I've made this since I was a teenager, and I have no idea where it came from or what it's actually called. For years I thought I learned it because my mother made it, until one day my mother, while eating it, said “this is good. Where'd you get the recipe?” You can probably imagine how that conversation went.
As both my aunts, all of my friends, and the only uncle who cooks also deny prior knowledge of this recipe, I've come to the conclusion that it spontaneously appeared in my brain one morning when I was hungry. Eventually, after being asked so many times what this is called, I've called it “breakfast.”
I like to make this for breakfast for a crowd, since it's as much work to feed one with this as it is to feed ten, and I took it to end-of-term potlucks in college where, sitting smugly amongst chips and dip, it was always VERY well-received. I've met a few people over the years (almost exclusively at potlucks) who have made this or something very like it, and none of them know what it's called either, or quite remember where they picked it up. I'm beginning to think this dish is a kind of morphic knowledge.
At its most basic this casserole has only three ingredients: eggs, filler (such as water or milk), and tortillas. Like nachos, the interest (and the appeal) comes from what you put in it. It's excellent for potlucks when you're busy for the same reason why it makes a great people-are-over breakfast for hosts who are not morning people: you put everything in a dish in five minutes and go do something else for forty-five, such as shower or wait for the caffeine to kick in.
The following recipe is for potluck-size, a 9x13-inch baking dish. Smaller dishes (6x8) serve two to three people (depending on presence of toast), tend to cook in twenty to twenty-five minutes, and use correspondingly fewer ingredients. I've made this non-dairy, but never with soy cheese. Experiment at your peril.
You need:
eggs: 8 for a smaller group, 12 for a full class potluck (the general rule is one per person until you get to six, then it's two for every three people, and somehow a dozen eggs will feed twenty to twenty-four at a potluck.)
water or milk (recommend milk)
corn tortillas or tortilla chips
salt and pepper
toppings (see below)
Variations:
note: all meat (like bacon or sausage) is added pre-cooked. Any onion except spring/green onions should be pre-cooked unless you like your onions to bite.
THE SIMPLE: cheese and canned chiles. Or just cheese.
THE MORNING AFTER: more cheese, sausage, frozen hash browns, canned chiles, presence of bacon
THE VAGUELY MEXICAN: olives, tomatoes, black beans, canned chiles, green onions, and after it's baked, topped with salsa, guacamole, and sour cream
THE FAUX LORRAINE: swiss cheese and bacon
THE PRETENTIOUS VEGGIE: swiss cheese, sour cream, mushrooms, asparagus, and spinach
THE MASSIVE CREPE: swiss or other white cheese, chicken, mushrooms, and sauteed onions
THE KITCHEN CONTENTS: leftover deli or dinner meat; leftover side dishes like rice, veggies, or potatoes; cheese; canned chiles; canned beans; any vegetables about to turn, like tomatoes.
STEPHANIE'S FAVORITE: cheese, canned chiles, black beans, green onions, and bacon.
So! The directions:
preheat the oven to 375ºF. Start the bacon or sausage cooking if you need to.
Slice or tear the tortillas into strips (or pieces) and line the bottom of the baking dish with a layer 2 or 3 tortillas deep. If using tortilla chips, pour'em in and crunch 'em up until they lie more or less flat.
In a bowl mix the eggs with 1 cup milk for 8 eggs, two cups milk for 12. If you don't feel like measuring, close enough is close enough.
Add salt and pepper if you're using tortillas. If you're using tortilla chips DO NOT ADD SALT. Only pepper.
Add toppings. For example, my favorite uses one can of chiles, four green onions, chopped, a cup of shredded cheese, and half a can of black beans. All your toppings added together should come out to be between one and three cups of stuff, with the general goals of having enough eggs to make it all stick together and still being able to fit most of it (if not all of it) in the pan.
Mix well, then pour into the tortilla/chip-lined baking dish, taking care not to disturb the tortillas/chips much.
Top with more cheese, if desired, and place in the oven.
Bake for 45 minutes. It's done when the eggs in the center are firm, exactly like scrambled eggs. If this is me and I'm in college, use this time to shower and wash your hair for the first time in a week. Ahh.
Remove from oven and, for a potluck, fold a bath towel (or two) in quarters (as in in half one way, then in half the other way), put the pan in the middle of the folded towel and use as a combination pot-holder and trivet to transport.
Monday, September 27, 2010
Wednesday, September 22, 2010
by request: Clean Kwan Do
A domestic-martial-arts teal deer
Cleaning is a learned skill. I've had several roommates who were very tidy people (I'm not one of them), but had no idea how to clean. I can (and do) clean. I am good at cleaning, and it's because I have taken several levels in cleaning and am at least a green-belt in Clean Kwan Do. Anyone who has tried and failed to master their own kitchens knows there's considerably more to it than “you just put things where they belong.” This is like training an army by telling them “the pointy end goes in the other person” and then turning them loose on the enemy to figure it out for themselves, including figuring out which end is the “pointy end.” Some of them will pick it up by observation. Most of them will die, and some of them will somehow manage to cut their own leg off with a spear. I'm of the opinion that the worst potential teacher in the cleaning arts is someone who is naturally good at it. There's no other explanation for such gems as “you just put things where they belong.”
The most common hurdle for the cleaning novice isn't not knowing where things go, it's not knowing where to start. Being overwhelmed is an enormous problem even if it's only a sinkful of dishes. I'm twenty-seven and I've finally graduated to “the new messy” (empty floor, laundry under tenuous control, ONE organized out-of-closet pile, two organized in-closet piles, flat surfaces still buried). The laundry part is just because I'm lazy, but all the rest of it (window seat, bathroom renovation, and all) is a chain of causal relations ultimately ending in being overwhelmed. (The art studio, for those of you following along at home.)
Several excellent books have been written about how to clean. I even own a few. I have read none of them, and learned to clean over a period of years, all of them fraught with suffering. Suffering, I believe, is key to learning to clean properly, but it must be the correct suffering. Being made to go back and do it again with specific instructions on what you missed the last time, over and over, until you get it right, is the correct form of suffering. “It's not clean, go do it over” with no further use of feedback is the incorrect form of suffering. After all, if you knew what was wrong with it you'd have gotten it the first time!
I completely believe that most human beings literally have to learn how to see clutter in order to pick it up. My mother can tell my father to “clean off the patio,” and he leaves hoses, piles of lumber, and empty containers everywhere... but he straightens the yard chairs. He's not being an ass—he honestly believes it's clean now, and needs to be told “go back and coil the hoses and put them away next to the spigot” and “pick up the lumber and put it in the shed” in order to bring these things to his attention in order to deal with them. My father is NOT UNUSUAL in this strategic blindness, and anyone with children or teenagers in their lives is well familiar with it. The thing is, this kind of selective blindness does not go away as you age... resulting in an entire host of adults with the desire to clean, but not the knowledge of how.
If the list of missed details takes longer than fifteen seconds (five for children younger than ten) to state, slowly and clearly, it's not going to stick in the disciple's brain. This would be what we call a “two trip” list.... they go and clean, and then you send them back again for the second (or third, or fourth) part of the list. (Suffering!) And actually, if the list of missed details in a single room is a four-trip list then it's time for the Master to stand over the Student and point things out one at a time as the Student completes them.
Now, if you are prepared to suffer, I am prepared to impart on you the first task towards attaining Level One in Cleaning: flow.
Pick a place to start.
Like a a game of Jenga, this is somewhat arbitrary. Like a good game of Jenga, it isn't mostly arbitrary—it's based on strategy.
For a bedroom, one of the best places to start is making your bed, for two reasons. 1. it makes the room look cleaner in ten minutes than an hour of picking up, and 2. it gives you a clear flat space to sort that you are then bound to finish dealing with by simple expedient of needing to sleep there later.
Another good bedroom starting strategy is laundry: putting away the clean laundry and sorting the dirty laundry by load. Whatever your starting point, the key is to make it the same one every single time. One task is always followed by another, and the order and progression of these tasks does not change much. This is not just cleaning, these are katas, and like a martial art the end goal is to train a psychic muscle memory into your brain. Repeat these katas enough, long enough, and you will be able to start the chain of cleaning without thinking about it. Being able to clean up without thinking means you 1. aren't overwhelmed, 2. suffer a lot less, and as a consequence 3. clean more thoroughly, faster. And you get to fantasize about George Clooney driving a Smart Car in the Alps (there's a story about that).
Example: Bedroom
Make the bed
Sort the clean laundry onto the bed by owner, drawer and closet, getting rid of anything you don't like or doesn't fit.
Put the clean laundry away
Pile up the dirty laundry into sorted piles: dark wash, colors wash, whites wash, hand wash, dry-clean. Don't sort by temperature (that comes when you have leveled up), just wash everything on cold.
Go into the bathroom and grab the dirty towels and mats.
Pile them into the laundry
load and start the washer
empty the dryer, fold it at the dryer and sort the laundry onto your bed by owner, drawer, and closet, getting rid of anything you don't like or doesn't fit.
Now comes the conditionals... things dependent on a situation that is not always going to be the same. You may have shoes, or Christmas wrapping supplies, or luggage, or dog toys (or the entire dog) on the floor. Sort this, decide where it goes, and then when you are headed in that direction, put it there. If that place is full don't worry about it yet, just get it to the geographical location in which it belongs.
The idea is never to touch anything more than twice—once when you determine what it is and where it belongs, and a second time when you put it there. This is for cleaning every room and area, not just a bedroom, and it is a goal. Like all good goals, you won't be able to meet it all the time (if you do meet it every time, it's time to set a more difficult goal).
After enough stuff is off the floor (piled on the bed or at the spot where it is to be put away later), vacuum.
This is the bedroom kata. Process the laundry as needed until you're out of laundry. (I'm well aware that this could take all day. It could even take several days. If that's the case, pick a number, for example, four, and do four loads of laundry a day, every day, until you are out of laundry.) Put the clean laundry away.
Example: Bathroom
Like with the bedroom, picking the right starting place is key. I usually start with the counter, but if you can't physically get into the bathroom you might have to take a different tack. Regardless, you'll need a toilet cleanser, toilet brush, scrub-sided sponge, all-purpose bathroom cleaner, some form of mop or swiffer, and a vacant washing machine. Gloves optional.
Turn on the fan
Put on gloves (if you're a glove person... considering you're going to be sponging a toilet, you probably are a glove person)
Take everything off of the counter (includes soap, jewelry boxes, hairbrushes, and toothbrushes) and set them on the hall floor outside.
Pick up the bath mats and dirty towels and put them into the washing machine.
Spray the entire counter and sink down with a cleanser
Scrub the counter
scrub the sink
wipe down the counter
rinse the sink
wipe the faucet (lime, calcium, and hard water comes after you've leveled up)
replace the stuff on the counter where it belongs. Things that belong in a drawer should go in a drawer, things that go in the laundry should go in the laundry.
pour cleanser in the toilet bowl according to the manufacturer's directions
take everything out of the tub/shower.
Stuff bath toys (kid's bathroom) and scrubbies in a bin or net bag under the sink.
Put shampoo and soap on the counter.
Spray down the entire shower/tub with a cleanser
Scrub or wipe according to the directions on the cleanser bottle
rinse the tub/shower
wipe off the faucet
Put the soap, shampoo, and bath puff/backbrush (if any) back in the shower.
Do not put washcloths back in. Those get washed.
Scrub the inside of the toilet bowl with the toilet brush. Pay attention to the hole, the waterline, and underneath the rim.
Spray the outside of the toilet bowl with cleanser
Scrub the outside of the toilet, making sure to get both sides of the seat and lid, the flush handle, underneath the seat, between the seat/lid and the tank, and the base/pedestal of the toilet. If someone in your house is bad at aiming, all of these places will have pee on them.
Flush the toilet
sweep/vacuum the floor, paying attention to the weird corners and under the counter
mop the floor
shut the door (leave the fan on)
put the towels and mats into the dryer
when they're done, put the towels and mats back into the bathroom
turn off the fan
The amazing part is that after you've gotten good at this kata you can complete that ENTIRE LIST in twenty-five minutes. However, as my brother found out, until you've gotten good at this kata it's going to take you several hours. (There's a story behind that.)
Note that there is no mirror cleaning. We don't spray the mirror when we brush our teeth or floss. If someone in your house does then by all means clean the mirror, either before or after you clean the sink. Also note you should be frequently rinsing your sponge.
The important part in these lists is not the order, the important part is that it flows. This is not a to-do list, it is a kata of cleaning, and for it to be effective and useful one task should flow into the next. The logic is that the mats need to be washed and will take the longest, so they go in first. Then the sink and counter because that is how I have been trained. I got overwhelmed and dinked around for three hours as a result, so my mother arbitrarily picked somewhere for me to start. I liked the sink best to start with, but wound up ignoring the counter... so the sink and counter were combined into a single being for cleaning purposes. You can, if you like, do the tub/shower first, because the tub/shower is the deepest part of the bathroom, moving outwards to the toilet, and finally the floor, at which point you are outside of the bathroom when finished. A cycle, a circuit... and when the mats are dry, the floor is dry and the fumes are gone. HUTZPAH!
Moving on to the kitchen this same idea of chain-of-reaction and flow continues...
Example: Kitchen
note: you need to be frequently rinsing your sponge/rag out. FREQUENTLY. AS IN, VERY OFTEN.
Empty the dishwasher (if the cabinets are dirty, ignore that for now)
Load the dishwasher
start the dishwasher
clean the sink
pile any remaining dishes in the sink
take everything off of the counter and stove
spoon rests go in the dishwasher/sink
sort the counter-stuff into piles: trash, food, goes on counter, goes on counter because I don't know where else to put it, mail, keys, books, etc.
Deal with the piles. Just get them to the geographical location where they belong.
Things that genuinely live on the counter temporarily go on the table or the floor
spray down the entire counter with a cleaner
scrub the counter
wipe the counter
spray down the entire stovetop with a cleaner
scrub the stove
take off any pieces that come off (dials, etc) and put these in the dishwasher if dishwasher safe
scrub the stove again
wipe the stove
wipe the oven front, use cleanser if necessary
wipe the stove hood, use cleanser if necessary
take the rotating dish out of the microwave, put it in the sink with the other dishes
Empty the dishwasher (if it is done)
(if it is done) Load the dishwasher
(If it is not done) hand wash the dishes in the sink, set them on a clean towel on the counter to dry
Clean the inside of the microwave. Pay special attention to the corners.
Spray the outside of the microwave with cleanser.
Wipe the outside of the microwave. Pay special attention to the door front, keypad, and handle
put the microwave back together
Put the dishes away (empty the dishwasher, put away the handwashing)
put the kitchen towels in the laundry
place items that go on the counter back on the counter
Wipe the table
Sweep/vacuum the floor
mop the floor
consider whether anything on the counter could find a home elsewhere
Have a seat.
See?
Example: Kid's room
if needed: (Strip the bedding
wash the bedding)
or: (make the bed)
put the bed-toys on the bed
put all the clean laundry on the bed
put all the dirty laundry in the middle of the floor and sort into dark-color, light-color piles. Children can't sort by wash cycle, but they can sort by color.
stack all the books in the in the corner, neatly
put the books in the bookshelf
pile all the plush toys together, neatly. Line them up like they're alive if you have to.
Put the clean laundry in the drawers
put all the rest of the toys in a pile/toybox/shelf/where they go. Be extremely specific about where they go. Do not ever say “where they go.” Say “put them in the toybox in your closet.”
(put the bed-toys on the floor
make the bed
put the bed-toys back on the bed)
See? Prioritizing is part of it, but it's not prioritizing based on what needs doing, it is picking a single, extremely specific starting place and creating a flow from that place. You are moving in a circuit. If, at any time, you have to stop what you are doing and do something else, your flow is broken, your kata is incorrect. Don't cycle the washing machine/dryer loads when the machine beeps, do it as you walk past them, as part of the greater kata flow. Start the washing machine when you start cleaning the bathroom, for example, and don't change the loads until you finish the bathroom. Be aware of yourself and figure out how your natural traffic patterns can be used and, where they are counterproductive to what you want, how they can be changed.
If the sequential flow of tasks is not working for you, perhaps a flow of location would... to pick a fixed point in your kitchen, for example, and work your way clockwise until the kitchen is clean. The problem one encounters with this is that so many tasks are pervasive. Dishes are everywhere in a kitchen, so the pure-location method involves a lot of duplicated work. Ideally, the order in which a task flows takes this physical-location flow into account. Continuing with the kitchen example, after the dishes perhaps the refrigerator is right there next to the dishwasher, and the logical next choice to clean before moving on to the sink. The stovetop tends to be of a level with the counters, making it a good next step in the progression as you work your way around from the sink, but if the microwave is right there, perhaps you should choose to do the microwave before the stove.
What is important is to not break the flow and to repeat it the same way every time. If you break the flow you will have enough space inside your head to be overwhelmed, and you will stop. You will have a scattered focus, and you will be able to pay attention to how tired you are, and you will stop. It's not a to-do list, it's a kata, and you don't switch up the order in a kata just because you're feeling scattered or have gotten bored.
Your flow will change as your circumstances do. Vacuuming used to be a part of my pattern. It still is the starting point for my father's clean-the-downstairs kata pattern, but it's no longer a part of mine, thank Roomba. Instead my clean-the-upstairs kata now begins, on days I sleep in, with race-ahead-of-the-roomba-to-roomba-proof-everything, and on days I go to work roomba-proofing is part of my morning ritual; and pick-the-dog-hair-out-of-the-motor is typically how the kata ends.
When teaching children be aware that you can't stand over them every second, but you also can't tell them to do something and go away and expect it to get done. When initiating children into the cycle you build in check-ins... they make their bed, then go get you, then sort the laundry, then go get you... if you are good, if you've taken a level in Convenient Timing, then they don't have to stop to go get you—you can conveniently show up right as they're finishing a task and direct them (amidst much bitching from them, usually) to the next.
This, then, is level one: the perfection of flow. All other levels are fundamentally based upon this level and cannot be mastered until the flow is accomplished, removing the barriers of overwhelmed feelings and replacing them with the (monotonous and dull) calm of long, hard practice. Levels from here merely go further, deeper, and typically involve toothbrushes. (For the curious: Getting The Deposit Back style cleaning is level three.)
Cleaning is a learned skill. I've had several roommates who were very tidy people (I'm not one of them), but had no idea how to clean. I can (and do) clean. I am good at cleaning, and it's because I have taken several levels in cleaning and am at least a green-belt in Clean Kwan Do. Anyone who has tried and failed to master their own kitchens knows there's considerably more to it than “you just put things where they belong.” This is like training an army by telling them “the pointy end goes in the other person” and then turning them loose on the enemy to figure it out for themselves, including figuring out which end is the “pointy end.” Some of them will pick it up by observation. Most of them will die, and some of them will somehow manage to cut their own leg off with a spear. I'm of the opinion that the worst potential teacher in the cleaning arts is someone who is naturally good at it. There's no other explanation for such gems as “you just put things where they belong.”
The most common hurdle for the cleaning novice isn't not knowing where things go, it's not knowing where to start. Being overwhelmed is an enormous problem even if it's only a sinkful of dishes. I'm twenty-seven and I've finally graduated to “the new messy” (empty floor, laundry under tenuous control, ONE organized out-of-closet pile, two organized in-closet piles, flat surfaces still buried). The laundry part is just because I'm lazy, but all the rest of it (window seat, bathroom renovation, and all) is a chain of causal relations ultimately ending in being overwhelmed. (The art studio, for those of you following along at home.)
Several excellent books have been written about how to clean. I even own a few. I have read none of them, and learned to clean over a period of years, all of them fraught with suffering. Suffering, I believe, is key to learning to clean properly, but it must be the correct suffering. Being made to go back and do it again with specific instructions on what you missed the last time, over and over, until you get it right, is the correct form of suffering. “It's not clean, go do it over” with no further use of feedback is the incorrect form of suffering. After all, if you knew what was wrong with it you'd have gotten it the first time!
I completely believe that most human beings literally have to learn how to see clutter in order to pick it up. My mother can tell my father to “clean off the patio,” and he leaves hoses, piles of lumber, and empty containers everywhere... but he straightens the yard chairs. He's not being an ass—he honestly believes it's clean now, and needs to be told “go back and coil the hoses and put them away next to the spigot” and “pick up the lumber and put it in the shed” in order to bring these things to his attention in order to deal with them. My father is NOT UNUSUAL in this strategic blindness, and anyone with children or teenagers in their lives is well familiar with it. The thing is, this kind of selective blindness does not go away as you age... resulting in an entire host of adults with the desire to clean, but not the knowledge of how.
If the list of missed details takes longer than fifteen seconds (five for children younger than ten) to state, slowly and clearly, it's not going to stick in the disciple's brain. This would be what we call a “two trip” list.... they go and clean, and then you send them back again for the second (or third, or fourth) part of the list. (Suffering!) And actually, if the list of missed details in a single room is a four-trip list then it's time for the Master to stand over the Student and point things out one at a time as the Student completes them.
Now, if you are prepared to suffer, I am prepared to impart on you the first task towards attaining Level One in Cleaning: flow.
Pick a place to start.
Like a a game of Jenga, this is somewhat arbitrary. Like a good game of Jenga, it isn't mostly arbitrary—it's based on strategy.
For a bedroom, one of the best places to start is making your bed, for two reasons. 1. it makes the room look cleaner in ten minutes than an hour of picking up, and 2. it gives you a clear flat space to sort that you are then bound to finish dealing with by simple expedient of needing to sleep there later.
Another good bedroom starting strategy is laundry: putting away the clean laundry and sorting the dirty laundry by load. Whatever your starting point, the key is to make it the same one every single time. One task is always followed by another, and the order and progression of these tasks does not change much. This is not just cleaning, these are katas, and like a martial art the end goal is to train a psychic muscle memory into your brain. Repeat these katas enough, long enough, and you will be able to start the chain of cleaning without thinking about it. Being able to clean up without thinking means you 1. aren't overwhelmed, 2. suffer a lot less, and as a consequence 3. clean more thoroughly, faster. And you get to fantasize about George Clooney driving a Smart Car in the Alps (there's a story about that).
Example: Bedroom
Make the bed
Sort the clean laundry onto the bed by owner, drawer and closet, getting rid of anything you don't like or doesn't fit.
Put the clean laundry away
Pile up the dirty laundry into sorted piles: dark wash, colors wash, whites wash, hand wash, dry-clean. Don't sort by temperature (that comes when you have leveled up), just wash everything on cold.
Go into the bathroom and grab the dirty towels and mats.
Pile them into the laundry
load and start the washer
empty the dryer, fold it at the dryer and sort the laundry onto your bed by owner, drawer, and closet, getting rid of anything you don't like or doesn't fit.
Now comes the conditionals... things dependent on a situation that is not always going to be the same. You may have shoes, or Christmas wrapping supplies, or luggage, or dog toys (or the entire dog) on the floor. Sort this, decide where it goes, and then when you are headed in that direction, put it there. If that place is full don't worry about it yet, just get it to the geographical location in which it belongs.
The idea is never to touch anything more than twice—once when you determine what it is and where it belongs, and a second time when you put it there. This is for cleaning every room and area, not just a bedroom, and it is a goal. Like all good goals, you won't be able to meet it all the time (if you do meet it every time, it's time to set a more difficult goal).
After enough stuff is off the floor (piled on the bed or at the spot where it is to be put away later), vacuum.
This is the bedroom kata. Process the laundry as needed until you're out of laundry. (I'm well aware that this could take all day. It could even take several days. If that's the case, pick a number, for example, four, and do four loads of laundry a day, every day, until you are out of laundry.) Put the clean laundry away.
Example: Bathroom
Like with the bedroom, picking the right starting place is key. I usually start with the counter, but if you can't physically get into the bathroom you might have to take a different tack. Regardless, you'll need a toilet cleanser, toilet brush, scrub-sided sponge, all-purpose bathroom cleaner, some form of mop or swiffer, and a vacant washing machine. Gloves optional.
Turn on the fan
Put on gloves (if you're a glove person... considering you're going to be sponging a toilet, you probably are a glove person)
Take everything off of the counter (includes soap, jewelry boxes, hairbrushes, and toothbrushes) and set them on the hall floor outside.
Pick up the bath mats and dirty towels and put them into the washing machine.
Spray the entire counter and sink down with a cleanser
Scrub the counter
scrub the sink
wipe down the counter
rinse the sink
wipe the faucet (lime, calcium, and hard water comes after you've leveled up)
replace the stuff on the counter where it belongs. Things that belong in a drawer should go in a drawer, things that go in the laundry should go in the laundry.
pour cleanser in the toilet bowl according to the manufacturer's directions
take everything out of the tub/shower.
Stuff bath toys (kid's bathroom) and scrubbies in a bin or net bag under the sink.
Put shampoo and soap on the counter.
Spray down the entire shower/tub with a cleanser
Scrub or wipe according to the directions on the cleanser bottle
rinse the tub/shower
wipe off the faucet
Put the soap, shampoo, and bath puff/backbrush (if any) back in the shower.
Do not put washcloths back in. Those get washed.
Scrub the inside of the toilet bowl with the toilet brush. Pay attention to the hole, the waterline, and underneath the rim.
Spray the outside of the toilet bowl with cleanser
Scrub the outside of the toilet, making sure to get both sides of the seat and lid, the flush handle, underneath the seat, between the seat/lid and the tank, and the base/pedestal of the toilet. If someone in your house is bad at aiming, all of these places will have pee on them.
Flush the toilet
sweep/vacuum the floor, paying attention to the weird corners and under the counter
mop the floor
shut the door (leave the fan on)
put the towels and mats into the dryer
when they're done, put the towels and mats back into the bathroom
turn off the fan
The amazing part is that after you've gotten good at this kata you can complete that ENTIRE LIST in twenty-five minutes. However, as my brother found out, until you've gotten good at this kata it's going to take you several hours. (There's a story behind that.)
Note that there is no mirror cleaning. We don't spray the mirror when we brush our teeth or floss. If someone in your house does then by all means clean the mirror, either before or after you clean the sink. Also note you should be frequently rinsing your sponge.
The important part in these lists is not the order, the important part is that it flows. This is not a to-do list, it is a kata of cleaning, and for it to be effective and useful one task should flow into the next. The logic is that the mats need to be washed and will take the longest, so they go in first. Then the sink and counter because that is how I have been trained. I got overwhelmed and dinked around for three hours as a result, so my mother arbitrarily picked somewhere for me to start. I liked the sink best to start with, but wound up ignoring the counter... so the sink and counter were combined into a single being for cleaning purposes. You can, if you like, do the tub/shower first, because the tub/shower is the deepest part of the bathroom, moving outwards to the toilet, and finally the floor, at which point you are outside of the bathroom when finished. A cycle, a circuit... and when the mats are dry, the floor is dry and the fumes are gone. HUTZPAH!
Moving on to the kitchen this same idea of chain-of-reaction and flow continues...
Example: Kitchen
note: you need to be frequently rinsing your sponge/rag out. FREQUENTLY. AS IN, VERY OFTEN.
Empty the dishwasher (if the cabinets are dirty, ignore that for now)
Load the dishwasher
start the dishwasher
clean the sink
pile any remaining dishes in the sink
take everything off of the counter and stove
spoon rests go in the dishwasher/sink
sort the counter-stuff into piles: trash, food, goes on counter, goes on counter because I don't know where else to put it, mail, keys, books, etc.
Deal with the piles. Just get them to the geographical location where they belong.
Things that genuinely live on the counter temporarily go on the table or the floor
spray down the entire counter with a cleaner
scrub the counter
wipe the counter
spray down the entire stovetop with a cleaner
scrub the stove
take off any pieces that come off (dials, etc) and put these in the dishwasher if dishwasher safe
scrub the stove again
wipe the stove
wipe the oven front, use cleanser if necessary
wipe the stove hood, use cleanser if necessary
take the rotating dish out of the microwave, put it in the sink with the other dishes
Empty the dishwasher (if it is done)
(if it is done) Load the dishwasher
(If it is not done) hand wash the dishes in the sink, set them on a clean towel on the counter to dry
Clean the inside of the microwave. Pay special attention to the corners.
Spray the outside of the microwave with cleanser.
Wipe the outside of the microwave. Pay special attention to the door front, keypad, and handle
put the microwave back together
Put the dishes away (empty the dishwasher, put away the handwashing)
put the kitchen towels in the laundry
place items that go on the counter back on the counter
Wipe the table
Sweep/vacuum the floor
mop the floor
consider whether anything on the counter could find a home elsewhere
Have a seat.
See?
Example: Kid's room
if needed: (Strip the bedding
wash the bedding)
or: (make the bed)
put the bed-toys on the bed
put all the clean laundry on the bed
put all the dirty laundry in the middle of the floor and sort into dark-color, light-color piles. Children can't sort by wash cycle, but they can sort by color.
stack all the books in the in the corner, neatly
put the books in the bookshelf
pile all the plush toys together, neatly. Line them up like they're alive if you have to.
Put the clean laundry in the drawers
put all the rest of the toys in a pile/toybox/shelf/where they go. Be extremely specific about where they go. Do not ever say “where they go.” Say “put them in the toybox in your closet.”
(put the bed-toys on the floor
make the bed
put the bed-toys back on the bed)
See? Prioritizing is part of it, but it's not prioritizing based on what needs doing, it is picking a single, extremely specific starting place and creating a flow from that place. You are moving in a circuit. If, at any time, you have to stop what you are doing and do something else, your flow is broken, your kata is incorrect. Don't cycle the washing machine/dryer loads when the machine beeps, do it as you walk past them, as part of the greater kata flow. Start the washing machine when you start cleaning the bathroom, for example, and don't change the loads until you finish the bathroom. Be aware of yourself and figure out how your natural traffic patterns can be used and, where they are counterproductive to what you want, how they can be changed.
If the sequential flow of tasks is not working for you, perhaps a flow of location would... to pick a fixed point in your kitchen, for example, and work your way clockwise until the kitchen is clean. The problem one encounters with this is that so many tasks are pervasive. Dishes are everywhere in a kitchen, so the pure-location method involves a lot of duplicated work. Ideally, the order in which a task flows takes this physical-location flow into account. Continuing with the kitchen example, after the dishes perhaps the refrigerator is right there next to the dishwasher, and the logical next choice to clean before moving on to the sink. The stovetop tends to be of a level with the counters, making it a good next step in the progression as you work your way around from the sink, but if the microwave is right there, perhaps you should choose to do the microwave before the stove.
What is important is to not break the flow and to repeat it the same way every time. If you break the flow you will have enough space inside your head to be overwhelmed, and you will stop. You will have a scattered focus, and you will be able to pay attention to how tired you are, and you will stop. It's not a to-do list, it's a kata, and you don't switch up the order in a kata just because you're feeling scattered or have gotten bored.
Your flow will change as your circumstances do. Vacuuming used to be a part of my pattern. It still is the starting point for my father's clean-the-downstairs kata pattern, but it's no longer a part of mine, thank Roomba. Instead my clean-the-upstairs kata now begins, on days I sleep in, with race-ahead-of-the-roomba-to-roomba-proof-everything, and on days I go to work roomba-proofing is part of my morning ritual; and pick-the-dog-hair-out-of-the-motor is typically how the kata ends.
When teaching children be aware that you can't stand over them every second, but you also can't tell them to do something and go away and expect it to get done. When initiating children into the cycle you build in check-ins... they make their bed, then go get you, then sort the laundry, then go get you... if you are good, if you've taken a level in Convenient Timing, then they don't have to stop to go get you—you can conveniently show up right as they're finishing a task and direct them (amidst much bitching from them, usually) to the next.
This, then, is level one: the perfection of flow. All other levels are fundamentally based upon this level and cannot be mastered until the flow is accomplished, removing the barriers of overwhelmed feelings and replacing them with the (monotonous and dull) calm of long, hard practice. Levels from here merely go further, deeper, and typically involve toothbrushes. (For the curious: Getting The Deposit Back style cleaning is level three.)
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
recipe: Fran's Chicken
I like to cook, I like to eat, I like to share, I like to travel, and I like to feed people. When I go visiting I tend to cook my hosts dinner as a guest-gift (a gift given to thank one's host for her generosity, time, and trouble). “Tend to” as I do have a few friends who view such a practice as slightly less insulting than certain Italian hand gestures, because guests should not lift a finger, or their kitchens are sacred, or, more usually, a combination of both. (Gifts of chocolate, peanut brittle, books, and wine are then more appropriate.) When in doubt, bring the recipe and offer to do the shopping.
I tend to make this as a guest-gift more than any other single dish. We've eaten it on Christmas day and we've eaten it on Tuesday. I've grown up with this, though we don't make it as often any more. I'm not sure why.
This is a recipe from before I was born. Through a series of recipe exchanges my grandmother got it from someone at bridge, who got it from someone at church, who got it from someone else, who got it from Fran. I used to think it was my other (paternal) grandmother's recipe because her name is Fran, and with the kind of trusting assumptions that children are made of I never made the connection that my maternal grandmother made it all the time, and that my maternal and paternal grandmothers do not... precisely... associate. At all.
There are two versions of Fran's Chicken here, the first taken verbatim off the recipe card, and the second how I usually make it these days, complete with my “usual flair.” I hope you enjoy it, and that you make it in the spirit of hospitality.
Fran's Chicken
card version (verbatim, so don't come whining to me about “some” or “what size package?”)
(note: the recipe card says “Mexican chicken.” This recipe is very 1960s Southern-California housewife and as such is about as Mexican as Taco Bell.)
1 pkg corn tortillas (sliced into strips)
1 can whole green chiles (strips)
1 lb cheddar cheese grated
1 whole chicken, cooked, torn into pieces
1 can cream of chicken soup
6oz can salsa
1 chopped med onion
Mix soup, salsa, onion, & milk if too thick.
Pour a little sauce into a 9x13 pan, layer w/ tortillas, chicken, chiles, salsa, cheese. Repeat. Cook 30 to 40 minutes at 350ºF.
Stephanie's version
(evolved from the card above, then reverse-engineered from pouring freehand into a reasonably-followable recipe)
I tend to make this as a guest-gift more than any other single dish. We've eaten it on Christmas day and we've eaten it on Tuesday. I've grown up with this, though we don't make it as often any more. I'm not sure why.
This is a recipe from before I was born. Through a series of recipe exchanges my grandmother got it from someone at bridge, who got it from someone at church, who got it from someone else, who got it from Fran. I used to think it was my other (paternal) grandmother's recipe because her name is Fran, and with the kind of trusting assumptions that children are made of I never made the connection that my maternal grandmother made it all the time, and that my maternal and paternal grandmothers do not... precisely... associate. At all.
There are two versions of Fran's Chicken here, the first taken verbatim off the recipe card, and the second how I usually make it these days, complete with my “usual flair.” I hope you enjoy it, and that you make it in the spirit of hospitality.
Fran's Chicken
card version (verbatim, so don't come whining to me about “some” or “what size package?”)
(note: the recipe card says “Mexican chicken.” This recipe is very 1960s Southern-California housewife and as such is about as Mexican as Taco Bell.)
1 pkg corn tortillas (sliced into strips)
1 can whole green chiles (strips)
1 lb cheddar cheese grated
1 whole chicken, cooked, torn into pieces
1 can cream of chicken soup
6oz can salsa
1 chopped med onion
Mix soup, salsa, onion, & milk if too thick.
Pour a little sauce into a 9x13 pan, layer w/ tortillas, chicken, chiles, salsa, cheese. Repeat. Cook 30 to 40 minutes at 350ºF.
Stephanie's version
(evolved from the card above, then reverse-engineered from pouring freehand into a reasonably-followable recipe)
- 10-15 taco size corn tortillas which, if you're at my house, are likely to be frozen hard enough to be used as garden pavers
- 2 2.5oz cans diced roasted green chiles, or ½ cup fresh roasted mild chiles, skinned and diced, or whatever combination of same gives you chiles. Or use 1 can of chiles. Or omit the chiles completely if you're one of those people.
- Sufficient shredded cheese for your personal tastes, yes, I know this is leaving it really open. I tend to use ½ to ¾ of a pound, if it's block cheese and I'm grating it, or purchase a package of pre-shredded cheese and use the mysterious “enough.”
- Your favorite salsa, enough to get 1 to 1 ½ cups out of plus more for topping at the table
- 1 med to med-large onion, chopped
- Either one whole chicken cooked, dismembered, and torn into little pieces (tastes best); or 2 to 4 cooked chicken breasts, chopped or torn; or whatever assemblage of chicken parts or mild-flavored, preferably-bird-based meat comes out to the right amount. If you use tofu you are not allowed to call it “Fran's Chicken,” or even “Fran's Tofu.” Being a 1950s housewife I rather expect Fran would be deeply suspicious of tofu.
- 1 ½ cups cream of chicken soup, or one can if you are using canned, or chicken broth if you've neglected to plan.
- ¼ teaspoon ground cumin
- ½ teaspoon ground turmeric
- ¾ teaspoon salt (only if you are NOT using canned soup)
- ¼ teaspoon black pepper
- ½ teaspoon paprika
- Sour cream for topping at the table
- Sliced olives for topping at the table
- chopped green onion for garnish, if so desired
- 1 cup chopped tomatoes if so desired
- Finish dismembering the chicken, if necessary, while the tortillas are thawing in the microwave. Slice the tortillas into strips. Finish any other necessary slicing, as a matter of fact. We'll wait.
- Make the cream of chicken soup, if that's what you've got to do.
- Mix the onion, cream of chicken soup, 1 or 1 ½ cup (depending on your tastes) salsa, and spices together. Taste and adjust seasonings if you feel competent to do so.
- Decide on how many layers you're going for. You can manage two layers if you're generous, three if you're scanty with the toppings, and four if you're my grandmother. Three makes a “sturdier” casserole than two. Portion the various ingredients for layering (chicken, chiles, cheese, sauce, and tomatoes if you're using them) out into “layer groupings” now if you think it'll help. You'll need one portion of sauce per layer, plus one. Me, I always fail to plan. It comes out even in the oven anyway. Oven!
- (optional) Remember that you need to preheat the oven. Turn it to 350ºF
- Pour some (SEE, YOU CAN'T GET AWAY FROM “SOME”... oh, all right, all right FINE. 1/2 cup.) of the sauce in the bottom of your pan. Typical pan is 9x13 (inches, though I'd really like to see 9x13 meters if you can manage), your mileage may vary. When in doubt, go larger, or split it between two smaller pans.
- Layer tortilla strips over the sauce in as CDO (or lack thereof) a fashion as you see fit. Any particularly spectacular examples of tortilla mosaic are totally “pics or it didn't happen.”
- Layer up your remaining ingredients as follows, until you run out: chicken, chiles (and/or maybe tomatoes), sauce, cheese, tortillas.
- Pour in the last of your sauce, if you've any left, and top the entire affair with cheese.
- Place it in the oven. If you've neglected the optional step 5, remembering to preheat the oven, turn your ovens to 350ºF now, and set the timer for 40 minutes, 30-35 minutes if you've preheated, and whatever time you deem best if you've been with your oven for years now and know each others' peculiarities. Don't be alarmed if it boils over, because if you were quite generous with your layering, it probably will. If you are me, you will always forget this until after you open the oven.
- Remove the casserole from the oven and allow to cool slightly before serving. Serve with olives, and sour cream, if desired, and green onions or tomatoes if you're using them and didn't want to bake them in. If you're fancy, accompany with salad and/or a vegetable. Eat with friends.
Thursday, September 16, 2010
Recipe: Basic Chicken for the Hopelessly Inexperienced
Quick and dirty basic chicken, free of abject horror.
If you like your meat dry, like I do, follow the recipe as set. If you like your meat moist, put a lid on the pan to conserve the steam and poke it frequently to avoid overcooking (this will also help keep you from getting bored). Strips, like chicken fingers/chicken nuggets strips, will cook through very quickly. I wasn't lying to my roommate when I told her that it'd cook faster in a pan on the stove. If you use two forks (or a fork and knife) and pull the meat apart, and it is white (or light brown, for dark meat) instead of pink, it's done.
A splash of olive oil
OR (for those who can't cope with “splash”)
1 tablespoon plus 1 teaspoon olive oil
boneless raw chicken, as much as you're planning on eating, and the type you prefer (or happen to have. For bone-in chicken, either slice it off the bones or consider cooking in the oven.)
a frying pan or suitable substitute
forks (or fork and knife, or, if you are fancy, a spatula)
a loaded salt shaker
This is a fine recipe to pre-cook chicken for anything, including quesadillas, sandwiches, chicken salad, or Fran's Chicken. You can also just eat it. Or do both, and just eat some of it and save the rest leftover for sandwiches or chicken salad or quesadillas. Perhaps with a side of french fries or rice, if you're feeling fancy, and some microwaved canned or frozen vegetables. Look! Dinner! And you didn't make the ghosts of chicken cry to do it.
1.Take the chicken out of the package and wash it. If you prefer strips or pieces otherwise smaller than what it currently exists as, cut it up. After dealing with your chicken WASH THE CUTTING BOARD before you use it for anything else. Chicken has cooties.
2.Put the oil into the pan, and put the pan on the stove. Turn the appropriate burner (y'know, the one your pan is on) to medium-high heat. If the stove dial were to be a clock and OFF is 12, this is about four, four-thirty.
3.Wait a minute or two for the pan and oil to heat up. Don't you dare go to the internet, you'll set the cabinets on fire, or at the very least, set off the smoke alarm. Forgetting about oil is VERY BAD.
4.In fact, if you're planning on eating anything besides chicken tonight, now is a great time to prepare that while you wait for the oil to heat. Open cans, open bags, pour into microwave-safe containers, set for the appropriate time. I'd tell you how to microwave frozen veggies without burning them, but, see, the manufacturer already did. It's on the package. No, really! It even works! I promise.
5.Test to see if your oil is hot. I do this by washing my hands, shaking the excess water off of them, then flicking my fingernails at the pan from about two or three feet away. If it sizzles, you're good. It's important to shake the excess water off FIRST. The why is below, after the rest of the recipe.
6.Put the chicken in the pan, carefully, so you don't burn yourself with splashing oil. Shake some salt on it, turn it over, shake some salt on the other side, and turn the heat down to medium low. If you're on the clock-face analogy, this is somewhere between eight-forty-five and nine-fifteen. It depends on your stove.
7.Cover, if you want moist chicken. Otherwise just turn the chicken over from time to time, whenever you happen to get bored. After about five to ten minutes (or when your microwaved veggies are done), check it to see if it's cooked enough. If it looks like you'd eat it, it's done.
8.Transfer the chicken to your plate (or plates) and turn off the stove. Dish up some veggies if that's how you roll, plop your bad self down on the couch, and eat your dinner. Or proceed to cook something more complicated, if this chicken is but one component in something greater. Enjoy.
Now, the reason why we do not shake large drops of water into hot oil was demonstrated, on a larger, more impressive scale, on Mythbusters. Here are a few of the underlying principles that add up to the point:
...which would be the point.
If you like your meat dry, like I do, follow the recipe as set. If you like your meat moist, put a lid on the pan to conserve the steam and poke it frequently to avoid overcooking (this will also help keep you from getting bored). Strips, like chicken fingers/chicken nuggets strips, will cook through very quickly. I wasn't lying to my roommate when I told her that it'd cook faster in a pan on the stove. If you use two forks (or a fork and knife) and pull the meat apart, and it is white (or light brown, for dark meat) instead of pink, it's done.
A splash of olive oil
OR (for those who can't cope with “splash”)
1 tablespoon plus 1 teaspoon olive oil
boneless raw chicken, as much as you're planning on eating, and the type you prefer (or happen to have. For bone-in chicken, either slice it off the bones or consider cooking in the oven.)
a frying pan or suitable substitute
forks (or fork and knife, or, if you are fancy, a spatula)
a loaded salt shaker
This is a fine recipe to pre-cook chicken for anything, including quesadillas, sandwiches, chicken salad, or Fran's Chicken. You can also just eat it. Or do both, and just eat some of it and save the rest leftover for sandwiches or chicken salad or quesadillas. Perhaps with a side of french fries or rice, if you're feeling fancy, and some microwaved canned or frozen vegetables. Look! Dinner! And you didn't make the ghosts of chicken cry to do it.
1.Take the chicken out of the package and wash it. If you prefer strips or pieces otherwise smaller than what it currently exists as, cut it up. After dealing with your chicken WASH THE CUTTING BOARD before you use it for anything else. Chicken has cooties.
2.Put the oil into the pan, and put the pan on the stove. Turn the appropriate burner (y'know, the one your pan is on) to medium-high heat. If the stove dial were to be a clock and OFF is 12, this is about four, four-thirty.
3.Wait a minute or two for the pan and oil to heat up. Don't you dare go to the internet, you'll set the cabinets on fire, or at the very least, set off the smoke alarm. Forgetting about oil is VERY BAD.
4.In fact, if you're planning on eating anything besides chicken tonight, now is a great time to prepare that while you wait for the oil to heat. Open cans, open bags, pour into microwave-safe containers, set for the appropriate time. I'd tell you how to microwave frozen veggies without burning them, but, see, the manufacturer already did. It's on the package. No, really! It even works! I promise.
5.Test to see if your oil is hot. I do this by washing my hands, shaking the excess water off of them, then flicking my fingernails at the pan from about two or three feet away. If it sizzles, you're good. It's important to shake the excess water off FIRST. The why is below, after the rest of the recipe.
6.Put the chicken in the pan, carefully, so you don't burn yourself with splashing oil. Shake some salt on it, turn it over, shake some salt on the other side, and turn the heat down to medium low. If you're on the clock-face analogy, this is somewhere between eight-forty-five and nine-fifteen. It depends on your stove.
7.Cover, if you want moist chicken. Otherwise just turn the chicken over from time to time, whenever you happen to get bored. After about five to ten minutes (or when your microwaved veggies are done), check it to see if it's cooked enough. If it looks like you'd eat it, it's done.
8.Transfer the chicken to your plate (or plates) and turn off the stove. Dish up some veggies if that's how you roll, plop your bad self down on the couch, and eat your dinner. Or proceed to cook something more complicated, if this chicken is but one component in something greater. Enjoy.
Now, the reason why we do not shake large drops of water into hot oil was demonstrated, on a larger, more impressive scale, on Mythbusters. Here are a few of the underlying principles that add up to the point:
- Oil does not turn into vapor when hot, and water does. (Google something called the “smoke point” if you'd like to know what oil will eventually do instead of turning into vapor. Hint: this is also why I told you not to go online and forget about it. (Short answer: it turns into FIRE.))
- Water sinks, oil floats.
- A tablespoon-plus of oil will completely cover a couple of fat drops of water,
- Which, being small and finding themselves in hot oil, will almost immediately convert from liquid to vapor
- Which, yanno, expands
- Violently.
- And, instead of a welcoming little sizzle, sprays you with hot oil
...which would be the point.
Please. Think of the chicken.
I've had a few roommates, most of them in domestic situations. Several of my roommates couldn't cook very well, or didn't know how to clean very well (one was extremely tidy, but hadn't any idea of how to actually clean--I am not very tidy, but I can clean like nobody's business. Like Captain Planet, we got on well).
One roommate, however, gets talked about a lot. She tried very hard towards not much result, and couldn't figure out why this was happening. This particular roommate knew how to bake (and did it often, for fundraising bake sales) but could not cook. At first she lived off of boxed frozen food until it clicked in her brain that, even at the dollar store, this was much more expensive. Then she moved on to raw ingredients, and I proceeded to be abjectly horrified.
She microwaved chicken.
Not “defrosted in the microwave.” Microwaved “until it was no longer raw” and, coincidentally, “until it bounced.”
Raw. Chicken. In the microwave.
Microwaved chicken.
The horror has yet to fade, actually. Perhaps you can tell.
I discovered this atrocity at dinner time. I cook in batches now—I cooked in srs batches then, and lived off the leftovers in busier times. This was one of those times, and my roommate, sweet, considerate thing that she was, took her dinner-in-progress out of the microwave so that I could reheat mine, because mine was faster.
“Oh no,” I said, “It's okay. I can wait.”
“Nah,” she said, grimacing. “This is taking forever. You go.”
And I looked at the plate. The plate of half-cooked chicken. I blinked, poker faced because I am my mother's daughter, and I said, suggestively, calmly, and above all, hopefully “You could cook that in a pan on the stove. A little bit of oil and a little salt. It'd cook much faster.” And taste much better, I did not say.
My roommate shook her head. “Meh,” she said, face and voice dismissive of her ability to handle a pan on the stove. This is the same young woman who had made rice-krispies treats with M&Ms in them the week before. I took my dinner, she returned her chicken to the microwave, and I retreated to my bedroom and my happy place. I heard her, later, complaining (to her cat, she talked to her cat a lot) that “yuck. How can anybody eat this? It's so... bland and rubbery.”
Yes, sweetheart, yes it is. Because meat was never meant for the microwave.
I tried over the next couple of weeks, gently, to suggest that a pan on the stove, or a cookie sheet in the oven, would be both faster, easier, and taste better. I mentioned oven bags, because while my mother and I like our poultry like we like our wine, dry enough to alarm ecologists, I know that most people do not.
Alas, alas, all was in vain.
“Seasoning,” this is what her mind retained. The next thing I saw was pathetic strips of raw chicken, so covered in Italian seasoning mix they looked like pallid slugs completely coated in leaves and grass clippings upon the plate, looking sadly at me, hoping for mercy but expecting none.
In the microwave.
I gave up. I ceased suggesting, held my peace, ignored her mutterings, and pretended we didn't have a kitchen whenever I heard her run the microwave. (Later, I will tell you why that was not the best idea.) Sometimes the best way to survive atrocity is with a little selective denial.
To this day, however, I have a crusade. It is a small movement, centered mainly in my own kitchen and those of my friends. It is called “No Meat In The Microwave.” I remember the looks of the chicken I could not save, so pitiful and so resigned. I remember it's ultimate fate. I remember the smell. I don't care how late dinner is, I don't care how hungry you are. This is why God invented the broiler. No meat in the microwave.
One roommate, however, gets talked about a lot. She tried very hard towards not much result, and couldn't figure out why this was happening. This particular roommate knew how to bake (and did it often, for fundraising bake sales) but could not cook. At first she lived off of boxed frozen food until it clicked in her brain that, even at the dollar store, this was much more expensive. Then she moved on to raw ingredients, and I proceeded to be abjectly horrified.
She microwaved chicken.
Not “defrosted in the microwave.” Microwaved “until it was no longer raw” and, coincidentally, “until it bounced.”
Raw. Chicken. In the microwave.
Microwaved chicken.
The horror has yet to fade, actually. Perhaps you can tell.
I discovered this atrocity at dinner time. I cook in batches now—I cooked in srs batches then, and lived off the leftovers in busier times. This was one of those times, and my roommate, sweet, considerate thing that she was, took her dinner-in-progress out of the microwave so that I could reheat mine, because mine was faster.
“Oh no,” I said, “It's okay. I can wait.”
“Nah,” she said, grimacing. “This is taking forever. You go.”
And I looked at the plate. The plate of half-cooked chicken. I blinked, poker faced because I am my mother's daughter, and I said, suggestively, calmly, and above all, hopefully “You could cook that in a pan on the stove. A little bit of oil and a little salt. It'd cook much faster.” And taste much better, I did not say.
My roommate shook her head. “Meh,” she said, face and voice dismissive of her ability to handle a pan on the stove. This is the same young woman who had made rice-krispies treats with M&Ms in them the week before. I took my dinner, she returned her chicken to the microwave, and I retreated to my bedroom and my happy place. I heard her, later, complaining (to her cat, she talked to her cat a lot) that “yuck. How can anybody eat this? It's so... bland and rubbery.”
Yes, sweetheart, yes it is. Because meat was never meant for the microwave.
I tried over the next couple of weeks, gently, to suggest that a pan on the stove, or a cookie sheet in the oven, would be both faster, easier, and taste better. I mentioned oven bags, because while my mother and I like our poultry like we like our wine, dry enough to alarm ecologists, I know that most people do not.
Alas, alas, all was in vain.
“Seasoning,” this is what her mind retained. The next thing I saw was pathetic strips of raw chicken, so covered in Italian seasoning mix they looked like pallid slugs completely coated in leaves and grass clippings upon the plate, looking sadly at me, hoping for mercy but expecting none.
In the microwave.
I gave up. I ceased suggesting, held my peace, ignored her mutterings, and pretended we didn't have a kitchen whenever I heard her run the microwave. (Later, I will tell you why that was not the best idea.) Sometimes the best way to survive atrocity is with a little selective denial.
To this day, however, I have a crusade. It is a small movement, centered mainly in my own kitchen and those of my friends. It is called “No Meat In The Microwave.” I remember the looks of the chicken I could not save, so pitiful and so resigned. I remember it's ultimate fate. I remember the smell. I don't care how late dinner is, I don't care how hungry you are. This is why God invented the broiler. No meat in the microwave.
Wednesday, September 15, 2010
An Integrated Person
I've decided to do my best to present myself here as an integrated person. Normally that isn't terribly difficult--I have noticed that most of us tend to show ourselves in our completeness more frequently online than we do in facetime, but I, in my impetuousness, have pimped this blog out to people I know in facetime and not at all online... in short, my family. Which if it isn't awkward already is going to get awkward eventually. (Given my extensive training in avoiding anxiety by getting things over with, it's probably going to happen very soon.) This also isn't a terribly big deal, but given as I live with my parents it's more than a little psychologically jarring to talk about fandom and porn and the brain as a sexual organ because these are my parents, nevermind that I'm twenty-seven. You there, you in your thirties—do you have sexual conversations with your parents?
It's especially ironic given how I occasionally have “remember who you are talking to” moments with my youngest uncle, when one or both of us forget that I am his niece and he is my uncle and we really need to stop sharing, now.
It is also ironic because my mother has walked in on me masturbating. I just thought I'd throw that out there and get everybody nice and uncomfortable, and maybe one day I can say that in public (or type it online) without mentally burying my head in the sand.
So.
Hello, my name is Stephanie. I enjoy long walks on the beach, a good story, other people's awkward conversation, aquariums, and learning from the mistakes of others. I suspend my disbelief (and my perception of canon and established characterization) from a construction crane in the face of good writing and I love me some trashy romance novels, in every possible permutation of gender pairing including a few that are not biologically common. Translation: PORN: I LIKE IT. Typically without pictures, and even with pictures I like what can be arguably defined as “erotica” and colloquially known as “smut.” I read a lot of fanfiction, as I generally do not like to pay for my porn or expend a great deal of effort on finding it.
Let me tell you, fanfiction is nothing but brains wanking onto a page (or computer screen, as it were) and brains wanking is gratification, and gratification is, in essence, porn. By the time you've written Abraham Lincoln into a tutu (or anything else fandom gets up to) you've gone so far into the realm of shameless gratification it no longer matters if there's sex in it or not. And let's not forget that “legitimate” trashy romance novels get pretty damn ridiculous. There is an actual romance right now actually on Amazon, where the heroes turn into dinosaurs, as well as an actual paranormal romance actually stolen from my actual mother's closet involving psychic levitation as a rationale for what would have been, had she been conventionally tied up and hoisted, hardcore (and much less silly) bondage. I remember reading it and being supremely puzzled that this was acceptable material and paddles and safewords were not. (Needless to say, the enthusiastically-powerless heroine in her pyschic, I kid you not, rotisserie-finger-fucking did not have a safeword, and in a different (equally twinky) scene was gagged.) These conventional (calling some of them “original” appears to be stretching it a bit) romances are porn too, which then begs the question of whether or not paying for such things shoves it over into mental prostitution. Would your editor be your pimp, on the basis that the editor is given the thankless task of whipping your writing into shape and you into something vaguely approaching your deadline; or would the marketing department of the publishing company be the pimp, on the basis that they do the “pimping out,” so to speak?
And so I will, when the mood strikes me, discuss my reading, my sexuality, my art, my work (somewhat), my gardening, my aquarium, my pets, my family, my friends, my travels, and my schooling as well as my cooking. Discussing my love life will be a bit more difficult, but discussing my not having one will be really, really easy. ^--^
And if any of my coworkers or superiors should happen to read this, so be it. That said, I'd still prefer not to discuss it around the water cooler. Family, the same goes for you and dinner tables; bringing it up while trapped in a moving car is even worse. At least at the dinner table I can get my grandmother going as a distraction and am armed with flatware.
It's especially ironic given how I occasionally have “remember who you are talking to” moments with my youngest uncle, when one or both of us forget that I am his niece and he is my uncle and we really need to stop sharing, now.
It is also ironic because my mother has walked in on me masturbating. I just thought I'd throw that out there and get everybody nice and uncomfortable, and maybe one day I can say that in public (or type it online) without mentally burying my head in the sand.
So.
Hello, my name is Stephanie. I enjoy long walks on the beach, a good story, other people's awkward conversation, aquariums, and learning from the mistakes of others. I suspend my disbelief (and my perception of canon and established characterization) from a construction crane in the face of good writing and I love me some trashy romance novels, in every possible permutation of gender pairing including a few that are not biologically common. Translation: PORN: I LIKE IT. Typically without pictures, and even with pictures I like what can be arguably defined as “erotica” and colloquially known as “smut.” I read a lot of fanfiction, as I generally do not like to pay for my porn or expend a great deal of effort on finding it.
Let me tell you, fanfiction is nothing but brains wanking onto a page (or computer screen, as it were) and brains wanking is gratification, and gratification is, in essence, porn. By the time you've written Abraham Lincoln into a tutu (or anything else fandom gets up to) you've gone so far into the realm of shameless gratification it no longer matters if there's sex in it or not. And let's not forget that “legitimate” trashy romance novels get pretty damn ridiculous. There is an actual romance right now actually on Amazon, where the heroes turn into dinosaurs, as well as an actual paranormal romance actually stolen from my actual mother's closet involving psychic levitation as a rationale for what would have been, had she been conventionally tied up and hoisted, hardcore (and much less silly) bondage. I remember reading it and being supremely puzzled that this was acceptable material and paddles and safewords were not. (Needless to say, the enthusiastically-powerless heroine in her pyschic, I kid you not, rotisserie-finger-fucking did not have a safeword, and in a different (equally twinky) scene was gagged.) These conventional (calling some of them “original” appears to be stretching it a bit) romances are porn too, which then begs the question of whether or not paying for such things shoves it over into mental prostitution. Would your editor be your pimp, on the basis that the editor is given the thankless task of whipping your writing into shape and you into something vaguely approaching your deadline; or would the marketing department of the publishing company be the pimp, on the basis that they do the “pimping out,” so to speak?
And so I will, when the mood strikes me, discuss my reading, my sexuality, my art, my work (somewhat), my gardening, my aquarium, my pets, my family, my friends, my travels, and my schooling as well as my cooking. Discussing my love life will be a bit more difficult, but discussing my not having one will be really, really easy. ^--^
And if any of my coworkers or superiors should happen to read this, so be it. That said, I'd still prefer not to discuss it around the water cooler. Family, the same goes for you and dinner tables; bringing it up while trapped in a moving car is even worse. At least at the dinner table I can get my grandmother going as a distraction and am armed with flatware.
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
Recipe: cream of mushroom soup
A lot of the recipes of my childhood use canned cream of __________ soup. Now that I don't eat wheat, my father doesn't eat MSG (not that any of us should), and multiple members of my family don't eat soy, now we make cream of ___________ soup.
It's much easier than I always thought it was. The key, at least for cream of mushroom soup, is to use dried mushrooms. Fresh won't give you a strong enough mushroom-broth.
And, for the curious, here is the recipe in terms of "some":
Fill the pan with water, add some bay leaves, cover, and bring to a boil. Once boiling add some dry mushrooms and reduce to a simmer. Add some fresh mushrooms a while later. Forget about it for about five minutes after the time goes off. Mix some cornstarch and some water. Remove the mushrooms from the broth, add the cornstarch and water, and return to a boil. Slice the mushrooms, remove the boiling broth from heat, and add some milk. Put the mushrooms back in, add some salt, and use, serve, or store.
Now here it is in terms I reasonably expect someone else to be able to follow:
5 cups water, plus a bit at a later point
2 packages mixed dried mushrooms, plus fresh if desired (or if there's any leftover floating around your refrigerator)
4 bay leaves
2 cups milk or cream
2 tablespoons cornstarch
salt to taste
1. In a medium-size saucepan, bring the water and bay leaves to a boil.
2. Once boiling, turn the heat down to low, add the dried mushrooms and follow the directions on the packages (usually this is to simmer or soak for 20 minutes, covered). If you are using fresh or leftover mushrooms, slice them and add them for the last 5-10 minutes of soaking/simmering.
3. When the mushrooms are done, remove them and the bay leaves from the broth and drain. Set aside.
4. Mix the cornstarch with 2 tablespoons of water and stir well. Pour (drizzle, not dump) it into the mushroom broth while stirring, and return to a boil uncovered.
5. While waiting for the liquid to boil, discard the bay leaves and slice the mushrooms into small, spoon-size pieces.
6. Once the broth is boiling remove from heat, let the foam (if any) die down, and add the milk or cream slowly while stirring. Add the sliced mushrooms and salt to taste.
Cool slightly, and serve or use in cooking, or cool completely and store for use later.
It's much easier than I always thought it was. The key, at least for cream of mushroom soup, is to use dried mushrooms. Fresh won't give you a strong enough mushroom-broth.
And, for the curious, here is the recipe in terms of "some":
Fill the pan with water, add some bay leaves, cover, and bring to a boil. Once boiling add some dry mushrooms and reduce to a simmer. Add some fresh mushrooms a while later. Forget about it for about five minutes after the time goes off. Mix some cornstarch and some water. Remove the mushrooms from the broth, add the cornstarch and water, and return to a boil. Slice the mushrooms, remove the boiling broth from heat, and add some milk. Put the mushrooms back in, add some salt, and use, serve, or store.
Now here it is in terms I reasonably expect someone else to be able to follow:
5 cups water, plus a bit at a later point
2 packages mixed dried mushrooms, plus fresh if desired (or if there's any leftover floating around your refrigerator)
4 bay leaves
2 cups milk or cream
2 tablespoons cornstarch
salt to taste
1. In a medium-size saucepan, bring the water and bay leaves to a boil.
2. Once boiling, turn the heat down to low, add the dried mushrooms and follow the directions on the packages (usually this is to simmer or soak for 20 minutes, covered). If you are using fresh or leftover mushrooms, slice them and add them for the last 5-10 minutes of soaking/simmering.
3. When the mushrooms are done, remove them and the bay leaves from the broth and drain. Set aside.
4. Mix the cornstarch with 2 tablespoons of water and stir well. Pour (drizzle, not dump) it into the mushroom broth while stirring, and return to a boil uncovered.
5. While waiting for the liquid to boil, discard the bay leaves and slice the mushrooms into small, spoon-size pieces.
6. Once the broth is boiling remove from heat, let the foam (if any) die down, and add the milk or cream slowly while stirring. Add the sliced mushrooms and salt to taste.
Cool slightly, and serve or use in cooking, or cool completely and store for use later.
A preface to recipes
To understand my recipes you don't need very much. To appropriately appreciate them (and, perhaps, to find them entertaining) you need to understand a bit about where they're coming from, and, in the process, understand me—or at least, understand how I cook.
I'm extremely intelligent and very right-brained. What this means is that I'm highly creative, think in sensations (images, impressions, scents, sounds, and emotions), and am more concerned with “now” than with either the past or the present. I think and reason abstractly instead of concretely and in parallel instead of linearly. Yes, this does make it more difficult to make a coherent and effective narrative, since my first instinct is to tell the reader absolutely everything at once. Yes, it also looks a hell of a lot like ADD without actually being ADD.
But what it also does is lend itself marvelously well towards art and cooking. I am an artist, raised by an artist, and am naturally inclined to be an artist. This is much less a thing of production of art (which requires discipline and planning and focus and more discipline) as it is of the artistic process. When I say “I am an artist” I mean I apply the artistic process to pretty much everything.
This looks an awful lot like being a nut. It is an awful lot like being a nut, or perhaps a flake, or just living inside a bowl of granola.
Which brings us back to cooking.
I cook by the senses. How things look, how they feel, how they smell, how they taste. I time the adding of ingredients by these things and, because we're being honest, by making a lot of mistakes and, from time to time, remembering not to repeat them. (For example, eventually I learned not to cook zuchinni and meat at the same time. You may, if you wish, but be prepared for your vegetable to turn into a gelatinous slurry and for nobody with any self-respect to eat it.)
I have been cooking for a very long time. Since before I could reach the counter, in fact, and given how tall I am that was a long time ago. Some things become part of muscle memory after a while. Like cutting off the tip of one's finger because the TV was on, again.
I am horrifically guilty of using that ancient and traditional mystery of ingredient measure, the legendary “some.” I use it in everything. Lucky for you all I'm connected enough to reality not to expect you to be able to follow the “some,” and so, despite rarely using measurements in the things I make most often, I've made the effort for you all. I hope you appreciate it, because I am here to tell you that translating “some” into cups and teaspoons and pounds is a pain in the ass even to the person doing the cooking.
Recipes are like language—they change over time, and change on the situation. Who's eating, the tastes of the cook and the diners, availability of ingredients, amount of time to spend cooking, the current societal fashion. If you think home cooking doesn't follow fashion you have never seen a recipe book from the seventies. (If you'd like to be horrified and fascinated all at once, go for it. Anything between 1950 and 1980 is fair game. Anything older and you'll either be already familiar with such things, if you hunt or fish, or be too confused by cooking processes no longer in use to be properly appalled at what they found suitable for cooking.)
Finally, I am in love with leftovers. I like instant gratification, love appropriate shortcuts, and have better things to spend my money on. Use leftovers whenever appropriate, and hunting for where on earth you put the mayonnaise is an excellent excuse to throw away everything fuzzy, slimy, forgotten, unidentifiable, or capable of self-government. Cleaning out the refrigerator is less onerous when done often.
Ingredients I would rather not do without (in no particular order)
bay leaves
salt
black pepper
red pepper (ground)
turmeric (ground)
cumin (ground)
Little Green Flakes (basil, oregano, parsley, marjoram, herbes de Provence, and/or Italian seasoning mix)
cinnamon
vanilla
nutmeg (ground, but it's simple to grate it)
eggs
onion
garlic
olive oil
sesame oil
vinegar (rice, balsamic, and apple cider)
rice
Things I would rather not do without (in no particular order)
A cutting board
A good large knife
A good small knife
food processor (with cheese grater attachment)
frying pan
stock pot
soup pan
roasting pan (it's like a cookie sheet with a lip)
good large spoon
spatula
Things that are really nice (again in no particular order)
beer
wine
oven bags
someone else to do the dishes
I'm extremely intelligent and very right-brained. What this means is that I'm highly creative, think in sensations (images, impressions, scents, sounds, and emotions), and am more concerned with “now” than with either the past or the present. I think and reason abstractly instead of concretely and in parallel instead of linearly. Yes, this does make it more difficult to make a coherent and effective narrative, since my first instinct is to tell the reader absolutely everything at once. Yes, it also looks a hell of a lot like ADD without actually being ADD.
But what it also does is lend itself marvelously well towards art and cooking. I am an artist, raised by an artist, and am naturally inclined to be an artist. This is much less a thing of production of art (which requires discipline and planning and focus and more discipline) as it is of the artistic process. When I say “I am an artist” I mean I apply the artistic process to pretty much everything.
This looks an awful lot like being a nut. It is an awful lot like being a nut, or perhaps a flake, or just living inside a bowl of granola.
Which brings us back to cooking.
I cook by the senses. How things look, how they feel, how they smell, how they taste. I time the adding of ingredients by these things and, because we're being honest, by making a lot of mistakes and, from time to time, remembering not to repeat them. (For example, eventually I learned not to cook zuchinni and meat at the same time. You may, if you wish, but be prepared for your vegetable to turn into a gelatinous slurry and for nobody with any self-respect to eat it.)
I have been cooking for a very long time. Since before I could reach the counter, in fact, and given how tall I am that was a long time ago. Some things become part of muscle memory after a while. Like cutting off the tip of one's finger because the TV was on, again.
I am horrifically guilty of using that ancient and traditional mystery of ingredient measure, the legendary “some.” I use it in everything. Lucky for you all I'm connected enough to reality not to expect you to be able to follow the “some,” and so, despite rarely using measurements in the things I make most often, I've made the effort for you all. I hope you appreciate it, because I am here to tell you that translating “some” into cups and teaspoons and pounds is a pain in the ass even to the person doing the cooking.
Recipes are like language—they change over time, and change on the situation. Who's eating, the tastes of the cook and the diners, availability of ingredients, amount of time to spend cooking, the current societal fashion. If you think home cooking doesn't follow fashion you have never seen a recipe book from the seventies. (If you'd like to be horrified and fascinated all at once, go for it. Anything between 1950 and 1980 is fair game. Anything older and you'll either be already familiar with such things, if you hunt or fish, or be too confused by cooking processes no longer in use to be properly appalled at what they found suitable for cooking.)
Finally, I am in love with leftovers. I like instant gratification, love appropriate shortcuts, and have better things to spend my money on. Use leftovers whenever appropriate, and hunting for where on earth you put the mayonnaise is an excellent excuse to throw away everything fuzzy, slimy, forgotten, unidentifiable, or capable of self-government. Cleaning out the refrigerator is less onerous when done often.
Ingredients I would rather not do without (in no particular order)
bay leaves
salt
black pepper
red pepper (ground)
turmeric (ground)
cumin (ground)
Little Green Flakes (basil, oregano, parsley, marjoram, herbes de Provence, and/or Italian seasoning mix)
cinnamon
vanilla
nutmeg (ground, but it's simple to grate it)
eggs
onion
garlic
olive oil
sesame oil
vinegar (rice, balsamic, and apple cider)
rice
Things I would rather not do without (in no particular order)
A cutting board
A good large knife
A good small knife
food processor (with cheese grater attachment)
frying pan
stock pot
soup pan
roasting pan (it's like a cookie sheet with a lip)
good large spoon
spatula
Things that are really nice (again in no particular order)
beer
wine
oven bags
someone else to do the dishes
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