Pecan Stilton Crackers + Walks of Shame

Something that happened to me recently:

I was riding my bike home from work, huffing and puffing my Craigslist purchased 1970s in-need-of-major-TLC-Schwinn Cruiser up Nob Hill, when all of a sudden, the front wheel stopped. It just…stopped spinning. And I nearly flew over my handlebars. Into oncoming traffic. When the initial shock and embarrassment wore off, I physically lifted my bike off the road and onto the sidewalk (remember: Front wheel. Not moving.) when a kind Samaritan stopped to help me. (Dear Portland, I love you. Thank you for attracting so many kind people.)

“What happened?!”

“Uh, I don’t know. My bike just…stopped moving.”

“Mind if I take a look?”

“Absolutely – go ahead. I’m not very good with bikes.”

Five second analysis.

“Well, for starters, your front tire is extremely flat.”

“Oh…really?”

“Yes. Completely. Feel it.”

Confirmed. Extremely flat. Re-confirmed. Not very good with bikes.

“Oh…well is anything else wrong that would have made it just stop like that?”

This kind Portland-er did a very fine job describing to me what was wrong with my bike [insert fancy bike lingo here], but I can’t remember a single buzz word. As I mentioned, bikes aren't my thing.

“Looks like you’re in need of a major upgrade. Good luck.”

Truer words have never been spoken, my friend.

So, I proceeded to walk/carry by bike home (the ultimate walk of shame in this town), crank the oven up to 350, and I got to work on something that I am much more comfortable with: butter, pecans, and cheese. Combined and rolled and glazed and sliced and baked and eaten. The ultimate cure for the walk of shame hangover.

The Story of My Basil Plant

Upon moving to Oregon, I wrote a list of exciting west-coast-ardly things I'd get to do as an bona fide Oregonian.

- Get a bike (check!)

- KEENS! (very recent proud owner.)

- Become a connoisseur of all things beer (highly debatable.)

- Plant a garden. 

I had dreams of whimsically wandering out to my garden - clad in my Keens and a gardening hat, braid in my hair while humming a Decemberists song - where I would harvest fresh herbs to season my organic dinner. Maybe even plant a flower bed or two. You know. To put in my hair.

Enter reality.

I don't have a yard. Not even a plot of outside land to make a raised bed. Nevertheless, I made due and crafted a kitchen window-stand to support my boxed herbs. Hooray! The garden dream lives on!

Re-enter reality.

Turns out a lot of these herbs need 6-8 hours of direct sunlight. That's precisely the kind of sunlight that a kitchen window just can't accomodate. I also don't think it helps that we've had an unseasonably cloudy summer here in Portland. (Aside: I keep hearing that term. Unseasonable. Last spring, last winter, last fall, last summer. All "unseasonably" cloudy, rainy, and cold. I think these Oregonians have selective recollection. Slash are straight up lying to themselves.)

Once upon a time, my basil plant was an impressive full bloom from Trader Joe's. I should have known that "you get what you pay for", because, before long, my $2.99 massive basil plant was overgrown, growing at an alarming 45 degree angle, and rapidly killing itself.  This is what she looked like after a few weeks.

My basil plant crossed me.

And when you cross me...you get cut.

And pureed with nuts and garlic. And drowned in olive oil. And pureed some more. And tossed with pasta. And eaten. Mua. Ha. Ha.

::Shortly after this blog post was authored, what was left of aforementioned basil plant was attacked by aphids and died. The end.::

Homemade Salted Caramel Ice Cream

My friend's Jessica and Ben recently got married. (You might remember them from their recent visit to Oregon.) Last time I talked to them, I asked if they got any "out there" wedding gifts that weren't on their registry. Our chat went something like this...

"so did you guys get anything you weren't expecting for your wedding?"

j&b: [thinking...thinking]

me: well?

j&b: yes! THE WEIRDEST MOST USELESS GIFT EVER!

me: really? what was it?

b: AN ICE CREAM MAKER!

j: i mean, seriously, i will never ever use it.

b: we're definitely taking it back.

me: [aghast]. what! i just paid good money for an ice cream maker, and i couldn't be more excited about it!...i actually almost bought you guys one.

j&b: big mistake. huge. we would have given you this one.

And this, my friends, is what makes the world go 'round.

Whatever. "More for you and me. Idiots! "

I bought my first ice cream maker a few weeks back and have been searching recipe after recipe for the perfect "first flavor". I watched Ina make this recently and the entire time, my mouth was agape. And I drooled a little. I had found The One. Sold.

This needs to be made in two phases with at least 8 hours between phases. Your ice cream bowl needs to have been freezing in the freezer for at least 24 hours. Oh, and you need an ice cream maker. I got mine from Amazon, and so far, absolutely no complaints from this girl. Maybe a few from my thighs. But definitely not from anywhere else.

Here we go.

"When in Doubt...Bake Something Ina."

Just a crazy idea, but do you think I could develop, market, and distribute cute little plastic wristbands with the mantra "WID...BSI"? No? How about a t-shirt that says "Ina Garten is my Homegirl"? Or! An "I Go Barefoot for Contessa" bumper sticker? (That last one is meant to be ambiguous. The mystery is what makes it alluring.)

Point of the story...Ina is my goddess. Everything about is her is classy and soothing and she radiates fabulous-ness (fabulousity? faboliscious-ness? No?...I think I'm losing everyone here today.)  I made her Honey Vanilla Pound Cake last weekend from her Back to Basics cookbook (my favorite cookbook to date). And, my oh my, was it ever a delight. It's dense, but still soft. It quite literally melts in your mouth. And the combination of the honey and vanilla with the hint of lemon is divine.  Perfect with coffee for a light breakfast, or after a meal for that something sweet.

Salted Caramels and Candy Thermometers

I've been meaning to purchase a candy thermometor for almost a year now. But the past three times I've come across one, I pick it up, lug it around while I peruse the store, bring it the register, and finally have a change of heart. My exchange with the cashier typically goes something like this:

"Ah, I'm sorry, but, um, I won't be getting the thermometer this time."

"Okay...How about those Sour Straws*?" he asks.

"Oh, these? Of course. Just the Sour Straws."

You see, in my adventure of moving across the country and leaving behind the glamorous and equally material life of an investment banker, I made a conscious effort to downsize and de-clutter. I ended up donating or throwing away three quarters of my life when I left the east coast. [Imagine the TV show "Hoarders"...in reverse.] Sometimes I can feel myself starting to acquire, acquire, acquire again and anxiety ensues. Which is why the cashier at Bed, Bath, and Beyond likely thinks I am an indecisive, confused little girl with a Sour Straw dependency. And justifiably so.

Anywho, when I came across this recipe, my lingering fear of unnecessarily cluttering my kitchen was abated. Bonus: You will likely already have all of the required ingredients in your pantry. I hope you enjoy as much as my roommates and I did!

*I love Sour Straws. It's becoming an issue. I think I felt my first cavity forming after a recent binge.