June 19, 2004

I used to work for a non-profit that trained volunteers for overseas work. Most of them were young people. We lived very communally, and certain tasks, such as cooking, were shared. It never ceased to amaze me how little people knew of cooking. Some individuals had apparently never been inside a kitchen before. They were extremely intimidated and had to be shown everything. I once met someone who did not know what needed to be done when a recipe said to beat the eggs. It seems that each generation learns a little less about food preparation than the one before.

I’m fortunate to be old enough to have actually picked up a great deal of cooking experience in my youth. When I was very little, my father had a Sunday morning ritual of making himself a cheese omelette. (Quite possibly he had been doing this since before I was born.) He always added an extra egg to make it a little bigger and cut off a small section for me. I really liked those omelettes, and always hung around and observed as he prepared them. Sometimes he would let me help a little. I got to cut the cheese into into cubes or mix the eggs. When I was about five, I wanted to make my own all by myself. I had never cooked before, and, of course, my mother wouldn’t let me. But I knew I could do it. Every Sunday as far back as I could remember, I had watched my father prepare omelettes. I was intimately familiar with the process and even knew how to turn on the electric frying pan.

When I was good and determined, I got up very early one Sunday morning and woke up my little brother. No one else was up yet, and once they were, it would be too late—the omelette would already be prepared. With my brother’s help, I got the eggs out of the refrigerator. Then I climbed my little stepstool and removed an egg from the carton. It was then that I lost my grip on it, and it crashed to the floor and broke.

I was baffled. Never in all the Sundays of my life did I recall ever having seen an egg drop to the floor. I knew all there was to know about making a cheese omelette, but this was something new. After a minute of intense thought, it occurred to me that a paper towel might be what was required. Just when I had the paper towel in my hand, my mother walked in and asked what we were doing. I explained that we were making a cheese omelette, even though I realized that all that had been accomplished was breaking an egg on the floor. My mother explained once again that I was not allowed to make cheese omelettes. Furthermore, it was early, and my brother and I should go back to bed.

That was my first attempt, and it didn’t really gain me any cooking credibility. But over time, I was allowed to take a more active rĂ´le in the process of helping my father until finally I was allowed to cook an omelette all by myself. Soon after that, I mastered the art of baking chocolate chip cookies. (I still know the recipe by heart.) After that, it was spaghetti. Those are the three defining recipes of my life, and I still make them from time to time today.

The aforementioned electric frying pan met with a sad fate about a year later. One day my mother was preparing dinner, and my father walked in and asked what time dinner would be ready. (Don’t ask me why, but my mother does not like that question, even today.) Without warning, and with no other apparent provocation, my mother grabbed the frying pan and threw it across the kitchen, where it landed at my father’s feet (after he jumped back about a yard), spattering his pants with corned beef and gravy. As she did this, she shouted, “HERE’S YOUR GODDAMN DINNER!” The electric frying pan could not be fixed. (Throwing it while it was still plugged in had not been a good idea.) And such devices were no longer on the market. Making cheese omelettes was never as satisfying after that.

Posted by Bakerina at 04:01 AM in Getting Started • (0) Comments

As the temporary administrator here at PTMYB, it has been my pleasure to have a gander at Jen’s statistics and referrers.  Hooooboy.  We’re doing our job well, kids, and sealing up her fate as perv magnet once and for all. 

It’s bad enough that we’re getting her hits on chicken asses, and I assure you, we are indeed.  She’s also gotten a hit on “lingerie teasing movies” which is sure to bring even more traffic now that I’ve said it out loud, so to speak.  But the one that really needs to be known to whole world is from the Pakistani version of Google.  I quote:  “oldmen,s big cooks”.

That one took me a second when I first read it, but then the proverbial lightbulb went on, and I just had to say eeeeuuuuuuwwwwwwww!  Now you can too.

Posted by Bakerina at 12:45 AM in • (1) Comments • (0) Trackbacks
June 18, 2004

I don’t blog.  Sorry.  I snark.  I use comments to spout off or communicate in lieu of email.  I hang out at Plastic though like Bakerina and orionoir I rarely bother with commenting anymore.  Every once in a while one of my friends (I have at least two, I’m sure of that) comments about my literary brilliance or insightfulness and tells me I ought to write more or (shudder) blog.  But I resist the urge since there are already not enough hours in my day.

And then along comes our dear Bakerina.  She says, “Ahh, come’on, ‘mouse, don’t be a sissy.” “One hit never hurt anyone.” “Besides, this one is free.” “You can try it for a month and see if you like it.” “All the cool kids are doing it.” “What’re you worried about, you rat-wannabe?” And then the clencher, “If you do it, I’ll show you my boobies.”

You don’t think Bakerina said that to me?  I’m here, am I not?

‘mouse

Posted by 'mouse at 02:19 AM in • (1) Comments • (0) Trackbacks
June 17, 2004

So as not to be outdone by orionoir’s gob of mayo, and in the continued interest of making Bakerina’s google hit list more interesting, I’ve found the funny shaped onion fetish of yore.  Now I can rest.

Unfortunately, yet predictably, the baklava did not make it long enough to get on film.  That honey and philo dough is a beautiful thing washed down with a dd coolatta.  I’ve become a bit of a caffeine hound since giving up alcohol.  (huh- ‘giving up’, that’s rich isn’t it?)

BAKERINA SPEAKS FROM ABOVE:  ‘Hey, I told you if you were going to be snarky to take it to your own page. Alright. 

heehee, i was just dying to brag that yes, i too, have gotten word, and probably The Beagle Virus judging by the schizo-affective disorder that my computer suddenly acquired after savoring every last consonant and vowel of said word.  you see i have a confession to make; i never use virus protection.  hell, i’ve hit that ‘remind me later’ button so many times so furiously that it doesn’t even come up anymore.  i suppose that an Iron Fist approach may work well for raisin the children and all, but it probably shouldn’t be used in regard to a computer i paid 6-years-ago prices for.  i should thank my lucky obb that’s i’ve limped it along this far.

Goliard

Posted by Bakerina at 07:38 AM in • (0) Comments • (0) Trackbacks
June 16, 2004

as your guest bloggist, i’m the one who can tell you all the things bakerina would just as soon never have leave her kitchen… yep, i’ve got the skinny from that shameful secret garden, the fyi from the forbidden city, the hey get this of her hidden playground, manna de mananya from the mellifluous magic kingdom, the one, the only, hot off the press newsy tidbits from the tasty totalitarian state too sated to yearn even for freedom, yes, here now, the inside dope from the unseen uxoriousity, bakerina‘s kitchen...

maindemayogot mayo?
your bakerina relies on kraft mayonnaise, and lots of it.  gobs and gobs.  in a pinch, substitute
* sauce bearnaise = kraft mayonnaise plus yellow #2 food coloring
* creme brulaise = kraft mayonnaise plus yellow #2 and red #7 food coloring
* sauce florentine = kraft mayonnaise plus green windex ‘spring fresh scent’

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yummyseafood in a jiffy
a little-known trick of the trade: since it all tastes the same, what the hell does it matter what you serve them?  you can stick ‘em for $40 and call it a deep-sea tuna steak, but put away your scuba mask, captain, your bakerina‘s subbing none other than…
* alpo for cats ‘mixed fish, in gravy’
* store-brand ‘tuna for cats’ (but watch out for excessive cartilage)

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zzscrewcooking with wine
there’s one implement in the bakerina kitchen, one and one only… a good corkscrew.  even if you’re drinking mad dog 20/20 from an e-z twist-off top bottle, a corkscrew like this one will provide for infinite hours of pleasure as you slump to the dirty linoleum floor and your guests start to wail, oh, bakerina, not again!  just look at how the accordion arms open… and close… and open… and close.  how does it do that?  what thfuck is burrnin?  its’s so funny.  whoops, now it’s opened, and now, lemmmee guess, it’s closing, oww, this thing’s sharp… somebody get lloyd, he’ll know what to do… yep, she’s been hitting the sauce again… christ, there’s mayonnaise all over the place!

Posted by Bakerina at 10:36 AM in • (0) Comments • (0) Trackbacks
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