La Entropista

Babies. They turn into children.

Berlin for all next summer. Postponed a year.

Frederik Pohl. Enough with the robots.

Tivo. I’m a slave to “recording space used.”

Voting. Now they know where I live. 

I never thought I would miss home because of food. I have been so sick of that damn diet that I thought a brief respite in the land of unlimited Entenmann’s would lift me out of the culinary doldrums. But no. I had forgotten my parent’s house is the place you head for when you get the hankering for grilled cheese sandwiches made from cheese that one unwraps one sheet at a time, fakin’ bacon, and periodic threats of “fish soup.” The boyfriend would be horrified. Also on offer this week, lovely halusky, Polish sympathy food modified to suit the other 48% of the ethnic population of the region by substituting farfalle for the egg noodles. It seems like everything I have eaten here has been various shades of white. Which brings me to fond memories of this:

That would be chicken in mustard sauce and braised leeks with tarragon. One kid ate the chicken without coercion and I managed to get both of them to actually try the leeks- touching their tongues to and even chewing and swallowing something they had never tried before- and their heads didn’t even fall off or explode in horror or anything. The leeks- just cleaned and halved and thrown in a casserole with white wine, little lumps of butter, salt and pepper and fresh tarragon. Maybe some stock? I forget, but simple comfort food eagerly gobbled up by the adults. But not by babies. Oh hey,

BABIES!

P.S. I think I wrote this because I was a bit embarrassed by the previous post.

Today, we barbecued. One of the great pleasures of being in American suburbia is the opportunity to stand in a backyard, eyes full of smoke, fanning Mexican charcoal and sucking on a German beer. Pure delight. Despite an almost tragic charcoal outage incident, and the nearly-unspoken blame game it generated, we managed to grill chicken breasts, sausages, ribs, vegetable brochettes, and corn on the cob. Homemade guacamole with blue corn tortilla chips and strawberry popsicles rounded out the meal. As I was preparing the marinade for the chicken, the five year old announced that he wanted to help cook, tied on his apron, and skewered the shit out of the zucchini and cherry tomatoes. The seven year old joined in and decided to make Sprite (huh?) and squash the guacamole. It was then that I realized I could use my powers for good, quietly turn them into chefs (who someday soon will make me my morning cappuccino, or what good are they, really?) and help them become self-sufficient, cooperative, capable little people. They were thrilled with the whole process, setting the patio table for six themselves, and even cleaned up afterwards without complaint.  It was a great day. Today made me feel like I can totally do this.

Last night I went out with the liebling, his bookkeeper and her husband; all adults, all night. She’s German and he is Indian via Kenya and London, but have been living in Santa Barbara for twenty years. They seemed to know every restaurant in town and every bartender by name, quite convenient now that I am a recovering non/not very much-alcoholic. Very, very sweet people, and loyal to the end to the sweet potato, but the conversation mostly revolved around the attributes of the various high-end private schools in town, and how utterly exasperating it is to find a decent gardener these days. Good thing I was decently crunk and that generally, my sense of direction is poor, or I might have started running and not turned back. This, this I don’t think I can do.

Dinner, sort of Mexican inspired, as many meals are in this part of the country. You know, take about five ingredients, chop ‘em up, and serve them forth in different combinations:

chicken breasts -marinated in olive oil, crushed garlic, lime and cilantro, s&p. Could have marinated longer.

wurst -chicken and basil, lamb and mint, turkey bratwurst, ready-made from Lazy Acres

vegetable brochettes- red onion, pattypan and yellow squash, zucchini, cherry tomatoes, and one kosher hot dog (not my idea), brushed with olive oil, dried rosemary and thyme, s&p. Next time will get my shit together enough to use the fresh rosemary from the yard as skewers.

corn on the cob- soaked and roasted with husks on, then rubbed with garlic butter, lime, and rolled in cotija cheese)

guacamole- avocados, tomato, garlic, red onion, cilantro, lime, dash of ground cumin, s&p, you know the drill

homemade Sprite!- not my idea, but fantastic- one tablespoon lime juice, one tablespoon simple syrup, add sparkling water over ice, and viola! Delicioso, and a great way to use up the extra citrus. 

strawberry popsicles- over-ripe strawberries and squirt of lime, in blender. That’s it. 

corn tortillas- moldy, as it turned out, so into the trashcan they went. Oh, well.

While I have already bathed, it is already almost two and I haven’t been out of the house yet. Big surprise.

Earlier in the week, after we returned to Munich, we stopped at the Schwabinger Wassermann, a popular local pub, for breakfast. They had their tables set up outside and it was a lovely day, and on their Mittagsmenu there was Spargel:

See that? That would be a gigantor crispy potato pancake topped with white asparagus, hollandaise, and gratineed parmesean. I couldn’t transcribe the sound I made when I tasted it that would do it justice. By god, it was the best breakfast ever.

And? Mmm. The hollandaise. To the American, asparagus with hollandaise seems like a throwback to mid-century steakhouse cookery, but here it is classic spring staple. Despite my fear of the hollandaise, and butter sauces in general (from all that reading, for ten years I was afraid: but what if it breaks? the horror!) I decided to give it a try.

Here, the starting point.

Also, a little drinkie-drinkie to ease the emullsion-induced anxiety. That’s right, bitch. A six-pack of the hard stuff.

I have no whisk and no double boiler, so I improvised with a salad bowl in a soup pot and a three pronged fork from Ikea.

First, the egg yolks, lemon juice, water, s&p, and careful not to turn it into scrambled eggs.

Then, off the heat to incorporate the butter. That’s right. Half a pound.

Google Earth view of the processes: almost done, just chopping herbs (parsley and dill) waiting for the sauce to seperate (it could have been thicker), and making sure the asparagus is properly done.

The finished product: Salzkartoffeln, Spargel mit Hollandaise, und Schwarzwalder schinken. The ham keeps the plate from looking like blancmange and adds a nice smokey saltiness trumped only by the likes of spam.

Looks a bit obscene, doesn’t it? But, mmm, lecker.

Sometimes I really miss this place...

On Chowhound's California Message Board: 

Posted by Nathan P. on April 26, 2006 at 23:24:52

Message:     

Here are new linkages:

Chez Pim, blogging from the Bay Area on Thai cuisine and posting pics like this of Home Sweet Home. Also, photos of every course at El Bulli.

Then, Rettet das Mittagessen, right outta Munich, and a neighbor of Delicious Days.

Here is a new one I’m going to completely obsess about- food history daily via Australia at The Old Foodie.

Sushil is flickring Nepalese food through a So Cal filter and coming up with things that make me insanely jealous.

Rebecca and Orion are throwing their fabulous dinner parties again. Someday I will actually reciprocate. I swear.

Upcoming: lunch at The Ivy and post-theater Mintleaf.

I spent half the day today freaking out that I couldn’t find my W2, that I *thought* I so diligently brought with me. All I found were Federal Student Loan information and my Social Security statement. Which looks a bit pathetic, as I saw in my salary history that at 25 I was making just over $57,000 a year and that in no year since then have I made as much money, and in fact have accrued billions more in debt. Okay maybe not billions but at least $40,000 more. Negative income growth. Peaking at 25. Am I catch, or what? This unfortunate reality that I have been angry about for the last five years became particularly pointed when I returned to grad school and realized that while I would have a far more satisfying occupation as a result, it definitely was not a great financial decision. Seeing that in government-sanctioned black and white, instead of the nebulous, numberless bitterness that dominated conversation with friends, really.friggin.sucks.

Anyway, the point of all this is to say that because I am currently residing abroad, I have an automatic 2 month extension not only to file, but to pay. All I have to do is attach a note that says that I qualify when I do submit it in June. And will I need to pay? No! They owe me! Why? Because I am poor! But not for long, bitches! When I get back, I am totally getting myself a phat job at Jamba Juice at like, Victoria Gardens, and my uniform is gonna be totally awesome, and I’ll probably even get discounts at the Panda Express next door, yo.

I will only quickly mention that it is snowing again.

In other news, for dinner tonight: popcorn and lettuce. Actually, it’s going to be a pretty decent salad with red onions and sliced plums, a light vinegrette and a baked camembert (how 70s!) but just lettuce, darling sounds much more pathetic, don’t you think? I am also on a “see every english language movie in town” kick, and just watched the guy from Black Adder make the sweet love to the Kristin Scott Thomas. A decent night’s entertainment.

Someone suggested a while back that when in London, I should have a decent fry up. So I did and I have to say, a singular experience. As in, only once ever and never again. Just kidding, I’m sure when I’m back I’ll sneak away and gobble some up and pretend I went out for muesli or something.

We went here, of course, because here, there’s EATS. Actually we came across it while we were out looking for a pony whip and decided to pop in.

Look at that Formica. God, you don’t see that every day. Though maybe here. My cappuccino and his tea.

Right away I realized I made a mistake and should have gone for the better-than-airport but possibly still sweepings-from-the-floor tea.

The menu was posted, but I knew what I wanted: eggbaconchipsandbeans.

Behold, the glory that is the bacon. And french fries! For breakfast! I want to live here forever!!!! The beans, I wasn’t so fond of, but I ate the whole thing.

This was his version. Not quite as good as the sausage was a mystery of mushy glandularness. I thought his beans were yummy, as I tend to like overcooked green beans in general (childhood issues) and fried they were extra delicious, almost enough to cover the fact that they were in the process of turning.

And, then dessert! Alas, we didn’t partake. On offer: Treacle Sponge- covered in lashings of golden syrup, Spotted Dick, Jam Sponge Pudding- the perfect choice as a finale.

Thank you, New Piccadilly, you were absolutely lovely. Infinitely more pics with a brief history here. Will interest historic preservationistas and other urban planners.

Dearest Muenchen, I take it back. All the “how lovely is your Spring” stuff. The day after the liebling takes all the winter clothes back to California, you SNOW. WHAT IS GOING ON??? I refuse to acknowledge you and your wiley trickster ways and will go about my business as if you have been behaving as expected.

More Salzburg here

The only place that is allowed to have snow right now is the Alps. And it may stay until next weekend. I have more mountains to climb and more streams to ford and there definitely is more rainbow following necessary, dream finding, etc, etc…