Everybody Wants To Pretend To Be A Neil Gaiman Character, Sometimes.

And sometimes it's a pretty easy thing to imagine:

(You can see where I'm going with this.)

(I mean, COME ON!)

(That's right, that reminder. That's right.)

(Like you've never gotten bored and slid under the table before! Seriously.)

(I mean, it's not like eavesdropping on Dream and Destruction as they debate their responsibilities is more engrossing than whatever's on the rug.)

(Hair in food: Achievement unlocked.)

These images are shoddy phone photographs of some of the artwork in the graphic novel Brief Lives, in Neil Gaiman's Sandman series. Which you likely already know, because you are likely Jessica, who first loaned me these books ten years ago, before I accumulated my own copies. (Hello, Jessica!)

Here is a copy of the book's cover, so that if you're NOT Jessica, you'll know what the cover looks like:

You're welcome!

Alert: Beeswax Candles Are Not For Eating

Oh man. Trying so hard to remember that beeswax candles are not food. 

This homemade candle was a Christmas/Hanukah combo gift and it smells really good. It's like, intellectually I know that it's just going to taste like wax. 

I...Eew. Okay, I bit it. Yup. It is a candle. 

Still, it's really hard to write about its smell without really focusing on its smell, and it smells like really good honey.

So. Journalism.

Dammit:

But I told you. At least it was a small bite!

Candles are meant to be consumed by fire, not mouths:

Tonight's Dinner Is Brought To You By The Letter P

That's peanut butter and pizza, in tribute to the old Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles cartoon show of my childhood.

Unfortunately, my cat Leonard stole a pizza crust and ran around the house with it while I chased him with a broom, like some kinda Keystone Cops, Benny Hill-type situation. 

I laughed very, very hard and couldn't stay mad, but despite my ability to stay properly in character as "angry at Leonard," he did eventually drop my pizza crust while he was running.

I love you, Leonard. You're a sweet kitty. But in the words of Canadian television (all of which is the Trailer Park Boys), "I'm sorry, but ya know? Fuck off. This is onenna those, like, worst case Ontarios, or whatever."

Fuck you, Leonard. Snuggly little bastard.

UPDATE:

I'm sorry, Letter P. I just couldn't stay faithful. I added a banana to the peanut butter, even though it starts with Letter B.

Onions: The Daredevil Game

There is a comic book.

A comic book called Daredevil.

A comic book about a sweetass blind attorney who does cool shit by day, is like, a ninja or whatever by night. This is a worthwhile comic book.

Unfortunately, it was adapted into a movie that I fall asleep when I try to watch it. Do not watch the Ben Affleck movie. Watch a different Ben Affleck  movie instead. My phone's spell check knows how "Affleck" is spelled. Weird.

Better yet, instead of watching Daredevil, OR ANY OTHER BEN AFFLECK MOVIE, if you want to see a death-defying attorney walk around with sunglasses and a cane, watch the end of the third season of Battlestar Galactica. There's an attorney character who wears sunglasses and carries a cane, and while he's not blind, or a ninja, or any such Daredevil-themed things, he brings a cat to a job interview, and then says at the interview "If it's any consolation, I hate this cat as much as you hate having to hire me" BEFORE ANYBODY HAD HIRED HIM. 

Pretty sure that's the quote. I might be paraphrasing. I don't care. It was badass, is what I'm saying, and my favorite moment in television history. If I was even 15% as cool as that scene, this blog would...um...well...okay, so I'm not cool enough to know what this blog would be like if I was cooler, because I lack the perspective. But it would be pretty freakin' cool. 

But this was a digression. I'm here to talk about some goddamned onions.

Anyway!!!

I mention Daredevil because when I leave my nest of cat hair, weird jackets, shameless curiosity about human behavior, sketchy-looking found objects, and psychology textbooks (STOP TALKING ABOUT BATTLESTAR GALACTICA, WE'VE ALREADY CHANGED SUBJECTS) to chop onions...well?

As a ginger, I "have" to wear mascara. I really do. It ties my face together, dude.

As someone sensitive to onions, oh no I don't have to wear mascara. 

EVERY TIME, my eyes sting, then they melt and start to run down my face, then the paint on my eyelashes melts into my eyes, and then my eyes sting even more (holy fuck, it's awful), and then next thing you know, I have to find my way from the kitchen to the bathroom with my eyes squeezed shut to rinse my eyes and scrub them with a clean, wet washcloth. 

I made two meat pies yesterday, using only one onion (ONLY ONE GIGANTIC ONION!!!!!), and I walked to my bathroom sink three times (THREE TIMES!!!!!) with my eyes shut. I've gotten really pretty quite fairly good at this, I should say.

The first time, I tracked my location using the bottoms of my feet, because there are a series of rugs between the kitchen and the bathroom. I call it cheating to use my hands for data when I'm crossing the house sightlessly, like I call it cheating to use notes when doing sudoku. Shut up. That's not pretentious. I scrambled to the sink, I washed my hands, and then I washed my face furiously. Oh God, my eyes. My eyes!!!!!

I returned to the onion, and got through another third of it. Two thirds down!!!!! But again, holy fuck my eyes sting when I'm around raw, chopped onions. This time I paid attention to what little light I could see through my clamped-shut, horrorshow eyelids. I know where my lamps are, and could guess my location that way. It's cheating--Daredevil is a thousand times better at this--but it did the job, and it was actually pretty interesting to experience my house that way.

Triumphant from a truly epic eye washing session, I resumed chopping the onion and was able to finish the job before my third eye-washing. 

The third eye-washing sightless walk to the bathroom sink was the best. Not only did I finally get closure on the whole onion problem--not a small gain!--but Greg The Cat (one of my two cats) was standing on the living room table. When I walked by, Greg smashed his face in my hand, and followed me back to the bathroom sink/makeshift eyewash station. Thanks to this Greg intervention, I was able to avoid bonking my leg into the table.

And the onions...were completed!

(Fuck you onions, you tasty monsters.)

And the pies...were completed! This photo is only of one pie. There were two. I did not photograph one of the pies.

And now this story...is completed! Thank you and goodnight! Tip your waiter if you have one.

The Waffle Ratio--When toppings outlive their host

The waffles are almost gone. The raspberry jam (homemade by somebody else, thankyouverymuch) is still plentiful on the plate, and the whipped cream is, as always, nearly bottomless. (I like the sound that the whipped cream can makes. Shut up. No, you shut up!)

I am faced with a decision.

An old decision.

An ancient decision.

I am alone at the moment. By myself. In isolation. My husband is at work, we have no guests over, and my cats are sitting two feet away, feigning disinterest in my food. Nobody can witness my actions firsthand.

I must ask myself this:

Decorum or practicality?

Reality or illusion? 

Is it a better thing to make another waffle, so that these toppings will appear "dressed" when I eat them? Or should I throw propriety to the wind and make a scientific decision about the calories that a third waffle would, quite literally, bring to  the table? I certainly don't mind eating whipped cream and jam by themselves. Scraping my plate into the garbage is completely out of the question. As I said before, this jam is homemade.

High heels or comfortable flats?!?

Sports car or low-mileage, slow-acceleration...uh...car?!? (I totally forgot the slang for that.)

Space helmet or tiara...in space?!?

Update:

I ate the whipped cream and jam while typing this blog entry on my phone, before I even could have taken the time to get up and walk to the kitchen. Science wins!!!

Double Update:

Either waffles gave me a sore throat, which is impossible(?), or I've caught something and need to get extra sleep tonight. Or extra sleep right now, while I'm avoiding my graduate school homework. Or extra sleep tonight. Or right now. Or tonight. Aaargh, you see what I mean?!? Decision-making is such a grueling and punishing process sometimes.

D&D Delicacies, 2/1/2014

Today is the day before my hometown's Super Bowl face-off with the Denver Broncos. Snack foods are ON SALE, and while we plan to spend tomorrow in a sports pub, tonight we entertain guests in our home for Dungeons and Dragons.

If you are not familiar with D&D, well, go and fix that. You're already using the internet. You have to go online to read this, because these words are on a website.

In our house, D&D night has the intensity and snack-seriousness of a poker night, but with "fight the dragon!" heavy metal undertones. 

And so tonight, I am keeping things legit. I mean, you know who cares about food and dragons? How about Tyrion Lannister. That dude's culinary palate is, like, 1/8th of George R R Martin's A Song of Ice and Fire books. How about EVERY HOBBIT EVER?!?!?! Caring about food and caring about dragons are, like, two sides of the same gp. (Google "gp" too.)

What kind of food? OLD-TIMEY FOOD!!! What kind of food? LIKE BREADS AND CHEESE, I THINK!!!

Tonight, I did my best to keep this scenario both proper and legit:

Not Cheese:

We have small red grapes. They are sweet and amazing, except for the grapes on the one inexplicably wrinkly, old branch. Why does that always happen?!? I bought the grapes minutes before serving them. Huuuunhhhh graaaaaAAAAAAPESSSSSS!!!!!!!

We have Columbus dry Italian salame. (That is how they spell it on the packaging.) I added this to the spread after the cheeses, and after the grapes, but before the bread. It's greasy (good greasy), satisfying, barely spiced, and hearty. I served it at room temperature.

We have red pepper and cheddar cheese foicica, heated in the toaster oven until passable as oven-fresh. I was skeptical, but oh man, I cannot argue with the results I got. That bread is goooood.

Is Cheese:

We have goat Gouda, which has been complimented by a guest on being very mild, and "not goaty." It's the mildest cheese of the three, by far, and is wonderfully creamy and round-tasting. I do not know which creamery is responsible for the cheese, because I purchased it from the "discount, posh cheeses bin" in a QFC, and the only label I found was the sale price.

We have a rosemary and olive oil asiago. It's smooth, sweet, and surprisingly easy to slice. It's not any more crumbly than medium yellow cheddar, so, my guess is that it must be young. This cheese also tastes milder than other asiago cheeses I've had, which tend to be older, crumblier, saltier, and similar in flavor to typically-served Parmesan. In this cheese, the rosemary is subtle, but detectable. While its flavor is strongest on the rosemary-leaf-encrusted crust, the less-herbed areas are no less delicious. Thank you again, sale-priced cheese bin!

Lastly but not leastly, we have whatever this label says:

It has fuzzy grey-green caves in it that you're not supposed to let your eyes focus on, because cheese mold is as horrifying as it is nutritious. I assume. Depending on who you are. This cheese is creamy, pungent, salty, and a liiiiittle bit spicy. Spicy, of all things! It is the strongest-tasting of the three cheeses I've served for this D&D group. It is very good. Still gentler on the tongue than most veined cheeses I've had, without losing its meaning of purpose. I took off my glasses to improve the blurriness of my eyesight, and then I ate a lot of this cheese.

D&D NIIIIGHT RULES!!!!!!!!!!

Also, please click on this link. It is for a YouTube:

http://youtu.be/VufilzHKTqk

I didn't make it, and am in no way affiliated with it, beyond being a music fan. However, Red Fang's video for their song "Prehistoric Dog," while technically not being about D&D, fits the D&D "for not kids, or teenagers, guys" mood.