Adrien Brody, I'm sorry.

It's 8 pm on Thursday night and I should be at Powell's listening in jaw-dropping awe to Frank Bruni but I'm not because Powell's was at capacity and so instead I am at home, watching 40 Year Old Virgin, drinking gin and moping in absolute misery.

So here's a blog...not about Frank Bruni as I had originally planned (I will write about why he is so important to me but right now the disappointment is too fresh so I'm going to have to wait on that one for juuuuust the moment), but instead, about a conversation I had last night:

I was tipsily Facebook chatting with my dearest friend Meghann last night (Woes over work forced both of us to the bottle) when we started talking about Adrien Brody. You see, she sent me a link via Facebook that I had yet to respond to so, in my remarkably accurate though not terribly efficient manner of randomly recalling unfinished items on my man "To Do" lists while inebriated, I told her, "Thanks."

Side Bar: Unfinished items on my To Do lists:
1. Cancel Clear Wireless
2. Tell Piper our Pulled Pork Party is postponed (Wow, what an alliterative sentence)
3. Take the giant cardboard bed frame box to Pottery Barn
4. Get my schedule from Pottery Barn for next week
5. Figure out how to successfully terrorize West Vancouver, Canada without getting caught
6. Stop boring people with my random and ridiculously mundane To Do Items

End very elongated and winded sidebar.

After thanking Megs, we sighed because, three years ago when we lived together with Caitlin in the sketchiest apartment-on-stilts (Sure it was only $825 for a 3-bedroom apartment but still, can you spell G-H-E-T-T-O?) we fell in love with the gangly New York-born-and-raised, thrice-broken-big-nosed actor. But just like the letter to Adrien Body said, he sort of just fell off the earth after The Darjeeling Limited, only to return to roles in less-than-rave-reviewed sci-fi flicks. What a shame.

But this blog isn't about Adrien Brody (Or Frank Bruni...siiiiiiigh). Almost as quickly as we reminisced (at this point more drunkenly than tipsily) over Mr. Brody and the three months of Netflix movie watching we dedicated solely to his work, I -- like a fickle seventh grade girl -- voiced that I was "soooooo over" Adrien and into a "more sophisticated, rugged and older man."

A man who isn't afraid to take on crappy roles because when he takes on the good ones, he's really ridiculously good...

An uncredited rough rumbler in The Outsiders? Check.
An ex-con who marries a cop he can't make babies with? Check.
An alcoholic Hollywood screenwriter (Is there any other kind?)? Check.
An Angel who, for some god-awful reason falls in love with Meg Ryan? Yup.
An FBI chemical expert who's the military's LAST HOPE for neutralizing an apocalyptic terrorist threat? Total check.
An ex-Army ranger soon-to-be-ex-con just trying to get home to his wife? (Cue "How Do I Live")?. Check.
A hero AND a villain...at the same time? Check?
A non-alcoholic Hollywood screenwriter (And his fictional brother)? Check.
An OCD-swindler? Check.
An eccentric historian who abides by the skills of Disney screenwriters? Check.
A weatherman who gets hit with a Frosty? Check.
An arms dealer who turns his brother into a coke-fiend? Check.
A motorcycling superhero with a flaming skull? (Unfortunately) Check.
A coked-out cop (Ooooh you thought I was going to go with ex-con, huh?) rolling around in post-Katrina New Orleans? Check.
A faux-superhero with the most seriously awesome sideburns ever? Ooooh baby yeah.

Yes, dear friends. I am currently in love with Nicolas Cage.

I don't know what it is about him...most will agree with me that he's not particularly attractive (Though when the man's wearing an expensive suit and carrying lots and lots of guns, I'm a bit turned on). Still, women find him attractive and guys want to be him. If it weren't for the fact that he's famous, he'd be just another awkward American holding a 9-5 job. With that hair and pasty complexion he could probably be some kind of computer nerd; a coder or (no offense Tony) animation developer perhaps?

But his acting....it's pretty freaking awesome. I personally like Roger Ebert's words:

"There are often lists of the great living male movie stars: De Niro, Nicholson, and Pacino usually. how often do you see the name of Nicolas Cage? He should always be up there. He's daring and fearless in his choice of roles and unafraid to crawl out on a limb, saw it off and remain suspended in the air. No one else can project inner trembling so effectively. He always seems so earnest. However improbably his character, he never winks at the audience. He is committed to the character with every atom and plays him as if he were him."

Considering I'm not a movie critic nor nearly as skilled as a reviewing wordsmith as Ebert, I'll deftly admit that I cannot say it better myself.

And that's okay...for now I'll just sit back, relax and pop up a great Nic Cage flick to cheer me up. after all, there's only so much slap stick comedy I can take.

Culinary Adventures

After a near solid week of cooking dinner, I've decided to push my cooking to a new level. But, before I continue with the why and how, let me detail the what that led me to this decision. My menu for the previous week:

Sunday: Chicken tomato curry with bell peppers, mushrooms, onions and shrimp.

Tuesday: Fresh fettuccine with with garlic, shrimp, chicken, pancetta (Yeah, three meats). Side salad of mixed greens and the BEST Roma tomatoes and the ripest avocado I've had to date, dressed with my go-to, homemade balsamic vinaigrette (balsamic vinegar, honey, salt, pepper, shallots, dijon mustard and olive oil).

Wednesday: BLOAT sandwiches on ciabatta rolls (BLOAT, I'll admit, is a Walker/Amie co-creation: Bacon, lettuce, sauteed onion, avocado, tomato and pan-fried turkey cutlets).

Thursday:  Carna asada burritos with sauteed bell peppers and onions, white rice, refried beans and homemade guacamole and salsa.

Friday: Lemon garlic pappardelle with pancetta croutons (Yes, you read that right) and broccoli. Salad of mixed greens, avocado and Roma tomatoes, served with the usual balsamic vinaigrette suspect.

Saturday: Egg scramble with onions, bell peppers and pancetta served with multigrain toast and blackberry jam (Okay so Saturday was a Walker meal; I don't do breakfast all that often).

All in all, a solid week of eating in (Which we celebrated last night with happy hour pints at Laurelwood and a tipsy sushi -- I was tipsy, not the sushi -- dinner). Even though last week was slightly stressful, between work, not sleeping and gaining more angst over our pending move, I thoroughly enjoyed coming home at night, taking off my bra, slipping on some sweat pants and hospital socks (The epitome of sex appeal, I know) and cracking open a beer to sip on while I embark on a barrage of onion mincing (Which always, always makes me cry), garlic crushing, meat tenderizing and pasta boiling. It's soothing and calming. Even when I'm worked up and irritable, an hour in the kitchen always makes the frustrations of the day melt away (Though I'm sure the beer doesn't hurt).

But I'm ready to take my cooking further. I've realized, now that I buy food for another person other than myself, that I'm constantly purchasing the same goods. My freezer is always stocked with peas, spinach and broccoli. I've always got onions, bell peppers, mushrooms and avocado in my fridge. My love for Oregon fruit aside, I'm always armed with bananas and apples, regardless of the season. While having the usuals to fall back upon isn't necessarily bad, it's a rut I'm definitely ready to break out from.

So, with my Joy of Cooking cookbook that Santa brought me from the North Pole three Christmases ago, a bit more expendable of a food budget and a boyfriend who's willing to try anything I bring home and/or make (The boy tried a fingerful of Tofutti the other morning), I've decided to make one new thing a week.

And by new I mean something I've never EVER made or eaten before. So whether that means cooking with a new ingredient or whipping up a dish that I randomly flip and point to in my cookbook, I'm going to be stretching my culinary skills and taste buds to new heights.

This week I'm working with beets. Clara and I paid homage to my old stomping grounds on Sunday by going to the Farmer's Market up in Hillsdale. We both purchased the biggest beets I've ever seen. They're Chioggia beets (Pronounced kee-OH-gee-yuh)! Although Chioggia beets are sweeter than typical beets, I'm planning a more savory meal that uses both the beets and the beet greens (I've never cooked nor eaten beet greens so it's a double whammy culinary expedition that meets both prerequisites of my weekly culinary adventure).

Here's the plan:

Shredded beets and coarsely chopped beet greens sauteed in garlic and thyme butter with mushrooms and seared steak. I'm pretty excited because it's a play off of a recipe I found on Epicurious.com (I'm doing steak instead of chicken and garlic and thyme instead of orange zest). The entire dish is cooked in one pan so it should all taste pretty freaking delicious and, if I execute it well enough, the earthiness of the mushrooms and the savory, pungent flavor profile of the thyme should combat harmoniously against the sweetness of the beets. And the garlic? Well, garlic goes with everything!

I'll try to take photos...though doing so will dramatically increase the chances of me setting off the smoke alarm here (I have a crazy affinity for making the entire studio smoky when I pan fry meat).

Although, come to think of it, this apartment doesn't actually have a smoke alarm.

So yes, pictures to come, indeed.

I am what I am

I finally understand why I am the way that I am. Or rather, and perhaps more accurately, I've finally been given a plausible theory regarding my love for good food and desire to be a food critic despite my overwhelmingly awkward and unfavorable history against it.

I went out last night with my ex-boyfriend, a move that, I understand, doesn't seem like the best idea to most people. However, the night was pleasant and, throughout the course of a couple of beers ($2.50 special-list pints on Tuesdays and the Mash Tun Pub on NE 22nd and Alberta Street), we accepted what was, moved forward on what it and talked, as we always have, about food.

While he's never been much of a reader, he does relish in reading books about food and restaurants and people involved with food. As we were breaking up he was reading Jeffrey Steingarten's second book (Which I'm still mad I didn't get to read because of the breakup) which, according to Kevin, really details Steingarten's reasoning behind becoming and being a food critic.

One of the chapters is titled, "Brain Storm" and explains how suffering a head trauma could potentially lead one to have an obsession for gourmet food and refined tastes. The chapter's first sentence reads that "a profound interest in food may be caused by a lesion in the anterior portion of the right cerebral hemisphere of one's brain." When Kevin dealt this morsel of information last night I knew he knew I was thinking about when I was five-years-old and ran into a mailbox (Hey, before you judge, know that I was running for my life away from a dog scarier than The Beast in The Sandlot) chipping and swallowing half of my two front teeth and damaging some muscles in my right eye so severely that I developed a head tilt during my childhood years that was corrected only through surgery and near-coke-bottle-lens-sized reading and work glasses (Yes, I am wearing them as I type).

Kev continued recalling Steingarten's chapter, which surveys Steingarten's experience with the doctor who originally told him about Gourmand's Syndrome. The doctor told Steingarten, a glasses-wearing older man, that the most common symptoms of Gourmand's were visual spatial dysfunctions (Like I said, I am wearing coke-bottle glasses right now) and that there is some research indicating that eating disorders spring from brain injuries because even though eating disorders appear to be purely psychological, physical changes are evident too. (Of course, there's a lot of research indicating a lot of causes for eating disorders and I personally don't think there's a solid consensus and don't believe there really ever will be. It's one of those mysteries like whether we dream in color or that age-old standby wonder about the falling tree making a noise in the forest).

Steingarten's doctor continued over dinner at a five-star restaurant within the chapter that "changes in neurotransmitters and serotonin and noradrenalin along with brain lesions affecting the system have been linked to OCD, pathological behavior, kleptomania and so forth." So, people with Gourmand's might not necessarily crave gourmet food but they recognize the superfluous indulgence in steak tartare, black truffles, white truffles, foie gras, sea urchin, pork belly, monkfish liver, lamb burgers, toro (fatty tuna), sweetbreads (the gourmet nugget, if you will), geisha varietal coffee, kobe beef, chicken heart, beef heart, saffron and the like and crave the richness and indulgence of these delicacies.

In fact, Steingarten argued against his doctor -- who, I might add, says that Gourmand's Syndrome is bad for a person to be 'afflicted by' -- saying that he's okay "pleading guilty to an obsession with beauty, edible or otherwise."

Could I really have Gourmand's Syndrome? Probably not. I'm not a kleptomaniac and, despite my obsessive and compulsive fretting over the lifestyles at work (It's a good thing I've recently been officially assigned as a visual associate at Pottery Barn), I'm not, in medical definition terms, OCD. Still, it's nice to have another key as to why I, the once-food-fearing, fat-avoiding freak of a girl is now striding to becoming a try-everything-at-least-once food critic.

And as a food critic, I definitely plead very, very guilty to my obsession with edible beauty.

Oh...and yes, I've eaten everything in my aforementioned list of delicacies.