the curious bark of benjamin button

It's that time, folks! Every year, my friend Venn hosts his annual Oscar party -- a chance for us pop-culture buffs and film-whores to gather, make merry and celebrate Hollywood in all its bloated, over-the-top-glory.

This is also a feasting occasion. Usually, the snackage is somehow tied into the nominated films of the year. I have pushed the limits of this with my Curious Bark of Benjamin Button . . . my own version of the super-junk-food-licious dessert made by my friend Chelsee over at We Are Not Martha.

Not only was this Bark a big crowd pleaser at the office, the "recipe" seemed idiot-proof enough for even moi to attempt!

Step 1 -- gather junk food on cookie sheet like so:


That would be a selection of smashed up Oreos, pretzels and M&Ms . . . you know, 3 of the 5 major food groups.


Step 2 -- Top your tray o' crap with melted chocolate:


The "chocolate" is actually melted candy-making wafers, that are surprisingly hard to find. Thank God.

Step 3 -- After tray of Bark has chilled in the fridge for a couple hours, break it down into small pieces:


Ok, I won't lie . . . I had to "sample" several pieces of Bark to make sure it "came out ok". It came out devine --but I'm about ready to spew now . . . a little of this goes a long way, my friends! Just like Brad Pitt in a Forrest Gump-rip-off. I think I've filled my Bark quota for the next 6 months. Pass the Tums, please.

Bark is now safely packaged and ready for partying:



I think I'll bring the rest of the Oreos and some "Milk" (like the movie . . . get it?) as an alternative sweet snack. Thank God I don't need to cram myself into a designer gown later!

soup's on!

The other night, I called my father.

"Tarryn! Ohh, man! I just made the best carrot soup!" he crowed into the phone. "Oh my god . . . this is the amazing! Wow! Yes!"

My dad is easily excited by things like patterns made by leaves floating on a pool of water, or the hoot of an owl, or his own delicious culinary experiments in the kitchen.

Listening to him gloat about his amazing soup made me jealous. Why had he never made nirvana-inspiring soups when I lived at home? I'd never had carrot soup before in my life . . . but suddenly I wanted some. Right now.

Keeping in mind my last failed attempt in the kitchen, I decided to forego Papa G's fancy Moosewood Cookbook recipe and kept it simple. I found a carrot soup recipe online that called for:

carrots
chicken broth
fat free sour cream
chives

Four things! Surely I could remember 4 ingredients! Hell, a four year old could remember 4 ingredients!

Don't overestimate me, people. I forgot the chives. Whatever -- who needs chives?

This recipe is so simple, a monkey could make it. Step 1 -- put carrots in pot. Cover with broth. Boil. Observe!




Step 2 -- dump softened carrots and broth into blender / food processor. If you are hungry and tired like me, you might be tempted to try to jam all your carrots and broth into the food processor in one go. This, I discovered, can result in being splattered with several cups of scalding hot carrot-broth.

This is by no means the most corrosive substance I've had splashed in my eyes, though. There was an unfortunate incident in 2003, when I was "helping" Mama G pump her own gas at local self-serve station, and she got flustered and started spraying unleaded regular gas all the pump, her hand, and my face. True story. My vision has never been the same since. Thus my need to bulk up on my carrot intake -- they're supposedly good for your eyes, yes?

Anyway -- back to the recipe. I reccommend puree-ing your carrots in batches. In the end, it will look like this:




Step 3 -- after your pretty orange carrot mash cools for a few minutes, stir in your sour cream, slowly and gradually. The directions specifically say to do this "slowly and gradually" -- damned if I know why. Probably to make you feel like there is actual skill involved in preparing this recipe. Patience and a sense of timing -- it's what sets us apart from the monkeys.

Step 4 -- add chives. Or, if you're like me, say, "Hahahah! Eff you, chives! I have created soooooooup!!" -- and hold your bowl above your head like an offering to the culinary gods.

Soup is now ready to be consumed as part of a balanced dinner:



The result? MMM MMM good!! I had to resist the urge to ring up dad and boast into the phone about my own batch of wonder-soup. Maybe this calls for a Soup Duel -- Papa G and I will have a carrot soup throwdown, and we'll invite in a bunch of rabbits to taste test. I bet my soup will win, cuz Papa G's has nuts and ginger and crap in it -- and everyone knows, rabbits don't eat nuts.

The best part? I have a giant pot of leftover soup in my fridge, to be enjoyed for lunches, snacks, and surprise gifts to friends and neighbors. Come and get it, people!

No seriously -- I don't think one girl can consume this much soup.

"saag" attempts at indian cooking . . . and puns

Ha! You people thought this blog was dead! Wrong! It was merely in a post-holiday food coma.

But here we are, in the darkest, deadliest months of the year . . . winter in New England is a cruel beast. So cruel, you know where I'd almost rather be?

Mumbai!

I've been having a wicked craving for Indian food lately, so the other night I decided to throw caution to the wind and crawl back up on the culinary horse. I found a recipe over here at Happy Herbivore for some delicious and healthy dal and saag.

Spinach and spices and yogurt? I thought. I am well acquainted with all of those things! How hard can this be?

Logistically, not too tricky. Spinach -- check. Five different little jars from the grocery store spice rack -- check. Yogurt -- and why not some greek yogurt, since we're gettin' all international up in here! -- check. Onions . . . shit. Well -- who needs onions anyway?

So, step one: throw all the ingredients in a pan, like so . . .



Pay no attention to the vomitous yellow color and consistency! Remember -- this blog was birthed from the inspiring palate of Nutrisystem. Pre-digested-looking food will never frighten me again. I think at this point, I'd already run the spinach thru the food processor, and was mixing in my kappa gamma yogurt like a champ!

Step 2: (as invented by me) Throw saag on top of chicken breast (sorry, vegans!). Stuff it in some flax wheat pitas. Eat it plain with a spoon. So many ways to enjoy saag! Right?





Wrong.

I wanted to like it. I really did. I wanted to be able to go into work and say, "Man, I made some effing delicious Indian food last night! That's right -- I made it myself! With a recipe . . . and a stove!"

Here's where I think I failed:

1. Spices. This lil' eye-talian can garlic-crust the shit out of anything . . . but hand me a jar of coriander and some ground ginger . . . and you might as well have given me moon dust. A teaspoon? A tablespoon? What is my perferred level of gingery-ness? Clearly not the amount I put in this recipe . . . it was like an tiny, angry gingerbread man took a shit on my tongue.

2. Yogurt. Ok -- apparently not all yogurts are created equal. Though the recipe called for soy yogurt, I went for greek thinking . . . it's thick, it's creamy, what's not to love? I neglected to think carefully about the distinct, sour-creamy tang that plain greek yogurt has. And thus, when introduced to our friends Garlic, Ginger, and Senor Cayenne Pepper . . . there was a Flavah War. And some bitches went down.

3. Onions. I lied. Maybe you do need onions.

I forced myself to experience the entirety of this meal before scrapping the leftovers. But am I deterred? No I am not! I would totally attempt this recipe again, following instruction to the letter next time. If for no other reason than I now have a cupboard full of exotic Indian spices I need to get rid of. If anyone else has any coriander-heavy recipes . . . please, pass them along!

My Indian food cravings were properly satiated here. But the next time I'm feelin' spicy / Bollywoody, I totally intend to tackle the dal . . . stay tuned!