So we had a slight lapse in posts while we spent the weekend in Nicaragua. Sorry about that. We’ll make it up to you by showing you ALL the fun we had – even though we almost weren’t let back into Costa Rica. Almost. But a sweet-talkin’ gringa and series of bribe requests later, we made it. Dirty, exhausted, and incredibly happy.
More on that later.
But remember this debacle from last week?
We fixed it.
Lesson learned? Tortillas, cheese, and sour cream make everything better.
So we had an interesting dinner experience the other night.
In an effort to save a little moolah and live more like the locals, we attempted to make rice and beans.
Well. I’m sure this is something that turns out absolutely delicious for those who eat it regularly and have actual… you know… seasonings in their kitchens. But I’ll spoil the ending to this little story by telling you that ours ended up tasting a little more like… um… how should I put this? Paper.
Our very first problem was that I felt it was imperative that I took a nap immediately when we got home. The “nap” turned into 3 hours, and I woke up at 5:00. So what? Even if it takes a couple of hours to cook, no big deal, right?
Wrong.
I first consulted Judy, our gracious host and excellent cook about how we should get started. She explained how she puts the whole onion inside the rice cooker (it actually roasts while the rice cooks so you can just squeeze the onion out of its outer layers of skin when it’s done), along with some diced pepper, garlic, and “other things” – other things we most certainly did not have. She was generous enough to give us several cloves of garlic and some celery leaves to throw on in, and luckily we already had an onion and red pepper.
She showed me how to sort through the beans and pick out anything that had split or any pieces of rock or cement that might have found its way into the bag during processing. (Which I’m told is pretty standard. You know, like bugs in your pasta. Oh we haven’t told you about that? It’s dee-lish.) Luckily, we had a pretty good bag. She then explained that they needed to sit in a pot of water for 2-3 hours to soften up prior to cooking.
Wha?!
That’s right, she informed my dumbfounded expression. 2-3 hours should do the trick. Ok, so that’s still not terrible – then maybe 20 minutes to cook and we can eat around 8:30, right?
Wrong again.
When I googled “how to cook dry black beans,” I learned that not only do you need to soak them for 2-3 hours, but the best way to cook them is at a low simmer for another 2 hours!
WTF. It’s beans. And rice. But apparently it takes longer than Coq au Vin to make without the delicious indulgence of all the fat and calories.
So I went back to Judy, tail between my legs. Um… may I please borrow your pressure cooker?
Sigh. She had to come back over and show us how to use it without burning our faces off, but this drastically reduced the cooking time and eliminated the need for soaking them. Just throw all our stuff in the pot, and a little while later, poof! Beans are cooked.
Meanwhile, the rice concoction smelled delicious.
By this point we were starving, so we threw it all into a bowl and hoped for the best.
And it actually looked halfway decent…
But the taste… Oh, the taste. How do I say this?
There wasn’t one.
In a true moment of ingenuity, Erin suggested we sprinkle it with our salty plantain chips, which proved to be a VAST improvement.
Next time (har-har) we will be investing in some seasonings. And I don’t think I ever want to try Judy’s rice and beans. I would probably cry.
I spent the next morning walking around the yard reassessing this whole “budget” situation and trying to figure out whether we could afford to live off of boxes of macaroni and cheese for the next two months.
When I realized there’s no possible way, I felt frustrated for a second.
But only a second.
Because it’s really difficult to stay frustrated on a morning when – even with bland beans still percolating in my stomach – the world outside my bedroom looks like this:
And this.
Rice and beans? What rice and beans?
The world here is bleak and full of shadows.
The plants are foreign and creepy.
And the beasts are ferocious and wild.
Okay. I haven’t taken the camera out much since we’ve been here, because:
a) It’s kind of hard to take pictures with sweat dripping into your eyes.
b) It’s kind of hard to take pictures when it’s raining outside.
c) It’s kind of hard to take pictures when you’re already late to work and sweat is dripping into your eyes.
d) Sometimes I like to see the world with my own eyes – sans sweat – before I try to capture any of it with a camera.
But yesterday our new boss asked me to take some photos of the farm – specifically black and white photos of chile peppers – that he can use for the company website and various marketing projects. I definitely need some more practice, but for me it’s really difficult to capture the beauty here in black and white. The color is the beauty.
So finally, for your viewing pleasure, you can see just a little of what Erin and I see every day.
This is part of the chile pepper patch, where they’re currently growing several different varieties of peppers:
Unfortunately, I didn’t realize that in neglecting to take the camera out our first day here, I may have missed my only opportunity to get a clear shot of the volcanoes that serve as the backdrop of our little town. I can see them from the office window – WHEN they’re not obscured by clouds.
Here’s what it looks like on a clear day:
The peppers themselves are quite beautiful…
…as are their flowers before they bear fruit…
…as well as the rows in which they’ve been planted.
And while the peppers don’t look bad in black and white…
There’s nothing more vibrant in my world right now than a red hot chile pepper.
This is the planter outside the front door of our office.
Notice anything… unusual?
Umm….
Uhhh….
Is this our new office pet?
Because if it is, well… I might have a problem with this.
Just a little.
Well, crap.
So apparently we’re a lot more efficient at this travel business than anyone gave us credit for, because we ended up arriving in our host town a bit earlier than our host family expected us. Apparently, they thought we’d get hung up in customs or at the bus station and have to hole up in San Jose for the evening.
But our dirty, sweaty selves made it in record time – thanks to the help of a couple friendly strangers and sheer luck.
We took a cab, plane, another plane, another cab, a bus and finally a truck to get here, but we are here.
After waking up at the ass-crack of dawn this morning (thanks east-coast time zone), we enjoyed a leisurely breakfast and cup of excellent coffee overlooking some distant volcanoes, went on a tour of our new small town, were introduced to the other interns and employees here, grocery shopped in a nearby town, ate chicken burritos for lunch, and are finishing up the day doing some office tasks in an attempt to earn our keep.
I promise we will be sharing pictures soon. But I actually have to take some first. There’s been a lot to soak in. And a lot soaked, period. At one point today I thought I could wring out my shirt. And no, it wasn’t raining. But we did witness our first torrential downpour this afternoon, complete with sideways rain, nearby lightning strikes, and about a half-a-dozen mini power outages. No one even blinked.
We’ve been overwhelmed, but excited.
Exhausted, but eager to learn.
Sweaty, but happy.
Made it to the airport without any mishaps. Can you believe it?!
Today we’re making the seven-hour road trip up to Maryland to see our dear friends Erin and Chuckles. From there, Erin and I will fly to Costa Rica in a couple of days. I’m all packed and ready to go (I think), and all I can do now is sit here twiddling my thumbs waiting for the hubs to get off work.
Work?
I think I’ve forgotten what that is…
All I know is that I’ve managed to squeeze my life into two bags. My entire world, for 2 months, will look like this:
For 2 months, these two bags will function as my closet, bathroom vanity, library, pharmacy, “home” office, and primary source of neck and shoulder pain.
As you can see, I have left no room for souvenirs. That’s why they invented digital photography, memory cards, and the post office.
Packing light is not my forte.
Regardless, how do I feel about the fact that my life has been condensed to a couple of backpacks?
Pretty. Damn. Liberated.
I’ve mentioned before that when I first got into this blogging business I had zero intention of posting recipes. Ever. I originally thought that would be like Elmer Fudd writing articles on behalf of PETA, or the Backstreet Boys trying to teach us the artistry of compelling lyrics.
It just didn’t make sense.
But then this happened. It was back when I had a full-time job and was trying to write a new post every single day. Back before I had an awesome writing partner to relieve the pressure.
I’d wanted to reveal our finished kitchen, but the problem was, it wasn’t finished. So in a desperate attempt to fill some space, I showed you the (burned) spinach salmon bundles I’d made for dinner that night. They were burned, people! I’m so not good at this. But for some reason, some of you told me you liked the post. And some of you even tried the recipe. Which is pretty damn cool.
So I started showing you more of my recipe endeavors. Not because I’m a great cook – I’m not even a very good cook. But like I said in that first recipe post:
I’m not really a “pinch-of-this, dash-of-that” type of person, but more of a “put-the-measuring-cup-on-the-counter-and-bend-down-to-eye-level-to-make-sure-I’m-getting-just-the-right-amount” type person.
Cooking doesn’t come naturally to me. But I can follow instructions – if I haven’t had too much wine. (At least Erin doesn’t have to worry about that nasty business anymore, eh?) And I guess I’ve been justifying the continuation of the recipe posts by thinking there are more of you out there, like me, who’ve been afraid of cooking well into “adulthood” and just need a little encouragement in the way of pictures and “been-there-done-that” mess-up stories.
Because I’ve finally learned that IT’S OKAY TO MESS UP IN THE KITCHEN.
At least I hope it is, because I do it all the time. So, I’ve come to you today with another recipe. But if these are starting to bore you and you really couldn’t give two hoots about what I’ve stuffed into my expanding waistline last night, do let me know. It won’t hurt my feelings – they aren’t even my own recipes!
But I do feel especially compelled to share what I made last night. It was so… different. So out of my usual comfort zone, and it turned out delicious, so yes. I have to share.
Aside from acquiring some of the ingredients, it was deceptively simple to make. It contained some of my usual friendly ingredients like pasta and butter. But it also contained a couple I’d normally shy away from, like Japanese mayonnaise and chili garlic sauce. I stopped at a local Asian market to pick up those things, and let me just tell you – I will be back. The food they had there was incredible! And scary. But mostly incredible! Oh, the sushi I could (attempt to) make…
So the original recipe that caught my eye yesterday can be found here. The only thing I changed was cooking up a bed of pasta for the main dish. You know, ’cause I like to keep it light.
Do NOT be scared of this concept. Beef-less as it is, this was fit for company.
To make them, you will need:
*Missing from team photo: Garlic powder and pasta. I think they were spotted fooling around under the bleachers.
Directions:
1. Defrost your scallops (assuming you’re not lucky enough to live somewhere you can get fresh seafood and had to buy frozen) according to the package directions. And if you decided to make a lovely bed of pasta for your shroomies, go ahead and get your water boiling.
2. Thoroughly rinse your Portobello mushrooms. Don’t be scared of the gills – they actually feel kinda good to the touch. (Is that weird??) Divide the 3 Tbsp. of butter into 4 equal pieces. Melt a piece in a sauté pan over medium-high heat, then add a mushroom cap and cook until soft in the center. (This took approx. 2-3 minutes per side for me.) Repeat with the remaining mushroom caps and butter.
*I found this to be a bit meticulous. If I make this again, I’ll probably use my large grill pan and cook all 4 caps at once. Cooking them one at a time forced me to rinse the pan between mushrooms because the butter would begin to burn.
3. Line a baking sheet with aluminum foil. As the mushrooms cook, place them on the sheet gill side up, so they make little “bowls.” Mmmmm… fungus bowls. Generously sprinkle them with garlic powder.
Oh, and your pasta water should be boiling by now, so salt it and add the linguine.
4. Preheat your broiler and set the oven rack about 6″ away from it. Do you use your broiler? I do all the time. It’s FANTASTIC. Just remember to leave your oven door cracked open a couple inches while your food cooks. That’s all there is to it!
5. Melt the last tablespoon of butter in a skillet over medium-high heat and sauté your scallops until they’re lightly browned. If you’re using larger scallops, they’d probably be great seared. But mine ended up kind of boiling in the pan because they were cheap and frozen and filled with water. No worries, though – they still turned out great.
Fill each mushroom cap with the scallops.
6. In a small bowl, mix together the cup of Japanese mayonnaise and 1/2 (or more) teaspoon of garlic chili sauce.
*Be careful not to let go of the foil top of the chili sauce while you’re opening it, lest you splatter red sauce all over your counter and walls. I’ve been putting my backsplash to good use. But that’s probably just me.
This Kewpie brand Japanese mayo looked strange. It came in a very flimsy plastic bottle inside a loosely wrapped plastic pouch. But the mayo itself was very similar in consistency to the mayo we’re used to – just a bit of a different flavor and probably worth purchasing if you’re going to try this recipe.
Anyway, mix the mayo and chili sauce together and spoon that mixture over your scallop-filled mushrooms.
7. Stick the pan under the broiler until the topping turns bubbly and slightly brown (about 3-5 minutes). WATCH CAREFULLY. The broiler can do wonderful things, but it can also burn food in an instant.
8. When your pasta is done, drain it and add a drizzle of olive oil to keep it from getting dry and sticky. I also added a bit of the mayo/chili sauce topping, which worked really well.
9. When your mushroom topping is nice and bubbly and starting to brown, take them out of the oven. Chop up a green onion (or two) and sprinkle on top of the mushrooms. I ended up only using the green part of the onion.
10. Assemble! Dish some pasta onto a plate, then use a STRONG spatula to maneuver a mushroom cap onto it. I say this because I used a WEAK spatula for the first one, and it splattered upside-down (of course) back onto the baking sheet.
Yes, these things happen to me.
All. the. time.
Sorry, no picture to commemorate my humiliation.
But I do have these:
This should have some plain roasted asparagus sitting next to it. Yum.
So think you might try it? Or is this just a little too freaky for you?
When I woke up this morning, the first thought that went through my head was, “Why am I still here?!”
I know that’s not an ideal mantra to start the day, but I couldn’t help it. I wasn’t supposed to be laying in my own bed. I was supposed to be sitting at the airport, waiting to get on my flight to Central America. But now as I sit at my kitchen table, breathing in the aroma of my freshly brewing coffee, I’m realizing – if I was supposed to be there, I’d be there.
By the way, if you’re curious, here is a demonstration of how I drink my coffee (excuse the extra wide aperture and shaky hand. I obviously hadn’t yet consumed any of the much-needed coffee at the time – which was a few minutes ago – these pictures were taken):
First pour cream into bottom of cup.
Then pour coffee.
Finally, dump in prolific amounts of sugar.
Basically, the resulting beverage should taste like sugar-laden cream with a hint of coffee. I like the smell better than anything.
Now back to our regularly scheduled program.
So. I guess the fact that I’m sitting here drinking a cup of coffee-flavored cream instead of having my naked body scanned in 3D at the airport means I need to figure out what to do with my unexpected, extra un-paid week.
If I really feel like getting dirty, I could paint all of our trim or clean out the garage – two things that could desperately use my attention. And knowing me, I might just decide to start one of those projects late Thursday afternoon when I should be getting ready for the long drive up to Frederick, MD so I can chill with Erin for a couple of days before we leave. I find I work best under pressure.
But considering I still need to pack and take care of a few other mundane things before I head out, I should probably stick to small projects for now.
Our neighborhood has a community garage sale twice per year. Yuck. There are so many other things I’d rather do with my time than dig through other peoples’ unwanted crap so I can let it sit in my own garage until I donate it to Goodwill because I never did figure out how to affordably reupholster that old chair that would’ve been so perfect if it weren’t covered in that awful maroon velvet or where to hang that one painting that could’ve looked so cool in a retro sort of way if my entire house was cool in a retro sort of way. Which it’s not.
And yet every six months I find myself getting up at 7 a.m. on a Saturday (which actually isn’t unusual anyway) to get to the “good stuff” before someone else nabs it. What can I say? We live in the stix and garage sales bring out my competitive side.
Plus, I love, love, love haggling with people.
At the last sale I snagged this set of mirrors. The old lady wanted $15 for the pair, but I got her down to $8. Sucka!
Now I’m no designer, but I’ve watched enough HGTV to know nothing says style like gilded gold mirrors. Right??
Okay, maybe not. But I thought they might look cool if I spray painted them, because while the color is awful, the detail is kinda interesting.
So I covered the mirror part in frog tape and newspaper, bought some semi-gloss white spray paint, and went at it. I don’t really care for spray paint with its non-environmentally friendly qualities. But. I wasn’t about to try to take a brush to the little nooks and crannies of these puppies. In the end, laziness won-out. But if anyone has “greener” suggestions, I’m open to ’em.
I’m actually pretty happy with the finished product. Alaina thinks I should sand off some of the white for a more antiqued look. I think Alaina should get her ass back in her kitchen and get it finished so we can see the final pictures already. (You know I love you, A!)
What do you think? I think I’m done. Unless I decide to paint them a funky teal or something, which I’m seriously considering.
Now, as usual, I just need to figure out where to hang ’em.
When I was little, I used to ask my mom to drive really, really fast down this hill with a dip at the bottom on our way to daycare. I got such a thrill from that tiny uprising in my stomach – that flutter that happens when your body is thrown off-kilter from gravity.
Why don’t we get the same happy rush when the same thing happens with our emotions?
Today was a helluva day. You see, the airline on which Erin and I booked our tickets to Costa Rica is having some financial troubles, so they decided to cut back on their flights. They decided to cut back on our flight just over a week ago. The online booking agency through which we booked our flight *cough*CheapTickets*cough* did not notify us of this fun fact until a couple of days ago.
It was not until today that we were able to negotiate an itinerary change and get ourselves on another flight. Because as much fun as it would be to get stuck in Cancun with unlimited funds, our funds are not, to say the least, unlimited.
Just a minute ago I received another call telling me the new flight has been canceled. That fluttery, uprising thing happened with my emotions. The guy from Cheap Tickets might have heard me cry.
In 2004 it took me over 27 straight hours to get from Valdosta, Georgia to Strasbourg, France. I traveled by car, plane, subway, another subway, train, and another car to get there.
So it’s really no surprise to me that this happened.
The thing is, cliché as it sounds, I’ve learned to try to make the trip itself part of the fun. I know it can be a pain in the ass to get somewhere – especially when I really, really, really want to just be there. So I have to do what I can to enjoy the ride.
Even if what I really want to do is punch someone in the face.
After all, 27 hours is 27 hours. That’s more than a full day of my life that I can never get back.
It took me a month to get from Omaha, Nebraska to Omaha, Nebraska (by way of Washington, California, Arizona, and Colorado, to name a few). I traveled by Tracker.
When people ask what we’ll be doing during our free time in Costa Rica (if we ever get there), they seem surprised when I tell them we don’t know. But it’s like the Gin Blossoms said, “If you don’t expect too much from me, you might not be let down.”
The same holds true, I believe, for a trip. Too much planning can only lead to disappointment and missed opportunities. We won’t be lethargic in our off-time – but we’ll always be open to something we didn’t plan – especially because we didn’t plan anything.
For the Tracker’s Wild Western Extravaganza road trip, I didn’t even know I’d be traveling with anyone until a couple of days prior. I had just given notice to one of the restaurants that employed me, and a fellow server thought my trip sounded fun and asked to come along.
We had never really hung out, but Lizeth was a 5 foot-nothing feisty Latina who shared my freestyle travel philosophy. She ended up coming with me all the way to San Francisco before flying home (she actually had to go back to work – sucka!), and it ended up being much more fun than if I’d gone alone.
At our own leisurely pace, we were able to explore Seattle’s colorful, energy-packed Pike Place fish market…
…get a free bottle of whisky from a sketchy motel employee…
…hug a soldier…
..and even stumble across Seattle’s famous wall of gum one night when we became completely and utterly lost. We didn’t know it was famous. We just thought it was a gross (but cool) wall of gum.
It turned out getting lost on those downtown streets was a great way to learn our way around the city.
If we had been on an itinerary, we might not have climbed the Astoria Column and ruined our ability to walk without a limp for the next 2 days. (Lesson learned? Calves do not like spiral staircases.)
Nor would we have stopped for a tour of the cheese factory in Tillamook, Oregon, land of, “Cheese, trees and ocean breeze!” If we hadn’t stopped, I wouldn’t have been able to leave my souvenir brick of spoiling cheese under the mattress of that hotel in San Francisco. (That’s another story for another time, but trust me – they deserved it.)
Sure, you miss a couple of things when you don’t plan. We’d hoped to catch the famous sandcastle contest in Cannon Beach, but instead all Lizeth caught was soaking wet pants when we had to wade across the bay to get into town. All I caught was a kite to the back of the head. No joke.
The sandcastles had already washed away with the tide.
But that doesn’t change the fact that it’s one of the most beautiful beaches I’ve ever seen.
And without a GPS, the excitement of seeing the unmistakable bright orange peaks of the Golden Gate Bridge rising behind a hillside caused us to stick our heads out the windows like a couple of terriers attempting to taste the wind.
And even though we didn’t plan, we were still able to hit many of the major tourist attractions.
We drove through the giant Redwood tree:
We embraced the culture of Fremont:
And we soaked in the famous San Francisco architecture:
It’s comforting to know that as long as I have my mind, I’ll never forget the barefoot, guitar-playing hippie who offered us pot not 3 minutes into our lunch stop in Arcata, California. Or getting lost on the BART and ending up in The Castro (where the look-but-can’t-touch eye candy was excruciatingly palpable). Or seeing Kurt Cobain’s old house in Seattle.
And after Lizeth flew home, I drove down the 101 to L.A. and absorbed the art and energy of Venice Beach. I crashed on a friend’s couch in Phoenix and climbed Camelback Mountain. (Okay, I only made it halfway – but it was Phoenix in July! I don’t care of it’s a “dry heat” – 111-degrees F is HOT.) I changed into shorts on the side of the road in the middle of the deserted desert when my a/c decided it’d had enough. I got food poisoning in Albuquerque and had to sleep it off in my car at noon with the windows cracked. I witnessed a red-hot sunset behind the Rockies, a lightning-riddled rainstorm between myself and the sun causing the colors to blur like a saturated watercolor painting. Fireworks welcomed me into Colorado Springs later that evening, and I watched more from the deck of my great-aunt and uncle’s home, cocktail in hand, overlooking the Garden of the Gods and the rest of the city far, far below.
These things – these things that happened by chance will always resonate because I remember them the way they were – not the way they should have been. And that’s why it’s okay that we still don’t have a flight. We will. When we do.
I’m not completely zen. If I could leave a brick of stinky cheese under the airline’s mattress, I would. But I can’t.
So, my friends, that is why I don’t plan. I happen to like being a terrier with my head out the window.