Crushing Krisis

Comic Books, Drag Race, & Life in New Zealand

food

And Then I Tried To Eat It

by

Note to self: You cannot transform pre-made cookie dough into cookies in the microwave.

This is especially important to consider if your cookie dough has Health Chips in it, because after 17 seconds the chips will briefly spark and go supernova in the microwave before turning into a molten black mass that will slowly shrivel back onto itself while emitting a smell akin two tons of overcooked popcorn garnished with singed human hair. Because, apparently, Health Chips include iron shavings as an ingredient.

Next time either take five minutes to preheat the toaster oven or just eat the dough raw with a spoon like you’ve been doing all week.

The Hardest to Learn….

by

Somehow, incredibly, all the food is ready.

It seems incredible because, well, I haven’t cooked in a year. There, i’ve said it. I made some cookies for the office Christmas party, and boiled water for plenty of pasta, but i hadn’t cooked as in carrying out a recipe in over a year. So, the idea of having a multi-course, multi-dish party where i was responsible for making half of all of the food items was a little daunting.

And, frankly, it continued to be daunting, right up until twenty minutes ago when (admittedly, slightly blitzed from taste-testing my Continental Strawbursts) i fused all of my chocolate covered pretzels together in the freezer and while removing them discovered that all of my gnocchies had (also) fused together in the refrigerator.

However, the food is made, including food i could make in my sleep (quiche, three-cheese chicken, aforementioned strawbursts) and foods i’ve never even attempted before, out of sheer intimidation (cheesecake, philly rolls, fresh gnocchi).

Anyway, now all i have to do is figure out where to serve it all from, and how much to drink. Oh, and I have to assemble equipment for and mix a Treblemakers concert in …. 40 minutes.

!

I’ll Cry If I Want To

by

I have assisted in the throwing of many parties, but I’ve only actually thrown three in my own living space that actually qualified as “parties” and not just gatherings or hangings out.

Of the first we dare not speak (not anymore, anyway). At the second, someone told me she loved me, and someone passed out in my stall shower (different someones; obviously a success). And, at the third I holed up in my room, jamming loudly with a rotating slate of collaborators, oblivious to the rest of the party (my ideal evening).

We are throwing my fourth party this Friday: a housewarming slash graduation slash after-party to The Last Ever (Really, This Time We Mean It) Live Performance by the 2004-05 TrebleMakers, at 7pm in Stein Auditorium.

Or, more accurately, Elise is throwing an after-party, and I am project managing the after-party.

Basically, this means I suck all the fun of party-planning out of party-planning by charting all food by meat and dairy content, calculating the low/mid/high number of total guests, using a spreadsheet to track all ingredient purchases, and creating a gantt chart to illustrate why we need to buy another slotted serving spoon.

My project management prowess seemed to be lost on the party-thrower.

Aside from the estimated twelve hours of cooking I have to do between now and Friday, in my capacity as project manager I am most concerned about how many people will show up. Though our house is spacious, it only is equipped with seating for six – seven if I bring in my lawn chair from outside.

In the depressing attendance basement of my low/mid/high equation (affirmed via PERT), only eight people are coming, which would make for a rousing game of musical chairs for the guests while Elise and I frantically proffered an alarming array of appetizers and 60+ servings of three possible main courses.

However, on the “our friends like us enough to park in South Philly just to eat food and be adults for three hours on a Friday night” side of the list (high), there are *fifty-four* people. Not exactly enough for the neighbors to call the cops, just enough to eat all of our food, and more-than-enough to pack our house like a sold out GA show.

As potentially alarming as the potential fifty-four guests are from a planning and entertainment standpoint, they are no where near as alarming as the potential eight. As a result, I have resorted to attempting to force my friends to confirm or deny their attendance (no maybes, damnit!) by sheer force of will. As that isn’t working out so well, I am in fact living minute to minute by the fickle whims of Evite. When two of our key couples declined the invite this morning due to prior plans I went into red alert.

“E,” my morning bulletin began, “M&S and G&W can no longer attend, and N&G converted to maybe. Lo/Med/Hi has taken an across the board hit due to variance from our presupposition of attendance.” The grim reality set forth in the stark light of Monday morning, I concluded with the real conundrum: “H’or Deurves situation may require re-eval; also, in danger of three-cheese chicken roll up overrun of half-dozen or more. Alter menu, or invite more guests? Pls advise, tx! – P”

And, I haven’t even started planning the music yet.

Never Gain Weight

by

Do you ever feel as though you are consciously flinging your well-being aside for some sense of reckless self-gratification? That you’re doing something self-destructive, but you don’t care?

Maybe you’re charging something to your credit card that you can’t afford. Maybe you’re eating something you know you really shouldn’t have. Maybe you’re drinking more when you’re already pleasantly drunk.

I have those moments every so often, though on a much smaller scale then I used to. Sometimes as I catch myself doing them – handing over my credit card, or heading into a second row of cookies, I think. Why does it seem so inevitable? What makes this compulsory?

I’m not sure what they’d teach you in counseling for any of those problems but, for me, just asking that question can change my mind. Am I getting the junky donut because I feel like I need energy? Am I buying ten new CDs because they’ll make me happy? Am I strengthening my drink because I think I’ll have more fun if I’m more drunk?

Maybe the difference between someone with an occasional bad habit and someone with a problem is the ability to honestly answer that question, and to evaluate the result.

Some days I just really feel like eating a donut, though.

Self Control

by

I imagine that most people, including myself on occasion, have a reflex to tell them to stop eating something before they’ve had to much, other than a gag reflex. Maybe you sense that you’ve been through a serving size. Maybe your taste-buds are feeling worn out. Maybe you just don’t want any more.

There are many foods that I have eaten too much of. I am a fan of ice cream. I eat sushi with delight. My love for scappels knows no bounds. However, at some point, I can stop eating all of these foods. However, I cannot conjure any of these reactions when it comes to popcorn. You could literally strap a feed bag of popcorn around my neck, and I would probably continue to eat it until my stomach could not contain any more.

Plain, lightly salted, heavily buttered or carmelled, I don’t know what it is, really. I can eat it at movies even after having a full dinner. At home, I occasionally eat it in lieu of dinner. When my coworkers (not realizing the inherent danger of such a purchase) goaded me into buying a bag as big as my entire torso to snack from at work, I finished it in under 48-hours.

Is this just an indication of larger impulse-control issues? Or, is popcorn my dietary kryptonite, the one food that evades all of my defenses? Do you have a food like this, or does this revelation just confirm that I am a total mutant?