It's finally fall
I stopped using my "Damn it's hot out" icon a while ago, because it hasn't gotten above the mid 90s (35ish C) since Hurricane Ike back at the beginning of September. This week the overnight chill finally lingered throughout the morning (and now that I go outside every morning to feed Shrubbery Cat, I notice the weather much more than I used to). The meteorologist on TV said yesterday that we're done with 90s for the year. In '07 that date came on Oct 22, and the year before, on Oct 17.
It also feels like fall because there's finally a new tv show with great slash potential. Mr. Brienze and I both like Fringe and Sanctuary, and I've liked The Mentalist and The Eleventh Hour well enough to leave them in TiVo (though I doubt I'll notice much if I stop getting them for some reason). Crusoe last night blew them all out of the water.
They've blended Lost and PotC fairly well in this show -- island with strange happenings and secrets, flashbacks to the former lives of the marooned, with pirates and witty dialogue using picturesque and anachronistic turns of phrase. My favorite was "Nothing clears the mind like a musket ball straight through it."
And finally, there's a show with two shirtless male leads! And angst! (Don't talk to me about Fringe's mad scientist and his son. They don't count. I'm pretty sure the son was created asexually in the first place; Denethor Dad doesn't swing that way.)
I want to see stories where Friday's devotion to Crusoe is a little bit more than he's comfortable with. I want to know whether Crusoe has ever asked Friday what cooked human flesh tastes like, and I wouldn't mind if there follows a crude segue about uncooked flesh and the tasting thereof. Lots of potential for first time stories, and angst about wanting something you've been brought up not to want. And lots of darkfic potential, because I think "Uncle" is a perv, and if he's watching out for Crusoe's kids, I wonder just how well he's watching them, y'know?
Yesterday was a big cooking day... made braised spare ribs, caramelized onions, and made up a parsnip-pear soup that was a slam dunk, first try! The kitchen smells fabulous, like onions and seared beef and fall.
Parsnip-Pear Soup
derived from Alton Brown's Leek Potato Soup
1 lb parsnips, peeled & diced small
3 Tbs butter
2 C vegetable stock (I use 2C water and 2tsp vegetable base)
2 Bartlett pears, ripe, peeled, cored, & roughly diced
1/2 C buttermilk
1/2 C heavy cream or half&half
Melt butter over medium heat; saute parsnips and a good sprinkling of kosher salt for 5 minutes. Do not brown. Add vegetable stock and simmer 20-40 mins until parsnips are tender.
Remove from heat and puree with an immersion blender, or carefully blend in blender. Add cream and buttermilk, blend. Add one pear and blend. Taste, season with salt&pepper as desired. Add more pear and blend as needed to balance the flavors.
If using a blender, transfer soup back to pot. Heat gently - do not boil! Serves 4.
I found that one pear wasn't enough to tame the parsnippy flavor, but two was perhaps a bit too sweet.
And now, Mr. Brienze is hovering, wanting to go to lunch, and afterwards I have more things to cook. And dishes from yesterday. Ugh, dishes. Braising makes such a mess of my lovely Le Creuset French oven (identical to a Dutch oven as near as I can tell, only French).
It also feels like fall because there's finally a new tv show with great slash potential. Mr. Brienze and I both like Fringe and Sanctuary, and I've liked The Mentalist and The Eleventh Hour well enough to leave them in TiVo (though I doubt I'll notice much if I stop getting them for some reason). Crusoe last night blew them all out of the water.
They've blended Lost and PotC fairly well in this show -- island with strange happenings and secrets, flashbacks to the former lives of the marooned, with pirates and witty dialogue using picturesque and anachronistic turns of phrase. My favorite was "Nothing clears the mind like a musket ball straight through it."
And finally, there's a show with two shirtless male leads! And angst! (Don't talk to me about Fringe's mad scientist and his son. They don't count. I'm pretty sure the son was created asexually in the first place; Denethor Dad doesn't swing that way.)
I want to see stories where Friday's devotion to Crusoe is a little bit more than he's comfortable with. I want to know whether Crusoe has ever asked Friday what cooked human flesh tastes like, and I wouldn't mind if there follows a crude segue about uncooked flesh and the tasting thereof. Lots of potential for first time stories, and angst about wanting something you've been brought up not to want. And lots of darkfic potential, because I think "Uncle" is a perv, and if he's watching out for Crusoe's kids, I wonder just how well he's watching them, y'know?
Yesterday was a big cooking day... made braised spare ribs, caramelized onions, and made up a parsnip-pear soup that was a slam dunk, first try! The kitchen smells fabulous, like onions and seared beef and fall.
Parsnip-Pear Soup
derived from Alton Brown's Leek Potato Soup
1 lb parsnips, peeled & diced small
3 Tbs butter
2 C vegetable stock (I use 2C water and 2tsp vegetable base)
2 Bartlett pears, ripe, peeled, cored, & roughly diced
1/2 C buttermilk
1/2 C heavy cream or half&half
Melt butter over medium heat; saute parsnips and a good sprinkling of kosher salt for 5 minutes. Do not brown. Add vegetable stock and simmer 20-40 mins until parsnips are tender.
Remove from heat and puree with an immersion blender, or carefully blend in blender. Add cream and buttermilk, blend. Add one pear and blend. Taste, season with salt&pepper as desired. Add more pear and blend as needed to balance the flavors.
If using a blender, transfer soup back to pot. Heat gently - do not boil! Serves 4.
I found that one pear wasn't enough to tame the parsnippy flavor, but two was perhaps a bit too sweet.
And now, Mr. Brienze is hovering, wanting to go to lunch, and afterwards I have more things to cook. And dishes from yesterday. Ugh, dishes. Braising makes such a mess of my lovely Le Creuset French oven (identical to a Dutch oven as near as I can tell, only French).