Gosh

I don't know if you ever have those times when you're out doing and you come home and you just take a minute and put life on pause and ruminate for a little bit.  I do.

I just got to thinking about my life, what I value, what I don't, what makes me happy, what doesn't; that sort of thing.  Sounds harmless enough, I know, but here's where I want to go a little further (I'm hoping I can pull this off without embarrassing myself).  I think if we're all brutally honest, we have things in our lives that we're a little...proud of.  You know, something that makes us secretly puff our chest out a little?  Maybe we have really good legs, or the best serve on the volleyball court, or a real knack with the boys, or we can hit the highest note in the choir, or we're known for our peanut butter pie...  Not bad stuff necessarily, and in many cases, kind of cute or downright endearing.  We'd probably laugh embarrassedly or vehemently deny it if we got called out, but these things are true, whether we admit it or not.

So here, I'm going to blow my cover and admit for all the world to see (or anyone who cares to read this blog, LOL!) what my secret vanity is.  

So I have this collection.  I treasure it and I add to it whenever and wherever I can; in fact, I'm always on the lookout for new specimens, and nothing tickles me more than when I find one.  I'm not particularly picky about style or substance - my thing is quantity and variety.  The bigger my collection gets, the prouder I am of it, and the more joy it brings me.  I love to bring it out sometimes, when I have some quiet moments to myself, and just look at it.  Line it all up, piece by piece, hold each one in my hand, turn it and let the light reflect on it, admire it and, hey, high-five myself for finding it!  You see, the collection I speak of is my friends.

When I get to thinking about it, I realize every time that I'm truly one of the most blessed girls alive.  I have a sample of every different kind of age, size, gender, socio-economic status, education, interest.  Mine are old and young, boys and girls (big ones and little ones), entrepreneurs and students and housewives, world travelers and homebodies, city friends and country friends, straight shooters and colorful creative types; some talk a lot, some talk a little.  Some are feisty, and some are more gentle than a lamb.  Some make me hurt and some make me happy, although I've noticed that even the ones that hurt end up being pretty worth the bother in the long run.  

What's the use, you ask?  What can you do with them?  Well, let's see.  I can go hiking or I can go shopping; I can see a play or hear a concert; I can deep-sea fish, or I can put my feet up and talk politics and economics and world history.  I can wander a flea market or an art museum or build a fort in the woods; I can learn about blacksmithing and bread-baking and really cool music; I can play tennis or play Uno; I can watch sappy movies and shoot-em-ups; I can go paintballing and ziplining and on excursions to exotic places, or I can sit in one spot for hours and do nothing but talk.  I can laugh until my sides hurt, and I can share something so deep that the only release is to let the tears pour down the face.  All of this, and so much more, and I have somebody to do it with.  See, that's the cool thing about the variety in my collection - all of these incredibly amazing, colorful people, and me, little old me, I get to reap the benefits.  

In fact, sometimes I feel a little smug, especially when maybe one contingent turns up its nose at another.  "Silly people," I think; "little do you know what you're missing."  See, my friends are so wonderful, all of them, that I start to feel sorry for anybody who doesn't have a collection like mine.

Sometimes, I wish I could find a way to tell each one - I see you, I remember you, I treasure you.  Some of you know who you are; some of you might not.  It's no matter, you all are a part of the most valuable thing I own.

The fun thing is I'm still on the hunt.  My collection is in no way complete, and I get excited thinking about what I might find around the next corner. 

Anyway. It's refreshing to do a heart-dump periodically. Thanks for enduring! :)

Since there isn't a picture big enough to contain the whole shebang, and I do think a blog post is better with a little shot of color, may as well post one of my favorite pictures of all time!

This and That...

I stumbled upon this amazing innovation that has forever revolutionized how I make banana bread.  I'm going to share.

I've grown up, like everybody else, eating banana bread, also known as that great savior of overripe bananas.  I mean, banana bread is ok, but I've always seen it as kind of...eh.  My sister Ashley gave me a recipe a few years ago that was definitely the best yet (probably due to the fact that it relies heavily on a buttery, nutty streusel topping), but it still just has never really been something I crave.  The other day, I had the requisite black, semi-rotten bananas on hand, and I've developed a virtuous, non-wasteful streak, so I dutifully pulled out my mixing bowl and whipped up a batch.  As I went to bake it, though, I had an epiphany.  Figuring I had nothing to lose, I tried it out.  Voila!  At long last, craveable banana bread!  (And yes, it's easy and extremely low-maintenance.)

Behold...

Banana Bread Unplugged

A Joint Collaboration

2 eggs

3/4 cup - vegetable oil (no wonder it's so moist...)

2 teaspoons - vanilla

3/4 cup - sugar

2 or 3 overripe bananas, mashed

2 cups - flour

1 teaspoon - salt

1 teaspoon - baking soda

1/2 teaspoon - baking powder

Streusel Topping:

1 cup - brown sugar

1/4 cup - butter, melted

1/2 cup (or more) - chopped pecans or walnuts (if you want to rock this, lightly toast them)

1/4 teaspoon - nutmeg (or you can use cinnamon.  I get bored with cinnamon after awhile.)

A good shake or two of salt, preferably kosher

Combine eggs, oil, vanilla, sugar and bananas and whisk until combined.  Stir in flour, salt, baking soda and baking powder and mix well.  In a separate bowl, combine the streusel ingredients and set them aside.  

NOW for the fun part.  Heat your oven to 350, grab a 10" cast-iron skillet (no need to get too picky, a little bigger or a little smaller is no big deal) and toss two tablespoons of butter in it.  Stick it in the oven while it's preheating and get it nice and hot.  Pull it out, spread half of your batter in it, then sprinkle half of your streusel over that.  Repeat with your remaining batter and remaining streusel, and stick it back in the oven.  Bake it for, oh, 20 to 30 minutes, depending on your oven.  The center should be firm, and the edges dark, golden brown.  When it comes out of the oven, you can tip it out of the pan onto a plate.  Good luck, then, not burning your fingers, snitching.  All that streusel gets all melty and oozes down into the bottom of the bread, where it caramelizes against the hot pan...  Gosh.

Side note, I've developed a crush on soft-boiled eggs.  All I do is boil a little saucepan of water, stick an egg in it and let it boil for five minutes.  Then I run it under cold water so I can peel it without burning my fingers.  Sprinkled with salt and coarsely ground pepper and eaten with a toasted and buttered slice of good bread, accompanied by a glass of orange juice or a cup of fresh, French-press coffee, it's seriously one of the most comforting breakfasts (or lunches or dinners, especially when recovering from the flu) around.  Plus, it's totally the sort of breakfast I imagine someone like Amelie (as in the movie), dressed in a cute little skirt and cardigan combo, eating in her chic little flat before she saunters outside into the Paris morning light and sails off on her adorable bike (probably with fresh flowers in her basket).  Me, I eat it dressed in button-down and jeans, at my living room coffee table or desk, surrounded by textbooks and half-read magazines before flying out the door to work, but still.  Such a lovely little dose of Continental-ness.  Plus, I never get tired of the minimalist artistic quality of the plate...

Side, side note.  (Obviously, I feel chatty this morning.)  Nicole has developed a baking bee in her bonnet.  She went and invested in a couple of Thomas Keller's cookbooks (Ad Hoc and Bouchon, I believe), among other things, and has been experimenting in her kitchen.  This is, like, SERIOUSLY the best development.  Why, you ask?

THIS is why.  Buttery homemade croissant, soaked in almond syrup, slathered with almond butter, and topped with sliced almonds.  One of the best things that has ever entered my mouth.  (And anyone who reads this blog has a rough idea of the sheer amount of good food that has entered this mouth.)

I think she needs way more practice.  Wink, wink.