Sometimes I feel corny blogging about the funny and cute and excellent things that Johan says. One time someone told me that my life was like the Family Circus. Maybe so, but this stuff is good, and I'm afraid I'll forget it if I don't write it down.
In the car today:
Me: Johan, I'm so proud of you. Miss Kelli said you had such nice manners today. You were a big helper and listened well and used your indoor voice.
Johan: Yeah, but Miss Kelli is wrong.
Me: What do you mean?
Johan: My voice is not indoors. It is in my throat.
--------
And then later, looking at some pictures in a magazine of girls in dresses...
Johan: Look at those party dresses!
Me: Do you like them?
Johan: Yes, they're so pretty it makes me want to wear a tie. [long pause] Momma, let's have a party and I'll wear a tie.
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
Sunday, February 13, 2011
Chicken for the week
Two things I like to do in the kitchen are 1) use the Crock Pot and 2) cook a bunch of chicken breasts on Sunday so I always have some for the week.
I have been experimenting for awhile. I have used different Paul Newman marinades (pretty good and no preservatives or corn syrup). I have made my own marinades usually involving a lot of garlic and balsamic. The problem with marinades when you are making chicken for the week is that I get sick of that particular flavor pretty quickly.
Two weeks ago, I came upon a recipe for roast chicken in the crock pot. All you had to do was put some tufts of aluminum foil on the bottom of the crock pot, lay the chicken in and season with salt and pepper (or whatever other dry spices). Sounded easy but also dangerous. Foil heating up for 6-8 hours? It seems like some chemicals might get released into my chicken that I'd rather not have. The recipe made it sound like the foil was there just to keep the chicken from sticking to the bottom of the crock pot.
So, I improvised and cut up a red onion instead. I added garlic, salt, and pepper. That was last week's chicken. It was good but had a strong onion flavor- kind of like french onion soup. The same problem as I have with the marinades- I got sick of it.
But, so committed am I to chicken for the week that I persisted on... and today I found the right combination.
I present to you, Chicken for the Week:
- 4 chicken breasts, trimmed. About 1 lb. I used boneless.
- 1 baking potato, peeled and sliced to cover the bottom of the crock pot.
- ground pepper
- olive oil
- seasoned salt
Lay the potato slices on the bottom of the crock pot. Rub a bit of olive oil on each chicken breast. Add pepper and seasoned salt (or just sea salt) and any other spices you want to taste.
Put the chicken over the potato.
Turn the Crock Pot on low for however long it takes. I let my chicken go for about 7hours but I think it was done in 5-6. I just forgot about it roasting away in the kitchen for awhile. It's fall-off-the-bone tender (even though the breasts I used are boneless), delicious, and is not dominated by bbq or sesame or garlic or onion. I think it's versatile enough to go over some salad greens, in some tacos with some cumin and salsa added, or just as dinner with some asparagus and brown rice on the side.
I threw the potato slices away because I only really like potatoes from the Capital Grille, but if you are a potato person, I bet they're pretty good smashed up with some butter olive oil, too.
I have been experimenting for awhile. I have used different Paul Newman marinades (pretty good and no preservatives or corn syrup). I have made my own marinades usually involving a lot of garlic and balsamic. The problem with marinades when you are making chicken for the week is that I get sick of that particular flavor pretty quickly.
Two weeks ago, I came upon a recipe for roast chicken in the crock pot. All you had to do was put some tufts of aluminum foil on the bottom of the crock pot, lay the chicken in and season with salt and pepper (or whatever other dry spices). Sounded easy but also dangerous. Foil heating up for 6-8 hours? It seems like some chemicals might get released into my chicken that I'd rather not have. The recipe made it sound like the foil was there just to keep the chicken from sticking to the bottom of the crock pot.
So, I improvised and cut up a red onion instead. I added garlic, salt, and pepper. That was last week's chicken. It was good but had a strong onion flavor- kind of like french onion soup. The same problem as I have with the marinades- I got sick of it.
But, so committed am I to chicken for the week that I persisted on... and today I found the right combination.
I present to you, Chicken for the Week:
- 4 chicken breasts, trimmed. About 1 lb. I used boneless.
- 1 baking potato, peeled and sliced to cover the bottom of the crock pot.
- ground pepper
- olive oil
- seasoned salt
Lay the potato slices on the bottom of the crock pot. Rub a bit of olive oil on each chicken breast. Add pepper and seasoned salt (or just sea salt) and any other spices you want to taste.
Put the chicken over the potato.
Turn the Crock Pot on low for however long it takes. I let my chicken go for about 7hours but I think it was done in 5-6. I just forgot about it roasting away in the kitchen for awhile. It's fall-off-the-bone tender (even though the breasts I used are boneless), delicious, and is not dominated by bbq or sesame or garlic or onion. I think it's versatile enough to go over some salad greens, in some tacos with some cumin and salsa added, or just as dinner with some asparagus and brown rice on the side.
I threw the potato slices away because I only really like potatoes from the Capital Grille, but if you are a potato person, I bet they're pretty good smashed up with some butter olive oil, too.
Friday, February 11, 2011
Socially Networked
I just finished watching The Social Network. It's the best movie I've seen in a long time. (I recently saw Garden State which is also an excellent movie. It made me laugh and cry. So that's good.) The Social Network didn't make me cry and I laughed just a couple times, but I was damn intrigued. It made me, at least for the moment, think about a lot of things. Here's that list.
- college (missing it way more now)
- the east coast (how would my life have been if I'd gone east instead of west?)
- Napster (That was my era, man. 1999. Downloading 80s hits and sexy rock songs and TV theme songs for hours at a time without standing up from the computer. One night it was a contest between Moira and me about who could "get" more songs. We stayed up until dawn and Moi had to catch a flight early in the morning. But why wouldn't we forgo sleep to get more songs?)
- Facebook. (I remember so vividly the night that I signed up for Facebook. It was 2006, I think. Sarah and I were staying at the Madison Governor's Club and Concourse Hotel in Wisconsin for admitted law students weekend. You think that's dorky? NEVER MIND. The point is, at the time, I was anti-facebook. I thought it was pretentious. Back then, you had to have an .edu email. I had two of them: @oxy.edu and @umn.edu, but still, it pissed me off. The same reason that most things about Harvard annoy me was the reason Facebook annoyed me. I'll chill on Friendster and MySpace where the masses can go, too. But then. Oh, then, Sarah convinced me to use my oxy.edu address to open a Facebook account. The first "wall post" on my facebook account is an inebriated list of *funny* inside jokes that Sarah and I formulated while in that Madison hotel. Is there any easy way for me to locate that now? And, on that fateful night that I joined facebook, one of those great jokes was our friend Jota...)
- Jota. Speaking of Jota. We met in Valparaiso, Chile in 2002. He was a Junior at Harvard. Now he's a fancy pants successful New York lawyer, but I still remember him as a skinny, beer-drinking, Che-loving, Sur America-obsessed, Ivy League liberal who I wasn't sure I liked when I first met him. Well, that was before I knew him as a kind, lovable, one-pecked genuine guy who would be my friend for long after we left the Southern Cone. He's great. I hardly ever talk to him, but when I do, it's absolute fun. It usually involves boxes of wine and Sarah, too. So, Jota, you were at Harvard 1999-2003...Why in the hell didn't you invent facebook.com?)
Anyway, it's a great movie. What else should I see before the Oscars?
- college (missing it way more now)
- the east coast (how would my life have been if I'd gone east instead of west?)
- Napster (That was my era, man. 1999. Downloading 80s hits and sexy rock songs and TV theme songs for hours at a time without standing up from the computer. One night it was a contest between Moira and me about who could "get" more songs. We stayed up until dawn and Moi had to catch a flight early in the morning. But why wouldn't we forgo sleep to get more songs?)
- Facebook. (I remember so vividly the night that I signed up for Facebook. It was 2006, I think. Sarah and I were staying at the Madison Governor's Club and Concourse Hotel in Wisconsin for admitted law students weekend. You think that's dorky? NEVER MIND. The point is, at the time, I was anti-facebook. I thought it was pretentious. Back then, you had to have an .edu email. I had two of them: @oxy.edu and @umn.edu, but still, it pissed me off. The same reason that most things about Harvard annoy me was the reason Facebook annoyed me. I'll chill on Friendster and MySpace where the masses can go, too. But then. Oh, then, Sarah convinced me to use my oxy.edu address to open a Facebook account. The first "wall post" on my facebook account is an inebriated list of *funny* inside jokes that Sarah and I formulated while in that Madison hotel. Is there any easy way for me to locate that now? And, on that fateful night that I joined facebook, one of those great jokes was our friend Jota...)
- Jota. Speaking of Jota. We met in Valparaiso, Chile in 2002. He was a Junior at Harvard. Now he's a fancy pants successful New York lawyer, but I still remember him as a skinny, beer-drinking, Che-loving, Sur America-obsessed, Ivy League liberal who I wasn't sure I liked when I first met him. Well, that was before I knew him as a kind, lovable, one-pecked genuine guy who would be my friend for long after we left the Southern Cone. He's great. I hardly ever talk to him, but when I do, it's absolute fun. It usually involves boxes of wine and Sarah, too. So, Jota, you were at Harvard 1999-2003...Why in the hell didn't you invent facebook.com?)
Anyway, it's a great movie. What else should I see before the Oscars?
Friday, February 4, 2011
DR
I was 17 when I went to the DR for the first time. It was when I first met Eduardo and eventually fell in love with him, but that place was much more to me from the beginning.
There is something unique and absolutely exquisite about Dominican culture. It is happiness and optimism. There is always reason to smile, to laugh, to dance. In the face of whatever hardship, in the Dominican Republic, the outlook is always positive. There are electric outages that make you so hot and stifled, but lovely ocean breezes that make you feel full of life. There is trash in the streets sometimes, but always amazing coastline and the most pristine aqua blue sea you have ever seen. There is less to "do" than in the U.S. but there are open air bars with cheap cold beer and bachata and reggae music blaring with people who will dance unabashedly until dawn.
Here's the thing. I had kind of forgotten about that stuff. The good stuff. Over the past few years, I'd lost my appreciation for the country that got under my skin so many years ago. And this time around, I found it.
I had a few days alone in Santo Domingo staying in a hotel in the most beautiful square of the city. Across a plaza from the first cathedral of the New World, adjacent to a park where men smoke cigars and women smile and pigeons put St. Mark's Square to shame. I read books and drank delicious strong but mellow coffee. I ate sandwiches with melted queso danes and borrowed a cigarette or two from German tourists who invited me to show them the real Santo Domingo. Done. We walked a few blocks and I showed them Ocho Puertas, the best bar in the world where I had the best conversations with the best people 10 short years ago.
Then, after some time of much needed solitude came the Zuber sisters. Neither had travelled to a developing country before. Italy or Australia, sure. But they had not been to a place where 40 men pile in the back of a pick-up truck or on top of a conversion van. Or where toddlers straddle their mamas and papas on motorcycles, helmetless. Just for example. Fortunately, both Zubers are outgoing, life-loving people who were ready to immerse completely. And, seeing them absorb and fall in love with Dominican culture was nostalgic and powerful for me. It reminded me of why I couldn't stay away from this place.
Upon their arrival, we headed to an all-inclusive resort half an hour from Santo Domingo. Not the best for cultural immersion you say? Au contraire. This particular place had no guests. Truly. There was a guy from Tampa, FL, a Canadian, a few missionaries, and us. Oh yeah, and a bunch of fantastic Dominicans on the entertainment staff. By nightfall our first night there, Brianna and Kelsey had mastered the basic Bachata steps, and within 24 hours had discovered how charming Dominican people can be. Friday and Saturday night wealthy Dominicans flooded the place and showed off their incredible Bachata technique, but we had already sealed ourselves in the hearts of the entertainment staff (equipo de animacion.)
The entertainment staff/ animation team was a group of folks there for the express purpose of making sure were, uh, animated. Having fun. And they also became our good friends. There were late night conversations over Presidente and Santo Libres about love and life and children and immigration and happiness peppered by Bob Marley, Akon, and of course, Aventura and Prince Royce. There was dancing until our shirts were soaked with perspiration. Because in the DR, you seal most everything with a dance.
On Saturday night, when the hotel discoteca closed at 2 a.m., there was much more fun to be had, so at the invitation of our animation team, we headed to Chocolate Bar, an open-air bar that showed equal appreciation for the Black eyed Peas and Antony Santos. There were men on motorcycles in the street outside the bar just as much a part of the scene as the folks inside the bar. There were Dominicans, Americans, Canadians, Haitians, and whoknowswhatelse. Every single person in that place was full of life. Most drunk, a few not, but all in motion. All feeling the beat. All in celebration. It was a place of no tears, no maudlin; only upbeat, only optimistic, perfectly Dominican.
A few of the animation team wondered aloud during our stay at the Talanquera Resort how I could have green eyes and be Dominican. No, no, I'm not Dominican. Just lived here for awhile. But you speak Dominican and dance Dominican. It's true, but I'd forgotten. And it was about time for me to remember.
On the last night we were in the DR, Johan was with us and our new dear friend Fosforito told me that you can tell by the way Johan stands, by the way that he walks, and the look in his eyes that he's Dominican. I suppose there's no denying that.
And the best part is that Johan's mama finally remembered all the wonderful pieces of the DR. I'm not sure when or how I forgot. But I need to make sure not to do that again. This little boy is apparently so Dominican that you can see it in his stance and before long, he will have perfected the Bachata step and put Prince Royce to shame. And we will go there every year and be reminded of the magical place it is, full of happiness and optimism. And even when we are not there, by the look in our eyes, you will know that we are.
And, well, if you're still reading this, you must care quite a lot about how I feel about the DR. So, you should probably come with us on our next adventure. Who's in?
There is something unique and absolutely exquisite about Dominican culture. It is happiness and optimism. There is always reason to smile, to laugh, to dance. In the face of whatever hardship, in the Dominican Republic, the outlook is always positive. There are electric outages that make you so hot and stifled, but lovely ocean breezes that make you feel full of life. There is trash in the streets sometimes, but always amazing coastline and the most pristine aqua blue sea you have ever seen. There is less to "do" than in the U.S. but there are open air bars with cheap cold beer and bachata and reggae music blaring with people who will dance unabashedly until dawn.
Here's the thing. I had kind of forgotten about that stuff. The good stuff. Over the past few years, I'd lost my appreciation for the country that got under my skin so many years ago. And this time around, I found it.
I had a few days alone in Santo Domingo staying in a hotel in the most beautiful square of the city. Across a plaza from the first cathedral of the New World, adjacent to a park where men smoke cigars and women smile and pigeons put St. Mark's Square to shame. I read books and drank delicious strong but mellow coffee. I ate sandwiches with melted queso danes and borrowed a cigarette or two from German tourists who invited me to show them the real Santo Domingo. Done. We walked a few blocks and I showed them Ocho Puertas, the best bar in the world where I had the best conversations with the best people 10 short years ago.
Then, after some time of much needed solitude came the Zuber sisters. Neither had travelled to a developing country before. Italy or Australia, sure. But they had not been to a place where 40 men pile in the back of a pick-up truck or on top of a conversion van. Or where toddlers straddle their mamas and papas on motorcycles, helmetless. Just for example. Fortunately, both Zubers are outgoing, life-loving people who were ready to immerse completely. And, seeing them absorb and fall in love with Dominican culture was nostalgic and powerful for me. It reminded me of why I couldn't stay away from this place.
Upon their arrival, we headed to an all-inclusive resort half an hour from Santo Domingo. Not the best for cultural immersion you say? Au contraire. This particular place had no guests. Truly. There was a guy from Tampa, FL, a Canadian, a few missionaries, and us. Oh yeah, and a bunch of fantastic Dominicans on the entertainment staff. By nightfall our first night there, Brianna and Kelsey had mastered the basic Bachata steps, and within 24 hours had discovered how charming Dominican people can be. Friday and Saturday night wealthy Dominicans flooded the place and showed off their incredible Bachata technique, but we had already sealed ourselves in the hearts of the entertainment staff (equipo de animacion.)
The entertainment staff/ animation team was a group of folks there for the express purpose of making sure were, uh, animated. Having fun. And they also became our good friends. There were late night conversations over Presidente and Santo Libres about love and life and children and immigration and happiness peppered by Bob Marley, Akon, and of course, Aventura and Prince Royce. There was dancing until our shirts were soaked with perspiration. Because in the DR, you seal most everything with a dance.
On Saturday night, when the hotel discoteca closed at 2 a.m., there was much more fun to be had, so at the invitation of our animation team, we headed to Chocolate Bar, an open-air bar that showed equal appreciation for the Black eyed Peas and Antony Santos. There were men on motorcycles in the street outside the bar just as much a part of the scene as the folks inside the bar. There were Dominicans, Americans, Canadians, Haitians, and whoknowswhatelse. Every single person in that place was full of life. Most drunk, a few not, but all in motion. All feeling the beat. All in celebration. It was a place of no tears, no maudlin; only upbeat, only optimistic, perfectly Dominican.
A few of the animation team wondered aloud during our stay at the Talanquera Resort how I could have green eyes and be Dominican. No, no, I'm not Dominican. Just lived here for awhile. But you speak Dominican and dance Dominican. It's true, but I'd forgotten. And it was about time for me to remember.
On the last night we were in the DR, Johan was with us and our new dear friend Fosforito told me that you can tell by the way Johan stands, by the way that he walks, and the look in his eyes that he's Dominican. I suppose there's no denying that.
And the best part is that Johan's mama finally remembered all the wonderful pieces of the DR. I'm not sure when or how I forgot. But I need to make sure not to do that again. This little boy is apparently so Dominican that you can see it in his stance and before long, he will have perfected the Bachata step and put Prince Royce to shame. And we will go there every year and be reminded of the magical place it is, full of happiness and optimism. And even when we are not there, by the look in our eyes, you will know that we are.
And, well, if you're still reading this, you must care quite a lot about how I feel about the DR. So, you should probably come with us on our next adventure. Who's in?
Thursday, February 3, 2011
Junto a Mi
We're back. There's so much I want to say. I'm still processing a lot of it. In some strange way, this trip to the DR was changing for me. It reminded me of the travels I used to take there many years ago. There was an incredible and positive energy for so many reasons. I'll go into it more later, but much of that positive energy was set to this newest, latest Bachata craze:
Call it cheesy, but let me tell you that under the stars and the palm trees, you would not be able to keep your feet or hips still and you would dance the whole night away. At least that's what we did, just not in shorts like the girls in the video.
Call it cheesy, but let me tell you that under the stars and the palm trees, you would not be able to keep your feet or hips still and you would dance the whole night away. At least that's what we did, just not in shorts like the girls in the video.
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