WHAT?!? Raw cabbage and homemade fudge...OKAY?!?!?!

Yes, those ARE my tooth marks! Thank you for noticing.

For the record: not pregnant. I'm just doing this.

UPDATE: My cats are showing no interest in either of these foods, so it appears that my evening is a success.

DOUBLE UPDATE, PALATE EXPLANATION: The cabbage provides crunch and a weird vegetable flavor. When the cabbage flavor builds up too much on my palate, and starts to get spicy and overwhelming, I switch to nibbling on the fudge. Once the fudge starts to taste a little too one-note (it's my first batch, so no "extras" were thrown in), I switch back to eating the cabbage. Perfect.

Chocolate coconut ice cream update--1/2 pint in

Uhhhhhhgh.

I got booooooorrrrred.

It's like my palate isn't sensing the coconut enough anymore, and it's excessively picking up the chocolate flavor, which, if I'm honest, is imperfect. I mean, it tastes like intermediate-quality chocolate, which is still way above a lot of grades of chocolate that I'll eat. It doesn't taste like wax, so it has most candy bars trumped. But, like, it's "spending an extra four dollars on a chocolate bar at the grocer" or "buying Costco brand 'good chocolate'" good, not "took the bus to Oh! Chocolate good."

(An aside: If you can get anywhere near the Greater Seattle Area, GET YOURSELF TO OH! CHOCOLATES ALREADY. Or go to any small-business chocolatier, in whatever area you're in, really. Support the little guys who put in the hard work, and who make at least a few kinds of truffles that require refrigeration to stay fresh for more than a few days. Expired food is gross, sure, but food that expires quickly is awesome BEFORE its expiration date. Anyway.)

As I keep on tasting the coconut ice cream, as my sensitivity to the coconut is dulling and my sensitivity to the cocoa is getting louder, the whole experience has been getting one-note and flat, like trying to drink a glass of coconut milk always ends up after a while. Stupid palate! Stupid, stupid palate! Moving in the opposite direction of how I tell it to move!!!

So...to make up for what my tongue lacks, I sprinkled a bunch of salt on the second half of the pint of chocolate coconut ice cream. 

(For setting: I'm watching The Royal Tenenbaums now, and sorting the very same academic articles that I'd mentioned planning to pass out into, in my last blog entry. However, since that last post, I took some legal, prescribed-specifically-to-me-for-homework-which-is-good-because-I'm-doing-homework ADHD medication, and it woke me the fuck up. I'm even concentrating, now! Somewhat! Envision that scene as the one in which this ice cream experience is taking place.)

After adding salt, some thoughts ran through my head:

"Do I eat too much salt?"

"Am I so desensitized to the flavor of salt that I need to dump it on everything, just to taste my food?"

"Salt is hipster ketchup, isn't it? Fuck. Probably. Everything cool has fancy salt in the title, anymore. Like salted caramel whatever, or whatever."

"Salt is the new ketchup."

"Ugh. [Blank] is the new [blank] needs to be used sparingly. Like, if you're a writer, instead of removing one fashion accessory before leaving the house--really, you should add, like, a dozen accessories before leaving the house, and most of them should have little flashing blinkie lights on them, and be shaped like electronic devices--but if you're a writer, remove at one piece of '[blank] is the new [blank]' from whatever you just did. It's over. That television show got the last one. So pack it up, ship it away. The joking new adaptation of the expression is more familiar now than the original expression was. And if the parody is more famous than the original, then the parody no longer works as a parody. It's too late."

"I like that I used salt."

"Yeah, the salt definitely helped."

"Shit! I dropped my spoon!"

"I wonder if my cats will try to steal my ice cream while I'm up, getting a paper towel? Do they like vegan food? They like catnip. I'll bet they'll eat anything, at least a few tastes, because they're bored. It's what I would do in their shoes."

"Shit, am I still typing in my food blog? Dammit! Okay, back to homework. Back to homework."

************

ACTION SHOT FOR VISUAL INTEREST:

I title it "Shut Up, Sigmund Freud" or "Yes, That IS A Hairbursh In The Background."

The End.

For Now.

Finally bought some coconut milk ice cream

Why didn't I do this sooner?!? I...literally, I'm like...so, okay, like...

Obviously I love eating and/or drinking milk fat. I'm not looking to live forever. (Unless that's an option?) I've accepted the reality of mortality, such as it is. Moreover, I consider myself attractive enough as-is, to avoid avoiding "the good stuff," when it comes to a sweets emergency. (Having a final paper to finalize tonight constitutes a "sweets emergency," and the sore throat that I've recently developed has made its own contributions to the seriousness of the emergency, as well.)

And while I do care about the lifestyles of livestock, very much so, that wasn't what kept me out of the traditional ice cream today, either.

No. Today's decision to buy coconut ice cream happened because I have found myself increasingly troubled by the fact that coconut milk, while creamy, fatty, and flavorful, does not have enough sugar in it, and in spite of that problem, I haven't bothered to figure out how best to sweeten or otherwise tinker with it myself. 

As it turns out, paying somebody else to do things for me has paid off...AGAIN!

I haven't tried any other commercially-available flavors or brands. The only other coconut ice cream I can remember eating was either brand-unknown servings in Thai restaurants, or my sister's homemade coconut ice cream. So, I can hardly claim to be expert enough to provide any meaningful comparisons between brands or styles, which might otherwise provide grocery shoppers with grocery guidance.

I can say, however, that I am extremely glad that I made this purchase. If/when I eat the whole container in one sitting (I've already started that process), it will be 600 calories only, which is kinda like a small hamburger, but made out of ice cream. 

I am also grateful to FINALLY be consuming coconut milk that somebody else has sweetened. I've been drinking the Trader Joe's coconut milk out of a can lately, and it was just making me antsy. Like, it tasted like an ingredient. I mean, I get that it is an ingredient, and a genius one for things like making homemade ice cream and/or curries. But as a stand-alone beverage? Hard to do. Hard to do. It's really thick, and I experience it as having only one flavor and only one texture, and that's just not enough for long-term consumption, in instances like this.

Instead, coconut ice cream is easily, like, a THOUSAND TIMES more convenient. In fact, I probably will eat the whole carton of it in one sitting. And there's a chance that I will immediately follow that activity by "accidentally" falling asleep on the couch in a pile of academic articles, with The Royal Tenenbaums on. (I'm using that movie as an example of personality development theory reflected in cinema, because graduate school=rad.)

Okay. I have reading and writing and passing-out to do, in whichever order feels right at the time. Lindsay out! *drops mic*

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.