Category Archives: adventure

On Cookie Monster and Cringing

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Cookie Monster Birthday Cake

I think this was Mike’s birthday cake?  If you don’t mind my saying so, we were just adorable.

I love that in most pictures, I’m either moving or talking. Apparently my inability to sit still isn’t new (and neither is my love of cake).

I love finding old pictures. This one was pinned to my wall in my room at my mom’s house.

I love that my room at her house is a frozen snapshot of my adolescence. Not quite frozen anymore, as it would later become the repository for all of my collegiate possessions and thus everything has commingled into a massive reminder of everything that is my past. Schoolbooks, shoes, pictures, artwork, dresses (oh, my dresses – they are all so amazing.)

There are posters on the wall. There are pictures of me and my friends, doing whatever it was that we thought worth photographing at those ages. I’ll pick one up and cringe at how silly I look, but they’re a nice reminder of how much I’ve grown and changed. They also remind me how grateful I am that I was so invested in my adolescence. We were so engaged in shedding our youth and so determined to don our adult selves, but we never lost sight of our enjoyment of everything “teenage.” We were silly and serious, immature while maturing. Honestly, it was rough, but it was beautiful.

I was talking to mom the other night about those rough years. She told me that her mantra during that time was This too shall pass, which makes me wince with regret and a touch of shame. She was quick to reassure me that it wasn’t all bad. (Great, just what everyone wants to hear. “It wasn’t ALL bad.”)

I was telling her about the mother and daughter that I saw checking into the hotel in New York. The daughter had the matronly look of a teenager who developed young but hasn’t yet grown into her body and the mother just looked frazzled. They were at the counter, asking the concierge a question, and I heard the daughter say, “I told you so!” to her mother in front of the concierge.

I cringed for both the mother and the daughter. That daughter will one day realize that being right isn’t always the most important thing (not always, but most of the time, right?). Also, the daughter will learn that double-checking is something all adults do, although I was recently informed by a co-worker that I’ll grow out of my habit of obsessively double-checking everything. That came as a relief. Double-checking is so necessary but so annoying.

I apologized to my mom for basically all of my youth. In retrospect, I was a holy terror at certain moments and perfectly angelic at others, but I’m comforted by the knowledge that all of that is normal in the progression from infant to adult – the progression that is never easy and comes with no instruction manuals.

My relationship with my mother is a strong and honest one. I don’t lie to her (I try not to lie in general, but I’m particularly frank with her), and she doesn’t lie to me. I know that anything I do, she’ll support, and she’s always been available to listen. She doesn’t always like it, but she’ll listen. And I appreciate that. It’s the sort of unconditional love that makes me proud to be part of the family. They’re all very good at the unconditional love thing.

She admitted to me that she understands a lot of what was going on back then was caused by my dad, which I don’t deny. His approach to parenting a teenager may not have the best. (By “may not have been the best,” I mean “definitely wasn’t the best.”) It caused a lot of anguish for me and created a terrible emotional firestorm that, when combined with teenage hormones, was bound to create a series of terribly unfortunate and chaotic events. You’ll do well to note that since I was able to remove myself from the situation and embrace my independence, there has been a drastic increase in all things positive.

Growing up involves a lot of growing pains. Those precious babies do grow into perfect monsters and then pass into tentative adulthood. It’s never peaceful. Even after they leave the nest, there’s a lot of growing left to do. By that point, you can only hope that they have the tools necessary to deal with the hellish nature of adulthood and the grace to accept responsibility for all that they are and do. A sense of humor never hurts, either.

katie and katie

(see? I told you 17 was rough.)

On Sunday, happily

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Mom's blanket

My mom has been working on crocheting this blanket for years. We tease her about it, but it’s almost done! Congratulations, Mom! (Whenever I look at this blanket, all I can see is my Aunt Sally tearing out rows of work that had to be re-done. I worry that we’re going to get to the end and she’s going to do the same thing all over again!)

Wake up, Carlos!

I love waking up to this.

Microfiche Reader

Since I’m back in good graces with the public library, I’m attempting to take advantage of the resources there. (You should see the stack of books on my nightstand. I’ve got ten to read in the near future and I’m thrilled.) Kevin and I were wandering around downtown yesterday when we ran into the microfiche/microfilm area. So of course, we opened one of the filing cabinets. I had stumbled upon the IRS files and picked one that looked interesting – it was the only one I could see that was filed backwards in the cabinet, so of course I grabbed it.  We fumbled for a bit trying to figure out how to work the reader (4 years of college and I never once had to do anything microfiche-related), before realizing that we were at the microfilm reader, which wasn’t going to do us any good. Twenty seconds later, we were in business.

It’s a good thing that the Rosenberger case was the one that we decided to read through. It was fascinating. The petitioner had been arrested with a bunch of drugs and cash in 1979, so the IRS decided to calculate his taxable income based on the value of the drugs.

It was hilarious to see that his occupation was listed as “DEALER” on his tax forms – I had no idea that this was a possible scenario. More hilarious was how they went about these calculations with such formality. The value of the drugs equated to “earned income”.

He later (much, much later) sued because he wanted them to drop his income to a lower level. But he ran into a problem because he had no receipts (from the drugs).

I love the way that the reader feels. It’s like an overhead projector. It’s like old and crisp and somehow much more interesting than scrolling down the results from a Google search. I could spend hours just digging through the files and reading. It’s simultaneously nostalgic and new.

Great afternoon.

On New York, fondly

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I know that I’m a terrible trip blogger. I get home, get so busy doing other things, and then forget. So, for your viewing pleasure, a quick photographic journey through my New York adventure:

KatieBigPiano

FAO Schwartz in New York City has a giant piano. For the low price of $250,000, it can be yours. (I am currently arranging financing and clearing my living room.)

Street food!

I am a huge fan of street food but NYC has weird onions. A fellow semi-Chicagoan thought that I had committed some serious sacrilege and put ketchup on my dog, but trust me, I asked for a hot dog with onions and mustard. Not sure what the sauce was (probably ketchup disguised to fool the faithful), but it was delicious.

Allen Ginsberg Apartment

Outside Allen Ginsberg’s apartment. I was more interested in the tree than I was in the building itself – Katie’s a huge fan of all things Beat and thus, our pilgrimage there was important to her. Perhaps I need to dive in and see what it is that enchants her.

Katie

Speaking of enchantment, isn’t she stunning?

The first night, we managed to delete all of the pictures on her camera. (I’m 99.999% sure that it was totally my fault) She managed to track down a camera cord and we downloaded some software that allowed us to recover the pictures – I’m so grateful for her quick thinking and her approach to the situation. Also, it’s really creepy to me that you can recover deleted pictures. But I guess it’s definitely a good thing, too.

On Wine, subtly

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I’m a huge fan of wine. More than that, I’m a huge fan of affordable wine. There are plenty of delicious Malbecs for under $20, so both my bank account and myself can remain happy. Ha, but sometimes you do get what you pay for. I’m looking at you, $4.99 bottle of Gato Negro.

The article below serves to validate my frugality when it comes to purchasing wine:

Most Of Us Just Can’t Taste The Nuances In High-Priced Wines

02:56 am

March 6, 2012

EnlargeiStockphoto.com
Research suggests that most of us don’t or can’t taste the subtleties of fine wines.

Have you ever splurged on a highly rated bottle of Burgundy or pinot noir, only to wonder whether a $10 or $15 bottle of red would have been just as good? The answer may depend on your biology.

A new study by researchers at Penn State finds that when it comes to appreciating the subtleties of wine, experts can taste things many of us can’t. “What we found is that the fundamental taste ability of an expert is different,” says John Hayes of Penn State.

So what explains this? Part of it has to do with training and experience. But our ability to identify nuances in wine is also influenced by physiology in our mouths and brains.

“We evaluated hundreds of wine drinkers,” says Hayes, by having them sample/taste a chemical that measures their reaction to bitter tastes. He found that wine experts — people such as wine writers, winemakers and wine retailers — were about 40 percent more sensitive to the bitterness than casual consumers of wine. They have a more acute sense of taste.

Hayes says his findings fit with prior research on so-calledsupertasters — people who are more sensitive to the sweetness of sugar, the sting of chili peppers and the saltiness of chips.

The experts I reached out to are not convinced that “biology” is as deterministic as the research may suggest. “There may be some people who are gifted tasters,” Dave McIntyre, who writes about wine for The Washington Post, wrote to me in an email. “But I think it’s mostly experience.”

He says he’s taken the time and made the effort to taste many, many wines. “If you taste enough Cabernet Sauvignon you’ll learn to tell it from Merlot,” MacIntyre says. And over time, if you pay attention, he says he thinks most people will heighten their ability to detect nuances.

But for those of us who are not inclined to invest a lot of time in wine-tasting, should we pay attention to those wine reviewers’ ratings and scores?

A 90-point rating may tell us that an expert thinks the wine is a good choice. And the higher the point rating, the higher the price point. But what if the critics’ palates are not in sync with ours?

“Wine shopping can be confusing and overwhelming,” Katherine Cole, a wine writer in Portland, wrote to us. She says to some extent, the point ratings can help us narrow our choices. When you spot a bottle in your price range, and you see one of those “shelf talkers” (the term she uses to describe those little tabs affixed to store shelves) that tout a 90-point rating (on a 100-point scale), it can make the decision easier. “Oh, Wine & Spiritsmagazine likes this wine, so it must be good.”

Experts all seem to acknowledge that there’s quite a bit of subjectivity involved in reviewing wine. “Every critic has his or her own taste,” Cole says, “so the same wine might garner wildly differing scores from a variety of critics.”

All of this leads me to the conclusion, that yes, I’ll try to use experience as my teacher. But I’m not going to be ashamed by my affordable favorites. I may not have the most experienced of wine palates, but I’ve found plenty of pleasant $10-$15 Syrahs and Malbecs — two of my favorites — and I’m sticking with them!

Tags: food science, flavor science, wine

On Cupcakes on a Plane

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This article reminds me of my own attempt to classify a certain foodstuff as a solid, rather than a gel.

For the record, I totally disagree with the author of this article. Considering the fact that I accidentally got a 20oz bottle of water (filled approximately a third of the way full) through airport security last week, I’d argue that they’ve got more important things to do than catch ladies with cupcakes. You know, things like actually follow the spirit of these regulations rather than the letter and see how that fares for them. Nit-picking about frosting isn’t going to help until we’ve set a precedent. I am going to need signs with pictures showing me that I cannot bring Jell-O, or frosting, or hair gel, or whipped cream, or mousse. I want those juxtaposed right up next to the axes, knives, handguns, and scissors.

(Advice to the lady: open the jar. Lick all frosting. Close jar and continue with your screening process. Eat cupcake sans frosting in future.)

10/2012 @ 3:36PM |2,753 views

Cakes On A Plane: Cupcakegate And You

Photo Courtesy of Consumertraveler.com

By now you’ve heard of the Incident of the Confiscated Cupcake. It seems that one Rebecca Hains, of Peabody, Mass., was returning home from Las Vegas last month, when Transportation Security Administration agents confiscated her cupcake on the grounds of excessive frosting, which the TSA classifies as a gel.

On the one hand, dude, it’s a cupcake! On the other hand, the incident raises questions about both airport security and the American diet.

The diet first. Call me a curmudgeon, but despite the trend sweeping the nation from Boston to Beverly Hills, I firmly believe that a cupcake should never be more frosting than cake. Go back to the old-school cupcake-to-frosting ratio, and I’m convinced that the percentage of obese Americanswould decline from 33.8% to, oh, say, 33.75% (hey, you gotta start somewhere, right?). Plus, too much frosting is just gross. If this requires TSA enforcement, then I’m all for it.

Seriously, though: although regular readers know that I don’t have much sympathy for ham-fisted TSA tactics, this time I come down on the side of the folks in blue.

Turns out that this was no ordinary cupcake. It was in a glass jar. Who the heck carries a cupcake in a glass jar? And TSA rules on glass jars containing gels are clear: no larger than three ounces, packed together with your other gels and liquids in a clear, quart-size plastic bag. Ms. Hains’s cupcake, no matter how darling, violated these rules. If the cupcake needed to be in a jar, she could have put it in her checked luggage. If she needed a dessert in a jar to eat on the plane, how about honey-roasted walnuts?

“When you think about it,” writes TSA blogger and erstwhile security officer Bob Burns, “do you think an explosive would be concealed in an ominous item that would draw attention, or something as simple as a cute cupcake jar?” Makes sense to me. Read the rest of his post here.

Bottom line: if you need to take cakes on a plane, how about just carrying them in the box they came in?

source: Forbes

I don’t know about you, but cupcakes in a jar sound amazing to me.

I have been on a weird kick lately where I’ve been trying to fully embrace the adulthood that’s threatening to overwhelm me (you should see what I bought off of Amazon.com today – six boxes of tea, a novel, and two seriously motivational career woman books….I’m rolling my eyes at myself right now. I have not yet subscribed to Amazon Prime, so some remnants of my youth remain.)

But this means research. I’ve been reading cooking blogs. I’ve been reading design blogs. I’m hoping that in ten years (or, more realistically, thirty to forty), when I can finally afford a house/condo, Future Me have some sense of structure, order, etc. I think this means fashion, so I guess I’d better work on dressing myself before I work on dressing my house. (I realized last night that Kevin hasn’t seen me wearing makeup in days. It might even be weeks. I’ve fallen into a rut, mostly.)

But….cupcakes in a jar remind me of cheesecake in a jar, which is going to be my first project once I get all settled back into my apartment (with Carlos, of course!)

This must happen this weekend. The moving, not the cheesecake making. Baby steps.

Virtual Picnic- Cheesecake in a Jar

by JAMIE on APRIL 22, 2011 

(snagged the pictures and the recipe from My Baking Addiction, which I am totally addicted to!)

Post image for Virtual Picnic- Cheesecake in a Jar(photos from My Baking Addiction)

Cheesecake in a Jar

YIELD: 4-6 servings depending on size of jars used

INGREDIENTS:

½ cup plus 2 tablespoons granulated sugar
zest of one lemon
2 packages cream cheese, 8 oz each; room temperature
2 large eggs; room temperature
¼ cup heavy cream
1 ½ teaspoons pure vanilla extract

1 cup fresh berries

DIRECTIONS:

1. Preheat oven to 350 degrees F.

2. Begin to boil a large pot of water for the water bath.

3. In the bowl of your stand mixer fitted with your paddle attachment, combine the sugar and lemon zest and mix until the sugar is moistened and fragrant. Add in the cream cheese and cream together until smooth. Add eggs, one at a time, fully incorporating each before adding the next. Make sure to scrape down the bowl in between each egg. Add heavy cream and vanilla and mix until smooth.

4. Pour batter into canning jars until about ¾ of the way full. Place jars into a larger pan and pour boiling water into the larger pan until halfway up the sides of the jars.

5. Bake 25 to 30 minutes, the edges will appear to be set, but the center will still have a little jiggle to it.

6. Carefully remove the cheesecake jars from the water bath and place on a cooling rack to cool completely. Once the cheesecakes are completely cooled, place them into the refrigerator for at least 5 hours. Top will fresh berries and serve.

NOTES:

– For glossy berries, simply add 1 tablespoon of hot water to ¼ cup apricot preserves. Blend until combined and thinned out. Place the berries in a bowl and gently brush and toss the berries with the apricot and water mixture.
– If you are not a fan of lemon, simply omit the zest.
– If you are missing the graham cracker crust, serve with graham sticks.
– The jars pictured above are Weck (7.4 ounce) Tulip Jars.

On Being Really Happy (and liking it)

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Valentine's Day Dinner

(Mom wanted a picture)

How it started:

I was joking around with a friend on Facebook about all of the spam that we get from Twitter (It’s stuff like, “I’m 21 and single, want to chat?” – Gross and very annoying), and I told him that if I really wanted to find that kind of a date/casual encounter, I’d get on Craigslist. And then I realized that it’s really because of Craigslist that I know Kevin.

Last summer, one of my friends started looking for a new place to live. She found some roommates on Craigslist and after a brief interview process, was selected to be a member of their household. I started hanging around at their house more and more, and one day, one of the roommates told me that I should meet his friend Kevin since he thought we’d be a great match (Kevin’s sarcasm and my cynicism plus lack of filter were apparently enough to go on). I was like, “Uh, no thanks” (mostly because set ups are so awkward and never work).

Conveniently, we were both at the Halloween party that they threw. His first memory of me is me looking like this (keep in mind that I had the flu):

Halloween

Kevin later admitted that when he first saw me, he was convinced that they’d hired a caterer for the party, so I’m glad that I have this personality thing to fall back on when my sex appeal fails me.

Present-tense

It’s been almost four months now, which makes no sense. It’s like it either just started, or has been going on forever. Looking back, everything just sort of aligned at the right times. Of course I’m terrified, but I’m also thrilled. Seriously thrilled. I sincerely hope that I make him as happy as he makes me. He’s smart and willing to engage me (and by engage, I mean listening to me rant about whatever it is that I’m in the mood to rant about that day) in discussions. He’s sweet. He loves Carlos (and more importantly, Carlos loves him). He’s spontaneous. He likes my family. He respects me. He’s patient when I’m falling down mountains. He trusts me enough to let me drive. We’re total opposites who just happen to have a lot more in common than I thought.

Rather than worry (which I’m so prone to doing), I have decided to just embrace this experience. Like jumping feet-first off the Bloukrans Bridge.

Bloukrans Bridge

(Never again)

It’s better than bungee jumping – less panic, less leg-shaking, less terror. It’s an adventure. It’s the best kind of adventure – the kind where you fall asleep at night knowing that it’s going to start all over again the next day.

Thank you, Craiglist. You can be super sketchy, but you’re alright with me.

On the Weekend

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This weekend was a mid-winter retreat up to Breckenridge. We went up with another couple; it was the longest double date that I’ve ever been on, and it was wonderful. We stayed in a trailer that we found online. I was a little nervous since I’ve never had any real trailer experience, but I have to say that it was absolutely beautiful. It had just been updated – new everything. So clean and bright and welcoming. We had our own rooms – definitely an upgrade from the New Year’s trip when Kevin and I slept in a second story office area right off the stairs. It was warm and cozy and the design was really well thought out. You could tell the owner (who is also a designer) put thought into each and every decision she made. The space was lovely.

I did my first double-black run on Saturday!  Sort of. Mostly, I just fell down the mountain, but luckily for me, the top part was nice and fluffy, so falling didn’t hurt at all. I think that I was too hesitant to really just jump into it – I might have had more success that way. The black run after that was much harder for me, partially due to my frustration with the terrain. It was bumpy and rough; about halfway through, I fell really hard and pulled my shoulder in a direction that shoulders shouldn’t go. As I sat there trying to gain my composure (read: didn’t want anyone to see that I was starting to cry), I had a moment of realization. I had to keep going to get back to a groomed run. There was no other way. I wasn’t about to take off my board and walk it, so I mustered up the courage to just deal with it. I went as slowly as I wanted and I focused on keeping my balance. By the time I saw the groomed trail looming ahead of me, I was filled with excitement. I felt good. I had just gotten off the highest lift in North America and made it down. And the top part was awesome – I’d happily do that again!

By Sunday, I was much more comfortable. I’m now nearly able to keep up with everyone – Kevin still waits for me at certain points to make sure that I’m alive, which is really sweet of him since I know that he’d much rather be flying down the mountain. There’s one run that’s labelled as black off of Peak 7, which is mostly just blues (all of which I can do with no problem!) – the top part of it is steep and through trees, but it flattens out as you get to the bottom of it. I found myself complaining to Kevin that it would be so much better if it didn’t flatten out. This is a sentiment that I’m surprised I’m expressing. I’m excited that I’m willing to try harder things, I’m excited that I’m up for trying runs that I normally would be hesitant to even attempt, I’m excited that I’m getting more and more confident. I look back even a few weeks and realize how far I’ve come, and it’s so satisfying. I’m going to be good at this in no time. Considering I’ve only been doing this for a season (and only been up about 11 times), I’m amazed by my progress. Yeah, I definitely still cop out and ride the back edge of my board down the steeper hills, and I still get a little bit more panicky on the more crowded runs, but I’m definitely getting there. Baby steps.

I’m grateful to have such patient friends – no one pushes me to do things that I’m uncomfortable doing (the one exception here is Kevin, who always says, “this is the easiest way down!” but even then, he knows that I have my limits and never tries to force anything). Everyone is wonderful about waiting for me at the bottom of the run (I’m about a minute or so behind these days, hoping that soon it’ll be much quicker). It’s been such a wonderful experience and I’m grateful for the opportunities.

We drove down last night in the snow – it was a sketchy drive and I’m grateful that Kevin is so confident and cautious when he needs to be. It was nice to see Carlos, who definitely missed us. Even though I’m super sore today, it was absolutely worth it.

On Yoga and the Collision of Future and Present Me

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“Future me” is a wonderful person. She has all of these diverse interests and hobbies; she’s vibrant; she’s everything I hope to become. The problem, of course, is that future me is always so far removed from present me that I’m unable to merge the two together. On Wednesday night, something wonderful happened: future me became real (for an hour)!

Back in college, present me purchased a yoga mat. For some reason, high school me thought that as a college student, I would do awesome things like yoga in the big city. I never actually did yoga in college. Then post-collegiate me, assuming that adult me would do yoga, purchased a yoga DVD to take to Africa with me. It became a running joke: after dinner, my roommate and my host mother would ask me if I was going to practice yoga along with my yoga DVD. I never did it. (Who wants to do a yoga DVD in the living room of your house with everyone watching? No one I’ve ever met and certainly not me.)

Jacob invited me to do hot yoga with him. I had been talking to my friend Anne about it the night before, and jumped at the chance to finally unroll the yoga mat that’s been hauled around during every move I’ve made since I was 19 and until Wednesday, was sitting in the corner of my closet. I was terrified – people who do yoga are scary. But it was awesome! I have never sweat so much in my life (the room is heated to 105 degrees). It turns out that all of those years of dancing haven’t quite left me, and I was able to follow along without getting lost. The hour passed quickly, and when it was over, I felt amazing.

I’ve got a week to try out this yoga place, but of course, this is the one week where my life is packed with adventures and commitments, and so it’ll be interesting to see if I’ll be able to get back in time to really use the free pass. This is definitely something I’m interested in continuing though, so keep your fingers crossed.

On Future Plans

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What do I do when things get weird? Well, there are a few responses, but most of them include a serious increase in wild adventures and questionable decisions.

I always think of Mike whenever these things happen. He’d tell me one of two things (they both come from our favorite movies):
      -When life gives you lemons, say “Fuck the Lemons!” and bail.
      -or… Rule #72: No excuses, play like a champion.

I have a feeling this is one of those Rule #72 moments.

So, in keeping with those traditions of panic and drastic life-altering adventures, I made plane reservations. Be glad that I can’t afford tickets to Kenya; my roommate from South Africa, Margaret, is turning 50 this year and spending it doing work with women there. She invited me along! Perhaps I’ll start pinching pennies and try to make the trip out there before she leaves her year-long post.

I’m going to Chicago in February to spend a weekend with my old friends. Swisher will have just had ACL surgery, so he’ll be needing some care. (Not that I’m going to be proficient in providing any sort of care. I’m more of an errand-runner.) I haven’t seen Anne’s face since I was out there in July. And I would love to be able to snuggle with Maddie and Patrick. (Patrick remains my all-time-number-one-wingman for the incident of the Irish and the whiskey. I will love him until I die.)

The best one, though?
March. New York City. The Katies.
Katie has an interview out there and wanted someone to go along. So I am lucky enough to be her traveling companion. I am beyond thrilled. I am so grateful for this opportunity. I can’t even begin to tell you how bright this spot is in my otherwise complicated life-situation. We are going to spend four days being wonderful and wild all over New York. I dug around in my purse for my thank-you notes to send to her father, who graciously picked up my plane tickets, but found them to be covered in blush and the envelopes unusable. So I still sent him one – minus the blush – (in my excitement, I just want to say “Thank-You!” right away!) but included a note apologizing for the janky nature of the packaging (regular envelopes, not the cute ones). He’ll understand.

There are still adventures to be had. Life isn’t over yet. It never is. One thing that I do love about my workplace is the support. We’re mostly women, and since I’m the baby, I get the coddling that I sometimes really need. Today, I needed it. My lady boss, who I respect like nobody else, told me that I was going to be fine and that life is just one set of ups and downs after another. I realize that you can hear that said twenty times, but for some reason, I’m always ready to listen to her advice. So I’m letting it stick. This is just a down. There will be other ups.