Fall Back, Struggle Forward

I don't know about you guys, but I find this time change business extremely rough. Look, I know it's only an hour, and I've certainly faced worse and greater jumps in the time space continuum (you try flying from London to Dubai to Shanghai being chased all the while by an Icelandic volcano and you just tell me how you like that), but I feel like it's different when you travel. For one thing, you are traveling. so you can justify the lack of sleep and complete confusion as to what day it is by saying, well, everything is foreign here, and time is no exception. Time hasn't actually changed, I'm just one French time,and bound by the laws of cigarettes, or English time, and bound by the laws of tea and class warfare, or Chinese time, and bound by the laws of....never mind, China has no laws, just suggestions. It's much like Italy that way, really...

But this whole hour ahead hour behind thing has really got me rattled. For one thing, I resent the syntax that tells me I'm losing or gaining time. How did I lose that hour? Is there a hole in my time-purse? I was so careful with it, too! Can I replace it? No, it just returns to me in the Fall, like a prodigal son. And I don't even have any children! See, right there, that all sounds like the crazy person who sits outside of your local 7-11 and asks you for change. But I'm not that person. I don't even know where the nearest 7-11 is! (This is a lie. It's on 22nd and Lombard. And it's creepy. Don't go in there.) Time is not a pair of socks or a debit card, you can't just let it fall out of your pocket or lose it in the dryer. But SOMETHING has happened to that hour that disappeared on Sunday morning, and I miss it. I want to put up signs, have you seen this hour? Do people put things on milk cartons anymore?

Or maybe that's just the exhaustion talking. Because why my clock says 4:40pm, my body say 3:40pm. So when my clock says 12:40 in the evening, my body says, silly brain, it's only 11:40, stay up, read, you have all the time in the world! But body, my brain says, the time, I've lost it! You can't lose time, silly brain, that's crazy talk. But, the farmers, my brain queries tentatively....Farmers? Says my body, What farmers? What is this, the feudal system? And then my body and my brain start to fight about the validity of an agricultural based time system in these modern days, and I stay up even later. And then I think about what it would take to reserve myself a spot behind the 7-11.

So I haven't really caught up yet with this whole Spring forward business. But as it grows miraculously lighter, and ever so slightly warmer (never trust a groundhog, people, they get you every time), I start to believe that maybe, just maybe, someday I will finally grow accustomed to this hour forward thing. Though, knowing me, that will be just in time for fall.

Please, Sir, I Want Some Struggle

What do you do when your are home alone? Do you run around naked? Do you dance around to loud music? Do you throw wild parties? Do you re-paint? Or do you, in fact, cook large meals for yourself and a good friend? Can you guess into which category I fall? 

Yeah. I make large meals with my friend Ben. Obviously. Ben and I got together this past Saturday night and prepared ourselves a simple meal of spice rubbed duck breast (Ben) brocolini blanched and sauted with garlic(myself) and curried saffron rice (more of myself). 

And wine. And cheese. And gossip. And maybe I'm crazy, okay, I'm definitely crazy, but it was a really lovely evening! No clubs, cabs or critical hook up moments, no embarrassing statements or stranger danger, just a nice evening with a friend. Because here's the thing, most people I know? Are struggling. At least, most young people I know are struggling. I mean, obviously, I'm struggling, it's right there in the name, but I mean in terms of the nightlife. Between the job situation and the social stuff and the constant fear that you are missing something on TV, things can get a little rough out there. So while my peers may feel the need to fill every evening with a constant stream of activities and location changes (BEN), I really enjoy nights that have one, maybe two main attractions. Honestly, much more then that gives me sensory overload and the extreme need for a snack. I know we have the fountain of youth pouring through our veins and whatever Romantic era metaphor you prefer, but doesn't anyone want to save some of that up for middle age? Every night isn't New Years, guys, you can take an evening off and wear sweatpants. No one will know but me, I promise, and I wont tell. (Yes, I will. Do it anyway.)  I mean, good lord, people, don't you get tired? It's all well and good to say you will sleep when you are dead but....I REALLY like sleeping. 

See? Don't I look happy? All well rested and happy? And with a nice glass of wine instead of a horrible but calorically conscious vodka and soda water? Ben brought, in addition to duck breast, his usual heavy snark, which pairs excellently with my own generous helping of sarcasm, and together we gorged ourselves on olives and political commentary (read, pop culture references) until Ben had to bail to go out for the evening. And me? I nestled my way into my pajamas, curled up with some USA network shows (as one does) and enjoyed my evening off of being 23 years old. 

This is how is all looks before my expert plating. The brocolini is the easiest thing in the world, blanch it, saute it with chopped garlic, sprinkle some red pepper flakes and salt and pepper over that sucker and you are DONE. Ben used a combo of spices and brown sugar with the duck breast, which we pan seared and then finished in the oven. The brown sugar gives it that deliciously crispy crust of caramelized goodness, so whatever combination of things you rub on the duck, make sure it includes brown sugar. In this case, it's like foodie crack, I swear. 

The Struggle Hill Mall

Thought it pains me to admit it, sometimes I can't get everything I need in one place. I wish I never had to leave the warm comforting arms of Struggledelphia for any reason at all. I wish I could have unlimited wealth and access to a never ending store of cupcakes as well.But given that I work in the arts and I don't want to end up on one of those horrible weight loss shows, neither of those things look like they are going to happen any time soon. And neither can I stay in Struggledelphia forever. Sometimes the winds of fate and sands of destiny (why....would destiny want sand? It gets in everything. Just saying.) compel me to to seek my fortune elsewhere, and so I must venture forth and explore the wilds of civilization beyond the reach of our fair city. And so it was, with a heavy heart and a warm coat, that I ventured, last weekend, to the Cherry Hill Mall.

The Cherry Hill mall is located, surprisingly enough, in Cherry Hill, New Jersey, the sight of many white collar crimes, 50's style diners, and single level shopping centers. Plus they also have a Wegmans not too far away. Basically, it's everything you could ever want without anything you actually need. As an urbanite, I'm fascinated with malls, and I always have been. Plants! Mall walkers! Hot Topic! (Have you ever seen a Hot Topic outside of a mall? Think it through.) Malls seem to have a plethora of stores and businesses that do not exist outside of their air conditioned climate controlled food courted halls. I certainly have never thought about the Mall as a social activity. I thought people only "hung out" in malls in movies, Fast Times at Ridgemont High springs to mind. Oh, gentle readers, I could not have been more wrong....

This is a mall modeling talent search. It looks like they got some winners. 

This is not good parenting. 

This does not seem like a great deal. 

This is how New Jersey does hair. 

This is not a store I've ever seen in real life. This is a man, on the verge of the silent scream. 

This is another way New Jersey does hair. 

This is another imaginary store. 

This is what Betty Friedan was talking about. 

This is me. I am not amused. 

I really hope Struggledelphia gets a Forever 21 soon. Because I'm not relishing going back out to New Jersey and living through that grotesque carnival of human misery again....I'm completely kidding. I love that place. Bring it on, New Jersey, I can take it. 

Struggle Gets Dishy: Side Benefits

So, good old Puxutawny Phil neglected to see his shadow, which means an early spring for all of us! Good news, right? A cause for joy and celebration? Ah, my friends, you could not be more wrong.

Why? Well, for starters, I don't care what that deceitful little rodent says, it's still dangerously cold here in Struggledelphia. And why are we trusting our fate to a small ground dwelling mammal anyway? I mean, what does he know about meteorology, he doesn't even have a weather based name or a bow tie or any of the things I expect from my local news carrier. Trusting the weather to a groundhog is like saying my cat can make prophesies about the future. And considering that my cat's favorite activities are sleeping and licking itself in it's swimsuit areas, I'm not so sure that we want to live in that future, frankly.

 And don't even get me started on Staten Island Chuck. To think, New York calls US the second class city...

Additionally, after this long and painful winter, is anyone REALLY ready to strip down to their daisy dukes and halter tops and bare all that pasty pale skin to the light of day? Of course not! It's not time for that sort of thing! It's time for snuggling up into fleece blankets and not moving until an animal of slightly more intelligence then a groundhog tells you it's time. When a dolphin let's me know about the weather, I'll be happy to listen. But not before then.

With all this in mind, my crusade for carbohydrates continues, with a potato based recipe sure to fill you with enough fat to insulate those pesky little organs without which you would expire. So, this Valentine's day, give you sweetheart and yourself the gift of starchy root vegetables. It is truly the gift that keeps on giving. And what could be more romantic then that?

Roasted Red Potatoes and Leeks:

I love this side dish because its pretty, filling, and fantastically easy. There's a double entendre there somewhere, but I'm too cold to make it.

1 pound small red potatoes, rinsed, eyes removed (if they exist. The eyes of the potato are the little sprouts which may have been allowed to grow if you, like me, buy things and then forget that you own them. It happens.)
2 large leeks.
Salt
Pepper
Olive Oil

Preheat your oven to 400 degrees Fahrenheit. Slice the potatoes into 1/4th of an inch thick rounds. Thinly slice the leeks (both white and green parts, personal issue of mine, I hate when people just use part of a leek, use the whole leek, people, pretend this is the frontier), on a diagonal, and toss the potatoes and leeks with olive oil, salt, and pepper. Spread potato and leek mixture on a baking sheet. Make sure that there is a single layer of potatoes and leeks, if the sheet is too crowded neither will roast properly. Treat yourself to a second baking sheet if needs be, you deserve it, I promise. Roast vegetables about 30 minutes, or until potatoes and leeks are browned and potatoes flake apart when tested with a fork or knife. Season with additional salt and pepper, if that is your desire, and serve. Enjoy!

Delicious.

Give Us This Day Our Daily Struggle

I walked to work this morning. I had a meeting part of the way between my job and my home and it didn't make sense to go all the way to work first, and this city is basically bereft of public transportation so I walked. I walked through mountains of snow, because even though it has been almost a week since the last storm apparently it's been decided that the sidewalks of Struggledelphia should remain as scale models of the Alps. And I walked through rivers of ice, because salt is for pansies and the city government would prefer that us Struggledelphias bravely take on the elements with nothing more then our bare hands and Quaker determination. And I fell. Right on my knees. At the corner of Struggle Garden and 11th street. Thank you, good people of City Hall, for teaching me that valuable lesson about falling down in public.

But on some level I'm glad I walked all the way in because my path took me through all kinds of struggle, and as I always carry around my camera, I can now share some of that for you. Enjoy. Happy end of January. If February has this much snow, I'm moving to Mexico. Who's in?

Struggleslovakia

I was driving in downtown Struggledelphia the other day when I came upon a deeply perplexing sight. Cold the wind was, and icy breezes blew through the city. Wrapped in fleece and down, the noble inhabitants of my fair struggle hurried on their way, faces turned from the bitterness of the day. None of this, of course, is surprising, it's been insanely cold here in Struggledelphia, the kind of weather that makes you understand why so many Colonial beverages mix hot liquids and alcohol (Have you had mulled wine lately? A hot toddy? Cider? It's all working for me right now). But what WAS surprising was the large typically vacant office building at the corner of Market and StruggleFirst street which was festooned with pictures of actor Bradly Cooper's face in some kind of pseudo political campaign. But the weirdest part? That political campaign was for the city of New York.

Now, I'm fairly certain that Struggledelphia is not, in fact, New York. I know for a fact that there are at least 5 people in our Chinatown who speak English, which is 500% more then New York has. Also, we barely have a subway system. Also, a bottle of water costs under 5 dollars. So it seemed unlikely that the two cities had in fact fused together overnight and that I was at the corner of Struggledelphia and Broadway. Although that would be an awesome Twilight-zone....

And then it occurred to me, none of this was real! It was, in fact, a movie. A movie being shot in here in Sturggledelphia but set in New York. Right, Because the two cities look EXACTLY alike. We have a Statue of Liberty as well. It's called the Benjamin Franklin Bridge. Looks exactly the same, if you squint. And have glaucoma. And it's nighttime. And raining. And all the power is out. Right?

And then I realized, as I dodged Bradley Cooper fangirls (and boys, let's not be heteronormative) and tried to make it to my pilates class in something approaching on time, they have been shooting a lot of movies in our fair city. Last summer they shot the completely unsuccessful "How Do You Know", and the as yet unreleased "The Best and the Brightest". The movie that has prevented me from punctuality recently is called "Limitless". And apparently the trailer for "Ceder Rapids" features the Struggledelphia skyline, even though the movie is supposed to be set in, well, Iowa. Thanks, guys, that was kind of you. Next time you are here, we are spitting in your stupid cheesesteaks.

So what does this add up to, pray tell? Why, it's obvious! Struggledelphia is the new Prague! Think about it, Prague is the stand in for every European city ever. Movies are shot in Prague all the time, because it's cheap, it's beautiful, and stupid American movie audiences will never figure it out. Unless they actually go to Prague...but of course that's crazy talk. Americans don't travel. We are literally incapable of being outside of a 50 mile radius of a Starbucks and/or a McDonalds. Everyone knows that. But really, think about it some more. Prague has never been bombed. Struggledelphia has never been bombed. Prague is famous for it's history. Struggledelphia is famous for it's history. Prague was the capital of Bohemia. Struggledelphia has a naked bike ride! Prague has had not one, but TWO defenestrations. Struggledelphia recently got a Barney's co-op! I could go on like this all day, but I think you all get the picture. Struggledelphia is the new Prague. Come visit us quickly before we convert to the Euro and all the cigarette prices go up.

Struggle Gets Dishy: Mambo Italiano

I don't know about all of you, but when the temperatures drop and it starts to rain white crap from the sky, I personally can dispense with the salads. I love gazpacho as much as the next girl (assuming the next girl REALLY loves gazpacho), but wintertime, especially wintertime here in Struggledelphia, the not-quite-Northeast, means substance. It means style. Hell, I'll say it, it means pasta.

Remember those few awkward years (not that that narrows it down) when everyone was all about carbs being the devil? First of all, the Devil is the Devil, people, stop trying to make the Devil into bedbugs or reality television stars or Christine O'Donnell (though obviously that last one is some kind of minor minion, a sub-demon, perhaps, something along those lines). He is that he is, folks, he's not hiding in your bagel. So I don't care if this causes a group of priests to come down on me like a load of bricks, exorcise all you want, folks, I'm eating pasta. And I'm eating in all sorts of different ways. Why? Because it's filling. Because it's delicious. And because if animals can get all fatty-no-friends and store up winter fat then, by God, so can I.

Considering that the horribly cruel local news stations had spent the weekend predicting doom and gloom and more snow then a cocaine dealer would know how to handle, I thought it prudent on Monday evening to whip up a dish that would give me the warm fuzzy feeling of carbohydrates, the solid strength of protein and the mildly superior sensation of having eaten something vaguely healthy. A tall order, perhaps, but it's all in a day's struggle:

Orecchiette with Spinach, Peppers and Sausage:
Serves 4

Water
Enough dry Orecchiette for four people (depending on your appetites and pasta needs)
4 turkey sausages (or pork, should you not be a chosen person)
4 cloves of garlic, minced
2 red peppers, diced
1 large bag of spinach (about 6 cups)
Salt, pepper
olive oil

Bring a large pot of salted water to boil. Meanwhile, heat up olive oil under medium heat in a large heavy saucepan. Cook sausages until almost completely cooked through and browned. Remove sausages from the pan, set aside to cool. Maintaining a medium heat, add the minced garlic to the pan, and saute for one minute. Add the diced peppers, saute together for several minutes while pepper starts to soften. Slice sausage into long diagonal slices about 1/4 of an inch thick each. Add sausages to the saucepan, then add washed spinach and salt and pepper (according to your tastes/sodium requirements). Cover the pot and lower the heat to medium-low, allowing the spinach to wilt and cook and the flavors to meld. Add pasta to water once the water is boiling, and cook according to the package directions. Remove pasta from heat when it is still al dente. Spoon sauce over the pasta, and serve with Parmesan cheese. Enjoy the sweet sensation of added layers of lipids insulating your winter-prepared body. Not everyone does.