Get in my belly

Dear Microwave,

I’m sorry about all the mean things I’ve said about you over the years. To your face, even. They were nasty, uncalled for, and only somewhat true.

I really did, for the longest time, think I didn’t need you, that you just took up a lot of needless space, that you would lure me into your nefarious, cheating ways and away from my true love, Good Honest Cooking Over a Stove.

I realize now, and I have McGee and Bittman to thank for it, that I was underestimating you all this time. You’re good for so much more than just reheating rice. You make some amazing eggplant curry. And with a minimum of fuss!

Just like every other appliance in the kitchen, you too have your own special talents that you bring to my table. And instead of turning up my nose, I really should have welcomed you into my home. And I am sorry for that. For all the wasted time we’ve been apart.

I hope you’ll forgive me, Microwave. I’ll always leave room on the shelf for you. Bygones?

Yours,
Winnie

P.S. I will never again make fun of Joyce for relying so heavily on you.

I, for one, am totally grateful for the abundance of ramen in NYC.

Ippudo’s shiromaru ramen has a sweetly porky, buttery broth. The akamaru has a red sauce (that seems like it must be at least partly chile oil, the way it beads up in the soup) that tastes familiar, but I can’t place it. Pleasantly firm noodles on the skinny side — I think I prefer the heft and girth of Setagaya’s, and I think you get more noodles there too, but these were equally tasty.

Jeremy said his pork was some of the best pork he’s ever had. Unfortunate that I didn’t get to try any of his, since my slices were rather dry and the fat a bit waxy. Jeremy probably would have licked the bowl clean if he weren’t so polite and well socialized.

Quality-wise, as far as noodles-in-soup goes, I think this matches Setagaya, but the deep marine essence of Setagaya’s broth totally has me in thrall — I think I’ll give S the edge. But I’ll go back to Ippudo for sure. They’ve got a lot more seating and it’s more comfortable too.

There is also a sweet bar:

I think I forgot to post my photos from the big wheels race. Please proceed through my flickr set for a brief tour of the 2008 edition of “Bring Your Own Big Wheels”.

This is an actual screenshot of my gmail spam folder today.

How does a subject header like this get generated?

a) Perhaps there are minions that type spam subject headers, and one of them thought the title to the book was actually “7 hobbies”

b) Perhaps one of those minions thought he was being funny when he intentionally mistyped the book title

c) How might this phrase become generated by a computer? One might assume that a computer would not randomly through this phrase together. But perhaps it draws phrases out from the collective wisdom of the internet. Which leads me to the obvious conclusion that someone else on the internet must have once upon a time typed this phrase. Which brings us back to hypotheses a and b.

Carl made churros (courtesy of Sunday Suppers at Lucques), and I made a variation of Perfect Scoop’s toasted coconut ice cream.

Sorry for the unsteady hands. I was drunk on gewürtztraminer, ribs, and tales of broken glass mishaps.

you know you’re hooked when you buy it by the case (for your studio apt)

autobiographical list of past liquid obsessions: diet coke, tosci’s vietnamese coffee, pepto bismol, coke, diet dr pepper, V8, smartwater, gatorade, vitaminwater formula 50 & XXX, perrier, soy chai lattes, and boxed chocolate soymilk.

some of you suffered through these stages of my life with me. for that, i thank you. am i forgetting anything? i think i’m making better choices now. and my stomach thanks me.

Potato and onion gratin with shirred eggs: after potatoes are done, crack two eggs on top, pour a little more Ronnybrook cream over, add another pat of butter, and stick it back in the oven.

Totally ridiculous. Totally awesome. And a really bold way to start the day.

If I wrote keepin’-it-real hymns, then they’d probably sound like that. My Easter Sunday rocked, especially for someone who’s not particularly religious (does Santa Monica yoga count?). I ain’t going to lie. I love the idea of Jesus. I even just like saying Jesus. I hope I’m not blaspheming too badly here. But if there is a non-believer’s correlate to being “full of Christ’s love” (shoutout to Mandy Moore’s awesome acting skills in Saved), I’m going to argue that I found it in not one, but two activities this past Sunday.

1) Planet B-Boy: overly sentimental, yes; full of non-hugging Asian family love, yes; totally sick dancing—absolutely. The documentary follows five breakdancing crews as they prepare for the Battle of the Year and fills in a little about their backgrounds. The filmmaking isn’t going to blow your mind, but if you can manage to suspend the cynicism however briefly (if I can do it…) it’s got heart. And yes, 39% of why I liked it was that there were two Korean crews profiled, but who wouldn’t with an exchange that went something like this in the days leading up to the Battle, which was in Germany? “Hey, don’t eat so much kimchee, we’re going to run out.” “I can’t bear the thought of there being no kimchee.” Amen.

2) Not one, but two lamb pies. With three pounds of ground lamb, we made a Moroccan lamb pie and a shepherd’s pie. Pastry was rolled, lots of simmering was involved, and the unseasonable heat almost did us in. Yes, living in Socal can be hard. But now I want to put raisins and pine-nuts in everything and mashed potatoes on top of everything. And not to forget the tasty desserts supplied by KW: the fatty bar & buttermilk-lemon sherbert. Good times.

First Mr. Softee truck sighting of the year today.

Shaved foie with lychees. A genius dish.

Dinner at Momofuku Ko was maybe one of the funnest ever. And it’s pretty much all because of the company I was keeping, cooks on the other side of the counter included. The food was pretty good too.

Other favorites:

Fluke, buttermilk, chive, poppyseeds.

Black trumpets and pea soup.

I will definitely go back. Or try, anyway.