Happy Losar

It's the first day of the Tibetan New Year, and frankly, it hasn't come a moment too soon. The last two weeks have have pretty much sucked. Work. Life. Weather. You name it. Apparently the last days of the lunar year are a time for processing negative chi. Boy, was there a lot of it.

Two upsides. I have stumbled upon a fast meal that's excruciatingly tasty: the filet mignon quesedilla. Start by sauteeing green onions, add shitake mushrooms, spray on olive oil. Add red peper, salt, pepper. Plop on small hunk of really expensive beef. Dribble on balsamic. Brown, slice, salt. Grrrrr.

I am knitting a sweater. It's my first. No laughing. It turns out that sleeves, for all their humble ubiquity, are full of mystery. What's big enough? Too big? Lose your grip and you've got leg warmers on your arms -- or a smock. Tricky stuff. Unbeknownst to me, this is exactly what one is supposed to do in the days leading up to Losar -- get or make new clothes. Clean. Make dough balls. Purify yourself.

So now that that part is over, happy male fire dog year to ya. In 2007, I'm going to do more to ward off evil spirits. Might make February go a little more smoothly.

experiments in frying

It's 2pm on Sunday afternoon and I'm still in my pajamas. But I'm having so much fun.

Finished a book today: The Kite Runner. It was an amazing read and wholly absorbing. Picked it up yesterday and couldn't put it down, not even at Davies Hall waiting for Powwasqatsi to start to a live orchestra conducted by Philip Glass, or later at Frites sitting under my umbrella on the back patio like Mary Poppins in the rain, waiting for friends to bring a Grand Marnier crepe and pots of mint tea. I'm so lucky to have friends.

And I'm learning about potatoes. Boiling potatoes, high in moisture and low in starch, are not ideal for frying. But I tried it anyway. The cookbook was right. The best fryers are baking potatoes -- low in moisture and high in starch, which absorbs the oil. The sweet potato worked well. The trick: fry twice. Once for 3-5 minutes, cool for 5 minutes, then again until brown.

OK, off to the pool to work off some of these frites. Too bad they don't store well...

Here is my hound

Call it jealousy but there are these women who stray into my neighborhood who really bug the cr*p out of me. They arrive to shop at Citykids with their thousand-dollar strollers and their lily-white babies and trim waistlines accentuated with hipster studded belts. There was this one yesterday striking a pose on the corner -- okay, maybe she was lost or trying to recall where she parked the Lexus SUV -- with her Russian wolfhound trailling lazily behind. Off his leash, I might add.

So I go back to my third-story walkup rented studio apartment and think about all the things that are mine. Yes, that's my chair with the gimpy leg. Toilet grime? All mine. That mess of papers on the kitchen table, in preparation for tax time? All me. Don't even think about putting your martini on my 1099s.

I had a dream last night that I got a sweet house little house with a big kitchen, separate living room, bedroom(s!), yard, and the best part -- a mud room with hookups for laundry machines. All for $1700 a month. Heaven. I tried not to think about where I must be living. Fremont, perhaps?

It's the weekend and it's looking awfully good. The sun is out, my day is starting early, and I'm taking care of all those things that have been sitting during this crazy disheveled week. Call me if you want to come by for a martini.