Monday Night

I am very proud to say that my current job has never made me dread Monday. Could be the regular three day weekend, could be the cute babies, could be all the entirely reasonable and hilarious people I work with...it's just a good gig. I nonetheless on occasion get little cases of the "Mondays." When Sasha started taking me to Monday night square dances this winter I was stoked to have something to look forward to post-weekend. Amazing band, diverse little crowd (no not racially, it's in Ballard) and heavy pours on the whiskey. There is no need to be a master of the square dance, the caller leads you through every dance, every song and it's way way easy. Several of my non-dancy friends have hesitantly joined me and been hooked about 20 minutes in. You meet a ton of people --a square takes 4 couples and folks constantly run around looking for partners. It's one of the few places where I've actually (God help me) thought "Wow, this is a good place to meet people." Wanna go? Wallflowers beware, you are about to enjoy yourself.

I was supposed to go square dancing last night but there was a bit of a snafu. I got a little eager about some salmon I saw at Bert's during my morning walk with the babies and invited everyone I know over to the house for a salmon feed. I completely forgot I had agreed to go to Ballard with Sasha. Soorrry Sash! And sorry Marianne for inviting you to your own house for a party via mass text message and not thinking to call and check beforehand. I'm still not quite used to you as "roommate."

I got home from work yesterday, unloaded a crap load of white king salmon, jumped into the shower with the largest spider I have ever seen, jumped out of the shower, killed said spider with an old copy of Darwin Awards that sits above my toilet, and emerged spiffy clean from the bathroom ten minutes later to find Marianne and Eric assembling concoctions for the household happy hour. My life is so very hard.

We made our way through a few drinks on the deck and Ilana showed up with the produce- tomatoes, basil, onions, garlic and lemons. We could have just had that all for dinner really, but you have to believe me when I tell you this salmon I bought was BEAUTIFUL. I planned to cook it like this. And when we finally got to cooking, I added about a cup of white white to the parsley butter and probably went WAY over the amount of the lemon and garlic the recipe calls for (but you should learn this about me now if you didn't know). Also-baked the fish at about 450 for a bit (sorry, I was tipsy I don't remember how long exactly) before I turned on the broiler. To be fair, Sober Maddie doesn't care about cook time either. I just keep checking until it looks tasty to me.

With the salmon, I made a thing of spaghetti in my big orange pot. I tossed the pasta with olive oil, balsalmic, chopped tomatoes, Ilana some sauteed onions and garlic (plus raw garlic for some zing), basil, parsley, more white wine and of course the juice of approximately 6 lemons (can't be sure, some were big some were small...and I was full on looped at this point). This may sound like a lot of lemon, especially with the vinegar too, but I don't think you understand how much pasta I made. I completely underestimated the amount of stuff (see above listed ingredients) we were going to need to dress the noodles. We were doctoring it up until the last minute trying to actually get some strong flavors out of the pot. It turned out well though, especially as a sort of side dish.

My housemate Gus and his girlfriend also brought down a broccoli salad. As I write this something occurs to me. I never ever cook broccoli except in a pan with oil, garlic and lemon. That's all. It's a perfect, tart, green, gas-producing meal--and one of my favorites, hence it's place in the title of this blog. But it's sort of odd that the first meal I share here had broccoli in a completely foreign form to me...raw and tossed with nuts, bacon and a sweet vinegarette. I like my broccoli with a bite to it but I am still unsure about raw broccoli--this was very tasty though!! As long as no one forces me to dip raw broccoli in Hidden Valley anytime soon, I'm a happy camper. **So weird, Gus just came down to pick of the salad bowl, "Oh hey Gus, I was just err, blogging about your salad?" Oy, what a dork. We'll see what comes of this whole thing, I do feel sort of awkward "blogging."

Salmon, pasta, broccoli. And...BOOZE. As mentioned before, we started the evening early. Vodka and blood orange soda garnished with craftily carved little pieces of cantaloupe (Thank you, Eric). Marianne and Finesser of Cantaloupe continued on the vodka kick but when Ilana arrived she and I went straight for the gin. Oh gin and your ability to bring me that little tickle on the back of my neck and turn in me into a smart ass. Jeff and his couchsurfer Sebastian brought wine and ice cream (such good boys), Casey and Enrico brought down beer and the party started. After dinner we were all too full for ice cream but Eric (who didn't have to work today) went upstairs to borrow a shaker for shots. Fresh raspberries, more vodka and all the left over lemons?? Raspberry lemon drops at 11 o'clock on a Monday? Welcome hangover.

The boys from upstairs went up stairs after dinner and Marianne and Eric drifted off to bed. For some reason I thought it would be a good idea to watch I Love You, Man. Jeff, La and Sebestian obliged but I could tell we were all fading. Yeah, um, passed out five minutes in, I think. And awoke on my couch with a blanket and a buzzing blank screen at about 1 AM. What a hostess.

I emailed Jeff today to apologize for not at least staying awake to say goodnight to my guests and this was his response: "Haha, I grabbed you and shook you a bit and said bye, wasn't sure if you were conscious to hear me or not. Ilana was still awake enough, or awake at that moment to mutter a goodbye...It was a fun night though, and those shots were delicious." Oy va voy.

Recipe for success? Mostly. As soon as I had one of those banana chocolate Vivannos at Starbucks today I was golden.

I heart you, Monday. Next week--square dance. Lo prometo, Sasha.

An introduction

I read the paper when it occurs to me. I think these occurrences are frequent enough to maintain a healthy level of dialogue with people who are smarter than me--I think. I spend oodles of money on movie tickets every month. I eat out and cook in with equal enthusiasm. I freaking love gin. My job no longer requires me to spend hours on my wardrobe (like I ever did) but I nonetheless feel boring and sad if I am not wearing copious amounts bold color in the form of floral prints circa my mom's 1940's table cloth collection. My dog is a republican-- that stubborn cranky uncle sort that you have to adore and rough up their hair a little bit because they just seem so sure of themselves.

When I traveled in South America last year, my belongings were at one point reduced to clothes and soap. The money, souvenirs and personal identification that were lost became trivial when I realized my travel journal of nearly four years and camera documenting 2 months of travel were gone. Besides the fact that I am now a picture uploading fiend, the experience also led me to appreciate the virtual written word. The only record I have of my trip now are the mass emails I sent home over the 3 month course of my trip--and I suppose the collective memories of dear friends, but this isn't my point.

Dedicated journal keepers feel free to scroll facebook at this point...

Have you ever (as a non diary person) fantasized about actually having been the little kid that wrote in their journal every night? All the moments, feelings, opinions about life that could have been preserved if you had been a more contemplative and booky youngin'? Dammit. That would be so cool! I have a total of 4 girly frilly diaries-empty save 2 or 3 entries-that are neatly tucked into my childhood bookcase. My friend Rachel keeps all her date books as a sort of record of what's what in her life. She even goes back and writes in "Lunch with so and so" or even more personal elements of a particular day or week. I've watched her do it many times and will admit to thinking, "Gosh, I could give a rat's about who came over to dinner last week, they'll be by again in a month or so." I am starting to crave a bit of documentation in my life. Years are starting to fuse together. But this whole blogging thing may be a way to stop the fusion--a record of the good meals I have shared and Seattle know-how I have acquired as a young person in this small town city.

In this blog, it is my intent to share recipes. Recipes for food, drink, conversation and fun in general as I come across them, revisit them or reinvent them. And hopefully, in the process, keep my shit together a little bit. And don't worry, nothing too personal and contemplating-of-my-own-navel. I am so not into that.

Cheers!