Mini and yet, mighty!

Wow, you all went nuts for the meatloaf muffins! How rude of me not to offer my blog is taste-o-vision. (Please post your taste-o-vision requests here.) What I like best about meatloaf is that it's high in protein, and even higher in deliciousness.

If you're short on time, or like your food portioned out for easy party-eating (or lunch packing), the muffins are the way to go. I'm going to steal borrow Mom's mini loaf pan and try it in that next, but I have a feeling that the muffins will win the day.

For those of you who requested the recipe (waaaaaay more than I expected) here you go:

Start with The Joy of Cooking; go buy it now if you don't already have it, and buy it locally if you can. Recycle Bookstore in Campbell is where I go for buying my cookbooks, when Laura isn't giving them to me, that is.

(Full disclosure: I'm friends with the owners, and actually helped move the Campbell location. I still pay for my books, and I would still shop there even if I didn't know and love the owners.)

I'm not going to rip off Ms. Rombauer or either of the Beckers, and if you don't already own this book, you'll be glad you got it. So, here are my changes, since learning how to cook involves changing stuff:

- Ground beef instead of the meat they suggest. (I like the texture better.) I'll also get the meatloaf meat blend from Lunardi's (pork, beef, and lamb) if I'm sure that Sam isn't eating with us because it's less expensive and there was no noticeable taste, moisture, or quality difference. (Sam doesn't do pork, for those of you who were curious.)
- I mix it all together with bare, freshly washed hands. I feel that you can better taste the love that way, and we all know that love is the secret ingredient. 
- Cupcake tin instead of greased loaf pan. I use paper liners, and an ice cream scoop to measure out the meatloaf into the cups.
- Cook time: about 25 minutes, until the middles are 160ºF (71ºC, you're welcome metric people)
- Let them rest and cool for 15 minutes (900 seconds, only because there is no metric measurement for time, and that's a shortcoming in my eyes), and enjoy. (Enjoyment is required.)
- If you're doing side dishes, start them when you pull the meatloaf out to cool. The timing will be perfect.

Last but not least, the other awesome thing about meatloaf is that it takes 10 minutes to throw together and then you have the whole time it's in the oven to knit. The bonus is the virtuous feeling you get when you know that your dinner is cooking away and you have nothing to do but wait for it to be done.

My meatloaf knitting? My cashmere Mariah:

Knitty, Winter 2004. My Mariah.

(Now I have a feeling that Blogger will be getting "feel-o-vision" requests. I just ask that you wash your hands first.)

Betrayal tastes Italian

Andrew and I have been together for a long time. At the beginning of our relationship, we went out for Italian food a few times, and when Andrew asked me what kind of food I like, I told him that I don't really like Italian food.

Now, before I have the Italian contingent of my readership get up in arms, I don't like going out for *most* Italian food. I can make my own pasta and sauce at home, easily and inexpensively. What I do like to go out for are things like gnocchi, which are fiddly and deeeeeeelicious.

Andrew took my statement to mean that I absolutely, positively, never-ever-EVER would EVER want to go to an Italian restaurant. EV-VER.

While we were in Long Beach for TNNA, we went to a PHENOMENAL Italian restaurant, La Parolaccia, and I had the most incredible saffron gnocchi. Here, have a bite:

Mmmmm, tasty!

Of course, I've never had anything like this at home, but I thought I should revisit all of the Italian restaurants in my area, just in case. For science.

This train of thought led to the idea of buying pre-prepared gnocchi and making the sauce myself, and other tasty (and simple to make) dishes, including lasagna.

With that thought in mind, I called Andrew from the hotel, and said, "Hey, what would you think of me making some lasagna?"

"Lasagna! I would LOVE it! It's my favorite food ever!" Andrew exclaimed, and then went on for TEN minutes about his love of lasagna, which he never breathed a word of previously.

The information was staggering. It was like I found out that I married a Cylon. Who loves lasagna.

"I... I don't even KNOW you!" I sputtered in a silly way, but still feeling a little upset that he never told me. What kind of monster am I?

"You said you hated Italian food. I didn't think it was a dealbreaker. I have Stouffer's lasagna when you go out of town," he told me.

"Stouffer's?! Why don't you just stick a knife in my HEART?" I said, owning my melodrama.

He paused for a moment, and I said, "Ok. So, I'll check the Joy of Cooking for a recipe for lasagna."

"All right! I'm looking forward to it," Andrew said.

So, fast forward to this last week. I checked my trusty copy of Joy of Cooking, and I made the Tomato sauce with meatballs recipe (variation 2). I did the whole thing, shaped the meatballs, the whole megillah:

Homemade meatballs! Eat your heart out. Or until you're full.

Those meatballs are nasty little things. They taste delicious, but the oil pops and spatters, and while they were well-behaved for the photograph, they were NOT well-behaved in the pan. At a certain point, I screamed a few choice words at them, and then decided that browned, season ground beef would be just fine in my sauce, and that the Kitchen Police would not come and get me.

I prepped the lasagna for Sunday Game Night (a new tradition in our house, inspired by Meghan from the Stitch It! Podcast), and realized that a lot of the ingredients were the same as for meatloaf.

To show that I really and truly am earning my grown-up merit badge, I did the prep and got the meatloaf muffins (Emy corrected my referring to them as "meatloaf cupcakes") baked while LukeWarm was already working, the way he does. Barely any extra prep, and zero extra dirty dishes.

Whaddya think?

One cupcake, one serving. Tidy!

Oh, and for those of you who were wondering? The lasagna turned out awesome; I saw some leaving the house this morning in Andrew's Star Trek lunchbox. Ignore me, I'll be busy high-fiving myself over here.

To my Momsicle

Happy birthday, Mom! I'm so glad you made it.

Let's be honest, things were a little touch-and-go before your last birthday, and I'm not the only one who was worried. But we are *so* past that.

Thank you for teaching me. You've taught me all sorts of things, from how to fold an egg (which I think is still a misleading term), read, knit. You taught me how to be fabulous, by your fabulous example:

 

You taught me to have fun, and not take myself too seriously, and to make a face when someone points a camera at me, because our faces *won't* stick that way:

By example, again.

You taught me to always try new things:

Costello's, Sock Summit 2009

From kiwi to micro-brew, we always try three bites (or sips) of everything, and we never summarily dismiss anything as gross before really giving it a try. Especially if it's the "weird stuff". You also taught me that sometimes a recipe can't be salvaged, and getting pizza is always an option.

Mostly, you taught me to have confidence in myself. Not the "Check out these groovy hotpants!" confidence, where I automatically assume that all of my ideas are the best, but the confidence to think things through, then say, "This is what I'm going to do. Get on board or get out of my way."

You're my biggest supporter, and my favorite co-pilot on a road trip. Nobody can peel the wrapper off a burger like you can, or make the best of a gross situation.

You always go along with my crazy ideas, like when I called you in the middle of the night to tell you that we should do a podcast, and you said, "Ok... What's a podcast?"

You're the heart and the brains of the podcast. You tell everyone that you're "just the co-host", but that's totally not true. You're the talent, I just run the equipment and fill the empty spaces.

I always tell people that I have the best mom, and it's true. There are so many people who couldn't imagine living so close to their families, and I couldn't imagine living anywhere but. I'm so lucky to have a mom who loves me, and likes me as a person. I'm glad that we're friends now that I'm an adult, and that you still pull rank when I need a little motherly direction.

Happy birthday, Mom. I hope that there are whole bunch more that we can share.

Knit like a Zimmermann

(To the tune of "Walk Like An Egyptian", preferably the version by the Puppini Sisters. Go listen, you'll love it.)

I'm ashamed to admit that though I co-host a knitting podcast, I've never written about the podcasts that I listen to- which is why we podcast. Because we love listening to them!

One of the new shows that has popped up in the last year is Knitting Pipeline, hosted by the charming Paula, who also is a bagpiper. (Also, how great is it that there's a niche for bagpiping and knitting?!)

Paula knew Elizabeth Zimmermann personally, and they corresponded by mail. For those of you not in the know, Elizabeth is considered by many to be the mother of modern knitting, such as it is. I knew *about* Elizabeth's books, and I have owned all of them for quite a number of years, but I never deigned to read them- I just collected them for the patterns.

Two years ago, I knit a baby surprise sweater and complained that Elizabeth's directions weren't breathe-here-blink-here clear. You'll forgive me, right? I was young, and it was the impetuousness of youth speaking. I am Much Older and More Worldly now. Also, I just flipped to the pattern, I didn't read the book, and as everyone knows you should read directions All the Way through.

Given that earlier this year, Elizabeth's patterns and books were described to me to be more like recipes than strictly knitting patterns, this makes much more sense. However, if you're used to The Joy of Cooking and you get a family recipe that says "a pinch here" or "a dash there", (or my favorite, "cook until done") and you happen to be a child who thrives on structure and exact measures to feel comfortable initially, it's enough to reduce your normally composed self to tears.

So, I'll say it.

I was wrong.

What? You couldn't hear me?

I was wrong. WROOOOOOOOOOOOONG.

Elizabeth is brilliant and personable in her books. (Nod if you already knew that; this is my fresh discovery, please share the enthusiasm of novelty.) I don't normally care for people chatting with me in my literature, but it seems that Elizabeth and I have a lot in common. She has a lot of tips and tricks (and my beloved math, in the form of percentages!), and I'm eating it up faster than dessert at Marché.

The only thing that could make me feel closer is if she reached out and asked if she could have the last glass of Syrah- after all, we've been sharing the bottle while I read.

The Blizzard (my nickname for her, since we're good friends now) makes me want to go dig in my back room and start a percentage-based yoke sweater. She makes me want to sing "The Blizzard and I" at the top of my lungs.

Her writing has inspired some of my favorite writers, most notably Stephanie Pearl-McPhee. It's like seeing 10 Things I Hate About You then seeing Taming of the Shrew (preferably performed live, if you're lucky enough it's at Shakespeare Santa Cruz). It's so similar, but the original is what has inspired (now 3) generations of knitters. Good quality and sensible thinking will always outlast the test of time.

Now if only I could get her books on my Kindle. Then, I could have my buddy The Blizzard with me all the time, and not have to weigh down the corners with my lazy Kate and not break the spine.

How Laura saved Christmas

Ever since going to Off the Waffle, I have been obsessed with the idea of making Liege waffles at home. (Mostly because driving eight hours for breakfast is ridiculous. But if you start by aiming to drive eight hours for dinner at Marché, stay the night, THEN have breakfast at Off the Waffle, it's totally reasonable.)

So. I found a recipe, I ordered the special sugar, and I had planned to make them Christmas morning. I had glanced through the recipe, and read some stuff online that said that they needed to rise for an hour. My plan was to pull my ingredients the night before, get up an hour before the rest of the family, prep the waffles, and let them rise while we open gifts.

While I was busily paving the road to Hell with all my good intentions, I printed out the recipe, and really looked at it. This recipe had better curl my toes for how much work it is. Read for yourself, I'll stay here.

1 1/2 hours to rise, do some stuff, let it rise for 4 hours, fridge for 30 mins, do some stuff, fridge it overnight,  do some stuff, let it rise 90 minutes, THEN throw it on the waffle iron.

(For those of you doing the math, that's 6 hours of waiting the day before, then - let's assume that overnight is another 8 hours, then another 1 1/2 hours. That's 15 1/2 hours of prep.)

Naturally, I was disappointed that I had RUINED CHRISTMAS by promising the family fancy Belgian waffles, and now they were going to get boring old scrambled eggs. Laura had been busily texting me while she was getting ready, making sure we had all necessary provisions in place.

When I dramatically announced that the waffles weren't happening, due a complete and utter failure to plan on my part, she directed me to a cookbook (practically to the page) so that we could still have delicious waffles, minus the 15 1/2 hours of prep. See?

That is a cow waffle. Mmm! (You can find the waffle iron here; you'll never have ho-hum waffles!)

And that is how Laura saved Christmas.

One hour

Yesterday was a whirlwind of crazy.

I'm usually very ahead of my game when it comes to planning, but somehow I ended up at grocery stores the week of Christmas. Specifically, FOUR grocery stores, for different things. We accomplished a lot using my "surgical strike" grocery shopping technique, but thankfully, that's all over now.


We were assigned desserts for all of the gatherings we're attending, which is cool. I could have done One Dessert to Rule Them All, but where is the fun in that? (Also, we'll have some overlap in guests at a couple of these things, so I need to keep it interesting.)

At least one of the guests tonight is vegan. I had been listening to the most recent episode of The Knit Wits Podcast (which is funny even if you're not a knitter), and Carin mentioned a vegan strawberry "cheesecake". She was kind enough to share the recipe on their forum group, and so, a vegan strawberry cheesecake I made.

Mmm, vegan!

It's remarkably simple- basically throw two sets of stuff into your food processor (or in my case, Laura's food processor, which I have on loan this week), freeze, eat pie. It's pretty tasty, but you can't think "This is going to taste like cheesecake." Instead think, "This is a delicious vegan dessert," and you'll like it a lot.

After I made the vegan cheesecake, I looked at it and wondered if I should do something else. After all, the prep took about 10 minutes, and I wasn't sure how many folks would be attending. I called our hostess, and let her know that I had the ingredients for an apple pie as well, and could easily throw one together. She let me know that a homemade apple pie wouldn't go to waste, so with my handy sous chef (Mom), we threw that pie together in a half hour.

It smells SOOOOOO good!

At the same time, Andrew was prepping a cake for last night's get together. You would think this wouldn't work in our "one butt" kitchen, but Andrew and I have a natural choreography. We're like figure skaters in that tiny kitchen, but with a few less sequins, and loads of illegal lifts. (Take THAT, U.S. Figure Skating Association!)

In one hour, we had (mostly) made three desserts. The house smelled incredible, and had that special kind of warmth that only an oven can provide.

Now, the tough part is waiting for tonight's festivities before cracking into them. I think the only way to do that, is to bake cupcakes. Thank goodness we picked up that 50 lb bag of flour yesterday  .

We are loved

Last night, Andrew was making dinner, and the smoke alarm went off. Normally, you open some windows, fan the smoke away from the detector, problem solved.

Well.

The previous owner of our home had a home alarm installed. If the fire alarm or the home alarm was triggered, it would broadcast the alarm to the whole. Entire. Neighborhood.

Despite all of the stuff I've burned, and all the smoke I've managed to get going in the house, I have never triggered the smoke alarm. It took us a few minutes to realize that the smoke alarm wasn't just annoying us, it was alerting the whole. Entire. Neighborhood.

There was a bit of drama getting it quieted down, but the heartwarming thing is this: all of our neighbors came to make sure that we were all okay. There was three waves of concerned neighbors, which means that everyone checked for themselves, instead of assuming that "someone else" would check.

I have incredibly strong feelings about "someone else". I'm usually the person who says something, makes the call, or goes to check. I know that in the horror movie version of the world, this dooms me, but it's just who I am. I'm terrified at the thought that we'll all "someone else" and while everyone stands around with a concerned ear, passing the buck to "someone else", nobody will help.

I always think, "Well, I *am* someone else."

So, while Andrew was working on finding the code again (which he did), I got to chat with the neighbors and assure them that we were fine, and tell them about our few days in the house. (How the POLICE came to check while I was moving the first load of stuff into our new house, alone, looking punky and disreputable with my pink hair back in a bandanna.)

Our newest neighbor mentioned how glad she was to see all the turnout for our alarm, and how much better it made her feel. I'm really glad that our neighborhood is extraordinary in that it's full of "someone else"s.

Houston, we have sleeves

I don't usually knit on a deadline. I think it sucks the joy out of knitting, and I've said so. Over and over and over again, ad nauseum. 

Yesterday I decided that it was time to sit down and get some knitting done. I sat and knitted for the better part of the afternoon and evening- stopping periodically to hydrate, nourish, and stretch (of course). It. Was. Heaven.

(The only thing that could have made it better would have been if I'd had a good-looking man feeding me chocolate and massaging my feet while I did it. But he was out seeing TRON.)

This is the body of Cece, in all her Spinach-y glory

Not only did I get 1 1/2 sleeves done on my Beloved Cece, I also got halfway through Season 2 of Dr. Who (with David Tennant). In less than six hours.

I can't believe this sweater has taken me so long. I know it's because it has been neglected in favor of Meghan's Twist Cardigan, which is sitting politely in it's bag waiting for the sleeves to be set in before I can knit the collar and buttonbands. Both the Twist and Meghan are okay with the waiting, though for you naysayers (coughTikacough) I am happy to tell you that Meghan will be getting her half of the sweater swap.

The thing about Cece is that her construction is a lot like Ariann, which I finished knitting last year before Rhinebeck. (Now that I'm thinking about it, that makes my Rhinebeck 2009 sweater count to be two sweaters. Not bad!)

The major difference is that Cece is knit out of sport weight yarn and Ariann is knit out of worsted. They're both beautiful, but Cece is taking me just *this* much longer. (She's still worth it, have no doubt.) I've even picked a beautiful button to be The One:

Doesn't it look like a minimalist artichoke?

I'm powering through the sleeves to get to my favorite part - joining them and knitting the yoke all in one piece. Despite the fact that it's (approximately) one MILLION BILLION stitches per row, there's something incredibly satisfying about seeing something that looks like a finished sweater on your needles.

I think that's when I'll go to a coffee shop to work on it, with a pocket full of business cards for my favorite LYS. There's nothing like seeing a nearly finished project to inspire people to start knitting before the holidays.

Enabler, out.

Block, blocking, blocked

When I was in marching band, lo those many years ago, we had an instructor who would say, "If you can say it, you can play it." I'm of the opinion that the saying works just as well for knitting.

Say it with me: block, blocking, blocked. See? Easy.

I would by lying if I told you it was quick. It's a little tedious, but the payoff is there. See?

Meghan's Twist Cardigan, almost finished!

Here's what I did.

I wove my dressing (or blocking) wires up both outside edges, then through every single stitch on both outside edges of the cables. (Precision work like this totally tickles my OCD, for the record.) This sweater has beautiful shaping, so blocking it square would be positively criminal.

I used the same technique to block Meghan's Twist that I used for my own- to only block the edges and the cables so that the cables would pop. (This brilliant idea was shared by Kathy in San Jose.)

It's a runway of cable-y goodness.

And BOY do they!

It took three episodes of Battlestar Galactica (two hours, fifteen minutes) to get it totally blocked- from setting up the Knitter's Blocks through steaming it. I know you're thinking "Two and a half hours? That's a lot of time."

Here's the payoff: the family has been living with this sweater. They've seen it nearly every day since I started swatching for it a few months back. Every single person who passes this sweater on the table stops to admire it, and comment on the difference that blocking has made. Every. Single. Person. (This makes me think that I really should have done a "before" picture. Next time.)

I love the effect of blocking. It really elevates the level of my work, and corrects a multitude of tiny inconsistencies. It also means spending some quality time with Steamy, and you know how I look forward to our encounters.

And for those of you who use the all-too-common "It'll block out," this goes doubly for you. It can't block out if you don't do the blocking.

Six

Yesterday, Andrew and I celebrated our sixth wedding anniversary. We have two wedding anniversaries, technically, and yesterday was the first. Since it fell on a Tuesday, it was Tuesday as usual (errands, laundry, a little knitting) until Andrew got home.

Andrew brought me my favorite flowers, which I don't know the name of, but I still love them:

Can you name these flowers? I call them "Red Lilies".

But there was more. You see, when you've been with someone for a few years, they notice things. Like your favorite chocolate:

The one on top is my favorite-favorite, and there *were* two.

But what I was the most excited about, was this:

Mmmmm! The flavor of love is "pickled".

Yes. Pickled cocktail onions. Two years ago (at a fancy dinner) I had my first martini, and while I thought the martini was merely "eh", the cocktail onions stole my heart. We stopped at a grocery store in our fancy-pants clothes so that I could get a jar. (I might have eaten two or three jars worth over a couple of weeks. Maybe.) If it's pickled, there's a good chance that I'll love it.

But that's not all.

After that, we went for something that I was having a hankerin' for. Fried pickles and garlic parmesan wings, and there's only one place around here that has them.

For the knitters: Sock is the Vanilla Sock with the Andrew variation, out of Creatively Dyed J'ouvert (Cake)

Now, before you start telling me about how Hooters objectifies women, I already know. In an attempt to support anyone *but* Hooters, I have tried the fried pickles at places like The Counter (Caution: Noisy website), which is very fancy-pantsy, and they're not half as good.

(Though, the Counter is where I go if I have a hankering for an excellent burger. And ogle the waiter who looks like John Barrowman.) In order to get good fried food in this area, you've got to go to a seedy joint like Hooters. That's a fact.

So, in short, it seems that in six years of marriage, Andrew has figured out the mystery-wrapped-in-an-enigma-sprinkled-with-intreague that is me.

And the answer, evidently, is food.