Juiced

After much soul-searching and debate, we finally broke down and bought one of those professional blenders. You might recognize it from the store demos where folks with mic headsets prepare all manner of smooth foods. The big finale is always a hot cream soup prepared from raw ingredients-- the friction generated from the sheer speed of the blade is enough to cook it (!)

That's not why I wanted it, though. In fact, if anything, such a public spectacle made me steer clear of this product for many years. It was not until Heidi became vegan that the profile of this blender rose in my consciousness. After that, they were in every third recipe I read, always with a note that a regular blender "would do" and a clear implication that your product would be a little inferior.

These babies will run you some serious bucks, though, and for a long time I was able to resist. That was, until I came across The Conscious Cook, by Tal Ronnen. Tal is a chef who also happens to be vegan, and although I've collected a lot of fantastic recipes in the last year or so, this was a book that appealed to my former professional sensibility. The first pages have  In my Kitchen and In my Pantry lists of tools and ingredients, and as I read through them, I was proud to see that I had everything I needed, except... yes, that blender.

And here's what it came down to... I feel like I have mastered an excellent replacement ingredient for almost all the eggs, meat, seafood, and dairy dishes we have always enjoyed, except for cream. Soy milk, rice milk, and almond milk do not have enough fat. Coconut milk works in some situations, but it has a high flavor profile. Ronnen's Ur-recipe is for cashew cream; he uses it liberally throughout the book, and you can't buy it-- it is handmade with, yes, that blender.

So now I have one. I have made cashew cream and it is amazing; I'm looking forward to putting it to great use. I have also made some quality frappucinos and smoothies. Today for lunch we had an avocado and cucumber soup with cilantro, mint, and Thai basil. It was a hit. Last night, on Top Chef Masters, I pointed out every single blender like ours, and there were many, all being used in cool delicious ways.

BUT, yesterday, the food section in our local paper did a feature on juicing-- how healthful and great it is to make your own fruit and veggie juices-- but when all was taste-tested and done, a dedicated juicer turned out to be preferable over... yes, our blender.

Sigh.

Sticking the Landing

There has been a lot of press the last week or so about the impending landing of the latest Mars rover, Curiosity. On Sunday, it will enter Mars's atmosphere at a speed of about 13,200 mph, and in the space of about 7 minutes will have to slow to a full stop. NASA engineers have developed a series of ingenious systems involving rockets and parachutes and ultimately a "sky crane" that will hover above the surface to lower Curiosity gently down. All of it has been tested, but none of it together, and so some NASA officials have dubbed the upcoming event Seven Minutes of Terror.

On another note, despite my objections, we watched the full prime time coverage of the Olympics last night. What can I say? Not only does she like dancing, Heidi is a fan of gymnastics, too. I can say this-- NASA should consider using a few of the fab five on their own team. Talk about practical experience with hurtling full speed through the air only to come to a complete stop-- those golden girls know how to nail it.

I Can See Clearly Now

Especially since I took down all the curtains, washed them, and washed the windows, too. Several years ago, when we hired our weekly housekeeper, we told ourselves that having someone do the basics would free us up for more frequent deep cleaning.

Why then did the dog watch me with such concern as I worked? Could it be that at the age of nine, she's never seen me do any housecleaning? Maybe she just doesn't remember. Isn't that Estella's job? she seemed to ask as she tiptoed around.

The cat was upset as well. I thought we agreed that we wouldn't change the smells around here! she might have sniffed if she could.

But it really felt good to get a few things done, and who knows what might get cleaned or fixed around here tomorrow?

Final Destination

"The guy at the garage said fill it up, set the odometer to zero, drive 40 miles, and come back. It will pass with no problem."

That's what Heidi told me when she picked up the Jeep last week after it failed its emissions test for the second time. It sounded like hocus pocus to me, but you don't really have a lot of options when you have no idea about the thing you need fixed. As a couple of women, we do our best in this area, enlisting men when we can, and trying to find establishments we trust.

In what can not be characterized as anything other than avoidance, we got home, parked the Jeep, and let it sit there. Unfortunately, its registration expires tomorrow, so yesterday we hopped in and headed out. My first idea was to drive straight down the interstate for 20 miles and then turn around. It might have worked, but for the sign we saw just a few miles down the road, Exit 160 12 miles 37 minutes.

"Oh no," I said, "Get off at the Beltway."

From there it was like a puzzle-- what would be a 40 mile loop from our house? I was all over it. With an eye on the mileage, we passed Route 50, Route 7, and I-66. "Let's take the GW Parkway," I said. We were only at 29 miles when we came to I-395, so we kept going through Old Towne and back up King Street to home.

Mileage? 40.1

Epilogue: It passed! 

No Harm Done

We were in the theater parking lot this morning when a friend rolled up behind us. "Hey! Are you going to see Batman?" she asked eagerly.

I stepped up to her window wide-eyed and clutched the door to her Jeep. "No!" I said. "We're going to see Step Up Revolution." And then I raised my eyebrows and jerked my head at Heidi and our neighbor Susan.

Our friend laughed and then pulled away to park. We ran into her again at the ticket counter, and she hooted when we boarded the escalator for the little theaters on the upper level. "You can't embarrass me," I called as we were whisked up and away to the top of the building.

And I realized that I meant it. Heidi loves those dancing shows, and she wanted to see this movie. Plus, to be honest, it was actually pretty entertaining.

It was a lot like fast food-- slick and artificial, but tasty and satisfying in the moment. 

Necessity's Child

Roasted tomato, onion, and squash blossom tarts
Peach and arugula salad with hazelnuts and chili-lime vinaigrette
Corn on the cob

Who needs to go to the store?

It's All about the Traction, Baby

We spent about three hours at the pool today, all of it in the water. Oh sure, we had a good reason, but we also had some severe monkey fingers when we got out.

When we were kids, that's what we used to call that wet finger pruny-ness. Until today, I never even wondered why that happens, but I guess seeing a 3 month old baby's feet wrinkle all.the.way.up made me consider that particular human reaction.

Fortunately for me, I did not have to go far for a theory. The New York Times did a little research on their own about the phenomena. The article is worth a read, but the high points for me were 1) It's a nervous reaction-- sever a few finger nerves and it will not occur. 2) It's only humans and macaques that are so wired. (Think about that, George Allen.) 3) Refer to the title.