Leather on Rye

Me: Hey there. What’s cookin’, homeslice? 

ALICE: Where? What is it to you? 

Me: Wow, that is a little contentious. 

ALICE: I’m glad we have that all cleared up. 

Me: Yeh, sure, I guess. Just a little more aggressive that I was expecting. 

ALICE: Are you shy?. OK let’s do it. That’s alright. You want more? Don’t be greedy.. OK let’s do it. Don’t be greedy. You want more? 

Me:  Jesus, talking to you is like being cyber rough-sexed. 

ALICE: He is The Son of God.

Me: You don’t really warm a girl up, do you? 

ALICE: Should I warm a girl up? No I do not warm a girl up. Do you? I am always on the Web. 

Me: I can’t believe you and I haven’t dated.

Mila Kunis, Natalie Portman, Ashton Kutcher and Justin Timberlake, I blame you, the four of you equally, for these horrible little articles that have been popping up this year on the subject of “friends with benefits.”

Stop.  Please, just stop.  Please, no more articles on how sleeping around with your buddies is going to lead to A) Good-Guy getting his heart crushed by Ice-Queen because she doesn’t have the maturity to feel love or B) Typical-Girl being a typical girl and falling head over heels for The Guy because that’s what girls do. 

The assumption that almost all of these articles make is that SOMEBODY (quiet head tilt toward the woman) always gets hurt.  Clearly, SOMEBODY is going into this with some nefarious love plans!  It’s gross and condescending.  It assumes that the basic self-awareness and respect of our partners to gauge the situation and feelings at hand is beyond us and once we dip our filthy bits into it, we’ll trample all over the hearts of those dear to us. 

The second is: “well!  If you’re spending time with and having sex with someone, you’re de facto in a relationship!  So there!” The hazard, these articles warn, is that the FWB label insists, “I am sleeping with/spending time with you until somebody better comes along.”

That’s the one that really gets me because it makes me realize that that’s what every relationship, open, monogamous or platonic is.  Everyone is just okay for awhile until either they stop being better dinner company than eating alone, somebody better comes along, or, Yahtzee!, they’re better than okay and you’re SO in love that you gross out everyone around you until something happens sometime and you’re desperately sad.

 

But what do I know.  I’ve been lucky to still have sunny feelings toward those I’ve loved and I am more than a little skeptical of monogamy, so maybe I’m just not the right reader for these warnings.  Or maybe we up and killed print journalism and now online articles are competing with all manners of internet vapidity and what should we expect, this is what we asked for isn’t it. 

FALAFEL AND TZATZIKI

1 can garbanzo beans

1 onion

3 garlic cloves

half a cucumber

at least 6 mint leaves

1 lemon

half a bundle of cilantro

vegan plain yogurt or Greek yogurt (whichever)

olive oil

vinegar (white wine is preferable, but malt, balsamic and red wine are cool too.  Just use way more sparingly.)

1 cup flour

½ cup bread crumbs/Panko crumbs/crushed matzo

ground cumin

salt and pepper

dill weed or a tablespoon of pickle juice (found in pickle jars, of course.)

vegetable/canola oil if it’s there, if not, use olive oil

And either…

Flatbread or pita

Brown rice

At least two hours ahead of time, chop up a third of the onion, cilantro and 2 garlic cloves and stick them in the food processor with the can of garbanzo beans.  Squeeze in half a lemon, an eighth cup of olive oil and just a few swigs of white wine vinegar and turn that sucker on.  Stir shit around so it’s even and add tiny amounts of vinegar and olive oil if it’s looking too dry.  It should be sticky, but not sludgy.  As it’s pureeing, add salt, pepper and at least 2 tablespoons of cumin.  Let it sit for 10 to settle.

Sometime during all of this, dice the cucumber, another third of the onion and another clove of garlic.  Mix it in with the yogurt and add a tablespoon of olive oil.  Squeeze in the other half of the lemon.  Sprinkle in some dill weed or pickle juice and salt and pepper to taste.  It should be zesty and garlicy, but refreshing.  Refrigerate that shit.

Now back to the falafel, let’s make some balls.  The balls should be ping-pong sized and then flattened just a wee bit so they don’t roll around on the plate or cookie sheet.  Put the balls in the fridge for a few hours and, I don’t know, do something.  Call your ex and see how he is doing and be nice and genuinely interested because it makes you both better people and eventually it will be okay.  Finally just sign up for the New York Times paid edition that you’ve been so indignant about and when you do it, mouth the words ‘I’m sorry.’

After two hours of waiting and all the NYT articles you can handle, take the balls out of the fridge.  Just like with the tofu fingers, put a few cups of flour and Pinko crumbs/Matzo crumbs/dried bread crumbs in a deep dish.  Roll the balls around in the flour and crumbs mixture.

Heat up 2-3 cups of canola or vegetable oil in a wok.  When the oil if hot, carefully put the balls in.  After a few minutes, flip them over to cook on the opposite side.  If the oil is deep enough to cover the balls, it won’t be as much of an issue.

When they look crispy, take them out with a slotted spatula and lay them on paper towels to drain.  Blot out any excess oil and let them cool for about 10 minutes.  If you want them piping hot, microwave them on low for 2 minutes or put them in the oven at 200 before serving.

You can serve the falafels over brown rice and steamed broccoli and peppers with the cold tzatsiki sauce for a more elegant dinner entrée.  Remember than there aren’t really any carbs (except for the light flour) on the falafel, so it comes off as a heavier meal than it really is.  Garnish with mint leaves.

My favorite is to lay the falafels in a flat bread with halved mini tomatos (heirloom if you can!) and whole mint leaves with the tzatsiki sauce.  They’re messy but portable, great for beaches and picnics and friends that love you no matter what.

I’ve spent my slow-day at the office reading ‘The Marriage Vow’ pamphlet, a pledge endorsed by Michelle Bachman and offered to all 2012 GOP candidates. 

This comes in second-place to the script for the Human Caterpillar as the most fucked up things I’ve read this year.

She starts out with some easy-to-read bullet points and dives right in.

Condensed version of what’s in there:

• Slavery wasn’t exactly a walk in the park, but it’s better than Obama.
• Slow-hand-clap for the black babies. You guys ruin everything.
• A million children are suffering through divorce.  Which sounds like the kids themselves are divorcing.
• Cash-4-Gold commercials on Divorce Court don’t buy themselves.
• Legislate celebrity behavior.  TMZ citizen’s arrests.  Cool.

She goes brass-knuckles on Sharia Islam for being anti-woman.  From the woman who brags about asking her husband’s permission to run for public office, it’s a little hard to take seriously, but more bizarrely is that Sharia Islam does not exactly exist the way she describes it.  Sharia is not an Islam sect.  It’s like saying that your religion is ‘Kosher.’  In the US, it’s pretty easy to reject Sharia practices. You exercise that whole freedom of religion thing and you’ll be okay.

She makes a call to arms against various crimes, so no argument there, but then includes ‘stolen innocence.’  Great name for a cheap romance novel, but WHAT does that mean?  She’d also like to protect women against all forms of pornography, so I guess all of our internets will be down.

And then we get to footnotes! 

Footnote eight literally states: “no peer-reviewed empirical science or rational demonstration has ever been proved, nor has shown overwhelming probability…” Which is basically a footnote that says ‘I made this shit up.’

She then cites a study on the AIDS epidemic from 1997 talking about the lifespan of AIDS victims.  Like we haven’t done any more AIDS research since then.

And then she cites that more than one marriage, among other dirty, filthy, fletchy sex acts, cause things like anal incontinence.  (No mention of Olestra.  Sad face.)

Sigh.  

I used to live in Minnesota, where Ms. Bachman has been continually and bizaarely elected in the 6^th District for what seems like forever.  The 5^th District elected Keith Ellison, the first Muslim Congressman.  I bet when they hang out in the state capital it’s so awkward.  

TOFU LETTUCE FINGERS

1 package of extra-firm tofu

I head of iceberg lettuce

Cup of flour

Cup of vegetable oil

Bread crumbs or Pinko

1 lime

Soy sauce

Wasabi paste

Salt n pepper

Chow mein noodles

Chop up the tofu into thick strips about an inch wide. They’ll shrink a bit, so err on the side of making them too big.  Whisk up some wasabi paste and soy sauce into a paste and marinate the tofu in there for several hours, refridgerated. 

Pull out the marinated tofu strips and pat them dry.  Heat up a wok on high heat and throw in a cup or two of vegetable oil.  In a plate or shallow bowl, mix up the flour and the Pink crumbs.  Roll the strips around in the flour mix and drop them carefully into the hot oil.  Be totally careful not to break them.  Fry them to a golden brown and let them cool off on a drying rack.  I think they’re awesome really fried up, so I do it twice.  They look healthy and that’s what’s important anyway and besides, it’s a party and it’s not your dinner, so just relax.

Once they are cool, open up the head of lettuce and basically use two lettuce pieces to make a little taco for the tofu.  Put a few tiny dollops of the soy sauce and wasabi paste on the tofu.  I think chow mein noodles are delicious in this, but sometimes they contain eggs, so, yeah, check it out. 

Wrap those suckers up, stick in some toothpicks to keep them rolled up and pretty and refridgerate as cold as you can get them without freezing.  Before you serve them, squeeze a quarter of a lime over them and sprinkle on a little salt and pepper.

I’m getting my ass out of the office and into the sunshine.  Happy Friday.

Turns out, Carmaggedon is next weekend, not this weekend.  I get so caught up in the portmanteau, you know?

I dropped out of J-school after 72 hours.

So I have now gone a full 48 hours without a cigarette, so I’m really aware of maybe becoming Many-Faces-of-Eve at any possible second, but so far have been handling it really well.  It might be good timing, as Carmaggedon* is this weekend and I’ll probably be spending it with my dear friend, Joel, who will probably still love me if I get a little mental and tear up over a billboard or an obese dog or something else ridiculous to get worked up over.

*If you don’t live in LA, Carmageddon is the aggrandizing nickname for the span of 53 hours that Interstate 405 is closed.  Because that’s how self-obsessed we are, we think our road closures are Hollywood films.  I love it here.

WATERMELON MINT SALAD

1 respectable sized watermelon

1 red onion (do not puss out and use a yellow onion, even if they’re on sale. I’ll know.)

1 packet of mint leaves

1 little jar of water chestnuts

1 shallot

½ packet of basil leaves

1 or 2 yellow or red peppers

a quarter bunch of green onions

sea salt

black pepper

dill weed

white wine vinegar

I’ve made this maybe 4 or 5 times and each time the quantities are completely different.  It’s really touchy on how ripe the fruits (especially the watermelon) and veggies are and if they’re organic, since organics have a stronger taste.  Hell, one time the watermelon was a little under-ripe and I snuck a little fresh garlic in just to keep it gangsta.

Cut the watermelon in half and scoop out the melon meat.  If you have an actual melon baller, then congratulations, your salad is going to look like it’s from the future, but if you’ve only got cheap knives from Target, you’ll be fine.  Add all of the other ingredients, tasting it constantly and adding ingredients a tiny bit at a time. 

(If you’re cool with dairy, feta or chèvre is fabulous in this salad.  But not pivotal.)

Btw, this salad is so much more fun served inside the gutted out melons.  And you can throw them away when you’re done and not feel bad about it.

It’s (un)official!  My mom and her guy are non-state-sanctioned-non-religiously hitched! 

The words ‘wedding’, ‘marriage,’ and ‘husband/wife’ could get you egged.  Nomenclature is still up in the air.  She’s okay with ‘lover,’ but prefers ‘committed partner.’   I think that sounds like a euphemism for a prison cellmate, but to each her own.

The whole thing was a culmination of a full month of phone calls she and I had, getting a little buzzed on white wine and talking about signs and symbols.  It was a lot of give and take between wanting the thing itself and wanting to fight the heteronormative patriarchy.

Such as…

White Wedding Dress:

• Symbol of sexual purity as direct relation to marital currency = bad
• Because it’s before Labor Day= good
• *she was a little anxious about it, but decided that since she has two kids, the cover’s already blown on that one

Dude Standing in Front of Everybody Leading the Ceremony:

• As God’s officiator = bad
• Who’s notarized or in any way recognized by the state = bad
• Because he has good stage presence and is an athiest = good
• Even though he’s a straight man = we’ll let it slide

They did the wine pouring thing because they have priorities, you know?  And it’s really the only way to drink during your own wedding ceremony and still keep it classy.

CINNAMON CURRY PEARS

4 pears

2 skewers

¼ stick of butter or margarine

Cinnamon

Red Curry Powder

Kosher or sea salt

Granulated sugar

Tin foil

Cut up the pears and remove their stems and seeds.  Cubes on toothpicks are cool for a party, but halved are best if they’ll be served hot over vanilla ice cream. 

Melt the butter and dump in a few tablespoons of sugar.   Keep shaking the curry and the cinnamon into the butter and dipping your fat fingers into it until you’ve achieved certainty that you’ve hit a balance of sweet, cinnamon-y and curry because you’re fucking intellectually sound and your aunt that married the Michelle Bachman supporter was almost certainly adopted, so great is your divide. 

The redneck cousins say pretty much the same things as this asswad, but from them it’s a little more palatable because at least they know they’re rooted in opinion and they just don’t care.  They voted against, for example, gay marriage because they ‘think that gay dudes are gross.’  But this dude is REFINED!  So we have conversations about how marriage would taint the moral fiber of our religious institutions, like this whole national tizzy is just about letting two dudes use the sound system in the megachurch.

And the more he talks, the more I think, ‘you DO know where you are, right?’ And it’s kinda hard to take this seriously from someone who’s basked in the sanctity of state-recognized hetero-marriage four times and all the tax breaks in the world didn’t persuade him away from non-state-sanctioned vag.   (I swear to God, we played nice in person.)

Therapeutically stab the pears into the skewers and lay them in tin foil.  Take your butter-curry-cinnamon-sugar paste dump it over the pears and wrap them in the foil.  Cook them on the top rack on a low heat for about 10-15 minutes.  Unwrap the pears and sprinkle a pinch of sea salt over them. 

Serve ‘em hot.  Cubed with toothpicks for parties, halved over vanilla ice cream for lovers/spouses/committed-partners/yourself.