Dream-In the weeds again

I'm in the kitchen in my mind again. My brain must really want to make sense of my life. I had a dream last night that I got a job at a lovely little bistro as a line cook of some kind. It was a busy and crowded kitchen, with the expected amount of fire and flashing knives. I was trying to hurry up and find the things I needed (setting my mis en place) for the dinner rush. The joint was jumping, and I was a little uncoordinated.

I think it is funny that when my stress levels rise, I often dream about cooking. There is something about my mind's desire to put things in order, to have what I need at hand. I wish the problems I am facing now were that easy to sort out. It is easy when you have a well-organized kitchen and can reach out and have what you need to make anything at your fingertips.

Can I do that with my mental well-being? What is the equivalent of the dish of chopped shallots that is ready to saute? What is the analog for mirepoix? I need to figure out the key to that demanding executive chef in my dreams. I need to crank out the tickets in the window without getting in the weeds. I want to please my "customers" with a beautiful plate. What is that beautiful plate in my life now? What product of my creativity will give me the reassuring results?

Lots of questions and few answers. But it rolls around in my head. I keep looking for beauty in everyday things. I know I can still create something good, even if I am having to search harder for my shallots.

Dream-Spleen Cuisine

I have been pretty spot-on in the ESP department lately. Just weird stuff is occurring to me and then coming to pass, etc. Way out there stuff, too.

I had a totally strange dream last night that I was tasked with making a large pot of soup. and the only protein available to put in it was a large spleen, about the size of a football, presumably from a cow or pig. I didn't want to put it in the soup at all, but apparently I was obliged to. So I chucked the whole thing in the pot with the intent of cutting up after it cooked. I concentrated on making the other ingredients in the mixture taste good. I had to nudge the spleen to the side each time I stirred the soup or when I had to taste it to adjust the seasonings. The total focus I applied to the soup was very intense.

In the dream I had to defend making this soup that I really didn't have to make. These two young guys were making fun of me. I fished the spleen out of the soup and took my 10" chef knife (affectionately nicknamed my 10-inch Dick...long story) and made quick work of cutting it up before scooping the meat up and putting it back in the soup. When I walked away I mistakenly left my knife on the counter.

I have no idea what that dream means, but it turns out there is such a thing as spleen soup. It is a German dish called Milzsuppe. If you are into organ meat food like that, here is a recipe.

I also read a thing, while I was doing research to try and figure out my dream, that some cultures believe that eating spleen is a cure or a treatment for menopause symptoms. Hmmm. I seem to be in the demographic for that, but if eating spleen is the cure for my troubles, I am in for continued symptoms. I don't approve. At least, my palate doesn't approve of eating blood filtering organs. I like to think that this makes me an aristocrat by nature, that I eschew offal in general (with the exception of fine foie gras and the occasional plate of sweetbreads) in favor of the leaner and more palatable muscle meats.

Bizarre. Don't know what it means. If anybody has a guess, or wants to take a humorous, um, stab at it, feel free to leave a comment.

Show 'em yer NUTS!

Since I am allergic to walnuts, pecans, and Brazil nuts, I usually can't buy trail mix, so I make my own. I am trying to find ways to eat things that have nothing to do with the crap that is in the vending machines at school. So I am putting snacks in my backpack that will support my desire to support my brain with healthy food.

Today's mix:

Raw almonds
Toasted shelled pumpkin seeds
Toasted Sunflower seeds
Cashews
Raisins (not too many)

I also have a bag of dried mango for when I want something sweet.

Any other suggestions?

Well played, San Francisco

"When you tell people you are a hedonist, people just think you are some kind of pervert, but really, it is primarily about placing a priority on your own enjoyment." -Ted Thomaidis, while sitting on a bar stool next to me at Bourbon and Branch.

I couldn't have said it any better myself, Ted. Brilliant insight, as usual. And brilliant, I might say INSPIRED cocktails. That Elderflower is a revelation. The cucumber gimlet was fucking rad, too. What was the third one? The Aviation? I remember it was good but things were fuzzy by then.

Dinner at Fish&Farm was great, and I loved that raw oyster with the granita, yum. The chilled corn soup amuse buche was so intense it made my palate leap with longing. I had the duo of lamb and Ted had the fish & chips. I had to know any place Ted would take me would cook their pommes frittes in duck fat. That sazarac almost put me out cold, but it was outstanding. The rye was surprisingly good. It turns out that I do like whiskey, it is bourbon I'm not crazy about. Great company, and I don't know when I have laughed so hard for so long. My sides ached. I love that we drank enough to be at the "I love you, man!" stage. It leant itself to some earnest mutual appreciation.

But I am getting ahead of myself. Before all that drinking, there was more drinking with John at lunch. We went to Cafe Metropol and I had some Grey Goose L'orange cosmopolitans (2) and a nice cappuccino with lunch. We talked about everything and nothing, and generally enjoyed each other's company. Then we went into Teuscher Chocolates and got some gianduja truffles (my absolute favorite of all time) and champagne truffles. These we took with us to the bar at the St. Francis and ate them with some champagne. Decadence is its own reward, plain and simple.

After treating myself to a breakfast crepe at Honey Honey, I had a nice, easy drive home today. I'm only a little head-achey and tired, but I daresay I am blissed out. Hedonism like that makes me happy. I did all the fun things I like to do that break no laws or marital agreements. It was, in essence, a whole day and evening of pleasures at table. As you may know, that is pure heaven for me. Sharing a well-crafted meal and clinking glasses with a good friend whom I trust and adore (this applies to both John and Ted) is my number one recipe for a perfect time. I am so fucking fortunate to have both of them in my life. It makes me feel pretty special to have such amazing friends. They are my wealth. I am truly blessed.

I am spiritually realigned. I can face anything now. I have been emotionally petted and stroked, expertly fed, socially lubricated and ego-lifted. I could probably dead lift a car right now. I feel strong and funny and sweet and loving and beautiful (!) and capable.

Now I am finally ready for school to start. I am fortified.

This is sexy to me

Behold the croquembuche, or traditional French wedding cake. It is constructed, and I mean that in an Architectural sense, from pate a choux. That's cream puffs filled with either mousse or custard or creme chantilly or any other combination of delicate surprising flavors. It is cemented together with hard crack caramel. You eat it by cracking off a cream puff and going for it. The caramel cracks on the outside, giving way to the creamy center. Yum. A well made one is not only a thing of immense beauty, but they taste fantastic.

I got to thinking about these this morning for some reason. I have made a few in my time. In fact, I have a scar on my hand from a caramel burn from one that I made. The caramel you have to work with is about 340 degrees, so if you get a little drop on you, you are gonna feel it!

One of the croquembuche that I made for a Christmas party was filled with raspberry mousse (Chambord), drizzled all over with bittersweet chocolate and decorated with hand modeled white chocolate roses. At the end of the party there were a few cream puffs that got used in a drunken food fight. What a mess! They really explode when they hit their target!

I just think they are beautiful and interesting, so I thought I would share.

You look like a giant hot dog

Dagnabit, I'm too fat.

So, I am on a diet starting yesterday. It is already taxing my frayed nerves.

I'm hungry. Or rather, HUNGRY. If I were a cartoon, say on a desert island, you would look like a giant hot dog to me and I would chase you, thinking you are food.

I'm even on a structured and balanced diet plan that is supposed to get the craving thing under control, but damn. This is only day two and my body is all annoyed with me. I actually feel like a drug addict, the way my brain fixates on what everybody else is eating. I'm ready to tap up a vein for the next bag of pretzels. It's embarrassing. I notice food everywhere, especially the stuff I am absolutely not supposed to have. I don't even want to write the names of the foods I am craving, for fear of shorting out my nice ergo keyboard with my drool. Does Pavlov ring a bell?

I hope that in a few days, I will not be feeling such strong urges to basically pig out. I think a lot of it is stress over the upcoming court proceedings for "A". Stress always makes me want more chocolate than is strictly reasonable.

Yes, I am drinking lots of water. Yes, I am taking vitamins. I just wish I could go out and take a walk in the fresh air rather then being at work right now.

Lost weekend in San Francisco

I know I said I was going to write about this earlier in the week, but a profound bout of the flu has taken the smart ass right out of me. Since I really seem to like the list format, here are my impressions of the San Francisco Writers' Conference that I attended last weekend and my quasi-adventures in the City.

1. I want to give San Francisco the best oral of its life. Always good to start with a bang, eh? What can I say? I wouldn't go to a writers' conference if it was in Topeka or Columbus. When I got into my hotel (the Mark Hopkins, yay!) the first thing I did was shuck off my luggage and walk down to get a latte. There is just something about the San Francisco mojo. I was gripped by the strong urge to fall to the ground and kiss the sidewalk. Although I honor the other places I have lived in my life as needed steps in my journey, San Francisco will always be my special favorite, and the only city where I really feel in my element. I spent as much time as I could eschewing cab rides in favor of treacherously steep walks, even while sweating with fever. There is just something in the foggy air there that makes me pregnant with libidinous creativity. I just wanted to make out with strangers. Not that I would do it, but I had the big love for my fellow man.

2. I need better luggage. Staying in a REALLY nice hotel will really make you notice how banged up your luggage has become. I would never have noticed that my bag isn't all that great by taking it to my mother's house. Tucked on the luggage stand in the closet of my hotel room, it stood out. I'm not at all label conscious, but now I salivate over fantastic suitcases as if they were traveler porn.

3. 40 poems in 40 days. Since I didn't have a manuscript that was in any shape to pitch to agents, I took classes that focused more on craft. That is where the 40 days of poetry came from. I'm trying to pry open my creative psyche after slamming it shut in the fall. It is going okay so far. It is interesting to see the kind of poetry I write when I am not in the mood. I wrote one about Britney Spears on the first day. *shudder*

4. I'm still not the "cool" kid. I still don't have a clue how to pick a table when I go to lunch with hundreds of other people. It felt really awkward in a way that didn't really get better when I added alcohol. Add to that the Mercury Retrograde (more below), and I was really below par on my communication skills. I did meet some amazing writers. I really hope I will get to read their books one day. I also met some people even more misanthropic than myself.

5. Mercury Retrogrades suck ass. If my newspaper horoscope says I'm likely to get hit by a falling piano, I wouldn't let that stop me from leaving the house. But I believe in Mercury Retrogrades. The idea is that Mercury is the planet that rules communication, so when it retrogrades, wires invariably get crossed if not outright short-circuited. I have never had so many social plans go up in smoke. As a result, I had some good phone conversations, but trying to see my friends face-to-face was just impossible.

6. I wasn't my usual gregarious self due to the flu. There were long stretches where I didn't want to talk to anyone, so I sat in the back of my classes and sucked cough drops. I felt all funny and self-conscious, and to be honest, rather sorry for myself. Then I was feeling self-conscious about my "rejected writer" thing, because I worried that other people would worry that it was catching. Putting it mildly, I was better off sweating it out in my lavish marble bathtub than reading at the open mics. I read anyway, and got nice (and useful) feedback. At least I think it was nice, I was coughing too hard to hear most of it.

7. I got a new idea. In order to write this next idea, I need to compile some expertise or understanding of the works of Dante (the Divine Comedy) and firefighters. I think firefighters might be hard to write well about, since portrayals of them in movies tend to lack depth. But it occurred to me on the drive home that my protagonist (a man this time!) needs to have that for a job. I also need to watch the Showtime series "Dead Like Me" and a few pre-biblical references to make sure I'm not re-treading someone else's idea.

8. I got a new book. Writing the Breakout Novel by Don Maass. I heard this guy speak and had to run downstairs to buy his book on the spot. I was not alone in doing so. I also bought the companion workbook. I really feel that I need to work on the craft of writing in a more disciplined way. I want to dig deeper and get better at this. This guy's talk was what triggered my new idea. I may work on the other things I have on the back burner, but I want to see what I can do starting from scratch with a new perspective. I almost feel like I need to start with short stories before I work up to novel level again.

9. Dim Sum rules. Can't get it in Reno. I walked into Chinatown and found the place with zero white people in it and ordered up some bliss in dumpling form. The patrons and staff were all looking at me like I'd lost my way. My server asked me if I wanted a fork, and even though I said no thanks, she brought me one anyway. I refused to use it. Everyone was starting without trying to look like it to see if I would pick the fork up. No dice. It might have been the only fork the restaurant had, like in a glass case in the back on the wall. The sign next to it saying "In case of Caucasian, break glass."

10. I saw my old lover's apartment.
By some strange twist of fate, my mother is renting an apartment (for a short term) in the apartment complex where Iceberg lived when I was dating him, about 14 years ago. It gave me strange flashbacks. Not long ago I could have called him and had a laugh about it, but we have had a falling out. Therefore the memory infusion was as annoying as having a splinter under your fingernail.