jennsylvania

Business Then Pleasure

First, a quick reminder of where I'll be on tour starting in less than three weeks:

May 4 - Atlanta, B&N Buckhead

May 5 - Birmingham, B&N Summit Blvd

May 6 - Houston, Borders Kirby St.

May 7 - Dallas - B&N Northwest Highway

May 11 - Detroit, Borders Birmingham

May 12 - Dayton, Books & Co.

May 13 - St. Louis, Mad Art Gallery (a Left Bank Books event)

May 14 - Chicago, Borders Michigan Ave

May 18 - Philadelphia, B&N Walnut St.

May 19 - NYC, B&N Union Square

May 20 - DC, B&N 12th St. NW

May 21 - Charlotte, B&N Huntersville

May 26 - Milwaukee, Borders Fox Point

May 27 - Chicago, Borders Oakbrook

Specifics as to whens-and-wheres are posted in the Appearances section of the website.  Please note that I'd love to see you there!  I'll be in these cities talking about My Fair Lazy, but what's nice is that Pretty in Plaid will finally be out in paperback then, too, if you're just not a hardcover kind of person.  BTW, I've got TV appearances in most cities and I'll post those once we get closer to the dates. 

As everyone always has questions about signing protocol, so let me just say this - if I wrote it, I'll sign it.  Also, if you're coming to an event - and I hope you will because they're fun - wear comfortable shoes.  Some of the events will have line tickets so check with your bookstore to see if you can pick one up earlier in the day.  A lot of times gals who end up towards the back of the line will duck out for drinks instead of waiting the entire time.  I wholeheartedly support this.  Please know if we meet and I smell wine fumes, I will be jealous.  And I'll probably still be sweaty, even if I'm not drinking Chardonnay.  I'll also make sure pre-signed books are available so you don't have to wait if you don't want to. 

Some of you had questions on My Fair Lazy's Kindle availability.  Currently there are a few publishing houses renegotiating their relationship with the e-book portion (but not traditional book portion) of Amazon, which means new titles aren't yet available for pre-order.  This has everything to do with business and nothing to do with individual authors.  The expectation is that this will be resolved soon, so I'm hoping that by the time MFL comes out, you'll be able to download it.  I'll keep you posted, okay?

With that business out of the way, I have to tell you something that I've discovered.  To backtrack,  a lot of MFL has to do with getting me outside of my comfort zone.  One of my big takeaways from writing this book has been to have more of a spirit of adventure.  I tried tons of new stuff during the course of my research and I'm pleased to say that even though I'm no longer obligated to do so, I'm still trying.

A couple of months ago, Fletch and I began the process of buying a house.  The first hurdle was getting approved for a mortgage.  The mortgage broker was a huge sushi fan, so we met him at his favorite place.  Now don't get me wrong, I like sushi but I'm generally more of a California Roll kind of girl.  However, I'm even more of an I'd-like-to-finally-stop-paying-rent kind of girl, so when the broker ordered from the scary side of the menu, I didn't balk.  And I tried every single thing set in front of me, including a big wad of raw quail egg covered umami... which is sea urchin.

As it turns out, I do not love umami, but in eating it I a) proved to myself that I could handle any food challenge that I might face were I ever to make it onto the show Survivor and b) secured a mortgage.  Although we've yet to find a house to go along with the mortgage, I'm still pleased with myself for not being an enormous culinary wuss.

Then, several weeks ago, Fletch and I went out for a really great dinner.  After seeing how I looked in the new book video, I realized it was time to get my diet back in check... yet me being me, I wanted to go out with a bang so we had dinner at Charlie Trotter's.  I figured if we were going to have a food orgy anyway, we were going to do it up right.  When the waiter asked if we had any dietary allergies or concerns, we confidently told him that we were up to try anything.

Note: never tell a waiter you're up to try anything.

Our dinner was fascinating and intricately prepared and plated.  The first few courses boasted flavors and product I'd only heard about, like salsify and tile fish and umeboshi.  For you fellow reality TV addicts, you know that umeboshi is a pickled Japanese plum.  More importantly, it was almost Yaya's undoing during the commercial shoot in America's Next Top Model, Cycle Three.  And since I hated Yaya, I was extra-pleased to enjoy the very taste that almost got her eliminated.

Dinner consisted of a variety of two-bite courses.  We woofed each of them down and couldn't wait to see what was next.  We laughed and toasted and practically licked our plates.  We were content and self-congratulatory until we got to the diver sea scallop served on a bed of sauteed veal heart. 

Veal heart. 

Veal heart? 

Wait, we wondered - is eating heart even legal?  Fletch quickly ushered his scallop to the safety of the far end of his plate.  However, I felt like I couldn't leave the restaurant without at least tasting everything, so I did.

Let me just say this about veal heart - if one of the best chefs in the world can't make something palatable to me, then it probably shouldn't be eaten.  The heart wasn't as horrible as I expected, but it certainly wasn't anything I'd ever crave.  Taste-wise, it was oddly tangy and reminded me of sauerbraten and in terms of texture, kind of like a portobello mushroom. 

I took my bite and I chewed it and I swallowed it and I immediately put veal heart at the top of my Permanent Do Not Fly list.

The thing about eating veal heart is it stays with you, not so much as indigestion, at least not physical.  It was more like philosophical indigestion.  For the whole next day I was overwhelmed with feelings of guilt.  I mean, dude... I ate something's HEART.  That's just wrong.  I already have such misgivings about veal, delicious though it may be, so dining on that which pumped its very lifeblood made me feel like Cruella Deville.  I could not stop thinking about what I'd done.  So, when I started my whole new system of healthy eating the following Monday I made a leap I thought I'd never take. 

I've grounded myself from beef.

I haven't consumed one bite of red meat since March 29.  And can I be honest here?  As someone who ate beef for a good five dinners out of seven?  I don't miss it. 

To be clear, I don't believe eating beef is wrong and I wholeheartedly support the notion of the food chain.  However, I initially took my beef break because I felt guilty. But as the days passed, I realized how much healthier I was eating because I'd eliminated it from my diet.  Turns out beef is really my gateway drug.  I mean, I can't have a burger without fries.  I won't eat a filet without piling on melted bleu or goat cheese.  And every beef dish is better with a side of something au gratined. 

I'd only planned on my beef hiatus while I was getting ready for tour but the longer I'm off it, the more I realize something... there's a certain sense of smug self-satisfaction that comes from eschewing something most other people eat.  I never knew this.  I have to tell you, it feels kind of good.  Suddenly the notion of, say, being vegan or following a complicated macrobiotic diet makes sense.  I no longer want to bash into these folks with my shopping cart at Whole Foods. 

Of course, until baby back ribs cease to exist, I'll never go completely completely militant in my diet.  But at least I finally get it when other people do it.

I guess that lesson is really kind of what My Fair Lazy's all about... only it comes across with more stories about accidentally buying black tar heroin in Chinatown and less prosthelytizing.

Anyway, that's it for today and I can't wait to meet you guys in person!

Your List of Five

I'm having some furniture delivered today and I realize I have no cash to tip the drivers.  Since I don't want to be all, "Hey, thanks for carrying those three couches and the massive dining room table; may I offer you a letter from prison to convey my gratitude?" I decide to swing by the bank.

The new place has a two car garage but presently one garage door opener and it lives in Fletch's car.  Since I'm too lazy to pull out, go back to the garage, shut the door, and then go out the gate, I figure walking will be easier, and also healthier.  (Fitness has been low on the list of priorities for the last month, but it's working its way back up again now that things are calmer.)

I grab my bag, throw on an extra shirt and a fleece and head to the ATM.  Yeah, it's cold out but I walk briskly.  I get to the bank and when I do, I realize I've never had the vantage point of being on foot before.  And what do I see? 

An enormous Mexican bakery.  Seriously, huge.  And I can smell it from where I'm standing.  Before I even realize what I'm doing, my feet bring me directly to their door.  So I stop in... but ONLY to see if they have healthy, low-fat, high-fiber muffins. 

They do not. 

They do, however, have almond croissants, which rank on my top five list of food Kryptonite. 

With heroic restraint, I buy one and just as I'm leaving the warm, sweetly fragrant store, an employee stops me with an entire slice of Boston cream pie.  The whipped cream is perfectly peaked and the chocolate layer looks thick and dark.  The crust is so flaky it leaves little buttery flakes on the doily.  "You want to try?  Is very good," she tells me.

Unfortunately, pie is also on the Kryptonite list. 

And even though I'm on a health walk, it would have been rude to say no.

Pie guiltily consumed, croissant in hand, I decide to take the long way home.  My newly chosen path leads me right past a Cuban coffee shop where I find Kryptonite item number three - cafe con leche.  (Mexican bakery?  Cuban coffee shop?  Yeah, not living in Naperville, either.)

By the time I get to my house, I'm high on carbs, hopped up on caffeine, and shaky from all the sugar.  I'm decidedly less healthy than when I began my walk.  I'd say this was a monumental fail... were I not so content right now.

Anyway, busy for the rest of the day, so you guys should talk amongst yourselves about your own food Kryptonite.  (Feel free to post recipes, too!) 

P.S.  My other two items are spaghetti carbonara and a filet topped with melting goat cheese and a balsamic reduction.

P.P.S.  My mouth is watering just TYPING those items.

P.P.P.S.  Yeah, salad for lunch today.  A big one.

Who Likes to See Fat Chicks Running on a Treadmill?

If you answered, "I do, I do!" then oh boy, do I have a video you'll dig.

And yes, I work out in pearls - doesn't everyone?

(P.S. If this doesn't inspire you to buy the book - or at least lay off the donuts - then for Christ's sake people, I don't know what else I can do here.)

Shark Week (for Soup)

It's Shark Week at my house, except by "shark" I mean "soup."  We're getting into cooking weather so I've been thusly inspired to make more healthy soups ever since I prepared Stacey's recipe last week.

Here's what we've got on tap...

Yesterday - Stacey's Roasty Tomato Soup

Monday - Leek and Potato Soup (made with Yukon Golds to be extra buttery without adding a lot of fat)

Wednesday - Roasty Vegetable with White Bean and Sausage

Friday - Creamy Broccoli

Sunday - Escarole and Mini-Meatball with Tortellini

Unless it gets hot again, in which case Shark Week (for Soup) will be rescheduled

To get ready for Shark Week (for Soup), Fletch and I made a special trip out to the suburbs on Saturday to procure vegetables at farmer's markets.  For anyone local considering doing the same?  Don't waste your time.  Illinois farm stands don't hold a candle to those in Indiana in regard to price or quality.  We were universally disappointed by each stand we visited.  One place sold tomatoes even more expensive than what you see at Whole Foods, plus they were completely caked in dirt.  No thank you.  (At the cash register, a sign read KITTENS - $25.  Fletch grilled the cashier as to whether or not the kittens were fresh and when they were picked, which cracked up no one but me.)

Ironically, we found the most gorgeous, reasonably-priced produce at a chain grocery store.  They had peaches there the size of candle-pin bowling balls and their Roma tomatoes would make my Italian Noni cry.  Please let it be known henceforth The Fresh Market KICKS WHOLE FOOD'S ORGANICALLY-GROWN ASS and we're totally going to increase our carbon footprint by driving 45 miles to shop there. 

(By the way, Whole Foods, the next time you try to sell me beef tenderloin for $32.99/pound, those fillets had better come here and fucking cook themselves.)

(And scrub the grill afterwards.) 

(Plus, carnivores don't care if your cows are raised with high self-esteem.  A little self-loathing would likely keep that cattle nice and tender.)

(Also, you don't need to hire cashiers who can quote Proust, just ones who won't wish my untimely death when I ask for a double-bag.)

(I'm not trying to fist Mother Nature - I'd just like to get my wine and glass-bottled milk to the parking lot without breaking, OK?) 

(And, really, would installing a better ventilation system kill you?  Between the stink generated by the fish, the cheese, and your hippie patrons, I have to breathe into a handkerchief every time I shop there.)

Whatever point I originally was going to make here has long since been forgotten.

 

 

Changing My Email Address to JenCooksSoup

Setting:  On the couch at my friend Stacey's house, catching up before watching Top Chef.

Stacey:  What did you do for Labor Day weekend?

Me:  Fletch went to his 20th class reunion in Indiana and I stayed home and worked on my stupid book.  (Note:  Apparently I DO have people and they would like you to know I do not feel this book is stupid.)

Stacey:  I'm sorry, that had to suck.

Me:  What's worse is it was our five-year anniversary and I couldn't go with him because I was buried in work.  By the way, try to guess what he brought me for a present.  I'll start you off.  One dozen...

Stacey:  Roses? 

Me:  Nope.

Stacey:  Orchids? 

Me:  Try again.

Stacey:  Gardenias?

Me:  No.  One dozen EARS OF CORN.

Stacey:  (thoughtful pause) I hope they were at least long-stemmed.

* * * * *

OK, please no hate mail to Fletch because I bought him... nothing.  We aren't 'elaborate present' people and the 'no gifts' thing is a long anniversary tradition.  Also, at this time of year few things can compare to picked-in-Indiana-that-day produce and he brought home a ton of it because he is a fine husband.

Point?

I had a bunch of tomatoes at their peak of ripeness from his trip, so I emailed Stacey for her soon-to-be-world-famous tomato soup recipe and I cooked it today. 

Following you'll find instructions in case you'd like to make it.  You'll also find my helpful comments in italics.

STACEY'S (MAGICALLY) ROASTY TOMATO SOUP

Can be served hot or cold and can easily be turned into a million other recipes.  (Is magic soup??)

Approx 4 lbs. tomatoes - I use a mix of plum, cherry, and grape for depth of flavor, but it is essential they be fresh and ripe. (How many pounds is one square foot?  Because that's how many I have on my counter.)

1 medium sweet onion or 4 large shallots, diced (Shallot is one of my favorite words - is pretty, like Charlotte, only more exotic.  But would cause non-existent daughter to be teased on playground and children would taunt, "Your name is Onion!"  Possible good dog name, though, particularly if of stinky pit bull variety.)

2 T Herbs de Provence (Did not know this existed in our house until opened spice cabinet.  Magic cabinet?)

Olive Oil

Salt and pepper

Preheat oven to 250 degrees.  (Remove stored Tupperware first.)  (Or remove melted Tupperware after.  Your choice.)

Cut tomatoes in half, toss in olive oil to coat, and arrange cut side down on oiled sheet pans.  (Debate washing cookie tin with stuff still burnt on from mid-summer's lasagna debacle.  Opt for big casserole pan.  Is close enough.)

Add onion or shallot on top of the tomatoes.  Sprinkle with the herbs and liberal salt and pepper.  Roast approx 1.5 to 2 hours until skins are loose and the flesh is soft.  (Much like own self's.) 

Peel skins off tomatoes and discard.  (Or taste skins, declare delicious, and scarf right up.)  Dump the contents of the sheet pans (casserole dish) into a large bowl, using an immersion blender.  (Call Fletch to find out what 'immersion blender' is.)  (Call Fletch back to ask if we have one.)  (We do!  Magic Fletch!)

Blend into chunky soup.  (Change out of white shirt after operating very splashy immersion blender for first time.)  Adjust seasonings.

I serve either warm or cold with a dollop of creme fraiche (fancy!) or sour cream and some chopped fresh mint for grown-ups.  Add alphabet noodles or cooked rice for kids.  (Genius!  Too bad do not have daughter Shallot to feed to.)  Stir in toasted croutons and drizzle with olive oil and Parmesan for a classic Pappa al Pomodoro.  (Am pretty sure is Italian for "father of the spaghetti.")  Add fresh basil and garlic and you have a chunky pasta sauce. (!) Add fresh oregano and it becomes pizza sauce.  (!!) Freezes beautifully, can be canned if you are ambitious (right), and lasts up to two weeks in fridge.  (I TOLD YOU IT WAS MAGIC SOUP!)

(Serve in giant tub and inhale entire delicious contents while watching Survivor on DVD, saving none for Fletch.)

(A few hours later, find out what happens after inhaling one square foot of tomatoes, including skins.)

(Hint:  IS NOT MAGIC.)

But I'm Not Ruling Out Drunk or Medicated

So that book deadline thing I was so tied up with for the past few months?

All finished.

I'm delighted to be done but completion means I've got time to clean my own house again.  Starting this week, the only person anger-vacuuming this place will be me.  Fletch said if we wanted, we could tweak our budget in order to keep the maid service but I felt guilty enough having someone tidy up after me when I was swamped with work.  In good conscience, there's no way I could sit here reading Perez Hilton and watching a TiVo of Sunset Tan while an old Polish woman picks hair out of my drain.

Anyway, I kind of can't remember how to go about this whole "blog" thing, so I'm simply going to offer an opinion on what the rest of the free world is buzzing about right now.

This?

IS NOT FAT.

This is not close to being fat.

This is not heavy, this is not pudgy, this is not chunky. 

Nor beefy. 

Nor bovine.

Let me reiterate I am not and have never been a Britney fan.  I hate her music, I disparage her parenting abilities, and I loathe the choices she's made in her life.  (And I've never been afraid to state these opinions.)

Because I'm a bad person with a black heart, I've enjoyed her downward spiral as much as everyone else.  Possibly more.  She's been the quintessential punchline to so many of my jokes.  Brit's antics have always been fodder, whether she's shaving her head, flashing her box to photographers, or burping out stoned logic on YouTube.  And don't get me started on I believe her 17-year old, underwear-clad, pedophile-tastic cover on Rolling Stone encouraged an entire generation of little girls to dress like exotic dancers.

Yet with all the press coverage I've seen today, I find myself in the position of wanting to defend her, instead of my usual casting of the first stone. 

I guess what I'm saying is if she's what the media considers to be "fat," there's no fucking hope for the rest of us.

Not Dead! Only in Deep Pain!

I’m not going to apologize for not blogging recently because… dude.  The new book is due in less than two months.  Busy.  So very, very busy. 

 

Technically, I don’t actually HAVE to lose the whole 50 pounds, I’m just contractually obligated to provide 80,000-90,000 words about the process.  However, I don’t miss deadlines OR goals so I’m killing myself right now to make it happen.  I mean, damn, on top of the restrictive diet I’m working with my trainer three times a week and also doing cardio on my own.  Plus, I went to a “freemotion fitness” group class on Wednesday taught by my trainer, which A) was really fucking hard and B) was probably a mistake on my part as my trainer complimented me on keeping up and determined I’d been holding out on her in our private sessions. 

 

Shit.      

 

My trainer then laughed and said she couldn’t hear me complaining over the music, which I imagine was a pleasant change.  Frankly, I was too busy trying not to attract attention from the fit participants during the class, so I kept my mouth shut.  However, our dollar-per-minute training sessions are an entirely different story.  It’s impossible for me to not provide surly running commentary over each exercise.  (I am made for sitting and reclining, not for squatting and sprinting!)      

   

Also, there’s such pain and exertion involved, my body hijacks my brain and invents problems so she’ll take it easy on me, e.g. “These lunges just sprained my prostate, so let’s not complete the set, OK?”   

 

Sadly, I’ve cried wolf one too many times, and now unless we can see bone sticking out, she doesn’t believe me when I beg for a moment to tend to all my “injuries.” 

   

I am so going to buy her a pony when we reach my goal.   

 

That is, if she doesn’t kill me first. 

 

Anyway, until I get back to my regular posting duties, check out any of the following: 

 

My interview with Cindy at Conversations with Famous Writers 

 

Tons of great summer reading recommendations from Trashionista 

 

MamaPop’s new bookclub 

 

Finally, for the Jens and Wendy and Roberta and all the other cool ladies sitting on the east end of the table at the telephone bar after the New York signing, I FINALLY remembered the story I was going to tell you about my friend wearing her neighbors sheets!  Granted, I totally forget how it was a propos to the conversation, but here it is. 

 

Now there’s an elliptical machine with my name on it.  And if I don’t go, I fear my trainer will make my broken ankles go from fantasy to reality... 

 

(P.S.  Just found out the new book will be released in May, 2008!)