Archive: June 2008

During a lull at work last week, I went on a tear hunting down recipes for Whip It Up, and a recipe for lemon basil pasta salad caught my eye. The list of ingredients and subsequent instructions were both attractively short, so I printed it out among a sheaf of other ideas. Not one to waste a good opportunity to try out yet another pasta salad, I threw together this new one last night so that we would have it for dinner before heading to the gym tonight. If there is anything I love more than eating leftovers, it is preparing dinner ahead of time. Is it any surprise that I lavish deep affection on my slow cooker?

Ah, I digress.

Put simply, this lemon basil pasta salad is ridiculously, insanely easy. It is the type of side dish that, when confronted with unexpected guests, I could make in 15 minutes after a quick (and cheap) run to the grocery store on the way home from work. There is no meat to cook in advance, no teary onion to chop, and not even a vinaigrette to mix up. Just prep, dump, mix, and serve!

That said, I think that the original recipe produced a plain, bland dish. I had hoped that the small list of ingredients would come together as a miraculous, synergetic amalgam whose combination would be greater than the sum of its parts. However, I was severely underwhelmed when I took that initial taste. Not to be discouraged, I doubled the amount of basil, tossed in about a quarter cup of grated Parmesan cheese, and added a quarter teaspoon of black pepper, and the salad was much improved, in my opinion. I felt justified in my modifications because what kind of pasta salad worth its salt has neither pepper nor cheese in it? Come on, now.

At the end of the day, I recommend using this recipe as a jumping-off point for whatever kind of pasta salad you fancy. If we had had feta cheese or pine nuts on hand, I would have tossed those in for good measure. Or maybe black olives, artichoke hearts, or chickpeas? Ooh, cucumber and fresh spinach would be nice! You could swap out the lemon juice for apple cider vinegar or raspberry vinegar, I think. Cooked chicken or shrimp or even drained tuna would bulk up the salad into a main dish.

Oh, my mind gears are turning. Clearly, my work is cut out for me.

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In the grand tradition of Isabel and Mrs. Squirrel, I present all of the new things I have done since Friday:

Saw a movie at the Back Alley Theater
Last week, a friend e-mailed me to see if I wanted to come along to see Amelie at Kennett Square’s Back Alley Theater on Friday, and maybe get a drink or dessert afterward. I had no other plans, so three of us girls met up for a quiet night. None of us had ever been to the Back Alley Theater, which shows older films just once a month, so we approached it with an open mind.

We followed a trickling line of older folks to the back door of a downtown restaurant, where a nice elderly lady took our five dollar admission fees, and gestured us downstairs to get popcorn or a snack. To our surprise, popcorn and candy were free! “But water is a dollar,” the concessions lady said apologetically. We exchanged incredulous glances, grabbed some goodies, and headed to the theater. By “theater,” I mean a large meeting room with one wall covered in mirrors, rows of the stiffest white chairs I had ever had the displeasure of inhabiting, and a viewing audience where at least sixty percent of those seated were senior citizens. The opening screen of the Amelie DVD gleamed on a long wall from an LCD projector, with one-third of it spilled onto the ceiling, and I was not certain that I had not entered into (and willingly paid for) an illegal movie showing.

Uncomfortable seats aside, Amelie was charming, and I enjoyed it much more than my first viewing about five years ago. The older audience made the movie even more humorous with their constant murmured questions about the plot, retelling of action, or translation of French signs. Afterward, the three of us stopped at a bar for dessert and drinks, and we had a lovely night for under $20.

Grilled pizza and made a caprese salad
After salivating over Deb’s guide to pizza-making, JG got it in his head to grill pizza sometime. Ever the supportive wife, I printed out Ina Garten’s instructions that coincided with an episode of Barefoot Contessa that I have seen at least three times. I made a half portion of the dough easily enough, despite the horrendously vague instructions (for shame, Ina!), and we pulled the rest of the ingredients together while the three little dough balls I formed waited under a damp towel. JG manned the grill during the proceedings while I stood by and marveled at things like puffy crust and grill marks. When the crusts came off the grill the first time, we made quick work of adding sauce and toppings, and mere minutes passed before JG delivered the charred, cheesy goodness to the table. If this inaugural batch is any indication, our summer will be full of grilled pizza. In a pinch, or for a crowd, we’ll probably just use prepared pizza dough, but the yumminess will still prevail.

Oh, and I made a caprese salad, too. I looked around for different takes on this dish, but they all essentially said to put the tomatoes with the mozzarella cheese, rip basil around everything, and then scatter olive oil around. So … that’s what I did. And it was delicious.

I wasn’t sure if the pizza and the salad would qualify for my resolution to try two recipes each month. For the pizza, we only followed Ina Garten’s dough recipe and grilling method, and JG manned the grill; I didn’t even follow a recipe for the salad, and wasn’t it more assembly than cooking? I conferred with OPH as to whether these two dishes counted, and she gave hearty approval for including them. Well, then! So it must be.

Went for a run in my neighborhood without wanting to die
Last week, thanks to everyone’s enthusiastic props for my attempts to become a runner, I printed out the Couch to 5K workout schedule and stuck it to the fridge. I thought the steps might be a good way to get acclimated to running outdoors, you know, at some point.

Yeah, or maybe the very next day. I covered the afternoon walk on Thursday for JG while he was out golfing, and I decided to take Ted with me and try out the first C25K workout: alternate 60 seconds of jogging with 90 seconds of walking for a total of 20 minutes. I thought I could handle that, even if staring at the second hand on my analog watch was not ideal. Thanks to the killer hill that runs the length of the neighborhood, I only lasted for ten minutes. Oh, failure! There I was, all confident about my sixteen minutes of running! On a treadmill! With zero incline! It was hubris, truly.

JG suggested that I run along the top of the hill, rather than up and down it, at least to start. Then I’d get used to the terrain without feeling as though my lungs were about to mutiny. On Saturday morning, I took the morning walk from JG, which was amazing in and of itself on a weekend, and Ted and I got through the entire workout! The real clincher is that today, I got up early, and did the workout on my own before the dog walk. I, a self-proclaimed, anti-cardio, night person got up early on a Monday to run/walk for twenty minutes! What the heck?

20 years go, I had a solo in the kids’ choir, and everyone commented on how large the microphone looked in my hand.

19 years ago, I started gymnastics at the local rec center.

18 years ago, there were only seven students in my class at school.

17 years ago, I went to summer camp for the first time.

16 years ago, I made it to the state spelling bee with the word, “accidentally.” There, I misspelled “plethora,” a word I had never encountered, and the girl after me got (and misspelled!) easy-peasy “apparatus.”

15 years ago, when an improv group came to our school, I suggested that they do a skit about racism, two separate times. A teacher had a talk with me afterward to make sure no one was teasing me. No one was. I just wanted to see how they would have done it.

14 years ago, I won the state gymnastics championship for Level 8 in my age group. My performance that day was the best I had ever had up to that point and would ever have in the future.

13 years ago, I was stabbed with a sharpened pencil by a kid in the hallway who held it, point upward, as he accidentally ran into me in the crowded school hallway. My mother was not pleased. I still have a greenish-black mark on my chest.

12 years ago, I finally traded in my leggings for jeans.

11 years ago, I was the prop girl for our school’s production of You’re a Good Man, Charlie Brown.

10 years ago, I got contacts.

9 years ago, my friends threw me a birthday party where they thought it would be a good idea to basket-toss me in the driveway. No one was hurt, thankfully.

8 years ago, I became a colorguard captain and went to band leadership camp, where I learned a routine to Ricky Martin’s “The Cup of Life” in a dusty football field.

7 years ago, I skipped my after-graduation party to hang out with my sister, who was only around for the one night.

6 years ago, JG and I e-mailed each other constantly from our boring internships. The record was 80 messages in one day.

5 years ago, I scored the perfect-sized single dorm room by applying to be a freshman mentor.

4 years ago, I visited Fallingwater with a group of civil engineering students.

3 years ago, I was three days away from getting married.

2 years ago, I started a blog.

1 year ago, I acquired my own domain.

And that was my 400th post. Crazy.

Yesterday, my office phone rang at 4pm.

RA: Editorial Services, this is RA.

Voice: Hi, RA, this is Joe.

RA: Oh! Hi! How are you?

Joe: I’m fine. Listen, I was just wondering if you were coming in tomorrow.

RA: … Yes, I am.

Joe: Would it be possible for me to catch a ride with you? My car is in the garage tomorrow.

RA: (extra chirpy) No problem, that’s fine.

Joe: Can we say the usual time, say, 7:40?

RA: Uh, let’s shoot for 7:45.

Joe: Okay, that sounds good. See you then.

Here we go again, I thought. I had no problem with the idea that we would pitch in when circumstances arose, like a car inspection, but I was wary that this impromptu call would launch another everyday arrangement. Even worse, I was still somehow paralyzed at the thought of suggesting that we change up the schedule. Something was wrong with me such that I was incapable of saying that I usually leave at 8, or sometimes even 8:15! In my opinion, the driver should set the pick-up time, not the passenger. If the carpool is presumably an equal trade-off, doesn’t that seem fair? I mean, I am willing to drag myself out of bed earlier for the benefit of not having to drive. But to wake up early for the privilege of anxiously clutching at my steering wheel because I have a passenger was hardly appealing. Oh, dread.

This morning, I pulled into Joe’s driveway at 7:45 on the dot, at least according to my watch. In addition to my normal driving apprehension, I was nervous about the atmosphere of conversation, which was usually a bit stilted anyway. We hadn’t been in contact for quite a while, and I braced myself for when it would come up again.

Joe: So, I’ve been meaning to call you these last few weeks.

RA: (too brightly) Oh, it’s no problem! I don’t mind going case-by-case like this.

Joe: Oh, okay.

RA: I’m out a lot this coming month, too, so I don’t know how consistent I would be.

Joe: …

Phew. Awkward, yes, but I hope I got my willing-to-drive-but-not-crazy-about-it message across. The rest of the drive passed by without major incident, although I did have to brake rather suddenly at one point, which prompted sheepish apology on my part. I heaved a sigh of relief once I dropped Joe off at his building, that is, after I lightly bumped a curb in the driveway. Oops.

In good news, by some car-switching trickery, I don’t have to drive Joe home today, so I can take advantage of my early arrival time by cutting out before usual. JG is finally on summer break from school, so he took my morning shift with Ted (I walked Ted twice yesterday because JG was golfing), and my routine wasn’t as disrupted as it could have been. And it’s Friday! The humidity is low, and I have plans tonight to meet a few girls in downtown Kennett Square to catch a drink and a showing of Amelie. Things are looking up.