Julia's Kitchen Nightmare - My Boeuf Bourguignon

It's a beautiful law of randomness that occasionally the same topic pops up from several directions at once, totally unrelated. The latest of these: boeuf bourguignon.

Neal and I both made this simple yet marvelously rich dish on Sunday. We didn't plan to do so, it just happened to come up for both of us at the same time. Neither of us had ever made boeuf bourguignon, or even eaten it before, and it turns out we made it very differently. He created a near stew, including lots of broth to be sopped up by a crust of bread. I produced moist and tender lumps of beef with a minimum of thick and rich sauce.

Even though neither of us had any idea what we were doing, we both made delicious meals, and both thought ours was the right way to do it. With the end product so different, we can't both be correct. But maybe we're not both wrong either. Good food can never be wrong.

I don't really use traditional recipes, kitchen renegade that I am, so I started with 5 or 6 basic steps shared by Tony on No Reservations and went my own way from there. In the interest of sharing (and remembering my method for next time), here's how I did it:

1. Toss beef cubes in salt and pepper
2. Heat some olive oil in a heavy sauce pan over medium heat, and add the beef cubes
3. When beef is about 3/4 of the way browned, drain off all the fat and oil from the pan
4. Return the pan to the heat and finish browning
5. Remove meat from the pan, don't drain the fat (unless it's excessive, there should only be a little)
6. Throw in a couple Tablespoons of butter and a diced white onion, cook on medium until onion is translucent
7. Add a couple of chopped carrots, lightly salt and pepper, and stir a few times
8. Pour in just enough burgundy* to surround the veggies
9. Stir everything together and gently loosen the  browned bits from the bottom of the pan
10. Add beef back to the pan, along with enough burgundy to cover it
11. Bring just to a simmer, reduce to low heat, and walk away
12. Every 20 minutes or so, pay the pan a visit. Stir, and skim off any major oil slicks. Do this while allowing it to cook for the next 90 minutes
13. This is the minimum cooking time, but longer further breaks down the meat and creates deeper flavors.  At the top of each additional hour of cooking time, add in another cup of wine or so, then go back to checking at intervals. 

*Yes, you MUST use burgundy, no substituting random red wine. It's boeuf bourguignon, not boeuf cheap merlot!

The Emotional Morgue

I was strolling down Broadway today, when I saw a man I'm reasonably certain was my ex-husband. We looked at each other and said nothing. I kept walking.

It didn't really affect me, except to remind me of the strangeness of the situation. While things got ugly shortly after the divorce, there's no longer any particular animosity between us; there's just a complete lack of interest. It's odd that people who were once in love and shared their lives for 7 years, now don't even recognize each other on the street. Even weirder is that I have a long list of people like that -- former best friends, exes, random folks I used to hang out with -- who I don't especially dislike, but who I have no desire to see or hear from. Evidently you'll know my emotional life by the trail of dead.

I don't tend to leave human interactions with a lot of drama or fanfare. I don't even leave with closure. I just leave. And stop caring. I'm more likely to walk away and never talk to you again than I am to keep in touch. Based on the reactions of those left behind, I don't think that's normal.

People seem to take that personally, especially since I never have any particular reason for walking away. I just periodically move on. I swear, it's me. I'm the one who's dead inside; you're just dead... to me.

The upside is that I really appreciate the people who I keep in my life, and genuinely want them around. There's no pretending or freinemies, kept in the name of politeness or tradition. Maybe that's weird too, but too bad. It's part of why I'm awesome.

And dead inside. Shrug.

Honolulu - Closure

As I sit at my hotel room desk, drinking coffee on my last morning in Honolulu, I can't help but reflect on how neutral I am about this place.

There's really nothing to dislike about it, once you get past the fact that it's one giant tourist trap. It's beautiful, tropical, and the locals working here are beyond hospitable. It would be a perfect vacation spot for a lot of people, and it clearly is for plenty; I'm just not one of them.

To be honest, the heat has gotten to me. The wind, ranging from a gentle breeze to gusts hard enough to blow my skirt well over my head, has been the only relief from the melt-your-makeup-off-your-face temperatures and humidity. Yesterday I saw a couple of gals effortlessly bouncing past me in jeans and sweaters, as I trudged down the blistering sidewalk, gulping bottled water and wiping the sweat from my face. I wanted to grab them by the shoulders and shout, "Where do you come from? The Sun? It's 87 degrees out here and I'm dying in shorts!"

The fact is, it's not you, Hawaii, it's me. I've never been one for water sports, and I won't go into the ocean above my ankles. "Laying out" is nothing but a ticket to the hospital with a 3rd degree sunburn. My idea of a beach vacation is sitting back in the shade of an umbrella or a palm tree, looking out over the ocean, and letting the world drift away. That simply isn't possible here. The beaches are too small, too crowded, too geared toward swimming and surfing. The few shaded areas are in the midst of hustle and bustle, or alongside the busy street, where you can barely see the water. It's just not what I'm looking for. I could experience heat and overpriced cities in the desert, much closer to home. I came here for the ocean, which I've barely seen.

If I ever decide to get back together with this far off state, I think I'll try a different island, maybe someplace off the beaten path. Or maybe I'll just spend the extra cash for a beach front hotel where I can use their patio to achieve my own ends.

All that being said, I've had a nice relaxing time. I spent enough time sitting out overlooking the canal with a book to get the calm I desired. I escaped the rain and drudgery of Seattle for my last weekend of summer. It was somewhere new, the beer was good. It was worth a 6 hour flight.

The World's Most Famous Beach

I finally went to see Waikiki Beach today. Menh.

The water is gorgeous and refreshing to wade in, but the beach itself is small, covered in sunbathers and hot, brown, grainy sand. There's no shade or seating, save for what's reserved for private use by hotels or purchased from sidewalk vendors on the way down. I didn't stay long.

As a whole, Waikiki is kind of awful. This neighborhood of Honolulu is the most visited by travelers to Hawaii, but it's not really my style. Its lovely pedestrian-friendly streets are lined with shop after shop trying to sell you overpriced crap, and always crawling with tourists.

The best part of my day so far was actually spent on the balcon... erm, lanai of my hotel room, with the view shown to the right. After the sun had moved to the other side of the building, I spent an hour or so sitting with my feet up on the railing, reading a book, a warm tropical wind nipping at the corners of every page.

If I can bear the heat, next I'll take a walk a bit farther out, visiting the parks and the nearby military reservation. As in all hot and humid climates, my skin is angrily pushing buckets of sweat through sunscreen, and I've taken to wearing a bikini under my clothes, instead of conventional undergarments. It's not the most comfortable of arrangements, to say the least, but it's a necessity.

I may be both too fast-paced and too pale-skinned Scandinavian for this Island, but it does have its charms. I just need to stop being distracted by all of the flaws.

An Unfamiliar Island

Apparently I need to relax. I move way too fast for Hawaii.

I've been here for approximately 4 hours, and haven't made it to the beach yet. After my delayed flight and 90 minutes of airport and shuttle madness to get here, all I wanted was a sandwich and a beer, but then I noticed that football was on. Watching the WSU Cougars get trounced by Oklahoma State was so riveting that I took brief nap.

Even after that and a couple of local micros, I still get the sense that I'm in way too much of a hurry.

Throughout my flight, I'd occasionally lift the window shade and take a glance at my surroundings; there was nothing to be seen but clouds and water, every time. I am unquestionably in a far away land. However, looking out at the scenery as the plane landed, the rolling hills and tracts of suburban housing were strangely familiar. It was like flying into...well, Idaho. When I got out of the airport, though, it was very clear how different this place really is. Aside from the palm trees and pit-stain inducing humidity, no one seems to have the ability to move above a speed of 0. They all want to stroll, and chat, and take their time. Even the wi-fi is painfully lackadaisical. I hate it. This one goes to 11!

That being said, I'm going to retire to my balcony (evidently they call it a lanai here, despite it being a standard hotel room balcony with a couple of plastic chairs), and ingest a couple of chill pills. Maybe it will help. Let's just hope I don't overdose and get so slow that I go back in time and erase my own existence...