Asparagus Tart + Chocolate Beet Cake

On Sunday, I made an asparagus tart and a chocolate beet cake. Let's attack the tart first. Since the Willy St. Co-op didn't have ricotta salata or creme fraiche (damn you, keyboard; I want a circonflexe and an accent aigu), I had to employ some creative substitutions. Thinking ricotta salata was similar to ricotta, I grabbed a tub of it, and in lieu of the creme fraiche, I snagged half and half. I wanted to get the tart started, so I didn't look up the definitions of ricotta salata and creme fraiche (I'd never used either in my cooking) in my food dictionary until after the tart was in the oven. Alas, I am woefully ignorant about these two ingredients apparently because half and half is a far cry from creme fraiche and ricotta salata is an entirely different animal from  ricotta. I was beginning to suspect it wouldn't set well, and when I took the tart out of the oven, my fears were confirmed. I managed to salvage it by beating two eggs and baking them on top of the tart. It turned out pretty well, but next time I'll abide by the recipe. Oh, and my wrists have forbidden me to type up the longish recipe for the tart, so if you want it, let me know.

The chocolate beet cake was less successful in my mind. A colleague graciously said it tasted "earthy," not "like dirt," which is how I'd described it. (A.H., I stole that descriptor from your take on spring mix.) If there's another bunch of beets in this week's CSA share, I'm going to either pickle them or roast them and make a salad with goat cheese or shaved Parmesan, arugula, and maybe some balsamic vinegar. Beets might be one of those things that, for me, are best served in a more traditional mode. (Never fear, though. I shan't become traditional anytime soon; I've been called eccentric or quirky so many times that I probably couldn't become traditional if I tried.) The cake wasn't my favorite, but it might appeal to other palates, so here's the recipe (from MADSAC's From Asparagus to Zucchini: A Guide to Cooking Farm-Fresh, Seasonal Produce):

• 2 cups sugar
• 2 cups flour
• 1/2 tsp. salt
• 2 tsp. baking powder
• 1 tsp. baking soda
• 3-4 oz. unsweetened chocolate
• 4 eggs
• 1/4 c. oil
• 3 c. shredded beets

Heat oven to 325. Grease 2 9-inch cake pans. Whisk dry ingredients together. Melt chocolate very slowly over low heat or in a double boiler. Cool chocolate; blend thoroughly with eggs and oil. Combine flour mixture with chocolate mixture, alternating with the beets. Pour into pans. Bake until fork can be removed from center cleanly, 40-50 mins.

Skechers

I have a new pair of Skechers Shape-Ups, and I love them. They do nothing to downplay my skinny chicken legs, but since I won't be developing the gams of Serena Williams anytime soon, I'm just gotta deal with it. They're uber-cushy, which is heavenly for those with flat feet. I probably won't attend any workout classes in them for fear of people thinking I'd downed an array of cocktails prior to class, but I'll wear them for walking and on the elliptical or the bike at the gym. It's really the standing still that is problematic because you're constantly trying to correct for the fact that you are somewhat imbalanced by the rocking of the shoe. For instance, while I was waiting for the light at a curb the other day, a stiff wind kicked up, further messing with my already precarious balance. So I pretended that I had a sudden urge to step and turn to look at something over to the left. Otherwise, I imagine I would've looked like I was doing a mini line-dancing routine.

Blogger just erased a lengthy post about the asparagus tart and chocolate beet cake I made last night. Grr. And it's now past my bedtime, so you'll have to wait for me to re-create that post tomorrow.

Bon nuit, dear readers (all 3 of you ;)).

Yin Yoga + Grilled Cheese

Tonight, I had my second yin yoga class, and I think I'm hooked. I highly recommend it for anyone who wants to deeply stretch their fascia and thoroughly relax.

Upon arriving home, my nose met with the intoxicating smell of grilled cheese. Following my roommate's lead, I made a delectable version with pepper-crusted parmesan cheese and green peppers (from my CSA share) on sprouted wheat bread. It gave me the opportunity to use my brand-spankin'-new panini press (thank you, T.J. Maxx), and cut into four tiny little triangles, it provided a satisfying, but light late-night dinner. I would provide a photo, but the camera's broken, so you'll just have to use your imagination.

Reasons Why I'm Not Allowed to Drink Espresso Often

I got back into town last Saturday. After enduring the red-eye flight, I was greeted by a pretty sunrise and a rainbow in Minneapolis. Thanks to B. for picking me up at the airport.

This week, I was tired. Just plain tired. I guess I'm still realigning my sleep patterns because I only got about 4-6 hours of sleep each night. On Wednesday, in an espresso-fueled haze, I noticed a full-sized phone book living on the roof outside my office window. It was rain-bloated, forlorn, and splayed open, its pages fluttering in the breeze. How did it get there? Did some inebriated person launch it up there?* Was someone having a privately perusing the White Pages on my rooftop? Was it abandoned by a family of phone books who couldn't afford to raise it? Poor, poor cast-off phone book. The next day, a beer bottle had been added to the rooftop, and my friend S. said it looked like an art installation. I'll keep you guys posted about the opening night for our little installation. :)

*I admit that this is the most likely explanation, although even when drunk, it has never occurred to me to propel a big-ass phone book onto a local office building.

Yoga al Fresco, Flashlight Tour at DBG, Lola's, the Suns, Bats, and Postino

Today for my last lunch in Phoenix, we tried the Blue Nile Cafe, which is an Ethiopian restaurant in Tempe. I had the kik alitcha, kik misir watt, and inguday over injera, and M. had the meat lover's combo. Afterward, we trolled around Sunset Clothing Exchange and Buffalo Exchange for a little shopping. The latter has a great program: In exchange for not taking a bag for your purchase, you can donate five cents to different causes.

Last night, I went to a free outdoor yoga class in Old Town. The class was a marvelous workout and great stress (you know, all of that dreadful vacation stress ;)) reliever. The 1.25- to 1.5-hour asana was followed by a luxurious half-hour of savasana, and afterward, there were treats (little bites and roasted apricot sorbet) from Crudo. We ended the night with sushi at Kyoto.

On Tuesday night, we went to Postino for bruschetta and wine. On Monday and Tuesday nights, you can get four different kinds of bruschetta and a bottle of wine for $20. We had the brie and apples with fig spread, prosciutto with figs and mascarpone, warm artichoke spread, and albacore tuna with gaeta olives and a bottle of Damilano Nebbiolo.

On Wednesday night, we watched a bat colony that roosts in a tunnel at 40th and Camelback leave for their evening insect hunt. Just after sunset, several thousand Mexican free-tailed bats and western pipistrelle bats emerged. Although not as dramatic as I'd expected (I imaged an Indian Jones-style blanket of screeching bats), it was cool to see their wacky, erratic flight patterns. (I suppose that's a result of echolocation.)

Last week, we did a flashlight tour at the Desert Botanical Gardens. We'd been to the DBG before, but never at night. Stations throughout the garden taught us about tarantulas and scorpions, snakes, mesquite, geckos and lizards, saguaro, frogs and toads, agave, birds and bats, and tortoises. Afterward, we met K. + J. for tapas (house marinated olives, tortilla de patatas, garbanzos con espinacas a la Andaluza, and the paella of the day), delicious sangria, and tres leches cake at Lola's.

What else? On Saturday, we went to a barbeque at F. + S.'s house and then onto R.'s house to watch the Suns game (or, in our case, to pretend to watch the Sun's game). Most people left after the game was over, but the few of us remaining played Trivial Pursuit.

On Sunday, we saw Metalhead play at Martini Ranch. Normally, this is a hoot, but the holiday weekend made it way too crowded. It was like being repeatedly mauled for 2 hours. And on Monday, people came over to hang out by the pool and shove food in their faces. (Holiday weekend!)

Okay, enough sitting in front of the computer. It's my last day here, so I'm going to enjoy the pool for a bit before we go to the First Friday Art Walk tonight.

Sedona and Drive-in Movie

Last Sunday, we loaded up the rental car with snacks, a thermos of coffee, lots of water, blankets, wine, and sunscreen and set out for Sedona.

On the way, we spontaneously stopped at Montezuma Castle, which is the ruin of a pueblo built by the Southern Sinagua (Spanish for without water) people. The Southern Sinagua inhabited the Verde Valley from about 700 AD to the early 1400s and were skilled farmers. Situated in a cliff recess 100 feet above the valley, the original pueblo was five stories tall and consisted of 20 rooms. Early settlers who thought the ruin was of Aztec origin mistakenly assigned the name Montezuma to it.

In Sedona, we hiked the Boynton Canyon Trail in the Coconino National Forest and the Red Rock Ranger District. The trail was mild, which I appreciated because the backs of my knees and legs are still injured. Parts of the trail were positively beach-like with thick white sand, and I was amazed at the extent of the forest.

Afterward, we had a snack at the Enchantment Resort's Tii Gavo restaurant. The restaurant has a stunning view, and the prickly pear mojito was marvy, but the cactus fries resembled mushy green peppers. The cornmeal crust offset the texture somewhat, but they were still rather bland and greasy.
For dinner at the Heartline Cafe, we shared pecan-crusted trout with grain mustard sauce, seared polenta and braised pork with roasted pepper sauce, and quail in a port wine demi-glace.

After dinner, we drove up Airport Road to watch the sunset and then walked around the Tlaquepaque shopping district before getting back on the road.

On Tuesday night, we went to Scottsdale 6, a drive-in movie theater, to see Shrek 3 and How to Train Your Dragon. I'd never been before, so it was a hoot.

Just Deserts?

There's lots to love about Phoenix: funky architecture; geography, flora, and fauna vastly different from the Midwest; a vibrant vibe; marvelous restaurants; great hiking; and tons more. One thing that concerns me, though, are the lawns and the golf courses. Lush, artificial environments requiring lots of maintenance and resources (read: water) should not be plunked in the middle of the desert.

Water has always been a major issue in Phoenix, but massive population growth (one figure said the city has grown 77% since 1980) and a persistent drought over the past two decades has made it even more pertinent. Phoenix receives its water from four sources: the Colorado River (34.5%), surface water (from lakes, streams, and rivers other than the Colorado)(17.2%), groundwater (35.8%), and effluent water (water mixed with waste that can be reused (12.3%). The drought particularly affects the surface water levels. To sustain surface water, the area relies on precipitation. Melted snow from the northern part of the state and rain feed surface water suppliers such as the Salt River and the Verde River.

And where is the water being used? According to the Phoenix Department of Water, the majority of usage is not for drinking. Instead, 2/3 of water is used for residential purposes, including landscape irrigation, and more than 60% of Phoenix' overall demand is for outdoor water uses, mainly landscape irrigation.

Doesn't xeriscaping make more sense? Xeriscaping is a portmanteau of xeros (Greek for dry) and landscaping. It's defined as utilizing plants that require less water, especially in arid ecosystems. Here, that means rocks and sand as filler instead of grass and plants like yucca, cacti, agave, and a host of others.

Why do people insist on having grassy golf courses and green lawns? My guess is status. As in temperate climes, a manicured lawn is a marker of status among certain groups. And using an inordinate amount of resources is also a way that many groups express social dominance.

Read It and Weep

I've landed in Phoenix and am settling into the desert sun and heat, and the relative languor of vacation. This morning, I picked oranges, grapefruits, and lemons from the backyard and did my physical therapy exercises and some strength work on my legs and abs.

I've spent most of the rest of the day reading Rick Riordan's The Lightning Thief outside (in the shade, of course) and consuming massive quantities of sun tea and water. Riordan's book is an entertaining young adult read that postulates that titans, gods, and demigods walk among us in the contemporary world.

After the pool cools down (we washed and removed the insulating cover a bit ago), I'll take a swim.

Let's see. What else? Last night we went to RA, a sushi joint up the street, for happy hour, played with the Wii (according to which, by the way, I suck at most physical tasks :)), and watched a movie.

I also wanted to mentioned the book I read right before this one. It's called The Help by Kathryn Stockett, and I was so enthralled that I burned through it in about four days. It's set in 1962 Jackson, Mississippi and is told through the voice of two African-American maids and one white woman. The white woman is writing a book about the maids' experiences, which was a dangerous and subversive act during this volatile period. Read it and weep, literally. It will make you cry, it will make you laugh, and above all, it will make you think.

Happy Cinco de Mayo + The Green Owl Cafe

Happy Cinco de Mayo, everyone! I did nothing to celebrate. Not a damn thing. But I don't think I've ever celebrated Cinco de Mayo. Maybe next year.

Last Saturday was the state event for history day, so I spent a chunk of my day asking kidbots about their historical research process and such. It was a good day, but I was tuckered out by the end of it.

The night before, L. and I went to dinner at The Green Owl Cafe, which is a funky, newish vegetarian restaurant at Schenk's Corners. I had the barbequed jackfruit* sandwich with kale crisps, and L. had the Middle Eastern platter with hummus, muhammara, and baba ganoush served with toasted pita wedges, olives, and pickled vegetables. The jackfruit sandwich is their take on a pulled pork sandwich and was surprisingly successful. I must admit that I was a little skeptical about jackfruit. I'd never had it before, and the notion of a fruit even approaching the texture and taste of pork seemed doubtful. I mean, it didn't taste like pork, but it was a satisfying substitute, and the vegan slaw on top of the sandwich was a delicious contrast. Oh, and the kale crisps rocked, too. L. was also pleased with her platter. After dinner, we shared a slice of spectacular lemon-poppyseed cake. I'm a lemon-poppyseed fan to begin with, but this defied expectations. The cake itself had the consistency of a delicious pound cake, and the glaze was citrusy and rich. We were both quietly moaning at our table, and the cake vanished way too rapidly.

Afterward, we saw Broom Street Theater's production of Multiple O: Women on Top, for which I wrote a review for the Isthmus (http://bit.ly/dpO5io).

*I was curious about jackfruit, so I looked it up. Here are a few highlights:
     -species of tree in the mulberry family
     -national fruit of Bangladesh
     -native to southern and southeast Asia
    -its fruit is largest tree-borne fruit in world
    -fruit can reach up to 80 lbs. in weight

Wisco Film Festival and Red Curry Sweet Potato Soup

Alright. The dishes are washed, but I want to stay up later. K. came over for dinner and a movie tonight. We watched Adam's Apples, a slightly twisted Danish black comedy. The menu included:

• red curry sweet potato soup
• sautéed greens (a mixture of mustard, spinach, collard greens, and turnip greens)
• crostini with a selection of cheeses (feta, grana padana, herbed Happy Cow), roasted garlic, marinated artichoke hearts, and black olives

Red Curry Sweet Potato Soup
(from Real Simple)

Ingredients
* 1 1/2 lbs sweet potatoes, rinsed (about 3 large potatoes)
* 1 tablespoon vegetable oil
* 1 onion, roughly chopped
* 4 tablespoons fresh ginger, peeled and thinly sliced
* 1 tablespoon red curry paste (found in the international section of markets)
* 1 (15 ounce) can unsweetened coconut milk
* 3 cups chicken broth or vegetable broth
* 3 1/2 tablespoons lemon juice
* 1 teaspoon kosher salt
* 1 tablespoon toasted sesame oil
* 1/2 cup fresh cilantro stem

Directions
1. Preheat oven to 400°F Put the sweet potatoes on an oven rack and bake for 50 minutes or until tender. Remove from oven and let cool. Heat the vegetable oil in a large saucepan over medium heat. Sauté the onion and ginger until the onion softens, about 5 minutes. Stir in the curry paste and cook for 1 minute. Add the coconut milk and broth and gently bring to a boil. Reduce heat to a simmer, partially cover, and cook for 5 minutes. Skin the potatoes and cut into 1-inch chunks. Add the potatoes to the soup and simmer for 5 minutes. Stir in the lemon juice and salt. Ladle the soup into serving bowls. Drizzle the sesame oil evenly over the servings. Garnish with the cilantro.

A few notes: The Co-op lacked cilantro, so I omitted it. Had it been available, I would've gladly used it. Cilantro is a magically delicious herb. I used low-fat coconut milk, replaced red curry paste with garam masala, substituted fresh lime juice for lemon juice, and threw in a few handfuls of spinach ribbons (another recipe suggested it...so I claim no credit for that). Close enough, I say.

Wisconsin Film Festival

In mid-April, I attended four films at the Wisconsin Film Festival. Here's a little recap:

OSS117: Lost in Rio is a French satire of 1960s-era spy movies. It especially pokes fun at Sean Connery's tenure as James Bond. If you can get ahold of a copy, I'd highly recommend it.

Romania's The Happiest Girl in the World was less entertaining. It centered on a teenage girl who wins a car in a contest put on by a juice manufacturer. She and her parents go to Bucharest to film the commercial for the juice company and to claim her prize. However, tensions arise because her parents want to sell the car to advance their lot in life and she just wants the independence and freedom afforded by a car. It's a lot of bickering and watching her shoot and re-shoot the commercial, but it was interesting to see a movie about the Romanian people as they navigate their rather new relationship with capitalism.

Mid-August Lunch from Italy was the charming story of a middle-aged Roman man and his mother who agree to care for his building administrator's elderly mother over the mid-August holiday (Ferragosto) in exchange for some of his overdue condo fees. When the administrator shows up, he brings his mother and an aunt. And then the local doctor asks if he can add his mother to mix while he works the late shift. It's endearing to watch the man try to keep up with these feisty ladies, often with the addition of a glass (or three) of wine.

In Masquerades (Algerian), Mounir is just trying to make a life for himself and his family in a small Algerian town. In a drunken outburst, he announces to the whole town that he's found a stellar match for his sister, Rym. (She lives with them and has bouts of narcolepsy.) Rym is in love with Mounir's best friend, but he doesn't know it. The fake story about the wealthy match is exaggerated as it moves from person to person in the town, and soon gets out of control. It was a sweet little film.

Technogeek Moments and John Mayer

Holy technogeek moment, Batman! I believe I just imported this blog into my Facebook account, so let's see if it works. Testing. Testing. One, two. One, two. John Mayer's a douche bag! (Isn't douche bag a lovely term? It's so deliciously crass.)

Hee. Hee. I know that's not a routine mic-testing sentence, but it should be. Alright. I just needed a segue into discussing John Mayer. I am referring, of course, to the now-notorious Playboy interview wherein Mayer makes some bizarre, if not outright sexist and racist, comments. To me, his tidbits about race were particularly disturbing and offensive. Here's the passage that has received the most flak:

PLAYBOY: If you didn’t know you, would you think you’re a douche bag?

MAYER: It depends on what I picked up. My two biggest hits are “Your Body Is a Wonderland” and “Daughters.” If you think those songs are pandering, then you’ll think I’m a douche bag. It’s like I come on very strong. I am a very…I’m just very. V-E-R-Y. And if you can’t handle very, then I’m a douche bag. But I think the world needs a little very. That’s why black people love me.

PLAYBOY: Because you’re very?

MAYER: Someone asked me the other day, “What does it feel like now to have a hood pass?” And by the way, it’s sort of a contradiction in terms, because if you really had a hood pass, you could call it a nigger pass. Why are you pulling a punch and calling it a hood pass if you really have a hood pass? But I said, “I can’t really have a hood pass. I’ve never walked into a restaurant, asked for a table and been told, ‘We’re full.’"

PLAYBOY: It is true; a lot of rappers love you. You recorded with Common and Kanye West, played live with Jay-Z.

MAYER: What is being black? It’s making the most of your life, not taking a single moment for granted. Taking something that’s seen as a struggle and making it work for you, or you’ll die inside. Not to say that my struggle is like the collective struggle of black America. But maybe my struggle is similar to one black dude’s.

PLAYBOY: Do black women throw themselves at you?

MAYER: I don’t think I open myself to it. My dick is sort of like a white supremacist. I’ve got a Benetton heart and a fuckin’ David Duke cock. I’m going to start dating separately from my dick.

PLAYBOY: Let’s put some names out there. Let’s get specific.

MAYER: I always thought Holly Robinson Peete was gorgeous. Every white dude loved Hilary from The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air. And Kerry Washington. She’s superhot, and she’s also white-girl crazy. Kerry Washington would break your heart like a white girl. Just all of a sudden she’d be like, “Yeah, I sucked his dick. Whatever.” And you’d be like, “What? We weren’t talking about that.” That’s what “Heartbreak Warfare” is all about, when a girl uses jealousy as a tactic.

Let's get an insignificant issue out of the way first: Even if he believes this crap, isn't the boy bright enough not to say it in a major magazine interview? Yeah. Apparently not.

The next distasteful statement is that African-Americans love him because he is so "very." I'm not sure what the hell it means to be "very." Very what? If he's wanting me to fill in the blank, I can present several choice adjectives after reading that interview. I am curious to know precisely what attribute in in his noggin because he's generalizing an entire group of people based on it. And I'm convinced that the African-Americans who did like him prior to this interview are not particularly fond of him now, despite his Twitter apology. (Who chooses a medium that limits you to 140 characters for a genuine apology?) At least he then has the good sense--after making broad generalizations about African-Americans again--to say that his so-called struggle is not "like the collective struggle of black America." Really? I can safely say that I never, ever thought that John Mayer's "struggle" was equivalent to the struggle of African-Americans. Just for the record.

Next, he refers to a "hood pass"--a term that I fortunately had not previously encountered--and then flippantly drops the N-word. The latter is simply unacceptable, especially for a white person, and we'll just leave it at that. As a term, the former implies that a white person can access and own the often traumatic history of African-Americans by being a cool pop star. In his own inarticulate fashion, he rejects this notion, but does so with an example of racism (being refused at a restaurant) that is so mild that it makes me wonder if he's ever heard of slavery and racism. If being refused at a restaurant was the worst thing that occurred during slavery and the ensuing years of oppression, we'd be in much better shape.

Then there's the "Do black women throw themselves at you?" question. When I first saw excerpts of the interview, the snippet would begin with this question, and I always wondered why Playboy was asking such a bizarre question. Well, now that I've read the larger interview, it makes a bit more sense, but it's still a demented leap in the dialogue. Then again, it is Playboy. I guess I wouldn't expect them to be grilling Mayer about his feelings on Anna Karenina.

And here we are at my favorite part, the piece where he compares his penis to a white supremacist. Talk about wandering into all kinds of dangerous territory. By adding the sexual element (i.e., referencing his penis) he brings to the surface all kinds of crazy history. Off the top of my head, I think of the historically fraught relations between white men and black women and between black men and white women. More specifically, it summons black slave women suffering rape at the hands of their male owners and the lynchings and violence perpetrated against black men as punishment for alleged and/or imagined crimes against white women. I could go on.

Even apart from that, his comments that he doesn't "open [him]self up to" the attentions of African-American women, that his heart is a Benetton ad* (read: multicultural and open), and that his penis resembles David Duke are bizarre. The last detail is really the worst for me. Bringing a prominent KKK member into the equation upped the creepiness quotient about a thousand-fold. A charitable interpretation of his comments would be that even though at heart he is a tolerant soul, he's just not physically attracted to African-American women. (I find this hard to believe because of Halle Berry, at the very least. I am attracted to Halle Berry. That woman is stunning.) On a side note, I was under the impression that desire emanates from one's heart and brain. Can't that Benetton heart override his penis? (Insert joke about men thinking with their penises.)

And then he lists a few exceptions. By name. Is naming a few women that would be worthy of his attentions--if he could "start dating separately from [his] dick," that is--supposed to cancel out the fact that he has just said he is not attracted to any African-American women? He then insults white women with the "white-girl crazy" line and ends with on a charming note by pulling this horrendous train wreck of a discussion back to a shallow plug for his song.

Whew. On that note, I'll wrap it up. I know Mayer is just a singer and not a political and historical brain trust, and I guess we shouldn't expected him to be. And why devote so many words to the putz? I just wish that people in general would be a bit more thoughtful about the ideas they espouse. This especially applies to celebrities because their status confers a degree of authority (or if not authority, at least significant media time). And that authority can influence people's opinions.

Note: Farai Chide at The Huffington Post had some insightful commentary: http://huff.to/aPjIEw. And this article (http://bit.ly/aukSBE) by Andrea Plaid from Racialicious was also interesting.

*The Benetton ads are problematic representations of diversity, but that's for another article.