I'm in the midst of the Big Push to finish my book by Labor Day. I have this brilliant ability to start projects, and then just sort of ... never finish them. I get distracted by a new project, or I get overwhelmed by the scope of the project, or I start obsessing over making all the little tiny details of making the project absolutely perfect (which is never possible... thus it never gets finished.) But my publisher is really breathing down my neck, telling me I gotta finish this book ASAP, so I have buckled down to do it.
Part of this no-nonsense approach to finishing my book included wonderful cooperation from both my mom and my in-laws -- they each took one kid on for a night or two so I could really focus. And since we didn't have any kids around, my publisher and I decided we'd better seize the day and get inspired over a meal out, at my favorite local restaurant, Sindu.
Sindu is this great Indian (as in South Asia, not Native American) restaurant over near campus. The service is indifferent, the decor a little sad, the bathrooms dreadful, and the music a strange mix of caterwauling vocals and tinny sitars. But the food -- holy cow!!! We were taken there years ago by some friends, and it's been our date night restaurant of choice ever since. We always (and I mean always) get Chicken Tikka Masala, medium, with a side of Paneer Naan. This could very well be the sweet and sour chicken of Indian cuisine, with the waiters laughing behind their hands at us uncouth Americans who never try anything else. But I don't care, it's so, so good!
Which brings me to an important question: are common things lame because they are common, or are they common because they are awesome? I get Tikka Masala because it's awesome. I read Jane Austen because her books are awesome. I order Pad Thai because it's awesome. I love the Bourne Identity movies because they are awesome. Just because everyone else in the free world knows about these things and likes them doesn't make them any less awesome, does it? Sure, occasionally you stumble across some little known book, food, movie, boutique, or band that you, in your unique coolness can enjoy and champion -- but if it's that good, other people are probably going to be on to it before too long. So, now that I've worked this out through the catharsis of my blog, I am now going to proudly order my Tikka Masala without a trace of shame. Anyone up for Indian food?
Welcome! (And a Humbling Cake Story)
Thursday, August 26, 2010
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| The terribly beautiful citrus merange cake. |
When I started cooking (which was probably when I was 7 or 8) I wanted so badly to made pretty cakes. Of course, my idea of a pretty cake at that time was a cake with a picture drawn on it with lots of different colors of frosting. I got discouraged about ever being able to make a cake that was truly beautiful, and figured I would just work on making stuff taste good (since that was the whole point.) When I lived in Lithuania, I remember seeing trays of beautiful desserts that were tasteless and dry. So for years, my motto was to worry about the taste, and that looks were secondary. Maybe I was transferring my mom's advise about how being the nice person with character is so much better than being the shallow hottie (maybe she told me this because she knew I had no chance of being a hottie.) In the last few years, however, I have learned a few tricks that have enabled me to get a little closer to the goal of making something both tasty and beautiful. And the other day, I thought I had done it.
I had been experimenting with angelfood cakes, trying to come up with new variations. I made a wonderful coffee angelfood cake that I topped with chocolate whipped cream that was quite good. But I got greedy -- I wanted some more. And I had seen a recipe for Seven Minute Frosting, an old classic frosting that uses egg whites and sugar to make a glossy white merangue-like frosting. So I had my brilliant idea: a citrusy angelfood cake topped with peaks of this pretty frosting. I baked the cake with lots of lemon zest and fresh squeezed juice, frosted it with the Seven Minute Frosting (which took more like 20 minutes to make) and topped it with more lemon zest. And it was a sight to behold, by far the best looking cake I had ever created. But it was terrible! The cake had this weird bitter aftertaste and the frosting was sickeningly sweet and everything was just too airy and fluffy and weird. Horrible! In fact, the thought of the taste of that cake, several days later, still makes my stomache turn. As my grandma would say: pretty is as pretty does (I actually have no idea what this means, but had to nod very respectfully/somberly as she said this).
So now you know, dear readers and fans, that anyone can make a mistake in the kitchen. You just gotta get yourself up, dust the flour off your hands, and try, try again! Stick with me, and maybe I'll have some good stuff to tell you about too. And Kevin and Rachael, so sorry for "treating" you to that horrible cake. I'll make it up to you, I promise!
And while you're waiting for the next post (which I'm sure you'll be doing...and nothing else), visit (shameless promotion alert) http://www.gutcheckpress.com/ (my publisher) and buy stuff. Also visit http://www.tedkluck.com/ (my husband) and buy some stuff there too.
Yours, in Cooking and Reading,
The Saucy Broad
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