Accountability: It works
Friday night I had no need to cook: I was heading to NY the following morning and still had soup and sausage leftovers. But I itched for my cast-iron frying pan. Besides, it's kinda chilly here in Stubborn New England Apartment Land. So off to the kitchen I went.
That's all par for the course. What's new is that I couldn't cook up plain old whole-wheat spaghetti with mushrooms, garlic, olives, and parmesan. Oh no. No farm share vegetables! No creativity! To assuage your demands, dear readers (okay. I'm projecting. Let me project) I (fanfare) grated in some daikon radish. King me.
(Not the world's most attractive picture. Pretty boring dish, honestly, even with the extra heat. Note the participation of my favorite beer, Otter Creek Copper Ale.)
Q: Why has it taken me 29-1/2 years to realize that horseradish is... yup? It didn't hit me until this morning. "Daikon radishes taste more fiery than standard radishes," thunk I. "They're almost as spicy as horseradi-- oh. Wait."
Prettier:
The brussels sprouts are definitely ready for their close-up. Mmmm, brussels sprouts. To think You Can't Do That on Television could be so wrong.
Have you seen fresh-from-the-farm brussels sprouts? They grow on a stalk. I'll take a picture of the one left in my fridge. Last year I dressed up as the Brussels Sprout Fairy for Halloween and carried a stalk as my magic veggie wand*. You can imagine the amazement, particularly from drunk people.
* Yes, I cooked it afterwards.
Sat. a.m. I hied me off to NY, where the family (poor Dad) traipsed up to the famous Rhinebeck sheep and wool festival. Strangely, we'd never gone before. First, the sheep:
I'm reminded of the Swedish Chef chocolate mousse segment. "Ist vern de hern der chocolat... and now, de moose!" (Oh look, the chocolate video's on YouTube. Ten minutes later....)
Hi, mister sheep getting groomed for the show. Staunchly, I stuck to my resolution and bought not a damn thing. Kate and Mom aided me in this resolve by buying yarn so I could enjoy the experience vicariously. (Note: I ran into Bryghtrose and Stariel but didn't attend any of the blogger or Knittyboard meetups.) Kate's haul:
We didn't follow the fair maps and I neglected to find out which barns were the "good" barns. We got ferociously, inexplicably, three times lost on the way there. We had fun.
Knowing that the Yarn Harlot would be in attendance, I kept a sharp eye out for the wedding shawl. Lo and behold, while we cooed over Pyrenees puppies (!), I glimpsed the Harlot herself, with a tall blonde woman I assume was Juno.
I poked my mom (surreptitiously). We engaged in a heated whisper-debate re: whether or not to say hi. I said don't bother her; she's off-duty. Mom marched up and introduced herself. She said her daughter was a big fan. She beckoned me over from the puppy pen. I may or may not have shaken La Harlotte's hand (you will note the prose paralysis). Yes, she has a surprisingly deep and raspy voice. She seemed not exactly interested in joining our conversation. I certainly don't blame her. And I couldn't very well say to Juno "Hi, I occasionally comment on your blog," could I?
Anyway, a star sighting. I'm still psyched. I just hope she doesn't hate us.
The other standout event: K. and her sister charged up to a woman to ask where she got her bag of white fluff. I marvelled at their apparent ability to differentiate, oh, who knows, merino from Corriedale.
Me: What makes that particular fluff different from all the other fluff we've seen around here today?
K: It's maple cotton candy.
--
After cooking Friday, I finished part one of the Ambiguous @#$%ing Pink Thing (can you capitalize a symboled-out swear?). Now, I know I kvetch. But how long is that thing? From tip to tail? Compare to an object of known size, e.g., an unread copy of the New Yorker.
Twenty-two inches. See?
I immediately cast on for part two. As before, the first stage took but a jiffy. Grr. No sense. No sense at all.
As promised, Sunday (new moon) I tossed APTpt2 cavalierly aside and cast on (three/four times) for the Cloak of Mystery. I've really raced along on this-- eleven pattern repeats out of a possible 37 (hard to say, since I'm using different yarn). Clearly already an item of substance. Tonight, for you, I breached its photo virginity (and I'm not gonna extend this metaphor any farther).
Back of the pattern. Yup. Gonna be a boring few weeks in knitblogland. I'll do my best to finish the CoM ASAP so I can entertain y'all with sidelong shots of my first stab at Fair Isle.
p.s. Someone's already written a knitting mystery, right? If not, I call dibs.
That's all par for the course. What's new is that I couldn't cook up plain old whole-wheat spaghetti with mushrooms, garlic, olives, and parmesan. Oh no. No farm share vegetables! No creativity! To assuage your demands, dear readers (okay. I'm projecting. Let me project) I (fanfare) grated in some daikon radish. King me.
(Not the world's most attractive picture. Pretty boring dish, honestly, even with the extra heat. Note the participation of my favorite beer, Otter Creek Copper Ale.)
Q: Why has it taken me 29-1/2 years to realize that horseradish is... yup? It didn't hit me until this morning. "Daikon radishes taste more fiery than standard radishes," thunk I. "They're almost as spicy as horseradi-- oh. Wait."
Prettier:
The brussels sprouts are definitely ready for their close-up. Mmmm, brussels sprouts. To think You Can't Do That on Television could be so wrong.
Have you seen fresh-from-the-farm brussels sprouts? They grow on a stalk. I'll take a picture of the one left in my fridge. Last year I dressed up as the Brussels Sprout Fairy for Halloween and carried a stalk as my magic veggie wand*. You can imagine the amazement, particularly from drunk people.
* Yes, I cooked it afterwards.
Sat. a.m. I hied me off to NY, where the family (poor Dad) traipsed up to the famous Rhinebeck sheep and wool festival. Strangely, we'd never gone before. First, the sheep:
I'm reminded of the Swedish Chef chocolate mousse segment. "Ist vern de hern der chocolat... and now, de moose!" (Oh look, the chocolate video's on YouTube. Ten minutes later....)
Hi, mister sheep getting groomed for the show. Staunchly, I stuck to my resolution and bought not a damn thing. Kate and Mom aided me in this resolve by buying yarn so I could enjoy the experience vicariously. (Note: I ran into Bryghtrose and Stariel but didn't attend any of the blogger or Knittyboard meetups.) Kate's haul:
We didn't follow the fair maps and I neglected to find out which barns were the "good" barns. We got ferociously, inexplicably, three times lost on the way there. We had fun.
Knowing that the Yarn Harlot would be in attendance, I kept a sharp eye out for the wedding shawl. Lo and behold, while we cooed over Pyrenees puppies (!), I glimpsed the Harlot herself, with a tall blonde woman I assume was Juno.
I poked my mom (surreptitiously). We engaged in a heated whisper-debate re: whether or not to say hi. I said don't bother her; she's off-duty. Mom marched up and introduced herself. She said her daughter was a big fan. She beckoned me over from the puppy pen. I may or may not have shaken La Harlotte's hand (you will note the prose paralysis). Yes, she has a surprisingly deep and raspy voice. She seemed not exactly interested in joining our conversation. I certainly don't blame her. And I couldn't very well say to Juno "Hi, I occasionally comment on your blog," could I?
Anyway, a star sighting. I'm still psyched. I just hope she doesn't hate us.
The other standout event: K. and her sister charged up to a woman to ask where she got her bag of white fluff. I marvelled at their apparent ability to differentiate, oh, who knows, merino from Corriedale.
Me: What makes that particular fluff different from all the other fluff we've seen around here today?
K: It's maple cotton candy.
--
After cooking Friday, I finished part one of the Ambiguous @#$%ing Pink Thing (can you capitalize a symboled-out swear?). Now, I know I kvetch. But how long is that thing? From tip to tail? Compare to an object of known size, e.g., an unread copy of the New Yorker.
Twenty-two inches. See?
I immediately cast on for part two. As before, the first stage took but a jiffy. Grr. No sense. No sense at all.
As promised, Sunday (new moon) I tossed APTpt2 cavalierly aside and cast on (three/four times) for the Cloak of Mystery. I've really raced along on this-- eleven pattern repeats out of a possible 37 (hard to say, since I'm using different yarn). Clearly already an item of substance. Tonight, for you, I breached its photo virginity (and I'm not gonna extend this metaphor any farther).
Back of the pattern. Yup. Gonna be a boring few weeks in knitblogland. I'll do my best to finish the CoM ASAP so I can entertain y'all with sidelong shots of my first stab at Fair Isle.
p.s. Someone's already written a knitting mystery, right? If not, I call dibs.
posted by Danielle at 12:41 AM
4 Comments:
i miss you.
Um... I HATE brussel sprouts. But I think I'd eat yours. Yummy.
Thanks for the comment, by the way - next time I'm in Boston (which should be soon enough, my whole family lives there) I'll letcha know. :)
Actually, you totally could have. Particularly if I'd known about the brussel spouts already, because then I would have invited myself to dinner.
Glad you had a good time ...but I don't know how you didn't buy anything.
I like your sheep photos :) It was good to run into you.
I didn't do any star poking, either. I just followed Stariel around let her do all the star poking.
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