New Recipe #11 — Jul 2009

As per my 100 Things list, I am tackling #41 – Try a new recipe every month for a year. The previous months’ recipes can be found here:

Sep 2008: Butter Bean Burgers
Oct 2008: Pasta e Fagioli
Nov 2008: Sweet Potato and Cranberry Hash
Dec 2008: Potato-Onion Tartlets
Jan 2009: Butternut Squash Soup
Feb 2009: Apple Cinnamon Oatmeal Bread
Mar 2009: Hearty Bean Nachos
Apr 2009: Rice with Tempeh and Spinach
May 2009: Marinated Tempeh Stir-Fry with Broccoli and Bell Pepper
Jun 2009: Tomato Zucchini Casserole

There are certain things that just naturally go together, like Mondays and headaches, but an example of two good things that go together would be my friend, David, and hummus. Honestly, I am not sure there is anyone who knows him personally who does not immediately think of hummus when they think of him (and outstanding photography, of course, but really, hummus first.)

In honor of him and because today is his birthday (Happy Birthday, I love ya!), I decided it was only fitting that this month’s new recipe be this one I found some time ago on The Reluctant Vegetarian’s site. Whether you are vegetarian or not, check out her site. She has some great ideas. The picture and recipe are taken directly from her site. Please go visit her though and see everything else she has to offer. (Or follow her on Twitter: @reluctantveggie )

Caramelized Onion Hummus

INGREDIENTS
* 1 large Vidalia onion [or what you have on hand], sliced into rings
* 4 cups chickpeas (2 cans)
* 1/3 cup olive oil + 2 TB
* 2 TB tahini
* 2 cloves garlic
* 3 TB lemon juice
* kosher or sea salt
* pepper
* 1 TB parsley

DIRECTIONS
1. Caramelize onion [in oven or on stove] until soft and brown. set aside.
2. Combine ingredients [chickpeas through parsley] in cuisinart and blend until smooth.
3. Add onions and blend until desired smoothness.
4. Put into serving bowl, drizzle with a little olive oil, sprinkle with parsley.
5. Serve with pita bread, pita chips, fresh veggies or use as a condiment on black bean burgers and marinated tempeh sandwiches.

NEXT TIME
I would not change anything, other than going to Cedar’s Bakery for the ‘good’ pitas, rather than the ones I had to get at Schnucks. But the recipe? No, would not change a thing. It was absolutely delicious. Thanks again, Reluctant Vegetarian!

I am bugged

I was home yesterday afternoon, sitting on my bed, simultaneously reading a book I had just bought that morning, sipping a glass of water, listening to Pink’s Please Don’t Leave Me (I like the da-da-da-da part), and tweeting with someone I consider to be a good friend (make note of that), when the doorbell rang. My doorbell does not ring often, at least not unexpectedly. The UPS guy is the one who is most often at my door and he is not only expected but welcomed. He always brings the most amazing gifts. True, they are gifts I have selected, purchased, and requested he bring, but still, he does it. We have bonded to the point where I am almost ready to just give him a key and ask him to put away whatever it is he’s bringing. Almost.

Anyway, the doorbell rang and I tweeted, “brb — doorbell.” My friend patiently waited (I am assuming this, he might have been pacing and mumbling curse words on his side, but frankly, that would be his character flaw, not mine.)

Downstairs, I found a city water works employee at the door, toolbox in one hand, clipboard in the other, asking to come in so he could put a “radio read register” on my inside water meter. He said something about this being necessary so in the future, he could just drive by my house and get my meter reading without having to stop and read the external meter. I think. I kind of glazed over with the second mention of meters, as although I think everyone should adopt the metric system, I don’t fully understand it.

With one moment’s hesitation, I let him in. My training in sexual assault prevention always makes me pause, as it should. Pause, but apparently not heed. Yes, I let a man I didn’t know, carrying a death-wielding wrench and other tools, into my house. I could make a joke about this town and nothing like that happening here, but I know the statistics. I will just say that sometimes I make judgment calls, and I have, up to this point, been lucky a good judge. The city water works truck on the street made me feel a little better. Plus, if I didn’t go back to tweeting in a few minutes, my friend would surely contact the cavalry, right? Ahem.

So I let this guy in, led him to my utility room and waited. And that’s when my other training came to the forefront of my mind. And by other training, I mean my extensive schooling in all things law enforcement/government agency/spy ring-y that I have learned from countless hours of TV, movies, and novels on the subject. Of course, this guy wasn’t a city water works employee. And a “radio read register?” What is this, the Jetsons era? Unless that city water works truck is going to hover by and read my magic meter, I don’t think so. How could I be so stupid?

When he finally left and went back to my friend, I tweeted, “Oh, the doorbell — A city water worker. Needed to put some sort of device on my water meter so he can drive by and read my meter.” “I think it’s a listening device, planted by a City Water Worker-disguised CIA agent. But I watch a lot of crime-drama on TV.”

And my “friend” did not even acknowledge it. No reassurance that surely this was not the case, no commiseration that I could be right…nada. I, however, could not let it go. A little later, I tweeted, “I love how you’re completing ignoring the fact that the CIA has just bugged my house. I’m probably on some government watch list…”

Nothing. Not a single tweet in response to that, like by not saying anything, he has somehow made it all less true. He just went on talking about whatever he was talking about (who could pay attention at that point) and I was left to realize the awful truth.

My “friend” is one of “them” and is totally in on this. Why else would we be tweeting at the exact same moment a stranger his partner rang the doorbell? Ooh, or maybe he is a double agent. Or maybe none of this is CIA, maybe they are both mafia gangsters. No, a mobster would not have been able to pass up using that wrench on me. Anyway, CIA is scarier than the mob.

Anyway, CIA/Mobsters/Whoever is reading this now, I am on to you. Lucky for me, I am personal friends with Michael Westen (or I follow the actor who plays him on Twitter, whatever) and he can totally take on the government and the mob and still look cool in his suit. Now, excuse me while I get a wrench and disassemble my water meter.

To my own NY152

Nora Ephron’s movies are on my mind today, specifically You’ve Got Mail. There were a few moments I thought about Sleepless in Seattle too, but that was just because I confuse Greg Kinnear and Bill Pullman. Neither movie (or supporting actor, for that matter) is worthy of a blog post, nor even thought, cinematically speaking, but yet, here they are on my mind and in this post. These two movies blend into one for me usually, because not only do they have the same co-stars with Meg Ryan and Tom Hanks, they have the same plot. (The plot is: Hmm. No. Maybe? No, we couldn’t. Okay, let’s.) Coincidentally, or lazily, this plot is only a slight variation on the one she offered up in When Harry Met Sally, too. (No. No. Maybe. Let’s be friends. Yes! No. Okay, let’s.) The woman found her goose and is content with squeezing golden eggs from it, I suppose.

Regardless of the movies’ quality, there are moments in all her films that resonate with me, as much as I hate to admit it. But, let’s face it, I am her target audience. What was on my mind this morning as I woke was the scene in You’ve Got Mail when Kathleen and Frank decide their relationship is over. Frank tells Kathleen that he is attracted to another woman and Kathleen wishes him well. He then asks her, “What about you, is there someone else?” And Kathleen replies, “No. No, but…there’s the dream of someone else.”

And that is the tear jerking moment for me in that film. There is the dream of someone else.

That particular movie has been on my mind because my life has become a little like You’ve Got Mail. I am connecting with and learning about and adoring people I only know online. One person in particular has captured my interest and I find myself acting a little like Kathleen Kelly, rushing to the computer the moment I get home to see what the next message might be. “What will NY152 say today, I wonder. I turn on my computer. I wait impatiently as it connects. I go online, and my breath catches in my chest until I hear three little words: You’ve got mail. I hear nothing. Not even a sound on the streets of New York, just the beating of my own heart. I have mail. From you.”

It is at once an exhilarating and restless feeling. But, at least I am feeling. It has been a long time since I could say that.

The dream of someone else. It keeps me going.

Lord help me

It started innocently enough. I was walking with a coworker down to the kiosk so she could buy a cold drink. We do this a few times a week, she because she ‘needs’ the caffeine, me because I need the few minutes away from my desk. On the way back, she asked if my husband works here too, meaning our company.

“I don’t have a husband, so I guess that’s a no.”

“You’re not married?!”

“No,” giggling. (I hear this a lot.)

“So….your husband could work here. You just don’t know him yet.”

You could actually hear the gears shift in her brain as she started looking at every guy we passed, assessing him (and his ring finger). Now there are spreadsheets and charts and graphs and some sort of ranking system.

I am a little frightened.

It just is

I was sitting in the middle of the bed, sobbing, when the telephone rang. I did not want to talk to anyone, was not even sure I could talk, but I looked at the caller id anyway. The number was a familiar one, my mother’s cell phone. It had been over a month since we last talked so even though I was in no shape to chat, I wiped away the tears, cleared my throat and answered in the most upbeat voice I could muster.

“Did I wake you?”

“No, Mom, I’m awake.”

“Well, are you sick? You sound funny.”

“No, I’m not sick.” And the tears started again. I tried to muffle the sobs but it was all I could do to hold the receiver.

“Debra, what is wrong?”

What is wrong? How many times had I asked myself the same question that day? What is wrong? I could list every positive thing in my life, there is so much that is good. My life is better today than it was even just a few short months ago. But what is wrong?

“Is it work?”

“No.” Yes.

“Is it one of your friends?”

“No.” Yes.

“Is it a man?”

“No.” Yes.

She wanted so badly for me to be able to pinpoint a cause for my sorrow and I could not do it. It is because of nothing and because of everything that I hit that low. Yes, things are wonderful but things are not wonderful. There is nothing wrong and yet everything is wrong. I cannot explain it to my mother because I cannot even explain it to myself. It just is.