Peek-a-boo

I want something. 

Moonlight. 

That's what I want. 

I want soft moon rays to stream through the window and settle on my duvet cover. I want the moonlight's company in the deep quiet of my city nights.

I'm in love with the idea of a skylight above my bed, or a paneled window running the full width (and height because, why not?) of the wall against which my bed lies, but since neither is a possibility, a little moonlight seems like a reasonable compromise.

I'm pretty sure I feel this way because I've been wasting a lot of time lying awake at night when I should be sleeping. I would so like to drift into a deep, heavy slumber, but it eludes me many a night. 

At first I was frustrated at my powerlessness, but that has passed. Now I'm waiting quietly for this spell to pass. My cycle is taking a long time to reset, but once it finally does, I'll be able to rest my body and mind the way I should. 

The New York Bagel

I walked twenty city blocks for this monster. Correction: twenty city blocks and four avenues. The things I do! Only, uh, I had intended to get a bagel. As in one. And a couple more for the folks back at the apartment. But I walked out with a dozen. Technically thirteen, because you know, bagel shops do their business by the baker's dozen. The guy behind the counter made me do it. No, he didn't. But he asked and that's almost the same thing.

Bagel anyone?

Fifteen

I had a friend in college who turned to her out-of-state physician father when she was desperate. She needed a script for the morning-after pill. Awkward? Yes, but girlfriend maturely picked up that phone and asked mom to hand the phone to dad. Not once, but twice. It's tough being a girl.

It was announced last night that one brand of the morning-after pill, Plan B, will be available over the counter to women 15 and older. They dropped the age from 17 to 15.

Fifteen.

The fact that more childbearing-aged women now have access to Plan B is excellent. But am I in the minority as someone who finds the idea of girls being sexually active at this age downright scary? I mean, have you ever met a 15-year-old? One that was emotionally prepared for sex? Because I certainly haven't. And I interact with more kids in this age group than most people my age! Also, do you know how many pimples they have? Braces? How surprisingly awkward and gawky and downright kiddish they all look? Humans look like we're 13 until we near 20. I'll tell you what: the power of raging hormones sure is something.

It doesn't seem right that our bodies are ready to conceive at an age when we aren't emotionally prepared or socially ready to handle the task of raising offspring.  Why are our biological time clocks so off synch with our social expectations? There's not a single American in their right mind that would endorse a girl getting pregnant when she's fifteen, and yet, she could have been menstruating for years by then. In other words, why are we fertile when we are ourselves still children?

While evolution's catching up, Mayor Bloomberg is trying to scare our teenagers into not getting pregnant. The message is pretty brutal. NYC currently has a public campaign that plasters the faces of the most adorable, but miserable-looking toddlers inside subways and buses.  These children have been haunting me for weeks now. I try to turn my back to them when I'm on the train because they're that distressing. You can check out the ads here {+}. The one that hit me the hardest was the one that reads, "Honestly, Mom... chances are he won't stay with you. What happens to me?" Wow.

Banana Bread +

As I'm typing this up, the banana bread is busy doing its thang in the oven, but I'm realizing that I plum forgot the 1/2 teaspoon of kosher salt.  It isn't the end of the world, but let's give the type A control freak part of me a minute.  She'll be all right.


Ingredients
1/2 cup butter (that's 1 stick) at room temp
1 cup granulated white sugar
2 large eggs at room temp
1 1/4 cup (3 large bananas) mashed bananas at room temp
1/4 cup milk (I used 1%, but whole is best)
2 teaspoons vanilla
1 3/4 cups all purpose flour
1/4 cup whole wheat flour
1 teaspoon baking soda
1/2 teaspoon kosher salt

1/4 cup golden raisins (optional)
1/4 cup dried cranberries (optional)
1/4 cup of chocolate chips (optional)

Word to the wise - room temp ingredients will prevent lumpy curdling weirdness when you mix your wet ingredients, but if what you use, with the exception of the butter, is cold, the bread will still turn out just fine.

Instructions
1. Preheat oven to 350° and grease an 8" x 8" pan, or line with parchment paper.  I do the parchment.  You may use whichever pan you'd like.  Muffins (yields 12-15), mini loaves (yields 4), whatever you have, it'll do.  

2. Cream butter and sugar with mixer. Combine first on low speed until combined and then increase for 3 minutes until light and fluffy.

3. Add eggs to the mixture one at a time, incorporating after each addition.

4. Add bananas to the mixture and blend on low until combined. If your mixture looks less creamy than you'd like, like a globby mess of banana bits and fat that refuses to mix together into a decent-looking batter, that's all right.  Chances are, your bananas, eggs, and / or butter weren't at room temperature.  Not a big deal at all.

5. Add the milk and vanilla to the mixture and mix just until combined.

6. Add the flour, baking soda, and salt to the mixture. (I don't mix the dry ingredients in a separate bowl before adding to the wet and it turns out just fine every single time.)  Mix on medium speed until just combined.  Please do not overmix.  That's asking for trouble.  You might want to take a spatula and check for any patches of flour that might be hiding.

7. Use your spatula to add dried fruit, chocolate chips, nuts, whatever your heart desires into the batter.  Or none, if that's what you prefer.  I put my fruit into the batter and saved my chips for the next step.

8. Pour batter into prepared pan and smooth surface. I sprinkled chocolate chips atop half my pan, only because the chips were starting at me in the face and well, how could I ignore them?

9. Bake for 50-55 minutes, until a toothpick in the center of the pan comes out clean. No wet goop on that toothpick and you're good to go. If you use a muffin pan, you'll only need 22 - 30 minutes, so check the oven after minute 20.

10. Take your banana bread out of the oven and let it sit for 10-15 minutes.  After this initial settling period, if you greased your pan, wedge a butter knife around the edges to release the bread from the pan.  Move to cool on a wire rack.  If you used parchment paper, you can lift the bread out of the pan and set it to cool on the wire rack.

Serving
It's tasty served warm immediately, cooled and served later, or can even be frozen and brought back to room temp two weeks later.  I'd recommend bringing it to the office so that you don't eat the whole dang thing on your own.  I speak from experience.

Cucumbers Gone Korean

I realize that I haven't posted a recipe here in a while, so here's one for a ridiculously simple, common Korean banchan.  This photo is of nothing more than sliced cucumbers, not anywhere close to the final product, which is sparkling red from the hot pepper flakes, so please do not be misled.  There's a picture here {+}.

I've seen this dubbed as a Korean cucumber salad by American food writers, but it's not.  I swear, we Americans need to do something about our dearth of vocabulary.  How does one douse egg, macaroni, or tuna in mayonnaise and then use the same term to describe a bed of leafy spinach and vegetables?  If there ain't no leafy greens, it ain't no salad, ya' hear?

Oh-eeh moo-cheem translates into seasoned cucumbers: oh-eeh is cucumber and moo-cheem is seasoned.  As strange and awkward as these foreign sounds may be received by an American ear, I'm gonna stick with the Korean.  At least it's accurate.  Also, please don't ever let me catch you calling this a Korean cucumber salad.  Because it ain't.

Oh-eeh Moo-cheem or Oi Muchim (transliteration sure is tricky)
오이 무침

Ingredients
6 Persian cucumbers
2 teaspoons salt
2 tablespoons Korean hot pepper flakes (gochugaru)
2 tablespoons scallion, thinly sliced
1 clove garlic, minced
2 teaspoons brown rice (white is fine, too) vinegar
½ teaspoon sugar (sometimes I omit)
2 teaspoons sesame seeds
2 teaspoons sesame oil

Directions
Thinly slice cucumbers (1/8 to 1/4-inch thick). Toss gently with salt and set aside for 15 - 20 minutes. Gently drain excess liquid. Mix well with all remaining ingredients.

Serving
Can be served immediately.  Can also be chilled for as long as you want before serving (a few hours, overnight, whatever).

Carry On

I know this sounds unimportant and trite, but I am impossibly tired right now.  I feel hungover and if I'm honest, a bit loopy.  I was up until 3:30 working late on Tuesday night and then working late again until 5:30 last night.  Not enough sleep is a bitch, yo.  I don't remember the last time I sunk into my pillow as the sky woke up. This must be what it feels like caring for a newborn, only add to that your lady bits healing and your breasts feeding that newborn and well actually, no, I guess I'm wrong - that's probably much more trying than my current state of exhaustion.

This morning, thrilled that it was finally Friday but unable to scrounge up the willpower to act like an adult, I did something that I'm rather shameless about sharing here: I opted out of my daily shower in exchange for fifteen more minutes in bed.  That all the senior folks were out of the office attending a conference several time zones away was all the justification I needed.  When I finally stepped into the shower tonight, I turned the knob to the maximum hot water setting.  I drowsily leaned against the tiled wall.  After a few minutes, I turned my back to the water and sat down in the tub.  It felt odd sitting there facing the back wall, but I was off my feet which felt heavenly.  Before long, I closed my eyes and let the steaming stream pelt my back.  I massaged my neck, in the best way one can manage on her own.  I could have sat there all night.

And now that I've deliberately stayed awake for as long as I have, midnight is finally near, which seems like a reasonable time to turn in so that I might awake refreshed, bright and early for my day tomorrow.  Saturdays are my hardest days, but they are also days when I witness a lot of good people doing good things.  Especially this week, with all that's been going on, it seems right that this is how my week will end.  On the train home tomorrow evening, I know I'll be spent and maybe even unusually quiet from the tiredness, but I'll also have spent the day being reminded that among humans, as ruinous and harmful as some may be, there are also those, too, that carry on with the radiance of love and kindness and respect.

Entrance to the Met.

A Man I Knew

Madison Square Park.
Yesterday.  7 April.  2013

I was so hurt last week.  You probably were, too.  The news of Roger Ebert's death left me a heaping pile of aching in a way that felt almost unnatural.  This is so often the case with me, that I remain oblivious to how strongly I feel about someone, or an experience, or an opportunity, or an idea, until our time together suddenly expires and the closest I can get to that goodness again is by reawakening memories.

I can't articulate why I'm grieving the passing of a man whom I had only ever known on a screen, and most recently and more memorably, via the written word.  This was a man who produced work so satisfying and accessible, his essays so full of humanness (is that a word?), that he'd carry you into, out of, and back into your very own senses.  How could you not fall for such a man, for someone whose work exuded such depth and candor?  I loved how this writer shared his own love story with us, the fact that he married later in life, to a woman whom he admired for her strength and wits and intelligence and beauty.  I loved how this husband who had lost his voice to cancer blogged a love letter to his wife last summer {+}.  I loved how eloquently this professional film critic navigated the impossible range of human needs and emotions, with a clear conscience and sure footing, no matter the topic or political or cultural climate.

It had only been a couple days since his last blog post had scuttled across my screen, his announcement that the cancer had returned and that he would be taking a step back, taking A Leave of Presence {+}, as he so cleverly called it.  A Leave of Presence.  This phrase, it's just so wildly beautiful.  I had grown accustomed to his way with words, the uncomplicated tone and cadence of his prose.  I will miss it.  I will miss him.