Flutephobia

2009-01-06T09:51:00.001-07:00

Fauxdovada

2008-11-20T13:31:00.002-07:00

I really meant to draw the pork loin, not the loin of pork.

Celebrating a Sweep!

2008-11-05T14:29:00.000-07:00

When All Else Fails, A Burger + Beer Will Absolutely Cure What Ails You

2008-10-23T11:42:00.001-06:00

Depression Era Cooking

2008-10-20T12:05:00.002-06:00

Shortcut Fish Tacos

2008-10-01T12:35:00.002-06:00

My Boss Went To Nobu Fifty Seven And All I Got Was This Drawing.

2008-09-26T10:50:00.002-06:00

A Very Happy Birthday Dinner

2008-09-19T11:08:00.000-06:00

Finally, a Green Chile Fix

2008-09-16T14:40:00.002-06:00

I'm Regressing, Apparently

2008-09-04T14:35:00.001-06:00

Tomato Frenzy

2008-08-26T13:56:00.001-06:00

Total Dinner Cop-Out

2008-08-20T10:37:00.003-06:00

The Black + White Cookie

2008-08-15T10:42:00.001-06:00

Fun With Zucchini

2008-07-31T14:54:00.002-06:00

Porky Pleasure

2008-07-22T16:57:00.002-06:00

Food In Bar Form: A Survey

2008-07-08T15:36:00.002-06:00

Fried + Salty

2008-07-01T16:33:00.002-06:00

The Blue Noodle Incident

2008-06-26T08:37:00.001-06:00

Ridiculous Burrito

2008-06-20T09:49:00.001-06:00

Comfort, Sicilian Style

2008-06-20T09:48:00.002-06:00

A Very Heavy Dinner for a Hot Day

2008-06-11T10:52:00.002-06:00

An Early Dinner

2008-06-09T09:01:00.002-06:00

I've Been Tagged!

2008-06-02T09:44:00.006-06:00

Around Britain with a Paunch has tagged me for a Meme: 5 Things About Me!
The rules of this Meme are as follows:

1. Link to your tagger and post these rules.

2. Share 5 facts about yourself.

3. Tag 5 people at the end of your post and list their names (linking to them).

4. Let them know they've been tagged by leaving a comment at their Blogs.

I am tagging the following bloggers for this Meme- some food oriented, some not. Apologies if the Meme isn't their thing:

Unguided Tour- wonderful photos with bits of narrative.

Food Migration- I started reading it when she went to cooking school in France and have been hooked since!

Little Fish Tale- a little about food, a lot about life.

Running With the Wolves- "biting" politics.

Latent- DJ Peg leg, hoster of hockey games, pontificator of all.

It's Cram Time!

2008-05-30T09:10:00.000-06:00

Pizzeria Bianco With the Rents

2008-05-27T09:42:00.002-06:00

Here Comes the Summer!

2008-05-21T12:31:00.001-06:00

Summer Breeze...Makes Me Hungry

2008-05-19T14:07:00.003-06:00

Strapped for Time, Strapped for Ideas

2008-05-15T10:05:00.001-06:00

Happy Surprise: Asparagus Soup

2008-05-13T12:58:00.001-06:00

A Virtuous and Delicious Potato Salad

2008-05-07T11:00:00.001-06:00

Meat Meat Meat!

2008-05-05T11:13:00.000-06:00

Salad!

2008-04-29T15:18:00.002-06:00

Spring Fever: Pea Soup

2008-04-23T15:21:00.002-06:00

Pleasures All Evening

2008-04-21T09:31:00.001-06:00

Wednesday Night Salad

2008-04-18T09:34:00.002-06:00

When the Shit Hits the Fan You Still Have to Eat

2008-04-16T11:22:00.002-06:00

A Sunday Night Feast

2008-04-15T11:29:00.001-06:00

Virtuous Dinner, Bloodlust for Dessert

2008-04-02T14:27:00.002-06:00

Here Comes the Panic: Distraction!

2008-04-01T10:28:00.001-06:00

Spring Fever: Risotto

2008-03-27T10:01:00.002-06:00

Spring Fever: Dinner on the Grill

2008-03-26T12:28:00.001-06:00

The Sicilian Makes a Pizza

2008-03-25T09:50:00.000-06:00

Comida con Influencia Española

2008-03-18T11:21:00.002-06:00

Blast From the Past

2008-03-17T14:20:00.001-06:00

Finally, an Exhalation

2008-03-11T10:31:00.002-06:00

Sushi Before Near-Death Experience

2008-03-06T10:26:00.002-07:00

Virtuousness Only Gets You So Far

2008-02-22T11:35:00.002-07:00

Trying to Eat a First Rate Meal

2008-02-22T11:33:00.002-07:00

To Make Green Chile Stew

2008-02-15T12:42:00.002-07:00

Coming Down with a Case of the Grumps

2008-02-14T11:02:00.002-07:00

Recipe Translation

2008-02-11T15:49:00.000-07:00

Decisions, Decisions

2008-02-08T14:02:00.001-07:00

Eating is for Chumps

2008-02-07T11:18:00.001-07:00

Heart Attacks, Weeping, Win!

2008-02-04T12:15:00.000-07:00

Dinner With the Recidivists

2008-02-01T09:12:00.001-07:00

The Treadmill is Always Running

2008-01-30T12:45:00.001-07:00

Wendy's Drive-Thru

2008-01-29T09:39:00.000-07:00

Very Gray Sunday

2008-01-28T11:33:00.002-07:00

Emphatically Not Ravioli

2008-01-28T11:33:00.001-07:00

Friday Night Hibernation

2008-01-28T11:32:00.001-07:00

What's in the Cupboard?

2008-01-25T10:39:00.000-07:00

Dinner in the Car on the Way to a Movie on a Dark Night

2008-01-24T14:28:00.000-07:00

Melancholia Requires Pork

2008-01-23T09:08:00.001-07:00

X and O

2008-01-22T10:45:00.000-07:00

Eating Late Again

2008-01-21T10:25:00.000-07:00

The Salt

2008-01-20T21:20:00.000-07:00

Late Night Dining

2008-01-20T10:21:00.001-07:00

Take Out

2008-01-18T11:05:00.001-07:00

A Reveletory Post

2008-01-15T16:14:00.000-07:00

A few things about Flutephobia:

When I was five, I cut my hair like Dorothy Hamill. It has remained (relatively) short since.

My favorite food for the past year or so has been parsley. I am a slave to parsley.

I hate the flute. By this, I mean the way it sounds. I endeavor to play the flute like Kathleen Turner.

I am in a cooking rut. But things are looking up.

Bustin'

2008-01-02T11:45:00.000-07:00

There is too much to report from my trip to the Tri-State Area.
I did, however, eat pizza in New Jersey, New York, and Connecticut.
I ate so much pizza.
I discovered a food allergy.
I ate the largest bowl of kimchi stew I've ever seen.
I ate a hot dog at a hockey game.
I dug out bone marrow with a dainty little spoon.
I'm the one currently wandering Albuquerque with the top button of my pants undone.

2007-12-20T10:47:00.001-07:00

Great Band. Great Director. Great Artist.

I Hate Birds

2007-12-19T12:51:00.001-07:00

Especially these 3:

"Birdie" from Peter and the Wolf. The work is subtitled Symphonic Tale for Children, which I scratched out on my part, replacing "Symphonic" with "Sadistic." What a twitchy, hysteric bird. Trying to play "in character" is akin to happily shrugging my shoulders at my decades of neuroticism.

"Voliere" or "The Aviary" from Carnival of the Animals. These poor birds. They must need their cage cleaned, or something, judging from how fast they are flying. Someone, please, slip a Quaalude in their food. Grace in flight. Grace in flight. Grace in flight.

"L'oiseux de feu," bitches. Variation of the Firebird. In Stravinsky's version, the variation acts as a Catherine Wheel, in effect– and for me– a Catherine Wheel, in affect. In Russian folklore, the Firebird is a creature that is thought to bring both blessings and doom. The Firebird has certainly brought me doom, but I keep practicing to try to entice it to bring me blessings.

Wrappin' up

2007-12-17T09:13:00.000-07:00

This past week, and this next one, as my boss describes, are "Balls to the Wall."
The day job is shutting their doors for the holidays (woo!), and in doing so, a herculean effort of cleaning our plates must be done. No design emergencies: HA!
When not dealing with design emergencies, Flutephobia has been partaking in these cultural activities: watching some movies, subbin', gift shopping, reading, oscillating wildly on life plans.

From Peeps to Poops

2007-12-11T09:16:00.000-07:00

I guess that one of my faults is tenacity.

I keep going back to the meringues. After this summer's near-disaster, a rational person would just leave meringue creation well enough alone. Last night while practicing– instead of thinking about flute and how to play it– I was thinking of great meringue flavors. Meringue seems to me to be more like a summer treat: ephemeral; sweet; in most cases (except mine), easy to prepare.

As this is the bleak winter season in Albuquerque, I was thinking of ways to warm up meringue, when I thought of the delicious brown sugar and fig scones at The Grove. Brown sugar meringues, then. I took out the egg whites I'd put in the freezer over Thanksgiving, and while waiting for them to defrost, plowed through a frustrating practice.
The egg whites were not completely defrosted by the time I was ready to use them, so I put them in a small waterbath with warm tap water. After finishing my beer, I devised my own meringue recipe, as I had none immediately available. That was fine- I knew from experience that I could fuck these up to the brink of total disaster and they, like cockroaches, would keep coming back. The larger problem at hand was the brown sugar. The box was a brick. A good solution, I thought, was to bash the box as hard as I could against the tabletop for a couple of minutes, then to run the brown sugar chunks through the the mini-prep. Voila! Superfine brown sugar!

I piped two trays of meringues: one was full of turban shapes; the other was supposed to be some kind of swoosh- kind of like the Nike swoosh. Except it turned out looking like a duck. "Look!" I exclaimed from the kitchen to the Sicilian, who was watching a hockey game,"I made Peeps!" The Peeps, as they settled, relaxed into poops. Golden, tiny turds. Turds that tasted like toasted marshmallows. I brought them into the office for the co-workers. Free food, regardless of shape, is still food, and they were consumed quickly.

Overheard

2007-12-10T10:06:00.000-07:00

The Sicilian and I cleared our Sunday and braved the crowds in pursuit of gifties for our families. It seemed that every half hour one of us was working valiantly to prevent the other from having a holiday frenzy/crowd-induced meltdown. We did, however, manage to keep the mood light by eavesdropping on our fellow shoppers' conversations. My favorite quote of the day was overheard while bolting from store to store at Albuquerque Uptown:

Pregnant Woman to Friend: So anyway, that's why her middle name will be Margarita.

RIP Stockhausen

2007-12-07T16:56:00.000-07:00

Groundhog Day

2007-12-05T10:10:00.001-07:00

The alarm clock needs to be addressed.
It is programmed to play the radio, which has been deemed more pleasant to wake up to than the insistent repetitive buzz of prior mornings. My argument was that the alarm needs to, must, be jarring enough to roust me out of my deep slumber. So it's programmed on the worst, most jarring music that will consistently get me out of bed: guitar rock.
The song that lifted me from my slumber this morning? Pat Benetar's Hit Me With Your Best Shot. Other mornings have begun with More Than a Feeling, Hold on Loosely, and All out of Love.
There is another song that has recently become a regular morning recurrance, and because it's the same song it almost makes me feel as if it's a secondary alarm clock. And like I'm living my own personal Groundhog Day. What's the song? King Missile's Martin Scorsese:

This one' called Martin Scorsese
He makes the best fucking films
He makes the best fucking films
If I ever meet him I'm gonna grab his fuckin' neck and just shake him
And say thank you thank you for makin' such excellent fuckin' movies
Then I'd twist his nose all the way the fuck around
And the rip off one of his ears and throw it
Like a like a like a fuckin' frisbee
I wanna chew his fuckin' lips off and grab his head and suck out one of his
eyes and chew on it and spit it out in his face
And thank you thank you for all of your fuckin' films
Then I'd pick him up by the hair swing him over my head a few times
And throw him across the room and kick all his fuckin' teeth in and then
stomp on his face 40 or 50 times
Cuz he makes the best fucking films he makes the best fucking films
I've ever seen in my life
I fuckin love him
I fuckin love him

I really have no control how this song comes into my mornings; what I've been wrapping my mind around is this: If you could choose a song to wake up to every day, what would it be?
Let's make it even easier– if you could wake up to one song for a week, what would it be?

Some songs I've been kicking around:
Sheela-Na-Gig, PJ Harvey
Sovay, Andrew Bird
The second movement of the Ravel String Quartet

What are yours?

Energy Reserves

2007-11-27T16:25:00.000-07:00

Some of my favorite photographs of our Thanksgiving this year.

I'm so thankful to have a holiday where I get to do nothing but hang out and cook and drink wine all day.

It was a wonderful, sleep-filled, cocooning weekend before the rush to the new year.

More Pictures of Walls

2007-11-19T11:16:00.000-07:00

Couldn't have said it better myself.

nous avons bu

2007-11-16T09:08:00.000-07:00

Last night was the first night of Beaujolais Nouveau!

Well, technically, blah blah blah, but I'm not willing to stay up super late to get it in some bar, or drink it for breakfast- though it would be a nice breakfast wine- so we celebrated the beaujolais nouveau avec dîner.

Last year, I made some nice beauj nouv snack treats of frico baskets filled with neufchatel, apples, and thyme. The Sicilian and I ate the delicate hors d'ouvres while listening to Belle and Sebastian and toasting, toasting, toasting.

What I love about beauj nouv is that it is not status. It is appealing, friendly, inoffensive and inexpensive. It smiles at the recipient. It's perfectly content in a tumbler; it doesn't need any ridiculous stemware to make it any more than it is. Beaujolais nouveau is a celebration just to celebrate.

The Sicilian was feeling a little under the weather last night, so we made a calmer evening of it, making a sausage and rosemary pizza with his Grandmother's super-secret sauce. But our friend beaujolais nouveau was such a nice companion to spend dinner with that we ended up smiling, joking, dancing, eating the entire pizza and drinking the entire bottle of wine.

Here's to warm kitchens, smiling wines, and vitamin C.

Pictures of Walls

2007-11-15T14:31:00.001-07:00

Ahhh.

I miss living in San Francisco

2007-11-14T09:25:00.000-07:00

I miss voting on exciting things.
I miss people involving themselves in local and national politics.
I wish I was there to be a part of this.

And a five dollar taqueria burrito the size of a baby's thigh would also be nice. And seeing the Pacific (the big one, the real one) Ocean and the Bridge and the fuzzy hills of Marin every day wasn't half bad either. And let's not forget the scent of the eucalyptus trees smothered in 4p fog in the Park.

Okay- I'mna stop before the weeping over my keyboard commences.

I swoon

2007-10-30T13:54:00.000-06:00

We saw Darjeeling Limited last night. But this is not a review.
Yes, yes, the movie was great; yes, Wes Anderson creates beautiful movies about dysfunction that raise my vulnerability to an absurdly high pitch– but this is not a review. Of the movie.

With the exception of Phil Collins when I was 8 years old, I have never really had the hots for hunky celebrity men. They're not really 'of my life.' I enjoy the art they produce in the medium they're producing it in, and move on once it's finished.

The first movie of Darjeeling limited is beautiful, especially the scene with Jack's view of Paris. The second movie, though, has an entrance that is second only to Scarlett Johansson's first scene in Lost in Translation. Maybe better.

I have seen only one other movie with Mr. Brody, The Pianist, and though he did a fantastic job in that movie, it really wasn't a swoon-able role, and I didn't give him any thought after I saw the film. Nevertheless, there we were in the theater, drinking our $5 bottle of water, when it happened. The soundtrack volume turned up, the film played in slow motion, and Adrien Brody jumped aboard the train.

What I didn't know, what I never anticipated about myself, is that I am capable of the swoon.

Involuntarily, I let out an audible sigh, my body went limp, and the Sicilian gave me one of the most accusatory looks I think I've received in my life.

Here is what I'll be thinking about for the rest of the week:

Flutephobia in the Section

2007-10-29T16:34:00.000-06:00

Flute job. Day job. Flute job. Day job.

Weekends like this are why I keep pursuing the flute job. I mean, how great would it be to play music all day? Without stressing about how it would fit into my work schedule– it would be my work schedule.

I played a set of Halloween music this weekend in Santa Fe, and it was tons of fun and stress. The orchestra dressed in costume– I went as a member of Team Zissou– and made it through the program with a smile on my face.

The Sicilian came to the concert and loved it. Which, in turn, made me love doing it even more. Hearing the Sicilian, who has no orchestral background, get so enthusiastic talking about the concert on the drive home reinforced exactly why I love making music with 50 other people at once for an audience to take into themselves and enjoy. Here's to great flute sections, in great costumes, playing great music.

My Boss is 54

2007-10-26T16:10:00.000-06:00

Flute job. Day job. Flute job. Day job.

Ideas like this are a big reason I like the day job.

I am the Executive Assistant to the President of a prestigious design firm. Thus, I am in charge of organizing his birthday at the office every year. As he is the President of the firm, he has to have the best birthday– stale cake from the grocery store just won't do. In previous years I've organized: cured meat tray with a fancy bottle of scotch; custom gun cake; bloody marys (from scratch! build your own bloody mary!) with bagels. This year I was stumped. So I sat him down and asked him what he'd like for his birthday.

"A Parade." was his answer.

A parade. For a 54th birthday.

Steve, I'll organize a parade in your honor for something a little more monumental than your 54th birthday, I promise. Like coming in to the office on time every day. But in the meantime, I'll organize a cupcake parade in your honor, with delicious little cupcakes from The Grove marching down a custom designed road– and I'll even make sure your name is spelled correctly on their tiny pennants.

Happy Birthday, Steve!

xo,
Flutephobia

Marcello, it's bloody wonderful

2007-10-22T15:56:00.000-06:00

From Eternally Cool:

FTM Futurist Action 2007 aims to battle against “everything and everyone with a spirit of healthy violence” and to turn this “grey bourgeois society into a triumph of color.”

2007-10-17T16:46:00.001-06:00

Roy McMakin
Love & Loss, 2005

2007-10-09T13:37:00.001-06:00

Just another way my love of social histories, cooking, and music all tie together. Oh, and presented by my heroine.

Sweet Potato My Heart

2007-10-04T15:06:00.000-06:00

I guess I'm lucky.

My favorite thing to eat is something that I make. I wonder if it's the same with everyone? Until I began making my favorite thing, before it was my favorite thing, favorite foods were more closely tied to one experience: the chicken salad sandwich I ate in Diamond Heights in San Francisco; the oyster summit in Seattle; tomatoes in Portland. But as it's impossible to replicate experience, I'll settle for a soup that is always evolving, always satisfying, and always manages to put me in a pleasant, everything-is-good-in-the-world mindset. And it utilizes the immersion blender- a gadget that I fought against, that I never thought I'd use- which has proven to be one of my favorite tools in the kitchen. Well, that and my Le Creuset dutch oven.

I found this recipe in the NYT food section a few years ago, and like any worthwhile recipe, prodded, stretched, and incorporated myself into its guidelines. I admit, I don't always use sweet potatoes- personally, I like the silky texture jewel yams provide. One can also tart this soup up as much as one can handle. I like simple food, myself, but I have been known to make a cilantro oil to drizzle over the top, with a swirl of creme fraiche.

2 or 3 good sized sweet potatoes (or yams), peeled and cut in chunks
4 or 5 leeks, white and light green parts only, sliced into half moons or rings
2 or 3 sliced serrano peppers, depending on how you're feeling (Start with 1 and add more if you need to- ultimately there should be a nice combination of sweet silky heat.)
stock or water, depending on what's around
somewhere between 1/4 and 1 cup half & half
cilantro, chopped, for the finish. not a garnish.

Melt a nub of butter with some olive oil
Add leeks and sweat a bit- don't color them
Add sweet potato chunks and serranos and sautee for a sec
(here is where I add a dash of coriander, or cumin, or whatever I'm feeling that day)
Cover with stock or water & bring to a boil
Boil for like 10 minutes
Cover and simmer until you're ready to eat- at least 20 minutes and up to an hour
Take off heat. Here's where you use the immersion blender. Blend until a nice texture that you like develops. Before it has totally developed, add half & half and blend some more.
Ladle into bowls, add cilantro and whatever slatternly accoutrements you require.

xo,
Flutephobia

Repent!

2007-09-24T11:49:00.000-06:00

Bless me Father, for I have sinned.
It has been 20 years since my last confession.

20 years, Jesus Christ!
What do you wish to confess, child?

I wish to confess my nutritionally deficient and unbalanced eating yesterday. This is dumb, isn’t it?

These are serious issues, but honesty will bring you deliverance.
Please continue.

Well, Father, for breakfast I ate a breakfast quesadilla.

That doesn’t sound so bad.
Eggs are very nutritious.

I'm sure they are, but I'm an ovophobe. I substituted bacon for the eggs. So the quesadilla was tortilla, cheese, fried potatoes and bacon. And salsa.

Oh, I see.
We must face our sins with a heavy heart, which, in your case, must be especially heavy, considering that breakfast.
Is there more you’d like to confess?

Yes. In lieu of lunch, I drank a café con leche, which is made primarily of sweetened condensed milk.
Then my kind neighbor came to my door with a mini pan of monkey bread, which I ate. Quickly and feverishly. Standing up.
Later, I ate about a half cup of mixed berries.

All this on a Sunday.
This really doesn’t seem appropriate behavior for the holy day.
However, you did end it with a righteous choice of some
fresh fruit.
I hope you did end the day's gluttony at this point, with some prayer time to reflect on your dining choices.

Father, I drank a large of glass of wine with the fruit.
About an hour later, I ate a brownie.

I could accept the wine; it is the blood of our Savior, after all.
The brownie, well, I suppose it could have been construed as a type of bread.
I’d have an easier time with this had it been angel food cake.
Is that all?

I wish it was, Father, I wish it was.
At the end of the evening, before watching a movie about glam rock gluttony, I ate a couple of handfuls of pretzel nubs and washed them down with half of a bottle of Chimay red, which had been open in the fridge for 3 days.
How may I absolve myself of these sins to my body and food ethics?

Well.
This is all very serious.
You have strayed very far from the flock.
But ours is a forgiving God, and I am just his messenger.
I would suggest that you start with 5 Hail Marys, not Bloody Marys.
The only wine you should be sipping should be after receiving Communion.
I also recommend that you base your diet for the next month on only righteous, Bible approved food choices.
Lots of loaves and fishes.
Brownies and Monkey Breads are the tools of the Devil.
He wants to tempt us with his delicious, sinful foodstuff.
The path to Hell is paved with Little Debbie’s Snack Cakes.
The flames are stoked by lard and processed sugars.
Repent, lost child.

Hi. Would you like to see this video of 3 guinea pigs fighting over a cucumber?

2007-09-20T15:16:00.001-06:00

Virgo Mania!

2007-09-20T11:40:00.000-06:00

What a fabulous birthday.

The famous artist gave me a real live piece of art that is hanging at an appropriate height in my tiny french apartment.

The sister wished for me that 28 would be much better than 27. Hope so. I'm off to a good start thus far.

The Sicilian and I took a couple of days off mid-week to go see The National in Denver. On the way up we saw antelope, turkey vultures, and once we got to Denver, we spotted one of the twins from the band getting into a cab.

We were so excited to see the show:

Don't we look thrilled?

The concert was great. Everyone in The National is fantastic: I can't single out any one band member who impressed me more than the others. Okay, maybe I can- the keyboard/viola player is totally rad and obviously has spent some time playing chamber music; the drummer plays with such finessed musicianship and is so efficient physically; the singer looks like Bruno Ganz (well, I think so, at least in Far Away, So Close. But maybe it was the lighting, or the singing, or the heavenly experience that got to my head).

And I got a sexy new pair of shoes:

Here's to lovely birthdays and lovely mini-breaks.

Autumnquerque II

2007-09-11T09:30:00.000-06:00

It is, hopefully, beginning to transition from the crispy Albuquerque heat of summer to the lovely layer-inspiring days of the New Mexico autumn.

Green chiles are being roasted city-wide, wafting their smoky, savory air across the dirt city, gently leading me back to my favorite cooking season of the year.

I don't do much cooking in the summer as I do assembling. Salads, bruschetta if I'm really willing to exert some effort- but during the summer I generally concentrate on eating my fill of ripe luscious fruit, unadorned.

I feel as if I'm in the last throes of summer ever; in feeling as such, the Sicilian and I celebrated the last legs of summer with a very summery dish, with a heftiness of the oncoming autumn. One of my coworkers at the day job brought in the last bounty of tomatoes from her garden, which we used to prepare a lovely Monday meal, eaten while watching the dark windy clouds of pre-autumnquerque roll in.

This is a total mutt translation of pasta caprese. Apparently, combinations like this are what evolve out of a relationship between a WASP and a Ginzo.

we halved and sauteed cherry tomatoes in garlic
a few minutes in, added a hefty pinch of corinader and some red pepper flakes
then added a nice glug of pinot gris, which we reduced by at least half, then added a bit of pasta water to balance
then a handful of marjoram
spooned sauce and tomatoes over mostaccioli
then lobbed big hunks of Sweetwood Dairy chevre on top.

dessert: roasted figs with honey.

End of Opera Roundup

2007-08-21T14:45:00.000-06:00

It's upon me. The end of the Santa Fe Opera season. And while I may not be as exhausted as the orchestra, La boheme was exhausting in its own right. 13 performances, and another 10 or so additional services. 3 months. Here's my wrap up:

Number of times carpooled: 3

Number of speeding tickets narrowly avoided: 1

Number of times the Sicilian was awake upon my return: 4

Number of coffee and cookies purchased on the way up: 20 coffees, 6 cookies

Number of emails addressed to Ladies and Gentlemen of the Boheme Banda: 9

Number of times my phone died on a conversation driving up: 3

Number of dead dogs with rigor mortis that had obviously died falling out of their owner's truck: 1

Number of times called #DWI: 1

Number of times made fun of because of the fat suit: every time

Number of times made fun of because of my giggle: 4

Number of times unable to hold my embouchure because of smiling at guests in audience: 2

Number of amazing sunsets that brought me to tears: 1

Albums most listened to on the drive: Panda Bear's Person Pitch, Of Montreal's Hissing Fauna, Are You the Destroyer?

Number of performances that I absolutely loved what I was doing: 13

Summer breeze...makes me feel hungry

2007-08-16T10:40:00.000-06:00

The Sicilian and I were driving aimlessly the other day, and tired with the music selections in the car, decided to listen to the radio for a bit. NPR was broadcasting listener's favorite summer foods and food memories, which naturally led to a discussion of our own.

There was a farm down the road from where I grew up that had seasonal u-pick. In the autumn, it was pumpkins; winter was christmas trees; summer was blueberries. We'd get in the wood paneled minivan with our big Costco buckets and spend an afternoon filling them up with the berries, getting sunburned and predictably eating ourselves silly along the way. I'm quite picky regarding blueberries: they must be raw, they must taste of herbs and earth, they must be sweet and small. Yes, I will cook them if I have to, but I will only take such measures if the blueberries are past their prime. When I do cook them, I usually do a rip on the fantastic blueberry-nectarine pie recipe in Baking With Julia. I don't have specific measurements, as I generally make enough filling for whatever pastry needs I have at the time. I have made personal galettes, I have made deep-dish pies, I have made fancy looking tarts, and on and on. Once, I shared an entire pie with the Sicilian straight out of the oven at 10 o'clock at night.

Pick through blueberries, taking care to pick out the cute little stems that are sometimes still attached. Rinse, popping a few in your mouth along the way.
Split the total amount of blueberries to be used in half.
In a smallish saucepan, combine half of the blueberries with some orange or lemon zest and juice, nutmeg and or clove, a little black pepper, a tablespoon or two of butter, a little more sugar than you think the berries need, and a pinch of salt. Heat over low flame, and stir with a spoon you don't mind staining purple as the blueberries pop and ooze their juice, thickening the sauce to the consistency of a semi-runny compote. This should take about 10 minutes. Take the pan off the heat, and let thicken a bit as it cools. Combine with raw blueberries, add to pastry, and bake until done.

Baking Music: YLT I Can Hear the Heart Beating as One

Hyperflutephobia

2007-08-09T11:48:00.000-06:00

Q: How do you get two piccolo players to play in tune?
A: Shoot one of them.

The National Flute Association's annual convention is in town this week.

Allow me to go on public record and say that I loathe flutists. And with literally thousands of flutists currently in town, my personal dread threshold has reached its breaking point. But how can I, a flutist, hate flutists so much? Easy. I didn't want to play flute. I wanted to play cello, but there was a flute in the family, and my parents thought I was more of a "band person" anyway, so it goes.

There are things I love about playing the flute and its bastard sibling, piccolo: using one's breath to create sound to form experience and art is the most fulfilling feeling in my existence; playing high and loud ("peeling the paint") is exhilarating to me in ways that have yet to be matched; shiny things are nice, etc. But people that play the flute are another story altogether. There are a few sane, funny, intelligent and engaging flutists out there, and I've been lucky enough to meet them.

I've made my own name tag to wear around the convention center. Or maybe I'll just wear it around town. Or maybe I'll just wear it around the office.

An Open Letter

2007-08-06T09:56:00.001-06:00

Dear Holiday Inn Express in Santa Fe, and more specifically, the asshole good old boy who precipitated all of this,

Santa Fe is overrun with tourists in the summer. Santa Fe is the #2 art market in the country, and when tourists aren't buying overpriced pastel sketches of wolves or Kokopelli, they're attending performances at the Opera or the Symphony. Both of which I played in this weekend.

It was 3 in the afternoon. I was playing flute- for maybe 10 minutes- when I heard the knock at the door. It was you, you sweaty, sunburned good old boy, and in your nasty drawl, menaced, "Awr yew goin' to be doin' that much lawnger?" Well, yes, asshole, I was. I needed an hour with my instruments to ensure that the performances I was going to be giving for the throngs of you tourists would sound good. "Well then, you'll be gettin' a complaint," was your response, and sure enough, Holiday Inn Express, in placating one customer, you endangered the life of another.

You put me in what amounted to a cleaning storage room, filled with broken custodial carts, bashed in walls, piles of sawdust, and unbeknownst to me, a door that locked automatically from the outside. So once I'd worked though my anger with being displaced by playing piccolo at top volume and was ready to join my parents- who were in town for only a couple of days- for a lovely dinner before the Symphony, I tried to get out of the asbestos ridden room you'd been so generous to provide, and couldn't. The door was locked. After kicking it for some time- as there was no phone in the storeroom for me to alert anyone to the situation- your manager tried to get me out, but didn't have the key with them, so they had to go back to the front desk to get the key. It appears the hotel staff weren't even aware the door locked from the outside. This is a serious fire hazard. I'm sure many people would be ecstatic to have one less piccolo player on the planet, but I value my life.

I do realize that musicians are not always welcome guests in a hotel, but we are paying guests nevertheless, and it was 3 in the afternoon, after all. I do much traveling around the country, auditioning- business traveling, and I stay at a variety of hotels. I had never stayed at a Holiday Inn before, I can promise that Holiday Inn Express will never receive any further business from me.

2007-07-26T12:25:00.000-06:00

Somewhat less dull things:

Radish salad with mache, dill, and flowered goat cheese
Finishing Harry Potter
Frizzante in the office fridge
Rose sangria with basil and lime
The super-massive black widow just feet from my front door, eating a japanese beetle

Millions of Peaches, Peaches for Me

2007-07-16T14:27:00.000-06:00

Last year, I harvested pounds of apricots grown from a tree in my yard. I was set for stone fruit through the whole season- I think the only other fruit I ate all summer was blueberries. I didn't really miss other varieties of stone fruit, as I have been wronged by it so many times. Underripe and crunchy one day, bruised, rotted, and attracting flies the next- it was just never right.

This weekend, however, I have fallen back in love with peaches. I bought pounds of peaches at the Santa Fe Farmer's Market, and decided that the best way to eat a peach is one after another, in rapid succession, with juice dribbling down the chin and staining the shirt. An intermezzo of modern art is followed by yet another peach binge. Later that day, following a light dinner, peach cobbler with a lovely viognier.

The peach cobbler was a fairly improvised affair; I threw it together before the Sicilian and I started a movie. These peaches were so beautiful, I almost felt bad about baking them, but the spur of the moment cobbler was a perfect end to a peachy weekend.

Preheat the oven to 375. I had these great mini springform pans, (Which are not correct for a cobbler, but who's counting?) that I filled with sliced peaches, then mixed together a crumble of butter, equal parts sugar and flour, cardamom and a little clove. If I had pinon or hazelnuts, that would have been good too. Bake until golden brown on top and bubbly.

Lavendisaster?

2007-07-09T16:15:00.000-06:00

This is not my favorite time of year in Albuquerque.
Right before the monsoons really begin, right before we can collectively anticipate the daily afternoon cool off, it's just fucking hot.
Crispy.

The Sicilian is back! and it has been a wonderful week, filled with good meals. It is so hot, however, that mostly we have been holing up in my tiny french meat locker of an apartment, avoiding the energy-draining, mind-bending heat.

We did manage to venture out to the Los Poblanos Lavender Festival this weekend, to recreate with the other WASPs dressed in white. Exiting with two large bunches of lavender, which we cut ourselves, valiantly avoiding bee stings, my mind swung toward lavender sweets, something easy, requiring little or no heat.

Albuquerque is the perfect place for meringues. We consider a day with 30% humidity to be muggy. Perhaps it is because of the skin-leathering arid atmosphere that, despite making every mistake known to inhibit the science of meringue cookies, I managed to make them with success.

Mistake #1: I didn't have a mixing bowl, so I went to Target and bought one. Had to wash off store debris. Am impatient, and washed it as soon as I got home, drying it with a towel, leaving wet spots.

Mistake #2: Am impatient. Pulled eggs straight out of fridge and began cracking away.

Mistake #3: Amidst impatient cracking/separating, broke a yolk. Pulled out most of it with my fingers.

Mistake #4: No cream of tartar. Used a squeeze of lemon and managed to squeeze in a seed, which I pulled out with (again) my oily fingers. Only salt on hand is coarse grain sea salt. There is no way these whites will stabilize, or so I had thought.

Mistake #5: Whisking by hand. One's measure of soft peaks, I've found, is equal to the pain in one's hand and arm. Added sugar way too soon. Lots of volume, but no stiffness.

Mistake #6: Also had to buy a cookie sheet at Target. Upon loading oven, realized cookie sheet is too long. Just. Decide to tape oven shut with masking tape.

Mistake #7: Own one new too-long cookie sheet, not two. While first batch is baking, rotating, baking some more and cooling, decide pacing is not a best use of time and begin practicing. Leave remaining meringue batter just sitting on the table for over an hour. Re-whip whites, surprised that they actually managed to stiffen up in their rest.

Mistake #8. Eat meringue cookie straight out of oven and promptly burn tongue.

Lavendisaster avoided, the meringues, despite all errors, turned out wonderfully. I'd post a photo, but I ate them all with some plum jam.