"The Best Twenty-five of twenty-five," part IV

16. The best book

No new additions were made in the last year to my list of all-time favorite books. I read some good stuff, just nothing that wowed me to an exceptional extent. Still, of all the books I read for the first time this year, I enjoyed A Moveable Feast, by Ernest Hemingway, the most. What caused it to stand out was a combination of the excellent narrative style and the insightful reflections on the process of writing and observing life in Paris in the 1920's. The fact that I was in Paris while I was reading it didn't hurt, either.

17. The best beat

If it weren't for the new song, "Maracas," by Mates of State, available to listen to on their website as a preview to their upcoming new album, I might have had to have gone with final track on Sufjan Stevens' latest LP, released in October. But now I'm giddy with anticipation of the other new tunes that Mates of State has created. Mates of State is just so good.

18. The best beet

This one:

Dad's "proud" face.

19. The best tomato

The verdict is unanimous: of the six varieties of heirloom tomatoes I grew in the garden this year, the Yellow Brandywine's seeds are the ones most worth saving. A bountiful producer, this monster of a plant outgrew its tomato cage while its neighbor plants were still reaching only about a foot high. The fruit is proportionately gargantuan, attractive in shape and color, and delicious.

20. The best baked goods

I frequently dabble, with mixed results, in creating my own recipes. This year, my greatest triumph was my recipe for strawberry-lavender muffins (muffins aux fraises et lavande), which I made several times throughout the hight of the strawberry season with consistently superb results. I am confident that these muffins will become a late-spring/early-summer staple in years to come.

Writing About Writing About Nothing

It's one of those days. Where there really is nothing--nothing--for me to write about. So I convince myself that browsing blogs constitutes as research and that a bowl of Almond Dream Non-Dairy Frozen Dessert with almond butter and chocolate chips constitutes inspiration. But still, nada. Woe is me.

I'm currently reading Nicole Krauss' most recent novel, Great House. She spends a lot of time, especially in the first chapter, depicting the writer's creative process and the dreaded experience of writer's block. Though I find some commiserative comfort in the neuroses of the character Nadia, an anti-social novelist who is suddenly overcome with inexplicable fits of anxiety whenever she thinks of her work, Krauss' narrative also alerts me to how horribly self-absorbed and utterly useless my lamentations over my lack of inspiration must sound: "Wah, wah, wah. I can't think of anything good to write about, so I'm just going to write about not being able to think of anything to write about."

Um. Sorry about that.

Listening Exercises

I wonder if it's something about my face. Or if, perhaps, I simply have an aura about me, an inexplicable vibe that gives strangers the impression, "Here is someone who will listen." Maybe I smile too much. Frown too much. Make too much eye contact. It's usually not a problem. Except for when it is.

When I was in Paris, it seemed I was approached constantly by people asking for directions. French people. And I suppose Paris is always full of tourists and visitors and, even as a local, it's quite possible to get lost sometimes. And, at the end of my three weeks there, I probably knew the subway system and the language just barely enough to be of minor assistance. Even if I could not help the people who approached me, it was never a nuisance to be momentarily engaged in conversation. But I could not help but wonder, in a crowd full of other commuters looking no less lost than I, why me?

It's when I'm working as a cashier in a bookstore that my inexplicable approachability can sometimes prove a difficulty. I don't usually attempt to engage people in conversation about the books they are purchasing, simply on account of the fact that most of the books people are buying are not anything I'd personally be interested in reading. If a customer is getting one of my favorite books of all time, yes, I'll probably say something. If someone is buying a travel guide to France, yes, I want to know when the trip begins. But, for the most part, nearly any conversation I have with a customer concerning the the process whereby she came to make her selection is going to involve me politely feigning interest while other customers, standing in line, glare at me impatiently.

Yesterday, a girl was buying a book on the Kama Sutra--definitely no desire for me to jump into a conversation about this purchase. I was finished ringing her up and was about to greet the next customer in line when she said, a little sadly, "Yeah, last night was our first night together and it was...you know...not great. Not bad but, you know, not what I was expecting." I feel myself going red. I force a sympathetic smile, say, "Ah..." and pray she won't keep talking; but she does.

I've expressed in a previous post my enthusiasm for the ease and familiarity with which Americans speak to strangers. In most cases, I enjoy being able to converse cordially with people I encounter at work and elsewhere. But perhaps, at least in these last few days, I've had a bit too much of it. I'm ready to crawl in bed, pull the covers over my head, and not have to listen to anyone's thoughts but my own.

Today's the Day

This morning I woke up and it felt like Christmas. “Tonight’s the night!” I told myself before opening my eyes. For months now, it seems, I have been anticipating this day. The day the Harry Potter saga ends.

In keeping with tradition, I will be attending a midnight showing of the final Harry Potter film in the company of my sister, Lindsay, and her longtime friend, Melissa. But, before we hurry off to the cinema to stand in line for hours and then sit in the theater for another hour waiting for the show to start, I think this would be an appropriate occasion to help ourselves to a sweet, decadent (and vegan!) slice of...

Butterbeer-Flavored Golden Snitch Cake

***Warning!!!*** Before starting this recipe, please see the update at the end of this post!

Tools:

One round cake pan for the snitch one non-round cake pan for its wings. I used a heart-shaped pan, but I envision good result ensuing from the use of a rectangular pan.

Ingredients:

for the cake
•1/2 cup soymilk
•2 tsp apple cider vinegar
•2 cups flour
•1 1/2 tsp baking powder
•1/2 tsp baking soda
•1/4 tsp salt
•1/2 cup (1 stick) non-hydrogenated vegan margarine, softened
•1/2 granulated sugar
•1/2 brown sugar, packed
•3/4 cup plain soy yogurt (I use WholeSoy & Co.)
•1 1/2 tsp vanilla extract
•1 tsp butter flavoring
•1/2 cup cream soda

for the butterscotch sauce
•4 tbsp (1/2 stick) non-hydrogenated vegan margarine
•1 cup brown sugar, packed
•1/3 cup plain soy yogurt
•1/3 cup soymilk
•1 tsp vanilla extract
•1 to 1 1/2 tsp salt

for the frosting
•1/2 cup (1 stick) non-hydrogenated vegan margarine, softened
•1/3 cup butterscotch sauce (see recipe above)
•1 tsp vanilla extract
•1 1/2 tsp butter flavoring
•1/4 tsp salt
•3 cups powdered sugar
•2 to 3 tbsp plain soy yogurt


Method:

Grease and lightly flour two cake pans. Preheat oven to 350° F.

In a small bowl, combine ½ cup soy milk and apple cider vinegar. Whisk together and then set aside to curdle.

In a medium-sized bowl, combine dry ingredients, from the flour through the salt.

In a large bowl, whip the margarine—by hand or by electric mixer—until light and fluffy. Add sugars and mix well. Stir in yogurt, vanilla, butter flavoring. Add soymilk mixture, cream soda, and dry ingredients. Stir until smooth. Pour into prepared cake pans and bake in preheated oven 24-28 minutes, until a knife inserted into the center comes out clean.

While the cake is baking, prepare the butterscotch sauce:

In a heavy-bottomed sauce pan over medium-low heat, melt the margarine until just melted. Add sugar and stir constantly with a wooden spoon until the mixture is somewhat smooth and not grainy. Add the soymilk and soy yogurt all at once, lower the heat slightly, and combine thoroughly with a whisk. Let the mixture simmer for 10 minutes, whisking regularly. After ten minutes, remove from heat and place in a heat-safe bowl. Mix in vanilla and salt, to taste.

Allow the cakes to cool completely. Then, transfer to a large flat surface, such as a big cutting board. Cut the non-circular-shaped cake in half to form into two wings. Do your best to arrange the pieces so that they most closely resemble your idea of what a golden snitch should look like.

Now it's time to make the frosting. In a large bowl, whip margarine (again, by hand or by electric mixer; whichever you fancy) until light. Mix in butterscotch sauce, vanilla extract, butter flavoring, and salt. Whisk until well combined. Sift in the powdered sugar, one cup at a time, adding the soy yogurt intermittently as well, little by little, until desired consistency is achieved.

Frost the cake and decorate with remaining butterscotch sauce. If you're lucky, you'll have better quality cake-decorating tools than I've got and, if you decide to write any words on your snitch (say, for instance, "I open at the close"), they will be a bit more legible than mine were.

Serve alongside a cold glass of fresh pumpkin juice.

Tuck in!

***Update! 07/15/2011***

Though this cake was certainly very tasty, I do not, after all, recommend that you make this recipe as directed unless you have an exceptionally high tolerance for sugar! As it turns out, I and every one else who had a slice of cake last night had a yucky sort of tummy ache this morning. Too bad.

Granola Bars

Slowly but steadily, I am eliminating processed foods from my diet. It seemed only natural that the next step would be for me to ween myself off CLIF and start making my own granola bars.

There are some excellent, ethically run, organically focused granola-bar producers out there. CLIF and LUNA Bars are my favorites. What hinders my enjoyment of these products is the waste inevitably incurred through the commercial production, shipping, and packaging process. However, granola bars have become a convenient and reliable option when I need a little extra energy before a trip to the gym or if I simply don't have the time to sit down to a full-course meal; I'm reluctant to find a replacement for them in my diet. Hence, my interest in the more economical and eco-friendly option of making my own.

Last night I tried a granola bar recipe that had received several rave reviews. Indeed, the results were tasty, but that was because the "granola bars" were really more like cookies, very high in fat and sugar and certainly not suitable as an emergency meal replacer if I wasn't looking for a sugar high and subsequent crash. I searched on.

Tonight I experimented with a recipe that takes a much different approach to sweeteners. The natural sugar from mashed bananas makes the granola bars sweet--but not too sweet--without the need for added sugars or sweeteners of any kind. I adjusted the recipe slightly, using a total of one cup's worth of dried blueberries, cranberries, and chopped apricots, about half a cup of chopped almonds, a tablespoon or so of ground flax seeds, and some shredded coconut in addition to the cup of oats and the wet ingredients originally suggested. The results were, I'm happy to report, chewy, yummy, and more than satisfactory.

I wish I could conclude that the second recipe is one I can now add to my repertoire and revisit often; but I can't. Ever since reading Barbara Kingsolver's persuasive argument in Animal, Vegetable, Miracle against buying bananas, I hesitate to purchase fresh fruits or vegetables that I know have traveled tens of thousands of miles before appearing at my local grocery store. I was happy to put to use the browning bananas that my dad purchased over a week ago and were sitting in the fruit bowl, about to go bad. But I don't think I'm going to be buying bananas on a regular basis in order to make my granola bars. No matter how delicious they may be.

My search for the "perfect" granola bar recipe persists. Meanwhile, all this experimenting has given me a bit of a tummy ache.

This is France in a Nutshell: "Ai! 'elp me! I'm een a nutshell!"

In mid-December 2006, after the conclusion of Michaelmas term but before I returned home to the U.S. from my semester abroad in Oxford, I went for an evening stroll in Port Meadow. Bundled up against the crisp night air, I walked through the dark field, gazing up at the starts, and I knew deep down inside, beyond a doubt, that this was the best life was ever going to be.

My two months in France were better.

Tonight I leafed through the journal I kept while I was traveling. Inhibited by an erratic schedule and my own pure laziness, I didn't write about my experiences as regularly as I would have liked; but, occasionally, I did take the time to jot down at least a few thoughts on the beautiful, marvelous, challenging, humorous, life-changing experiences I was going through.

Since I was unable to be faithful to this blog during most of my time in France, I'd like to share a few key passages from my journal, just to fill you in a bit on my activities and impressions from the months of April and May:

26 mars 2011
...Deciding to stay in Paris for three weeks was a really good decision. It's basically the world capital of art, literature, and philosophy, and attempting to take it all in while staying in a hotel or hostel for a week or less would be exhausting and incomplete...

12 avril 2011
...Time's winding down so quickly. On the metro I read A Moveable Feast and when I get off the metro I find myself thinking the way Hemingway writes, only less clean and far less gripping. The other day, as I was walking along, I started imagining that Hemingway was walking beside me and we were talking and he was telling me I only need to write one true sentence, but he was talking more about life in general than about writing when he said this...

17 abril
Time to start thinking in Spanish...
...I'm very satisfied with my time in Paris. It was more expensive than I ever would have anticipated. But Paris is worth it. Paris will always be worth it. Even though it's expensive. Even though it's touristy. It's still Paris...

4 mai 2011
...Since returning to France after the stint in Spain, it seems I love each place I visit even more than the place before. Arles was amazing, but I liked Avignon even better. And Vaison la Romaine pretty much sealed the deal today on an inkling I've been having this week that I ought to come back here in a few years with my kids. I almost want to have kids so that I can bring them here...

9 mai 2011
...I really like milking the goats. That's something I look forward to. That and eating. Eating! It is an event! As it should be! I love eating in France...

17 mai 2011
...At Taizé, I'm able to slow down a bit and do some thinking. But it seems I have too much to think about. There's my education. My relationships. What I have experienced on this trip and how does/will it contribute to my decision-making process for my future. Should I extend the length of my trip? No. I think not. But maybe...

20 mai 2011
...As I was walking down to the Source just now, I had the thought that prayer and art are an awful lot alike. Both require so much work, but the rewards, when they come, are sublime. Because truly nothing in this life compares to the goodness of that moment when I feel the closeness of the Spirit, I will continue to search and to wait. How do we grow? We force ourselves to look past the unpleasantness of the current situation, to focus on the loveliness of the thing we are working for. And yet, when we get it, it is a gift. The closeness of the Spirit, the awareness of God's love, when it comes, is so much greater than anything we could ever get to by our own efforts. Great authors and painters have made similar observations about their work: you spend time with your work every day and often it is frustrating and essentially fruitless. But when the masterpiece at last reveals itself, it is something beyond you. It is a gift. It is grace...

May 24
Aboard the plane, awaiting take-off. Two months in France sounded like it might be too long; but, now that it's over, I know I could have stayed longer...

And that, in a nutshell, is what two months in France looks like.

Butterbeer Trial Number One

Last week, I voiced an interest in experimenting with some Harry-Potter-themed recipes, specifically an intriguing formula for Butterbeer based on an actual Tudor recipe.

Tonight I decided to go for it, halving the recipe in proportion to my level of confidence that I would actually enjoy partaking warm, spiced, sweet, buttery beer.

The result: not horrible. But not wonderful, either. At the first sip, I'm enticed by the smooth, satisfying fat of the butter and the subtle zing of the cloves and ginger, but my initial response of pleasure is quickly counteracted by the realization that the butter does not seem to be properly incorporated into the rest of the beverage. There are beads of oil on the surface and the flavors of the beer and the butter just don't really...go. Still, I'm not repulsed; I've got the glass sitting next to me, nearly empty, and I fully intend to finish it off.

The verdict: this is not exactly the beverage I have in mind when I picture Harry, Ron, and Hermione sitting around a table in the Three Broomsticks. The Butterbeer I imagine is spicier and fuller bodied and, though it has a nominal alcohol content, probably does not taste like beer. But, as the above recipe was based not on Rowling's novels but on an authentic sixteenth-century recipe, I do not feel as though the experiment was a complete loss. Tonight, I've had a little taste of history, and that's rather exciting in itself.

Job Jumble

Is it bad that this makes me feel a little bit stressed out?

I guess because making time to do all those things sounds difficult. Despite the fact that I, being unemployed, should have all the time in the world.

Unemployed? Yeah. I was supposed to start working at a certain big-name book retailer this afternoon, but the assistant manager called to say that she was too busy to do my orientation this week and would have to reschedule for next Tuesday. Another week to not work? That would be all fine and good, were it not for the fact that it pushes back the day when I will at last begin earning a paycheck.

I've been hired at two places since I got back from France (four weeks ago today!). Both times, I was led to believe that I would be starting work right away. And, both in both cases, the actual start date has been pushed back (the offer I received two weeks ago to work at a vegan food booth has been put on hold indefinitely).

I'm trying not to feel stressed out about this. Yes, my savings account is rapidly approaching nonexistence, but, feeling anxious about it probably won't help anything. At present, I'm reading Richard Foster's Freedom of Simplicity, and his discussion of some of Jesus' teachings in the book of Matthew, concerning the conflict between material possessions and the spiritual life, seems especially deserving of consideration right now. In Matthew 6, Jesus instructs his disciples, "Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth [...] For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also" (v. 19 & 21), and he admonishes his followers to not worry about food or clothes, "But strive first for the kingdom of God and his righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well" (v. 33). Foster comments on Jesus' command, clarifying that we are not being forbidden from making provision, but rather told to "live the carefree life of unconcern for possession in the midst of our work" (37). In other words, serving God rather than wealth doesn't mean we have to wear animal skins and forage in the wild for food. Nor does it mean that we just sit comfortably in our parents' house and watch Netflix in expectation that a job will magically appear. It means doing our work, but not letting it become the source of our hope; that's God's job.

It's been a long time since I was in a position where I didn't feel like I could just buy whatever I wanted whenever I wanted. In Japan, my income was always beyond sufficient for my means. And with the savings I acquired during my two years abroad, there was little to dissuade me, upon my return to America, from buying a car, going on a vacation or three, and basically just taking it easy for a few months. This situation of having to abstain from my usual consumerist tendencies and to consider all my purchases carefully is rather foreign to me. But it feels healthy. Despite the fact that I occasionally have moments of panic where I wonder how on earth I'm going to afford the gas to get me to my job until my first paycheck (that's what credit cards are for!), this experience, overall, is good for my soul. I am learning. I am growing. I am grateful.

This is my Brain on Harry Potter

I'm not sure if the fact that I hold a degree in English Literature should make me feel more or less apologetic about my love of the Harry Potter books. I've always attempted to justify myself by categorizing them as a "guilty pleasure." However, for the sake of getting through this post, I'm setting the guilt aspect aside and focusing, at least for tonight, on the pleasure.

I'm as excited for the July 15 as any Harry Potter lover. Despite the fact that the last two films have been, in my opinion, unsatisfying, the hype surrounding the end of the film saga and my sentimental allegiance to the story itself are enough to make me completely overlook any shortcomings in the film adaptations. It doesn't matter how much they botch up essential plot elements in favor of gratuitous make-out scenes or how wince-inducing the acting may be at times; I still love it, and I'll still pay whatever they charge to attend one of the midnight screenings.

Here is a picture of my sister, Lindsay, and me, getting ready to leave the house on the evening of November 18, 2010:

In preparation for July 15, I've been rereading the series. I'm in the middle of book four, Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, right now. Since the plot no longer holds any mysteries for me as it did the first time around, I'm more than ever drawn into J. K. Rowling's magical world. I'm enchanted and inspired. I want to bring a little bit of the wizarding world to my own mundane life, and I've been thinking up a few ways to make that happen.

For instance, the Weasley family's clock, mentioned the first time in book four, sounds like it could translate very nicely into a fun craft project. But I figured that I wasn't the first person to have that notion, so I did a quick Google search and, sure enough, someone devised a real-life family "clock" that would update the whereabouts of his family members according to his Twitter updates.



Wow. I'm not going to do anything that involved (like I even could), but I may still try a hand at my own interpretation. My version would probably focus more on appearance than functionality (although the one above obviously does an excellent job on both counts).

And, of course, there are a countless number of recipes on the Web aimed at imitating magical food items mentioned in one or more of the books. Certainly not the least appealing of these are the recipes for butterbeer. The standout recipe that I've come across so far has been this one, mostly because it's a real Tudor butterbeer recipe that actually contains both butter AND beer. Judging from the list of ingredients, I'd say there's about an equal chance of it being either surprisingly yummy or downright gross. But I guess we'll just have to try it out and see.

Well, there you have it. I'll continue to contemplate ways to translate inspiring items from the wizarding world into real-life fun and keep you posted if my contemplations lead to anything interesting. And, if this confession of my love of Harry Potter has in fact caused you to lose some respect for me, then...

Obliviate!

Bad Habits: A Food Confession

In her book French Women Don't Get Fat: The Secret of Eating for Pleasure, author Mireille Guiliano invites her American readers to adjust the cultural lens through which they view food in order to acquire a healthier, happier, more "French" way of thinking about eating. Recently I read Guiliano's self-purported diet book that is not a diet book, and her words had their intended effect of getting me to think more intentionally about the food I consume; lately I’ve been creating diverse and well-balanced meals for myself and my parents and enjoying wine and cheese with greater titillation and joie de vivre than usual. However, as per the opinions of Professeur Guiliano, I also seem to have adopted a rather supercilious disapproval for anything that could be labeled as “American” cuisine or food culture. And it's clear that I'm in need of an attitude adjustment.

This has sort of been a problem of mine for a while now: I believe my views on food are ethically and gastronomically superior and I have a bad habit of scolding close friends and family for eating fast food or buying tomatoes out of season. I realize that I certainly don’t need someone like Guiliano--who clearly feels that the French woman is socially and culturally superior to her American counterpart--egging me on. Sometimes, when you sense that your beliefs and values are truly good and that the actions of your loved ones directly conflict with those beliefs and values, it’s tempting to assume that it’s your duty to educate them.

I never want to give the impression that I view others' beliefs and actions as inferior to my own. And creating divides between us and others over food is a tragic offense because perhaps nothing in the world has greater power to bring people together than food. As L. Shannon Jung says in his book, Sharing Food: Christian Practices for Enjoyment, “Eating together is one antidote to individualism; sharing is a school of sociability” (42). The way we relate to and share with one another around the table is a microcosm for the way we relate to everyone, from our close inner circle of family and friends to our much broader global community. The things we eat with one another and the manner in which we eat them (for example, a home-cooked meal or a microwaved one; around the diner table or in front of the t.v.) speak volumes about the nature of our relationships. The foods that we choose to purchase may have direct impacts--either positive or negative--on the people who produce those foods or on the countries where the foods are produced.

How can I spread love through my food choices? According to Jung (and I wholeheartedly agree), one of the ways we are able to eat with the greatest amount of pleasure and satisfaction is by knowing that no people have been mistreated or taken advantage of in the process of bringing that food to our table. We might achieve this by purchasing as much of our food as possible directly from local farmers or by growing and preparing it ourselves. These, certainly, are important practices that we should all, to the extent of our ability, strive to adopt.

But, for me, I see especial importance in always reminding myself to spread love among those I am sitting down to share a meal with. And that is inevitably going to mean toning down this food-snob persona I've recently come to identify so strongly with. It means saying thanks to the people who provide, serve, or sell me my food--regardless of what that food looks like or where it came from. It means saying a blessing before each meal that reminds me to pass the goodness I have received on to others. And it means sharing meals that I have prepared out of a spirit of generosity and sociability rather than out of a desire to indoctrinate or impress.

My bad food habit may not look the same as the bad food habits of many Americans: I don't consume soft drinks or Big Macs and I'm not addicted to sweets. But, nevertheless, it's a nasty habit that I'm determined to break. Eating is an inextricably social act, and insisting on furthering one's own personal agenda in any social arrangement may eventually jeopardize the community. If the dinner guests in the film Babette's Feast had succeeded in their pious resolve to ignore the taste of the rare delicacies and expensive wines that were placed before them, then they would have missed out on the relationally redemptive and unifying joy the feast! Food is love and love is food. Let us never attempt to separate them.


*** If you want to know more about either of the books referenced above, you can read my reviews of them here. If you haven't seen to movie Babette's Feast, rent it now! Or, even better, check it out for free from your local public library! ***