Things That Go Bump in the Night

I am not a big television viewer anymore, partially because I just do not have the time to watch it, partially because I prefer to read, but mostly because I find the vast majority of shows on network tv to be either utterly inane or gratuitously violent. There is a whole category of shows that are ingeniously both, and are often titled along the lines of When *****s Attack.

But there isn't a lot to do in the hospital, and when your mom, who is being quite the trooper, is tired of Scrabble and wants to watch tv, that's what you do. It was my fault for mocking the sickeningly sweet teen movie "What a Girl Wants," but honestly, what was Colin Firth thinking? Why is every teen movie now the girl who's really a princess gets the guy, the dad, the dress, and a full ride to Oxford while Miley Cyrus sings some barf-inducing closing theme? Being raised on John Hughes films where all the girl wants is her first kiss, the characters were all actually interesting, and the Psychadelic Furs and Otis Redding were on the soundtrack, I just wonder what happened to the writers guild.

Anyway, I should have bitten my tongue, because my "oh, puke" comment at the end of What A Girl Wants caused my mother to turn to what I will refer to as Crime TV, where every show involved the re-enactment of some true-life horror story. This is a channel that isn't entirely inane nor exactly gratuitously violent, but it does make the most of deliberately jarring camera angles and bad visual effects intended to convey Hitchcock, but mostly leaving the viewer in a near epileptic seizure from the flashing lights. The tone of every show is "This Could Happen to YOU," and is probably heavily subsidized by the NRA. Clearly my mother has been watching a fair amount of this programming; while like every mother she can spot the way an activity can or has lead to someone's death, I've noticed an uptick in the number of ways in which she believes one might be harmed or worse, as well as the increased likelihood thereof. Now having watched several episodes of When Pirates/Children/Fugitives/Crazed Relatives Attack, I believe i have found the underlying cause of aforementioned uptick.

Shortly before we left the other night, the show was all about violent criminals and drug cartel members crossing the border and murdering, molesting, and robbing people across the southwest. Despite my best efforts to bury my nose in my book, Congressional procedure was no match for the show. After dinner, my father and I kissed Mom goodnight and headed back to the house. In the middle of the night, I was awakened by some gutteral screams and much thumping around downstairs. Still on East Coast time and generally in an exhaustion-fed trance, I crept into the dark hallway, and all I could think was "oh my god, it's all true!! I'm under attack!!" Strangely, I did not wake up enough to actually investigate further, which is especially odd given that I actually have had people try to break in my domicile before, whereupon I have called the police. Instead, I grabbed the nearest thing I felt could be used as a weapon if necessary and went back to bed.

And that is how I found myself curled up with the fire extinguisher the next morning. I am still not sure what I thought I was going to do with it. Create a massive smoke cloud and make my escape? Bash the attacker in the head with it? Or both? All I can say is that after my father fed the yowling cat who awoke him with her nightime crazies, it is a VERY good thing he didn't decide to check in on me.

So today, I presented my mom with a Valentine's Day stack of all the coolest art, architecture, and food magazines (along with a couple of fashion and gossip rags) that Borders had in stock which, along with the stack of happy-ending DVDs and the deluxe Scrabble board, will hopefully assist all of us with sleeping more peacefully at night.

Construction Advice

For those who ask me whether they should take on a construction project, i can sum up my advice with the above cartoon and this clip from In the Loop (which, if you haven't seen it, you should, and fyi a "hod" is used to carry bricks and mortar - see one here):

Holy Cow - My Dream House IS Affordable!

First, I know I promised to post every day, and was going to put this up yesterday, but our internet was down.  And a shame, too, because I have THRILLING NEWS!  My prayers for an affordable modern home of my dreams for our land out in West Virginia were answered when this fabulous, fully furnished modern home popped up on Gilt.com.  And mein gott, it has all the furniture i would have picked out, too!  

 

It even has the Stem entertainment console i asked for!

And solar powered lighting and a green roof!!

It's like God read my mind, flew over the piece of land we own, picked a design that would blend seamlessly with the rocky forest and glassed the walls so we could always feel like we were outside, enjoying the Almost Heaven-ly views, then did a quick search of my drool-worthy design cache (or has been reading my blog), and then put it on sale for a mere $310.

Lo, i failed to specify that i wanted a life-sized modern home.  Ever notice how god is really good at exploiting the loopholes? She must be the world's best lawyer.

I've been trying to decide how to justify purchasing this despite the fact that i have no children and we have no space in our house.  I think it'd be hilarious to build our little shed out in WV and bring this out there and call it good.

Anyway, this "Emerson Dollhouse" comes from a company called Brinca Dada, which is a couple of architects (of course) who decided to make toys that adults would like to play with, too.  I wonder, though, whether children would actually like this.  It isn't brightly colored plastic, the dolls look like art mannequins and, worst of all, appear to lack all clothing and accessories (which is really all any little girl playing with Barbie cares about - except for the making out with Ken/Christie part):

I guess, though, looking back, i had more fun playing with my mom's art/architecture supplies than with my own toys, and i never had a Barbie dollhouse, despite requesting one for several Christmases.  My mother said we were too poor (and we were, and she did get me the swimming pool one year), but i can say with reasonable certainty that if the Emerson Dollhouse had been available in the 1970s - even if it were $310 - i think she would have found a way to get it. Being part of the feminist movement, however, and a tomboy to boot, my love of Barbie made my mother want to vomit.  She'd get them for me upon occasion, but they usually came with a lecture or accompanied by a smile with gritted teeth.  I compensated by climbing trees (in dresses and patent leather shoes), playing with snakes and toads, and bringing home stray animals - all of which she heartily endorsed (except the attire).  Anyway, i think i would have loved to play with this as a kid.  I'd sure love to play with it as an adult!

I can't decide if god is trying to make up for teasing me with the dollhouse or tempt me with this offer from Gilt:  Get $1000 Ligne Roset store credit for $500.  This means i could get the Stem console for half price!  Oh, wait...nope, it's limited to one per customer.  God really does have a sick sense of humor.

BC3: Le Jour de Gloire est Arrivé

Originally, I had half a mind to spread out the Bear Claw Trilogy across several months, and maybe even tint the photos in an homage to Kieslowski, but feared that in the end, no one would remember the prior installments, thus losing whatever tiny shred of anticipation or interest you may have in knowing the outcome of my pastry travails.  I also discovered that as far as a tool for allegorical narratives on liberty, equality, or fraternity, danish pastry just doesn't provide much to work with (The Addition, on the other hand, is like all your favorite trilogies and Freudian analyses wrapped into one (various contractors playing the Godfather, the bank as Sauron, the architect as The Architect/deus ex machina, the house as symbol for repressed emotions, etc.)

So grab some popcorn and a comfy seat for Bear Claws 3: The Viking Uprising

Bear Claws, Parts 2: Revenge of the Grizzly

So, when we last left our heroine, she was wallowing in the mauling she received from the bear claws she had spent two days making from scratch.  She nursed her wounds over the next few weeks and, finally, after the pain of epic culinary failure subsided and the pendulum of time swung to her side, the fire of revenge lit within her breast as she stared at the other half of danish dough, which had heretofore been mocking her every time she opened the freezer.  Determination swelled as she flung the frozen dough onto the counter and vowed that this time, she would conquer the bear.  She envisioned licking almond crumbs and flaky pastry off her fingers as the dough thawed into battle position.

Not to be fooled twice, our heroine prepared for the long campaign ahead of her.  Like any good coach after an embarrassing loss, she reviewed the film footage of the prior game, jotting mental notes of weaknesses in her position; she reviewed the texts, poring over the instructions for cues she had missed.  In the end it was fairly clear that defeat had come during the proofing process.  Berenbaum's recipe for the Bear Claws had said that the claws should be set to rise "in a warm place."  So our heroine had slightly heated up the stove, let it cool a bit (as one might for baking bread) and put the pastry inside to rise.  Having returned to the master recipe for danish dough, Berenbaum elaborated considerably on the particularities of the proofing process, namely that one should proof the dough at a temperature between 86 and 92 degrees, which the author achieved through ridiculous measures involving ramekins full of hot water to support a second jelly roll pan to cover the first, topped with a heating pad.  Having no second jelly roll pan, and no desire to retrieve the somewhat buried heating pad, our heroine decided to heat the convection microwave to 100 degrees, let it cool for 10 minutes, and proof the bear claws in there.

The second weak point in her prior assault had been the filling.  The remonce recipe in Beranbaum's book was somewhat runny to begin with.  In re-reading the text, she also realized that she was supposed to use half of the amount produced for the bear claw recipe.  Overstuffing the bear claws with semi-gelatinous almond filling had clearly contributed to the downfall of the danish.  Our heroine determined that this time, she would also refrigerate the remonce so as to prevent the butter from melting during the proofing process.

And so, having charted her course, she returned with great courage to the site of her ignoble defeat, gave the cry of battle and gently attacked the dough with her rolling pin.  She rolled, she cut, she filled, she sprinkled with cinnamon sugar, she brushed with eggwash, sealed, folded, sliced, brushed with eggwash again, and sprinkled the nascent claws with sliced almonds.  Then she put them in the just slightly warm box of the microwave and let them rise for the allotted time, whereupon, they looked like this:

This was a vast improvement over the prior batch; however, while not as visible from the film footage, our heroine was again facing creeping pools of butter and remonce leaching from the claws.  She held her head up defiantly as she cast them into the fire for 15 minutes until golden, whereupon they looked like this: 

The claws glistened in the light and she wasn't yet sure what to think, so set the kettle to boil and went about making a pot of chai tea, gathering her hand-me-down New Yorker, and cautiously preparing for the first bite.  The fruit of her arduous labors looked promising enough:

She bit into the claw and chewed thoughtfully while gazing upon the falling snow.  Outsiders declared success, but she hung her head in shame.  Store-bought bear claws would be better than these flaccid, flavorless pastries.  The almond filling had evaporated into the dough, which was too chewy, too dense, and tasted primarily of unsalted butter.  It wasn't worth finishing.  End game:  Bears 2; Vikings 0.

A Danish Tragedy

Before i begin the tale of The Girl Who Wrestled the Grizzly Bear (and Lost, Twice), i'd like to issue an open invitation for blog post subjects.  I am currently enjoying an unknown quantity of time off while i wait for my new fellowship to start (probably a few more days, maybe a week), and so am planning to make up for my future lack of posts once i start fixing the US budget and tax code with more posts now.  I had initially thought that i could just write a couple of really long posts - i was going for a sort of New Yorker main article thing, especially in light of how rarely i seem to write - but after having heard several complaints about the length of A Certain Slant of Light, promise to scale back to fit the more hurried mind/enable you to finish reading before the boss comes back and sees you aren't working.

I'm tentatively seeing if i can manage a post a day - the snow is helping - but make no promises.  But i'd like to know what you'd like to hear about - i know this started as a Home Disaster blog, but wandered into Home Disasters and Food Successes territory (today brings the union of the two), and then it just became Whatever Random Thought and/or Poem/Song/Book/Piece of Art/Favorite Architecture/Political Issue du Jour Is in My Head blog.  Here are some subjects i've been pondering (or have already started drafts of months ago):  a history of modern architecture, why is pretty furniture overpriced, the tiling of the fireplace hearth, the new kitchen pantry and all things orange, photos and stories from the San Juan Islands or Barcelona, and recipes (with obligatory historical investigation) for chicken pot pie, meatloaf and baked grits, apple and pumpkin pie, and revenge of the Danish.  But i'm happy to take on anything you've been curious about but not obsessed enough to research to death and write a blog post about.  So go on, don't be shy - submit a comment (even anonymously)!

Bear Claws, The History
This post actually started when my MIL came to visit last summer bearing a box of freshly-baked bear claws from the fabulous Amish bakers in Lancaster County, PA.  I adore bear claws, and these were especially delicious ones with fluffy layers of cinnamony pastry and drizzled with glaze.  I normally never ever ever buy them because i know that the caloric content is roughly equivalent to one's weekly allowance.  But if one doesn't actually purchase them, they have fewer calories. These were so good that i actually wanted to eat the crumbs:

But eating the crumbs seemed slightly uncouth, and i didn't want anyone to walk in on me with my face in the box, looking like a horse with a feedbag strapped on or the kid brother showing mommy how the piggies eat in A Christmas Story.  Then i had sudden inspiration to use them as a mix-in for a batch of ice cream - a far more elevated approach to wasting not.  So i made a batch of almond ice cream and mixed in the bear claw crumbs, creating what would be my new signature flavor, Grizzlies on Ice:

Then i decided to add this to Now Serving, but thought it would be an even better post if i made bear claws from scratch first.  And then, i got the new iMac and was playing around with iMovie and iThought:  "Oooo, iCould make a stop-motion iMovie about the making of the bear claws!"  And so, iSet up my camera on a tripod and took hundreds of photos of the mixing of the dough, the rolling of the dough (4x), the cutting of the dough, the filling the dough, the forming into claws, the raising of the claws, which is when iNoticed that things were starting to go awry.  But iPersevered and baked the bear claws and made the iMovie, which will be presented shortly.

But first, a quick history on danish pastry:

1) It's not actually Danish.  This sweet, laminated pastry was brought to Denmark by Viennese bakers who were brought to Denmark when the native bakers went on strike in 1850, demanding wages in cash instead of in food and lodging.  The Viennese didn't know how to make traditional Danish breads, so did their own thing.  This is why the Danes (and everyone else in Scandinavia) actually call danishes wienerbrød or "Viennese bread" (also the meaning of "viennoiserie," as the French call them.)  The Viennese, for their part, call it "golatschen," which is interesting in that i grew up in Nebraska calling them kolaches, which is what the rather sizable Czech/Bohemian community there calls them.  Anyway, it's not a total lie to call them Danish; when the Danish bakers went  back to work, they picked up the laminated technique, but added eggs and more fat, as well as almond filling, jams, chocolate, nuts, etc.

2) In Denmark, the bear claw (or cockscomb, as it's called in most of Europe) is the most popular shape of danish.

Just so you know, i could go on, but I'm trying this new Keep It Short Thing.

Bear Claws, The Recipe
I decided to try out the bear claw recipe in my new copy of the Pie and Pastry Bible by Rose Levy Beranbaum.  In the interest of time, i will not retype it for you here.  If you want to follow a set of instructions that makes Martha Stewart look like Rachel Ray, you can print out a copy of the recipe yourself from here.  But here's the general gist of things:
1) Proof some yeast and warm milk.
2) Mix the risen yeast with some flour, sugar, salt, cardamom, egg, and a little butter.  Let the mixture sit for 30 minutes.  Deflate and then refrigerate the dough for 2 hours.
3) Make a butter square with a boatload of butter and a little flour.  This part's fun.
4) Roll the dough into an 8" square, then add the butter square, encase the butter square with the dough.
5) Roll/fold the dough.  Chill.
6) Roll/fold the dough. Divide dough in two.  Chill/freeze.
7) Make the filling.
8) Shape the danish by rolling the dough, cutting the dough into squares, filling the squares with filling (i added a cinnamon sugar sprinkle), closing up the squares, slicing the "claws," brushing with egg wash, sprinkling with almonds, and curving into the bear claw shape.
9) Proof the bear claws.  The bear claw recipe only makes the vaguest reference to how to proof the danish, which is found in detail at the master recipe, and essentially requires several complicated steps and a constant temperature of 86-92 degrees.
10)  Bake the bear claws.
11) Eat the bear claws.

Bear Claws, The iMovie
Here it is, my first ever film:


As forewarned, it's film noir.  The bear claws began to ooze butter as they rose; despite my attempts to mop up the butter, they positively hemorrhaged butter once in the stove.  The end result was more akin to fried bear claws, and not in a yummy British chip shop or Texas State Fair kinda way.  I thought about rewriting my little film with a happy ending and then thought:  Everyone's food blog shows their glowing successes, closeups on their beautifully-arranged dishes, the lighting just so. But how many people show you their abject failures, besides me?  And isn't tragicomedy really the story of this blog/my life?

Anyway, submit your own guesses as to what happened and why along with your ideas for future posts!  And stay tuned for Bear Claws, Part 2:  The Wrath of the Grizzly, along with the critic's film review and cooking analysis.

I Heart NY

Ahh, New York, New York, City That I Love.  I'm just back from a weekend in Gotham City, visiting the besties, the nieces, and checking in with my knee surgeon.  Thanks to the lack of job, i was able to squeeze in an extra day to largely meander about, soaking up the streets and the people.  I love this City.  I love the different neighborhoods - beloved happy hipster Park Slope, the intimidating shadows of Wall Street, the insufferable SoHo with shops full of everything i want and nothing i can afford, quiet Roosevelt Island with its shiny new tram, superb night views, and the lilt of seven languages being spoken at once from the UN residents.  I love the East Side solitude, the West Side insanity, the downtown labyrinth of alleys, the uptown smaller-town feel.  I love the history, the buildings that lean on each other in the fight for sunlight, i love the subway with its peeling paint and street musicians.  I love the brilliant architecture, ever changing, ever reaching.  I love the art - the teeming masses at the Met, the hidden gem of the Frick.  But i mostly love the people - their hyperactive minds written all over their faces, their emotions shared with you as your eyes meet for a few seconds before passing.  Everyone from everywhere is here, getting along (mostly famously), even if it doesn't always look like it.  I think perhaps Whitman sums it up best:

Broadway

	What hurrying human tides, or day or night!
	What passions, winnings, losses, ardors, swim thy waters!
	What whirls of evil, bliss and sorrow, stem thee!
	What curious questioning glances — glints of love!
5	Leer, envy, scorn, contempt, hope, aspiration!
	Thou portal — thou arena — thou of the myriad long-drawn lines and groups!
	(Could but thy flagstones, curbs, façades, tell their inimitable tales;
	Thy windows rich, and huge hotels — thy side-walks wide;)
	Thou of the endless sliding, mincing, shuffling feet!
10	Thou, like the parti-colored world itself — like infinite, teeming, mocking life!
	Thou visor'd, vast, unspeakable show and lesson!

 

I also love the greenery throughout New York - in Central Park, where hidden corners can be found even on the most beautiful June day, or the alley of cherry blossoms in bloom in Prospect Park.  Under the blanket of snow and frigid temperatures, Central Park was nearly deserted:

 

I've nearly moved here twice and pseudo-lived here for a year and a half, and it's always so hard to leave this place, but maybe someday I'll be back more permanently.  This poem seems truly fitting for a midwestern girl like me:

These Ever Just So Six Million New York Hearts and Dorothy

Girl, you have breathed the scent of New York and now, no greens, no        flowers, no daisies . . . not even the wind on greens and flowers        can hold you long. You will not stay on prairie wastes, girl, for you have listened to        the rivers of Manhattan at nighttime: you have been quite too near        these ever just so six million New York hearts: you have        watched quite too many New York sunsets and dawns. You'll come back, girl: quite soon these ever just so New York floors        and stones will feel your quick, sharp walk. You cannot stay with prairie wastes and flowers, girl, for you have        breathed the scent of New York too long. You have been quite too near these ever just so six million New York        hearts; and they will someday call you back, girl.

Robert Clairmont, From Quintillions (NY: American Sunbeam Publisher, 2005)