Woof! It's Your Birthday.

Birthdays? They are no joke around here. I seem to insist on birthdays lasting at least three days, although a week is ideal -- if we can think of that many ways to celebrate (and we usually can). This is serious business, people. Being born is only the most important thing you ever did! 

I happen to cohabitate with an individual who tends to dislike his own birthday (you, too, might happen to know an adult male who has this same conflict). My goal every year is to make him love his birthday, and I must say, I think I did a pretty bang-up job this time around. The way to make someone love growing older is, of course, to give them sugar. Lots of sugar. And lots of treats. Soon they will start to associate birthdays with deliciousness, and then all of sudden you are happily partnered to Pavlov's dog. Woof*. It's your birthday!

Matthew turned 39 on Friday. Whereas I typically give him lots of options for adventure and foods starting approximately two months before his actual birthday (Do you want a party? Where do you want to go? What do you want for dinner? Which night should we go? What kind of cake do you want? Tell me, tell me!) we both finally learned that this technique is completely unsatisfying for both of us. This is because A.) he doesn't want to make a decision, B.) he trusts my judgment, C.) he doesn't want to answer more questions than he has to, and D.) he thinks that if he doesn't make decisions about these things, his birthday will magically disappear and he will stop aging.

So I held off for as long as I could. Then, a few weeks ago, I dove in. And his answer was brilliant and direct. You decide where we go for dinner on Saturday. On Friday, let's have dinner at home. What?! This is the perfect solution. He hates deciding restaurants and food, I love deciding restaurants and food. Yes! I will choose the restaurant and the food! And it will be a secret! I love secrets! This was the easiest decision we ever made. (Although just to double check on Friday, I called him from work to make sure that pizza was okay for dinner, even though I know that it is his favorite food in the entire universe and he could eat it every single day for the rest of his life and be so happy. I asked, he paused. I reminded him, if I bring home pizza, you won't have to do dishes. No more pauses: Yes! Pizza! And we ended up eating it standing up in the kitchen as we drank these incredible cocktails he made, and we didn't even use plates! I don't even think I ate over a pizza box in college. I even sat my piece of pizza down on the kitchen table while I was eating it! It was a completely, utterly perfect dinner.)

Then, the next part, a question I held onto until two days before his birthday, which was quite a feat. (Keep in mind, I like to plan things YEARS in advance, people. I would have taken his birthday cake order last April if he would have allowed it.) Preparing myself for a conversation about it, I asked what kind of treat he wanted to take to school for his students. Without hesitation: Oatmeal raisin! I figured we must be on a roll. What kind of cake do you want?, I asked. Immediately: pound cake! Whoa.

See, folks, I have learned something. If you get an answer, take it. Take it and start walking. Walk far, far away. There was a time not so long ago (called, uh, 2001 through 2010) when I would have answered his answer with another question. This is a TERRIBLE idea. Never do this:

What kind of treat do you want for school?
Oatmeal cookies.
Are you sure? Just oatmeal? Do you want chocolate chips?
No, not really.
Raisins?
Yes.
Just raisins? Dried cherries? Dried cranberries? Nuts?
No, thanks.
Are you sure you want oatmeal? Do you want something fancier?
No, not really.
Whoopie pies? Cupcakes? Candy bars? Remember those brownies I made once?
Just oatmeal. With raisins.
Okay. Got it.
Okay, thanks.
Just oatmeal?

And this would go on and on. I was trying to find the thing that made him the happiest, but he was already happy, and making him have a conversation about it made him less happy. I'm trying to learn this. So when I asked what kind of cake he wanted, and he said pound cake, I restricted myself to two questions only. Would you like anything in it? and Would you like it to be iced? No and no were the answers, naturally. And then I went into the other room and thought about how sometimes I make things so much harder than they need to be. Not everything needs to be complicated. Not every decision requires six days of analysis. Not every cake needs to have thirty ingredients. And, luckily, simplicity is an extremely inexpensive birthday gift. I could really get used to this, I think.

Your Basic Birthday Pound Cake

makes 2 cakes (well, loaves, really)

1 pound (3 1/4 cups) all-purpose flour
1 tablespoon coarse salt (seems like a lot, but it's a great amount)
4 sticks softened unsalted butter, plus more for pans
2 cups sugar
2 teaspoons pure vanilla extract or vanilla bean paste
9 large, room-temperature eggs

Preheat oven to 325 degrees. Butter two 5-by-9-inch loaf pans. Combine flour and salt in a bowl. In another bowl, cream butter and sugar with a mixer on high speed until pale and fluffy for 8 minutes. (YES! This seems like a lot of minutes, but you have to do it! Read a magazine while you mix.) Scrape down sides of bowl. Reduce speed to medium, and add vanilla. Lightly beat eggs, and add to mixer bowl in 4 additions (YES! FOUR!), mixing thoroughly after each and scraping down sides. Reduce speed to low, and add flour mixture in 4 additions (YES! FOUR!), mixing until just incorporated. Divide batter between pans. Tap on counter to distribute and smooth tops. Bake just until a tester inserted into center of each cake comes out clean, about 65-68 minutes. Watch them carefully at the end to make sure they don't overbake -- pound cakes dry out really quickly! Let cool in pans on a wire rack for 30 minutes. Remove from pans, and let cool completely on wire rack.

(Add anything else you want to this batter! Fruit, chocolate, lemon zest -- or, be a purist and just have it plain. Pound cake is also a little dry for me, so I prefer it with a fruit sauce or some other wet adornment. But I will stop giving you suggestions. You will do a great job figuring this all out on your own!)

*Thanks, Dawn. You know how funny it is when humans say "woof."

I Won't Touch You

I made this Korean-style hot sauce. It is so hot that it burns my trousers off. It makes me angry, it's so hot. I am not even going to tell you how to make it, because I don't want you to burn a hole in your esophagus. All I am going to tell you is this: if a recipe calls for a quarter cup of ground hot pepper, the final product will be fire. But it also has sugar in it, and garlic and ginger and onions and other delicious things, so it is good, it's just so freaking hot. I don't know quite what to do with it. Perhaps I should just buck up and use it? Mix it with a hundred gallons of water to dilute it? I actually kind of like to look at it, sitting there in the refrigerator, mocking me, giving me its fiery little attitude. It's in a time-out, there on its shelf. It has broken all the rules.

Lemons Again: A Quiz

Q. Out of twelve 2- and 3-year olds who are all tasting a lemon wedge, how many will eat the entire piece of lemon, chew on the rind, and never even flinch or exclaim sourness or distaste or suffering, even when everyone else in the room thinks it's strange and disgusting?

A. One!

You Look Like A Painting

Micromanaged Valentine

 

To all my valentines:

I am so glad we do not have the kind of relationship that I saw (well, heard) today when I was out to lunch.

Female and male sit down and are handed menus by the server. They open the menus. They start reading. Immediately:

She: Well, you could order the pad khee mao but have them leave out the chicken, I think it always comes with chicken, actually I know that it always comes with chicken, you know how you are with chicken. OR you could order the pad woon sen but it has the shrimp, you won't eat that shrimp, I know you won't, you'll order it and you won't eat it and then I'll have to look at it on your plate, and it has the peas, don't get the peas, DO YOU REMEMBER THE LAST TIME YOU HAD PEAS? (Makes disgusted noise.)

Him: (continues to stare at menu)

She: Do you really want to order the lunch special? I think you should get the regular one. You'll have more to eat that way. I'm getting the cucumber salad, so you need to get something else? Is there something else you'd like WELL I think the spring rolls are probably what you would like the most, don't you think? I mean in terms of the entree, we'll just get you something that you like. You don't like all of these things, you know. We'll have to pick something.

Him: (stares at menu)

Server comes over: What would you like?

She: Well, we FINALLY decided. He'll have the pad khee mao, no shrimp, no chicken. I will have the pad khee mao, no tomato. His will be very spicy, and mine will be extremely spicy. Did you write that down? Extremely spicy. But his shouldn't be as spicy. And no shrimp. Except on mine. And I would like the cucumber salad. How much comes with that? Oh nevermind, it doesn't matter, I'll have it. He'll have the spring rolls, that's what he likes. That's all. Bring me more water.

The End.

And that's when I paid my check and got up so I could get a good look at those two.

He really did look quite competent. She really did look pretty bossy.

The 80s Called.

They want their panko back.

L Is For Lettuce

A Lesson In Tea

Me (to the clerk at Golden Pacific Asian Mart): Do you have chrysanthemum tea?

Man: AAAHHH HA. AH HA! You come for chrysanthemum tea! YOU CAME!

Me: Um, yes. I couldn't find it in the tea aisle.

Man (leading me to the tea aisle): It's very popular. Everyone comes for it. EVERYONE!

Me (seeing him pointing at the last bag of tea): Oh, the last one! Sorry I didn't see it before. It IS popular, huh?

Man: YES. Everyone has it, everyone goes to the Thai restaurant, the Chinese restaurant, they pay all the money for it! They pay two dollars or three dollars for one little cup of this tea! This bag, this special whole bag, is five dollars. FIVE DOLLARS. There are bags and bags of tea for you. (Holding the bag up to the light and pointing at the tea inside.) See?

Me (walking with him up to the cash register): Yes, the mark-up is high! I just had some at

Man (interrupting explosively): Never pay for it at restaurant! Never! If you pay for it at restaurant, you will be RIPPED OFF! PEOPLE ARE ALWAYS GETTING RIPPED OFF IF THEY DON'T COME HERE TO BUY THEIR THINGS!

Me (paying for the tea): Um. I believe you.

Man (grinning): I know. BUT NEVER GET IT THERE. Only here. You need to have a good deal. YOU LIKE A GOOD DEAL!

Me (leaving the store): Yes. I do. Thank you for the advice.

Man (calling out and waving): Drink the tea! Drink the tea! See you when your tea is gone!

Magical Nuts

Ah, the flexible, stunning nut. When you think of nuts, where do your thoughts go? Well, I'll be proper and tuck the nut jokes under the rug for now. What I'll do is tell you a peanut story.

Peanuts. Well, they take me back to the Ground Round, a chain restaurant that you may be familiar with. To properly envision this restaurant, you should think about your standard chain restaurant (TGI Friday's, for example), shatteringly combined with both Stephen King's It and the explosion of a peanut factory. I am positive, first of all, that this particular franchise in my hometown didn't survive simply because it contained scary, scary clowns who wanted to befriend (read: torture) children like me. And by "children like me," I mean children who are unwaveringly, irrationally, and numbingly afraid of clowns. We all know that folks tend to fall into several camps:

A.) those who love clowns (and thus tend to collect them)
B.) those who don't care one way or the other about clowns and can't figure out what all the fuss is about
and 
C.) those who are, well, worried about clowns. 

I not only was a worrier about clowns, but I actually would start to shake when I thought about them. I'm a bit better as an adult, but oh, DAMN did they wreck me when I was a kid. 

I was always excited but nervous about going to The Ground Round -- excited because of the overall coziness of the restaurant combined with the peanut frenzy (throw your peanut shells all over the place, just like you would if you lived in a barn!) and nervous, of course, because The Clown was there. An excessively colorful, strangely adorned, fashion-nightmare, creepy-make-upped, horrible, terrible clown. This clown wanted to socialize with me, of course, as most clowns do. It would make its way around to all the tables, making balloon animals for the kids, and I was anxiety-ridden as I saw the clown get closer and closer to my family's booth. I really could hardly focus on eating the delicious and constant peanuts, because I was so consumed with being the clown patrol. 

When the clown was as close as, oh, say, fourteen tables away, I would dive down from the wooden booth to the floor, pinning myself between my mother's leg and the wall, crying hysterically, a flood of sweat and tears dripping down my body. I'd stay there for as long as it took, begging my parents to tell me if the clown was gone yet. I remember being crouched down on the dirty floor, surrounded by hundreds and hundreds of peanut shells, praying for it to end. I was so, so hot down there, and so, so self-tortured. Even when I was so young (five, maybe?) I knew I was being completely unreasonable, but I just couldn't stop. I wanted to be one of those happy, clown-loving kids who waited anxiously for their turn with the table-clown, excitedly planning which animal they'd have the clown make from a balloon. Me, I didn't even want anything that clown had touched. That clown could have offered me my complete five-year-old dream (sheepdog, leather couch, unlimited tapioca pudding, a special machine that pumped out the Strawberry Shortcake doll smell) and I wouldn't have budged from my under-the-table post.

The clown would sometimes come to our table to make something for my brother (this was, I believe, yet another way I've shortchanged him in our lives) but sometimes I think my parents declined the clown so that my mother could have her leg back -- you know, the one that, when I finally surfaced, looked like she had spent a day with her leg trapped in the cage of a very angry and hungry lion. The funny thing is, I knew that the clown wouldn't actually do anything to me. It just seemed so unnatural to me, this creature. The thing is, I honestly think that any of my family members could dress up in a clown suit and I would be scared to death. I mean, have you seen the Modern Family episode where Cam dresses up as a clown for Luke's birthday and Phil can't even stand to be in the same room as him? Well, I can relate. Let's just say that.


I know, I know! All this clown talk makes you want some special nuts to eat! Well, I have the solution. 
Look no further.

Sweet + Spicy Magical Nuts
recipe adapted from that super fancy-super pretty Smitten Kitchen

(For Laura. She loves these. And also for The Clown. I forgive you.)

1/3 cup brown sugar
2/3 cup white granulated sugar
1 1/2 teaspoons kosher salt

1 teaspoon black pepper
1/8 teaspoon cayenne pepper 

1/2 teaspoon sweet (or hot!) paprika
1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1 pound nuts*
1 egg white, room temperature
1 tablespoon water
pinch of ground ginger, optional
pinch of ground cloves, optional
1/4 teaspoon nutmeg, optional

Preheat oven to 300 degrees. Mix sugars, salt, pepper, cayenne, paprika, and cinnamon (as well as any of those other optional spices); set aside. Beat egg white and water until frothy but not stiff. Add egg white mixture to nuts and stir to coat evenly. Add sugar mixture and toss until coated. Spread sugared nuts in a single layer on a cookie sheet fitted with parchment paper. Bake for 30 minutes, stirring and shaking the pan occasionally. Remove from oven, and separate nuts as they cool. Store in an airtight container. I LOVE these nuts cold, so I keep them in the refrigerator, although they usually don't last long enough to get 'em in there.

Extra Nut Information:

*NUTS! You can use any kind of nuts that you want! Clowns would probably recommend peanuts, but I love almonds and pecans, too. I think, though, that any nut would be honored to dress up in this sweet and spicy costume. Just make sure you buy raw or roasted nuts -- the most important thing is that they be unsalted and unadorned when you buy them. If you want to really get down to business, you can buy them at Costco or Sam's Club from the baking ingredients section, where they are really cheap. 

Also, you can double- or triple- or quadruple- or even octuple- this recipe and it will still work well. I made a huge batch over the holidays and used, I think, 8 pounds of nuts. Just make sure you have a bowl large enough to house this many nuts, or you'll end having to mix them in the bathtub, and we all know how that takes the magic straight out of magical nuts.

In terms of spices and sugars, use your own discretion. Feel free to use less sugar, or more salt, or to power-punch them with more cayenne. I have also experimented around with nutmeg, ginger, and even rosemary. I would advise making a small batch to start with -- then taste them and see what you think you want to add or leave out of your next batch. I tried tasting them before baking, and discovered that you just can't get the full idea of the flavor until they are baked. All this said, it's hard to mess them up, and I am certain that your first batch will be perfect and delicious, clowns or not.

It's Epic