A good host never misses the opportunity to thank her guests, and to that end I must send my heartfelt thanks to anyone who has joined me at my dining table. Like floss for the brain you helped to pick out the ugly bits of sinew stuck between my mental folds and toss them in the garbage.
Since I’ve been living in my own space I’ve tried to invite friends (and sometimes strangers) to join me for a meal at least once a week. As a proven control freak I rarely ask a guest to bring anything (aside from wine). What each of you brings to the table, the thoughts wrapped up in the butcher paper of your bodies, is the perfect accompaniment to the meals I prepare, a more significant offering than you could cart to my place in weary tupperware or pyrex.
For those of you following my OkCupid experiment, the idea was grand but the execution limp. I finally changed the password and login, ending my foray into socially curated dating. On a positive note, the trial made me look again at online dating and get back in the game. Though I have little hope of meeting someone in a significant way digitally, the attempt and practice is of value (much in the same way that waiting in a room full of unhinged actors at an open call for a new musical is rather futile, but I rarely miss one. Auditioning is my job, showing up and doing the work is worthy to itself. Let’s hope dating follows suit).
I’m always after a quick appetizer. I seem to dream in dips, I think of them whenever I pass a aisle stocked with beans, I yearn for the Fall when I can roast roots until they’re practically self-pureed.
But every dip needs a dipper (this has too much meaning), and this weekend I simply couldn’t bear to serve another platter of crudites. I love chips, corn chips, potato chips, ice chips, chocolate chips. But I rarely let myself buy a bag (my distorted sense of serving size leads me to devour an entire bag in one sitting). To whet my guests’ appetite for an evening of smoky chili I had made a tart and hot tomatillo salsa, which begged for a bag of corn chips.
When I looked in my fridge I remembered that I had a package of corn tortillas (sold in absurd units of no less than 50, never costing more than a few dollars) and I thought, “Oh! Dan, you should make your own chips.”
So I did.
And it’s crazy easy. Cut the tortillas into strips, or triangles, or whatever geometry calls to you from the circular stack, then toss them with a little olive oil, salt, pepper and paprika. Throw them in a baking dish (best if you can get them in one layer, instead of stacked on top of each other) and bake at 350 for 25-35 minutes, just until they’re brown and crisp. Serve them warm with salsa, or devour them with hummus.
I suffer less shame when eating my own chips. I should do this more often.
In my family I grew up eating kugel. Not familiar? It’s a noodle casserole (Eastern European in origin), and can be made sweet or savory. But since I stopped eating gluten? I haven’t had kugel in years. Darlings, my sweet memories are the inspiration for this dessert. Thai Kitchen’s new line of rice noodles cook into a glorious casserole, scented with coconut milk and vanilla. It’s a cousin of rice pudding, all the flavor, much less fuss.
Ingredients
1 quart Milk (Whole, Skim, Rice, Almond, you choose)
1 can Thai Kitchen Coconut Milk
½ cup Sugar
½ teaspoon Salt
1 Vanilla Bean (or 1 teaspoon Vanilla Extract)
4 packets Thai Kitchen Purple Corn and Rice Noodles
1 cup Raisins
Get Busy
In a large saucepan, add the milk, coconut milk, sugar and salt. Split the vanilla bean (if using) and scrape out the seeds. Add the bean and seeds to the milk mixture (or just add vanilla extract). Whisk everything together over medium heat and bring to a simmer.
Add the rice noodles and cover the pot. Cook the noodles over low heat for 15-20 minutes, until they’re soft and have released their starch into the milk (you’ll see the milk beginning to thicken).
Remove the lid, add the raisins, and cook for an additional 10 minutes, or until the milk has thickened considerably.
Pour everything into a baking dish and place it in the refrigerator. You’ll need a few hours for it to cool down and set in the dish, overnight is fantastic.
Every country does their noodles a little differently and right now I couldn’t be more in love with Vietnamese flavors. Bright, tart, sweet and hot, they dress their noodles quickly and it’s terribly refreshing. I used Thai Kitchen’s new line of rice noodles for the base of this salad, they’re individually packaged and made from whole grains, so they’ve already got a place on my shelf and in my heart. Grill some shrimp, toss in some veggies and this meal is in the books. Get noodley gurls.
Sauce:
Last weekend I brought a small vial of home-brewed bitters to a friend’s apartment so that we could make proper Old Fashioned’s. Another guest at the party looked at the apothecarian bottle, “Oh, you’re that guy.”
Yes, darling, I am that guy (written with completely unironic bitterness). I am a maker. You, perhaps, dear snide one, are a consumer. Newsflash: We need each other.
Now to the crux of it:
Bitters.
It is not lost on me that my favorite drinks skew so far on the bitter scale that they may be reflecting an inner pool of indignance only just now being plumbed. That’s fine. I’d rather be a sharp witted Campari drinker than one of those insipid sippers of Malibu Rum. Sweet drinks are the folly and invention of college aged alcohol initiates. Bitter cocktails are for adults (and those of us pretending to the throne). Continue Reading →
The rooftops of NYC in the summer have a special sparkle. Maybe it’s the humidity bloating my brain, but climb a few flights above pavement and the stars work their magic with more strength. Last week I found myself hovering above 9th street with a framed view of the Empire State Building while an old friend serenaded us with a concert in the sky. I had not seen Shenandoah since we were seniors in high school, but thanks to a serendipitous F’Book message I found myself invited to this evening of music, price of entry: one bottle rosé.
Her sounds inspired our revelry, our delirious socializing, artists and students. A quintessentially New York evening; that John Cameron Mitchell perched himself in the audience was only natural. Find Shenandoah here, watch her videos here. Get drunk on her noise.
By the end of the night I found myself hugging a college classmate whom I also hadn’t seen in ages, the concentrated power of a rooftop to reacquaint friends on a late summer evening cannot be denied. While we sipped Lillet and caught up on the last 6 years, he used words like “partner” and “engaged.” At times I wasn’t sure if we were talking about his new business venture or his romantic success. At times I’m not sure there’s a difference.
I’ve been terribly bored with internet dating for some time now. It’s such a dreary proposition: write something glib and self-aware, agonize over/upload pictures, flip through profiles of people in your neighborhood, then send messages into the void. I don’t enjoy looking at profiles, I’m too judgemental for my own good, and no matter how many people I send messages to, the outcome is the same: rarely engaging responses amidst a sea of mono-syllabic “Hey”s.
When I complained about this problem to a friend in New Mexico he echoed my despair. Neither of us have had much success at finding dates online. We were sick of the format, it felt like buying a stack of lottery tickets, knowing the odds are impossibly low but hoping the next one might match.
We joked that it would be more fun to search for dates for each other than for ourselves.
We traded login information and started the search.
Turns out it’s much more fun to set up a friend than it is to look for digital love on your own.
Of course, once the trade was discussed my head kept spinning. What if I passed out my login info to all of my friends? What if I made my profile, so challenging to fill out on my own, a veritable Wikipedia entry of testimonials and pictures from friends? What if my digital dating persona was curated not by me, but by my community? What if our friends are better at describing our personalities than we are?
Is there any other way to return to NYC than to hit the ground running? I’ve barely been back two weeks and it already feels like a month has passed. I missed this business, this full calendar, the multiple train rides in a day. I missed NYC.
Before I flew to Alabama (2 months ago) I moved into a new apartment. I had the luxury and curse of having too much time to search for a new place. Luxury because I could see as many apartments as I liked before moving out of my old room. Curse because I could see as many apartments as I liked before picking the one that was just right.
Call me Goldilocks, I tried nearly every neighborhood and every price range before finding the unit that fit. It was the right size, the right location, the right price- you know the story. I jumped for it. I moved in right away, with nothing more than a bed, some clothes, and my cooking gear. I unpacked my kitchen first, hanging pots from the ceiling and mounting my gear to the wall with tool-shed supplies in a surprisingly butch streak. As for the rest of the apartment, it remained empty. My parents would be moving out of their apartment a few months after I signed my new lease, and their furniture was destined for my floor, but until then I’d just have to wait.
Y’all this is part two of an ongoing discussion. For part one, click here.
I posted this originally in the comment section of my first post, but as you can see, it’s far too long to be a comment. It’s in response to Jamie McGonnigal’s comment.
Hi Jamie-
Thanks for responding, it’s great to keep the dialogue open.
I hear you and respect the frustration and fear you feel when someone in your community does something to tell you “there’s something wrong with you.” I said this in my last post and I’ll say it again, I don’t think Bailey posted that photo to intentionally support an anti-equality platform. She is unworldly and frequently doesn’t know what’s happening around her on a large scale. Again: Ignorance is never an excuse, but it is frequently an explanation. Because I have the privilege of knowing Bailey on a personal level (a privilege that many of her digital detractors do not hold), I’m happy to give her the benefit of the doubt and progress on a platform of education. If I didn’t know Bailey as a friend would I act in the same way? I don’t know. Vitriol never seems to solve problems for me (even more so online) and I imagine that if her photo upset me I would have written a post not dissimilar to yours.
I hold divisively strong opinions on food. I am judgmental and frequently condescending in my ideals. These attitudes inform my friendships, often cutting off a relationship before it has a chance to blossom. I recognize my behavior and understand the consequences on a social level. But when I enter the workplace, these personal attitudes don’t come to the surface. Continue Reading →
