No tomatoes, please

New Feature yay! So, the point of this Advanced Studies feature is basically to try and make some of the things that people are generally super afraid to try. I’ve already got souffle down, so why not try other crazy things, just for the halibut (get it? hyuk. also, has anyone else realized how awesome halibut is? wtf)?

I’ve never really been afraid to jump in and try stuff (only when it comes to cooking things, that is). Cooking is such a fun thing for me, and I truly enjoy the process of the making so much that I really don’t even think about failing at something. This probably explains why I was making bread at 12, while my mom is afraid to mess with pre-made pie dough. The thing I always tell her, and would tell anyone else who bothered to ask is, you just really have to dive into things. You can’t be afraid to mess something up because it will just become this horrible self-fulfilling prophecy and you will fail. Food is like a horse or a dog or something, it can smell the fear, or, uh, a snake. Believe me, the pie dough is more afraid of you than you are of it. Maybe. Wrong metaphor? (more…)

 Ya know what I really hate? When people pronounce Bojangles like it would be in Spanish. If If I have to hear one more frat-boy douche nozzle be like, “Hey dudes, let’s get some ‘Bo-han-gless’,” I might have to do some face-punchin’.   

So, by popular demand, I have finally gotten around to eating the friggin blueberry sausage. Every week in the newsroom, while I was busy eating other gross things, my editor, Bryan, was always badgering me about eating the damn blueberry sausage. I had never seen, nor hear of this before, and, honestly, I doubted its very existence.    But lo and behold, a few weeks ago, I stumbled upon the curious sausage while shopping at the local Teet. I was excited. Probably too excited. My shopping partner was confused. So after bringing it home and throwing it in the freezer, I finally extracted it the other day so I could see if it was, in fact, nearly as disgusting as it looked.  So, there were many things this sausage had going against it. First of all, I don’t like sausage. Plus this is chicken sausage, which I don’t even care to think about. I mean, I can’t even stand sausage that is made of delicious and perfect pork, why would I want to eat sausage made of a lesser protein? Because it’s healthy? First of all, ew, and second of all, when you’re gonna ruin some sausage with dang blueberries and maple syrup, why not just make it out of pork to make it palatable?  Since I didn’t have any of the ingredients to make any of the lovely dishes suggested on the back (strawberries in an omelette? fuck you Al Fresco All Naturals), I decided to do a simple fry-up.  So, when I took it out of the package, it kind of looked like tiny diseased hot dogs. Or diseased penises of small mammals. Either way, it really doesn’t look appetizing in the least. Seriously, Al Fresco All Naturals, what was the thought process in your product meetings?! I can just imagine the pitch meeting. Blueberries have protein, I guess, and so does meat, so mix them two and make them sausage-shaped? I can just imagine the dude pitching it saying it with the question mark. This must have come at the end of a very long, very desperate brainstorming session. I can’t even imagine the shit they must have turned down.  Honestly, it didn’t taste that bad. It just kind of had a weird, mealy texture and tasted mostly overwhelmingly of maple syrup. But not even in a good way. It kind of just tasted like fake pancakes. Shaped like tiny, diseased penises. Ew.   

So last time I wrote about drinkin’, I was not yet of the legal age to drink. Now I’ve been 21 for more than a month, and let me tell ya, it is seriously awesome. I really didn’t think it would be that much different, since I can pretty much drink any time anyhow. I mean, I’m in college, let’s face it, if I really wanna get drunk, I can find a way to drink. But the moment I turned 21 (literally, I went to a bar and started drinkin at midnight) I really realized the awesomeness that comes with being able to go somewhere, order a drink, and punch the bartender in the face with your smugness when they all wanna see your license. So, in celebration of being 21, I’m sharing with you guys my most favoritest drink recipe ever ever ever. I’ve always tried mixed drinks that my mom has ordered, and usually they’re way too alcoholic-tasting for me. I can’t stand vodka (the usual base of such frilly drinks), and all I can taste is usually the flavor of rubbing alcohol when I drink other mixed drinks. So, this lovely recipe is for a daiquiri, but not the gross frozen mixed kind with strawberries and myriad other ingredients reminiscent of drunken 40-year-old Jimmy Buffett fans in Pensacola. This is the real thing, which was apparently invented in 1905 in Cuba — way before frozen drink machines existed. It’s basically sugar, lime juice and rum, and it’s freakin awesome. I add a few more ingredients to give it some color, and make it more awesome, so here’s the recipe:You’re gonna need a cocktail shaker, or just one of those large metal cups they use and a tumbler to put on top. I also use a cocktail strainer because it makes it easier to pour into the glass. So fill the metal shaker with ice and add the following:

• 1 1/2 oz. Rum (preferable Bacardi, definitely the clear kind, not the dark kind or that stupid spiced jive)
• 1 1/2 oz Sugar Syrup (equal parts sugar and water, boiled until the sugar dissolves and cooled)
• 1 oz freshly squezed lime juice (it’s not that much effort to squeeze a damn lime. Don’t use the bottled kind)
• 1 oz Whisky sour mix (in the drink aisle next to the ginger ale and bloody mary mix
• 1 oz Roses’s Sweetened Lime Juice (adds a little more sweetness and color. Probably sitting on the shelf next to the sour mix)

Mix all together in the shaker, pour into a martini glass, top off with a cherry with a stem and drink up. These things taste like candy, and will get you sauced in like, 2 seconds. I drank the one I made to take pictures of at like, 2:30 in the afternoon, and halfway through, I kinda thought it was a good idea to take my shirt off. So be careful with these. 

So yep, when I went to New York, I made a stop by the infamous Gray’s Papaya. Well, more stumbled upon it and squealed with delight. I’ve seen this place all over the TV, and it’s famous for its lovely grilled beef hot dogs. Who needs a damn sidewalk hot dog when you can have the delicious hot dog with the snappy casing and the toasted bun and the spicy deli mustard? God, I didn’t even need any dang chili on it. They were so good and hot and beautiful, I wanted to cry. Maybe I was just really hungry.

I got this weird “Coconut Champagne” with it, and it kind of tasted like rotten pina coladas with chunks of coconut, so I threw that out, went and got a coke at the bodega right outside and walked down the street in sweet sweet hot dog contentment.

[Related] Gray’s Papaya 2090 Broadway and 72nd St. (Manhattan)

Huzzah! Today marks the arrival of my lovely new mattress! Now I don’t have to sleep on the floor anymore. I’m still eagerly awaiting the arrival of my slick Ikea bed which is sure to be a bitch and a half to put together, but will still be pretty awesome.

Seriously though, speaking of beds, I’m not sure what got me started on this tangent, but as I was deliriously driving back to Chapel Hill from Charlotte in the throes of a fever I began to think about sex + food. I think the tenuous connection in my head made more sense at the time, but I haven’t been able to stop pondering the appeal of such a thing. Now, as much as I love food, and as much as I love, uh, the idea of being sexy, I feel like those are two things that I do not want to mix.

What is undeniably sexy though, is cooking with someone or having someone cook for you. I would say that it is the best kind of foreplay (I imagine…), especially if the food is yummy. But the thought of taking the food with you to the afterward times is when I get an icky feeling. It’s kind of like that scene in 9 1/2 Weeks when Mickey Rourke is all feeding stuff to Kim Basinger and she’s all blindfolded, and he freakin feeds her a jalapeno, and she’s freaking out, and he’s all, “haha I’m abusive,” and she’s all, “gah! I’m gonna die! Let’s do it.” But I digress.

Anywho, I was truly racking my brain, trying to think of foods that are actually suitable to take into the bedroom, but I can’t think of any that don’t disgust me. There are the usual suspects, such as whipped cream and chocolate sauce, of course, but lo! The terrifying sheet-ruining, hair-sticking prospects of such things are too much for me to bear. Also, I’ve seen edible underwear, and I can’t think of a thing I’d want to eat less. You could pretty much just wrap a fruit-by-the-foot around your parts and it would probably taste better and be less likely to pull all your teeth out.

So, maybe, ice, I guess? I read in Cosmo once that that’s sexy, yeah? I might be able to get behind that one, since ice is just frozen water, and water never really hurt anyone (except that girl that was on Maury who was allergic to water. True story).

Also another pet peeve of mine is when people (ahem guys) call food sexy. There was some dude on Top Chef who used to call his dishes sexy all the time, and I just found that so obnoxious for some reason. Don’t get me wrong, food is super sexy, but it’s kind of just like if you were describing yourself, if you have to tell people you’re sexy, you probably aren’t.

Also, least sexy food = olives with stones. Nothing is less attractive than spitting out a giant olive pit into your hand or trying to spit it into something else and missing. Lame.

That is all for now. Hope I didn’t gross you out too much.

So, a whirlwind moving and a whirlwind last few weeks gave way to a whirlwind trip to New York City where I ate many awesome and delicious foods. Unfortunately, I had to leave early because I messed up my knee ice skating at Rockefeller Center (true story) and couldn’t be all walkin everywhere. I seriously can’t wait until I graduate and move to the city. I will stuff my face full of awesome food every freakin’ day. The highlight of my trip was when I had high tea at The Plaza Hotel, and it was seriously the most gorgeous, most lovely experience ever. Everyone is so helpful when you’re rich! The tea tasted as beautiful as the giant bunches of flowers (orchids holy crap) adorning all the entrance ways and hallways, and my only regret is not being able to taste all the tiny and delicious tea sandwiches and berries and scones with cream and honey and fresh butter and champagne that everyone else was munching on. Oh well, maybe next time.

I also ate some other awesome stuff, and pictures will be coming soon, once I find my stupid USB cord. I swear I’m here, and I swear I will be eating something wonderfully disgusting (upon request). I’m gonna go grab it from the freezer and defrost it right now…

Oh my god I’m here! I was so busy moving that I wasn’t able to write, and I’m so pissed. It’s a long story involving divorce, thieving, moving to Chapel Hill permanently, lack of internet for a long time, and much intrigue, and maybe some romance thrown in there for good measure. But the Time Warner guy is coming Wednesday to install some internet action, and I will be back to my regularly scheduled cooking and general awesomeness. I’ll be back with a Very Special Gag Reflex (OK, not that special, but probably disgusting). So, seriously, hang in there. And join my dang RSS feed. It’s right over there to the right somewhere. —>

 In eight days I will be legally able to walk into an ABC store, buy the largest bottle of the hardest liquor I can find, and laugh in the face of the clerk who dares test the legality of my purchase. Because, yeah, I’ll be 21. And even though I’ll look like I’m 15 until I die, I can totally smack every waiter, bartender, grocery store cashier and the like in the face with my awesome twenty-one-ness.

God I can’t wait. I’m gonna make all those crazy drinks like I’ve always wanted to try, but don’t have the alcohol in the house to make. Like a vodka gimlet. Or a sidecar. What’s that? I dunno, but it’s probably awesome. I apparently have the magical power to mix amazazing drinks (I know this because I have worked many a nighttime catering in private residences, where old people get super drunk, and therefore do not feel the need to ID me before I give them their 6th drink), so I shall be so putting my mutant power to good use. Happy birthday to me!

So, apparently, this little delight is pretty much a staple across the pond. I was inspired to make this after I saw Jamie Oliver and Gordon Ramsay (holy jesus don’t even get me started on those two…super hot) make this simple dish on their respective shows. Speaking of Jamie Oliver, I also stole his saying, up there in the title. If it sounds retarded, it’s him, not me. It sounds better with a British accent anyhow.

So, since I am a relative newcomer to the whole mushroom-liking thing, I was afraid I wouldn’t like this recipe, but it actually turned out really well, and was delicious and surprisingly filling, and also super yummy for people who don’t eat meat and need something a little heartier than zucchini and such. Ooh! This would also make a totally rad appetizer if you just took little circles of bread and toasted them up and put the mushrooms on them. Ya know, if you’re into being nice to people who come over to your house.

We used four kinds of mushrooms: the regular button mushrooms, cremini mushrooms (which are also known as “baby bellas” since they’re, ya know, immature portobello mushrooms), oyster mushrooms (which are the delicate light yellow mushrooms that don’t really look like mushrooms, and they have a lovely delicate buttery flavor), and shitake mushrooms (which I always thought shitake mushrooms were those little white straw mushrooms, but those are, uh, straw mushrooms). All of these were lovely and available at Harris Teeter, so not too hard to find these days.

All I did was wipe them off and slice up the buttons, creminis and shitakes, and just lightly tear the larger oyster mushrooms in half. The verdict is still out as to whether or not you can wash them though. Old crochety French chefs say absolutely not, because they take on a lot of water or some bs, but you can if you want to. The fertilizer kinda gets stuck on them and is hard to wipe off. I mean, the crap on them is pretty much horse shit, so, yeah, don’t wanna eat that. I don’t like to wash them because they do take on a weird rubbery texture that makes them somehow harder to slice, but then again, in a lovely bit of irony, the chef’s house is filled with knives duller than Britney Spears at a MENSA meeting, so it’s hard to even cut butter around here. Oh geeze, topical humor! God, I should write for Jay Leno.

So all I did was throw some butter and olive oil in a pan (butter for flavor, and olive oil so the butter doesn’t burn) and saute the mushrooms. The hardest part about this recipe is not putting too many mushrooms in the pan. I ended up doing three batches, because if they get all crowded in the pan, their water all comes out and can’t evaporate, and they basically boil, and that is no good. So, I threw the mushrooms in the pan and didn’t stir them and let them brown on one side and get some color. Then I threw in about one clove of chopped garlic and some fresh thyme (because dried thyme, I don’t care what my mom says, tastes like dirt to me. I can always taste it at Cosmic when they put too much thyme in their dang beans, cuz they taste like someone threw dirt in them. Then again, it is Cosmic, who knows? They probably did throw dirt in there too), and stirred it around. For some reason, when I saute garlic alone in a pan, especially when it’s all chopped up in tiny pieces, it ALWAYS burns. So I like to throw it in with whatever else I’m sauteeing, like onions or whatever, never alone.

So, after you’ve sauteed the mushrooms and they’re cooked and have some color to them, then put salt and pepper on them. DO NOT salt the mushrooms before they are nice and browned, or the salt will draw all the moisture out of the mushrooms and they will boil in all the liquid. So at this point, all you have left to do is throw a little white wine in there, let the alcohol cook out, and voila! Mushrooms! All you need is the toast. You can either put bread in the toaster, but we just took some nice soft sourdough bread and sliced it up and sprinkled olive oil on it and broiled both sides under the broiler until they got nice and brown and toasty. Then throw the mushrooms on there. My mother insisted on putting chives on top because she has this weird obsession with them and insists on putting them in everything. But you don’t have to do that. So, it seems rather convoluted and hard to explain, but for realz, it only takes like, 10 minutes, and it is freakin delicious.

Mmm….DO IT