So, what did *you* do this weekend?
Ah, one of the more involved ones.
This has been a surprisingly good weekend, full of excitement, adventure, really awesome people, and a new musical treat. BlameThanks go to the nifty ikkeikke for inviting me out for the evening. 8D
In the finest traditions of narrative structure, I shall begin in medias res, to a certain extent; I'm currently in the last stages of preparing my ultimate weekend goody, and waiting for pasta water to boil, 'cos one can't properly enjoy beef stroganoff without its noodly base, can one? No, I thought not.
The stroganoff itself has been a drama-and-kitchen-fire-free enterprise as well, and that's thanks to that handy, dandy, contraption known as the crock pot. Every so often I remember that I own two of them, and even more rarely, actually use one of them. Today was that day, as I'd been having an unfocused beefy craving for a while, and only on Friday (more on that day later) realized that the beastie would let go its hold on my mind with a little help from our Slavic culinary friends. Hence, stroganoff.
Being aware of internet conventions, recipe follows. Apologies for imprecise measurements.
one crock pot
~2.5lb of beef, sliced against the grain and cubed.1
some seasoned flour (salt, pepper, paprika, dry mustard OR mix of your choice)
chopped onion (about 2 cups, perhaps, medium chop)
chopped garlic (a good bit; 6 - 9 large cloves, or one small bulb)
butter
olive oil
tomato paste (one wee can, which when empty will also serve as measurer for...)
a slug of beef broth
a slug of wine (can also use cognac, or omit entirely)
mushrooms, chopped or sliced (enough to sate your needs. I used ~1.5lb, quartered/sixthed)
one very small pinch of dried dill
noodly base of your choice OR rice
sour cream
To begin: chop your onions and garlic first, open your can of tomato paste. Next, prepare your beef. If that means rinsing it first, do so; make sure to pat it dry. Slice beef against the grain, and cube it-- if this is difficult, put the meat in the freezer to firm it up.
Heat a skillet, preferably a heavy one-- cast iron's good. While your skillet's getting hot, season your flour (most easily done in a ziploc), and toss about half the beef in the flour. When your skillet's ready, add a good-sized dollop of butter, a pour of olive oil, and brown the beef in batches, floured pieces first. As the pieces get browned, chuck 'em in the crock pot; for remaining meat, add more butter/olive oil as needed.
Dump the tomato paste on top of the meat in the crock pot, saving the can.
Next: cook the onions and garlic in the same skillet, scraping up all the tasty browned bits from the beef (this is called fond, a french word for 'meaty goodness'.) Cook the onions until translucent, and add to crock pot.
Use the tomato paste can to measure out some beef broth (a scant can's worth), some wine/cognac (a half can's worth); pour them in with everything else, put the lid on, set the heat to "low", and walk away for the next, say, six hours.
Read a book, have some wine, write a letter, sniff BPAL goodness, whack off, whatever. Don't forget to stir the pot occasionally.
When you come back (with clean hands, should you have engaged in hand-dirtying activities), use the same skillet, with butter/olive oil, to cook your mushrooms, seasoning them with salt so they'll sweat a bit. Put 'em in the crock, ready your pasta pot/rice cooker, walk away for another hour or so.
Prepare your pasta or rice, and add the very small pinch of dill to the crock pot, giving everything a good stir. Pause for a moment, and inhale the delicious aromas.
When your starchy base has finished cooking, you're ready to dish up. For preference, I use a bowl... ladle your stroganoff onto a base of noodles or rice, and top it with a generous spoonful of sour cream; stir everything together in the bowl, and experience bliss in your mouth.
1Most recipes for beef stroganoff call for lean cuts of meat. For heaven's sake, DO NOT use "stew meat" for this, unless it's all you have. Yes, I'm being a snot about it. I used a boneless chuck shoulder roast this time around; you can also use rump roast, blade roast, top shoulder, or any other fairly lean cut. I like a bit of marbling to my meat, though, so I didn't cut all of the fat/connective tissue out of the shoulder. Added bonus to using a 'roast' cut-- money savings. Add up several packets of 'stew meat' vs. purchasing a couple pounds of roast, and more often than not, the savings are obvious... plus the flavor of the finished dish will be far superior.
So, that's the food bit. Now for the show!
While browsing EllJay one fine afternoon, something catches my eye. Why, a post from ikkeikke, wishing my attention and that of other Austin denizens! Apparently there is a show going on at The Hideout for one Stuart Davis, described thusly:
He (used to) self-describe as post-apocalyptic punk folk singer; it's just him and his guitar. Used to be more funny, now more Buddhist-weird.
I was... intrigued. Emails are sent, arrangments are made, house is left at a slightly-less-than-optimal time... and whoo, parking downtown was a dirty bitch, for serious. I hadn't been down there in so long, I'd forgotten all about the masses and masses of cars and suburban assault vehicles penis substitutes that take up more than the reasonable allotment of space, etc. Finally find somewhere to park at the same time ikkeikke (hereinafter, E) and crew do (with a dropped call to attest to this fact) and I walk the three blocks up, only slightly late (well, a bit more as I wait in the front coffeeshop area, because E.'s and my call dropped just as we were discussing our respective parking places, and I don't know if they're stuck or not...) only to get a call! They're inside! E. actually came out to get me, and I walked into the one-man musical wonderland of Stuart Davis.
My impressions: charismatic, lyrically complex, witty, exotic, dirty, uplifting, sensual, hilariously funny, sweetly tender, raunchy, welcoming. The audience was comprised of random folks, a bunch of people from a Buddhist retreat that Mr. Davis was attending, and our party (including one die-hard aficionado in the form of... yes, E); very intimate-- couldn't have been more than forty of us there, if that-- and very appreciative of the craft coming out of this tall, skinny, shaven dude with the well-fitting jeans (I remarked afterward that it was pretty obvious that Mr. Davis was going commando, for which I received the Shaming Eyebrow and a little smack.) Good... nay, excellent show, and a nice reminder of why it's nice to try new things, and even more, good to see live shows. The energy is a dynamic beast, un-trappable; even the best live album can't capture the flow between artist, audience, and venue (I firmly believe that one's performance space has strong bearing on show quality.) Afterward, CDs were bought and signed, hugs given (this was the first show I'd ever been to where the musician freely and joyfully hugged audience members... or, for that matter, offered to baptize them with a fountain of water from his mouth.
You can probably tell, but I'll just say it straight out: I had a really, REALLY good time at the show, and even more so afterward. E had brought a group of people with here, whose names are not lost to my brain, honest... but I can only remember a few... Mario, Chris, Rhonda; there were two more young women in our crew, one of whom had a clue in to a bellydance show that we missed by a few minutes, it seems. Ah well. So we enjoyed some jazz and drinks at the Elephant Room, and then some more drinks and people-watching at Cuba Libre. Which led to another thing I'd forgotten-- the sheer press of total asshats that populate the clubs on Sixth. Christ on a cracker... wall to wall preps and girls in the current 'going out' uniform, jeans or slacks and halter top. There was so much uniformity to the crowd, especially the women, that it was difficult to tell whether there were individuals in the vast horde, or just one huge meat-marketing Borg collective.
Anyway, that was the dynamic portion of the weekend. This past week was full of all kinds of excitements, but not really the good kind, which leads me to the portion of this narrative entitled "Adventures in Ghetto Dentistry".
You know you're in a different world when you walk into an office full of white people who are more ghetto than you will ever be on your crunkest day, yo. I got there early enough Friday morning to relax a bit, walked in, gave up my paperwork, and settled down to wait. Not long, as it turned out, as I was ushered in to a dentistry space that gave me a few willies-- it was a mixture of open spaces and alcoves, a little past its prime... and the chair I sat in wobbled a bit more than was comfortable. My actual dentist, whom I only know as "Lester", was very good, though... and he reminded me, very strongly, of a certain Smith Music Department professor-- namely, Raphael Atlas. Tall, kind of twitchy demeanor that was vastly controlled, a bit off, but in a good way. X-rays were taken, I told him about the chipped tooth, and he took a look... and it came out that my chipped tooth wasn't so much a problem-- that's considered normal wear and tear on teeth (I'm looking into a mouth guard for nights anyway, due to the random jaw-clenching I'm still experiencing), as was the OMG GIANT HONKING CAVITY that had formed on the right side of my mouth.
Which meant a filling, post-haste. Apparently this cavity was only a hair's-breadth away from my nerve... not good.
Here is where I tell you that I'm highly resistant to dental anesthetic. By "highly resistant", I mean:
1. It takes a long time for the anesthetic to kick in.
2. It wears off really, really quickly.
3. You might as well bring in the big guns at the outset, due to 1. and 2.
4. Did I mention the long time to kick in/quick wear-off?
The numbing process took a good forty-five minutes, during which I
a) opened my eyes at the wrong time and saw the HUGE syringe that was the final assault on my resistant system
b) learned that the nerve Dr. Lester was aiming for to numb was not in the standard position, according to what dentists learn in school
c) put off lunch for Dr. Lester and his assistant, because of my non-standard reaction (read, 'damn near lack of one') to dental anesthetic.
Finally, my lips and chin were numbed out, which was the sign we were all looking for, and the drilling, scraping, filling, and curing got underway. Didn't take too long, which was good-- a rubber spacer was propping my mouth open, and despite its use, my jaw was getting strained from being held open so long.
Ooh, 24 is on. Ah, the idiocy of Kim Bauer.
Ahem. So, everything's finished up, I'm out considerable cash, and the initial anesthetic is wearing off... but not that last, horse-syringe dose. My lips are tingling and getting back to normal, but my chin's still out of action... not good, as I'm now viciously hungry and limited to chewing on my left side only. I got some lunch (at a restaurant whose service has sadly gone down the crapper), got some cool beverages and pudding, and headed to work. The previous day (Thurs.) L. had been elevated to Night Shift Supervisor, and Friday was full of ninja supervisory fu (as well as her moderate groans about such-- she'd been hoping for an easy day on her last day as a regular schmo, but that was not to be.) I thanked my lucky stars again that I didn't go for the job... the pay increase was not worth the aggravation of having my cow-irkers as subject, especially Turdblossom, whose uselessness increases exponentially, I swear.
I think that's all I'm going to inflict on y'all for now. I know I'm very, very behind on BPAL reviews, but I have no idea when I'll get to play catch-up... which is even more worrisome, as I have some more coming along (I got in on the Carnival Noir re-issue) and will eventually be overwhelmed with leetle bottles. I will say that the heat has made scent-testing a bit of an issue-- everything disappears more quickly than usual. I'll have to find a way around that.
This has been a surprisingly good weekend, full of excitement, adventure, really awesome people, and a new musical treat. BlameThanks go to the nifty ikkeikke for inviting me out for the evening. 8D
In the finest traditions of narrative structure, I shall begin in medias res, to a certain extent; I'm currently in the last stages of preparing my ultimate weekend goody, and waiting for pasta water to boil, 'cos one can't properly enjoy beef stroganoff without its noodly base, can one? No, I thought not.
The stroganoff itself has been a drama-and-kitchen-fire-free enterprise as well, and that's thanks to that handy, dandy, contraption known as the crock pot. Every so often I remember that I own two of them, and even more rarely, actually use one of them. Today was that day, as I'd been having an unfocused beefy craving for a while, and only on Friday (more on that day later) realized that the beastie would let go its hold on my mind with a little help from our Slavic culinary friends. Hence, stroganoff.
Being aware of internet conventions, recipe follows. Apologies for imprecise measurements.
one crock pot
~2.5lb of beef, sliced against the grain and cubed.1
some seasoned flour (salt, pepper, paprika, dry mustard OR mix of your choice)
chopped onion (about 2 cups, perhaps, medium chop)
chopped garlic (a good bit; 6 - 9 large cloves, or one small bulb)
butter
olive oil
tomato paste (one wee can, which when empty will also serve as measurer for...)
a slug of beef broth
a slug of wine (can also use cognac, or omit entirely)
mushrooms, chopped or sliced (enough to sate your needs. I used ~1.5lb, quartered/sixthed)
one very small pinch of dried dill
noodly base of your choice OR rice
sour cream
To begin: chop your onions and garlic first, open your can of tomato paste. Next, prepare your beef. If that means rinsing it first, do so; make sure to pat it dry. Slice beef against the grain, and cube it-- if this is difficult, put the meat in the freezer to firm it up.
Heat a skillet, preferably a heavy one-- cast iron's good. While your skillet's getting hot, season your flour (most easily done in a ziploc), and toss about half the beef in the flour. When your skillet's ready, add a good-sized dollop of butter, a pour of olive oil, and brown the beef in batches, floured pieces first. As the pieces get browned, chuck 'em in the crock pot; for remaining meat, add more butter/olive oil as needed.
Dump the tomato paste on top of the meat in the crock pot, saving the can.
Next: cook the onions and garlic in the same skillet, scraping up all the tasty browned bits from the beef (this is called fond, a french word for 'meaty goodness'.) Cook the onions until translucent, and add to crock pot.
Use the tomato paste can to measure out some beef broth (a scant can's worth), some wine/cognac (a half can's worth); pour them in with everything else, put the lid on, set the heat to "low", and walk away for the next, say, six hours.
Read a book, have some wine, write a letter, sniff BPAL goodness, whack off, whatever. Don't forget to stir the pot occasionally.
When you come back (with clean hands, should you have engaged in hand-dirtying activities), use the same skillet, with butter/olive oil, to cook your mushrooms, seasoning them with salt so they'll sweat a bit. Put 'em in the crock, ready your pasta pot/rice cooker, walk away for another hour or so.
Prepare your pasta or rice, and add the very small pinch of dill to the crock pot, giving everything a good stir. Pause for a moment, and inhale the delicious aromas.
When your starchy base has finished cooking, you're ready to dish up. For preference, I use a bowl... ladle your stroganoff onto a base of noodles or rice, and top it with a generous spoonful of sour cream; stir everything together in the bowl, and experience bliss in your mouth.
1Most recipes for beef stroganoff call for lean cuts of meat. For heaven's sake, DO NOT use "stew meat" for this, unless it's all you have. Yes, I'm being a snot about it. I used a boneless chuck shoulder roast this time around; you can also use rump roast, blade roast, top shoulder, or any other fairly lean cut. I like a bit of marbling to my meat, though, so I didn't cut all of the fat/connective tissue out of the shoulder. Added bonus to using a 'roast' cut-- money savings. Add up several packets of 'stew meat' vs. purchasing a couple pounds of roast, and more often than not, the savings are obvious... plus the flavor of the finished dish will be far superior.
So, that's the food bit. Now for the show!
While browsing EllJay one fine afternoon, something catches my eye. Why, a post from ikkeikke, wishing my attention and that of other Austin denizens! Apparently there is a show going on at The Hideout for one Stuart Davis, described thusly:
He (used to) self-describe as post-apocalyptic punk folk singer; it's just him and his guitar. Used to be more funny, now more Buddhist-weird.
I was... intrigued. Emails are sent, arrangments are made, house is left at a slightly-less-than-optimal time... and whoo, parking downtown was a dirty bitch, for serious. I hadn't been down there in so long, I'd forgotten all about the masses and masses of cars and suburban assault vehicles penis substitutes that take up more than the reasonable allotment of space, etc. Finally find somewhere to park at the same time ikkeikke (hereinafter, E) and crew do (with a dropped call to attest to this fact) and I walk the three blocks up, only slightly late (well, a bit more as I wait in the front coffeeshop area, because E.'s and my call dropped just as we were discussing our respective parking places, and I don't know if they're stuck or not...) only to get a call! They're inside! E. actually came out to get me, and I walked into the one-man musical wonderland of Stuart Davis.
My impressions: charismatic, lyrically complex, witty, exotic, dirty, uplifting, sensual, hilariously funny, sweetly tender, raunchy, welcoming. The audience was comprised of random folks, a bunch of people from a Buddhist retreat that Mr. Davis was attending, and our party (including one die-hard aficionado in the form of... yes, E); very intimate-- couldn't have been more than forty of us there, if that-- and very appreciative of the craft coming out of this tall, skinny, shaven dude with the well-fitting jeans (I remarked afterward that it was pretty obvious that Mr. Davis was going commando, for which I received the Shaming Eyebrow and a little smack.) Good... nay, excellent show, and a nice reminder of why it's nice to try new things, and even more, good to see live shows. The energy is a dynamic beast, un-trappable; even the best live album can't capture the flow between artist, audience, and venue (I firmly believe that one's performance space has strong bearing on show quality.) Afterward, CDs were bought and signed, hugs given (this was the first show I'd ever been to where the musician freely and joyfully hugged audience members... or, for that matter, offered to baptize them with a fountain of water from his mouth.
You can probably tell, but I'll just say it straight out: I had a really, REALLY good time at the show, and even more so afterward. E had brought a group of people with here, whose names are not lost to my brain, honest... but I can only remember a few... Mario, Chris, Rhonda; there were two more young women in our crew, one of whom had a clue in to a bellydance show that we missed by a few minutes, it seems. Ah well. So we enjoyed some jazz and drinks at the Elephant Room, and then some more drinks and people-watching at Cuba Libre. Which led to another thing I'd forgotten-- the sheer press of total asshats that populate the clubs on Sixth. Christ on a cracker... wall to wall preps and girls in the current 'going out' uniform, jeans or slacks and halter top. There was so much uniformity to the crowd, especially the women, that it was difficult to tell whether there were individuals in the vast horde, or just one huge meat-marketing Borg collective.
Anyway, that was the dynamic portion of the weekend. This past week was full of all kinds of excitements, but not really the good kind, which leads me to the portion of this narrative entitled "Adventures in Ghetto Dentistry".
You know you're in a different world when you walk into an office full of white people who are more ghetto than you will ever be on your crunkest day, yo. I got there early enough Friday morning to relax a bit, walked in, gave up my paperwork, and settled down to wait. Not long, as it turned out, as I was ushered in to a dentistry space that gave me a few willies-- it was a mixture of open spaces and alcoves, a little past its prime... and the chair I sat in wobbled a bit more than was comfortable. My actual dentist, whom I only know as "Lester", was very good, though... and he reminded me, very strongly, of a certain Smith Music Department professor-- namely, Raphael Atlas. Tall, kind of twitchy demeanor that was vastly controlled, a bit off, but in a good way. X-rays were taken, I told him about the chipped tooth, and he took a look... and it came out that my chipped tooth wasn't so much a problem-- that's considered normal wear and tear on teeth (I'm looking into a mouth guard for nights anyway, due to the random jaw-clenching I'm still experiencing), as was the OMG GIANT HONKING CAVITY that had formed on the right side of my mouth.
Which meant a filling, post-haste. Apparently this cavity was only a hair's-breadth away from my nerve... not good.
Here is where I tell you that I'm highly resistant to dental anesthetic. By "highly resistant", I mean:
1. It takes a long time for the anesthetic to kick in.
2. It wears off really, really quickly.
3. You might as well bring in the big guns at the outset, due to 1. and 2.
4. Did I mention the long time to kick in/quick wear-off?
The numbing process took a good forty-five minutes, during which I
a) opened my eyes at the wrong time and saw the HUGE syringe that was the final assault on my resistant system
b) learned that the nerve Dr. Lester was aiming for to numb was not in the standard position, according to what dentists learn in school
c) put off lunch for Dr. Lester and his assistant, because of my non-standard reaction (read, 'damn near lack of one') to dental anesthetic.
Finally, my lips and chin were numbed out, which was the sign we were all looking for, and the drilling, scraping, filling, and curing got underway. Didn't take too long, which was good-- a rubber spacer was propping my mouth open, and despite its use, my jaw was getting strained from being held open so long.
Ooh, 24 is on. Ah, the idiocy of Kim Bauer.
Ahem. So, everything's finished up, I'm out considerable cash, and the initial anesthetic is wearing off... but not that last, horse-syringe dose. My lips are tingling and getting back to normal, but my chin's still out of action... not good, as I'm now viciously hungry and limited to chewing on my left side only. I got some lunch (at a restaurant whose service has sadly gone down the crapper), got some cool beverages and pudding, and headed to work. The previous day (Thurs.) L. had been elevated to Night Shift Supervisor, and Friday was full of ninja supervisory fu (as well as her moderate groans about such-- she'd been hoping for an easy day on her last day as a regular schmo, but that was not to be.) I thanked my lucky stars again that I didn't go for the job... the pay increase was not worth the aggravation of having my cow-irkers as subject, especially Turdblossom, whose uselessness increases exponentially, I swear.
I think that's all I'm going to inflict on y'all for now. I know I'm very, very behind on BPAL reviews, but I have no idea when I'll get to play catch-up... which is even more worrisome, as I have some more coming along (I got in on the Carnival Noir re-issue) and will eventually be overwhelmed with leetle bottles. I will say that the heat has made scent-testing a bit of an issue-- everything disappears more quickly than usual. I'll have to find a way around that.