers after the doughnut is gone, they light up when someone brings them a homemade cupcake and always ask for seconds. They are unafraid of fat and calories and the silly consequences we're all so fearful of in this society (anything but deep fried, trans-fat, sugary concoctions of goodness! Food isn't meant to be rich or fulfilling! More fiber, less carbs! Come on people, eat to survive not to feel satisfied!). I am always, always, jealous of them.

My best friend is like that. She sucks her drinks down to nothing and savors the greasiest of pizzas. I love her for that. Well, I love her for lots of things, but that's one of them. I worked at a restaurant that made really amazing pastries for a while. I refused to take part in enjoying them (too much fat and sugar, I have a ridiculously low calorie goal to meet, I can't eat that!) so I would bring them to her to just sit back and watch as she scarfed down one, two, maybe four pastries in a row. God, it was like I got to taste every cherry danish, every almond croissant that I had only ever sampled and never actually eaten. It was beautiful to me, and I was jealous.

The second type of eater I like to watch best are those like me. More accurately, like I used to be. The ones who have this inner voice telling them to put the fork down, to have a salad instead, to avoid anything with fat, carbs, sugar, protein, starch, calories. The ones who are only eating small bites, one per minute. I watch them with a sense of longing. Not because I long to be like that, but because I can feel the longing in their hearts that make them eat this way. I can see it, and I know it too. I've known that longing for years now. The longing to be more of everything by being less. It doesn't really make sense, but it's how it goes. There's this essential part of them that they ignore, that I ignored for years, that wants to really feel and be full and understand the richer, abundant parts of life.

Those parts of life, much like saturated fat, are scary and unpredictable. Sometimes they taste amazing, like a butter croissant with gouda and turkey, and sometimes they give you heartburn (chili cheese fries come to mind). The uncertainty is what makes them cringe at deep fried anything, or rich foods that are likely high in calories. The thing is, much like saturated fat, what they all fail to see is that without that unpredictability life becomes bland. Sure, we could all eat salads and whole grain bread for every single meal without dressing or butter, but what would be the point? To nourish our bodies? What about our need to taste, feel the texture of cheesecake, smooth and lush on our tongues, melting down our throats? What about the simplicity of buttered toast? White toast, to be exact. It's like God came down, gave the world a cloud and said, "put this little bit of animal fat on it," and all was right.

So what's my point? My point is that I gave up on being so paranoid about unpredictability. I gave up on freaking out if something had butter in it. Then I realized that what I love the most is watching people eat things I made. So I started making more and more things. Sure, sometimes I can't make myself eat those things (puff pastry is a big one. . . I like butter, but I have my limits. Eating disorders die hard.), but I keep on making them because it's what I love to do. I love it, and I have learned that sometimes I too can eat with reckless abandon. I need to eat with reckless abandon. But I also realize that I'm always going to be me, a high strung, over analytical gal from the southwest who can't quite reconcile her image of life with the life she actually lives. SO. I bake to figure shit out, and I bake for the hell of it, and I bake because if I didn't I'd go crazy. Now, I'm going to bake for you. I might as well, I do for everyone else.