Simple is Better

I’ve been tired of coming up with new dinner recipes that are mostly vegetarian and easy to make.  And then one night last week I made bruschetta.  It was one of the easiest meals I’ve made in a while.  I ate it with goat cheese, and it was so comforting that I made it again last night, this time broiling the tomatoes on the bread with a little mozzarella sprinkled on top.  Those crazy Italians knew what they were doing, eh?  Simple is better.

Bruschetta

• 1 loaf italian or french bread
• 1 pint cherry tomatoes or several roma tomatoes
• 2 cloves garlic, minced
• 2 Tbsp. olive oil + more for brushing on the bread
• 1 tsp. balsamic vinegar
• 1 tsp. basil
• salt and pepper to taste
• mozzarella or goat cheese (optional)

Preheat oven to 375°F.  Cut loaf of bread into diagonal slices.  Brush on olive oil, and put bread into oven for 10 minutes.  While bread is toasting, dice tomatoes.  Mix with garlic, 2 Tbsp. olive oil, balsamic vinegar, basil, and salt and papper.

When bread is toasted, you can serve it right away by layering on the goat cheese and the tomato mixture, OR you can spoon the tomatoes on the bread, sprinkle with mozzarella, and broil for two minutes.  Or you can eat it plain, with just bread and tomatoes.  It’s all good.

Green Tea = Migraine

Hello.  I thought that since green tea is the miracle to end all miracles, I would drink some and wait to me miraclized.  And instead, I have a migraine.  So just in case you were curious, green tea is not amazing when it comes to migraines.  In fact, not only is it not amazing, it causes migraines* that don’t respond to Excedrin, which means I have had a migraine for the past eight hours.  Suck.

*Please note that I have not performed experiments on how green tea affects migraines.  I realize that green tea and migraines affect everyone differently, and what doesn’t work for me may work for someone else.  Please take this with a grain of salt.

Crane in Miniature

Christmas Apostrophes

I used to work at a Christmas shop in New Hampshire after I graduated from college. Some days, I personalized ornaments. It was a growing market, you see. People wanted their names on everything, and my store obliged. I happened to have good penmanship, and so I sat behind the counter and personalied ornaments for eight hours a day.

It was one of those days where I had a line of people waiting for personalized ornaments.  In order to facilitate more shopping, I took each customer’s ornament and wrote down the names they wanted on a little slip of paper, then told them I’d bring their ornaments up to the counter when Iwas done.

This one woman approached me with  an ornament of a family of snowmen.  There was enough space to write each real life family memer’s name on each snowman’s hat, and then a banner across the bottom for a little message or the date or the person’s last name — or anything else she could think of.

“I want The Browns across the bottom,” she said.

I wrote The Browns on my scrap paper.  “Like this?” I asked, and showed her, just to double check.  It was an easy name, but I’d rather get it right the first time than have to redo it and waste an ornament because of a misunderstanding.

“No, there’s an apostrophe in it,” she said, “right here.”  She motioned for my pen and, when I handed it to her, added an apostrophe between the N and the S of her last name.  The Brown’s.

“I’m sorry ma’am, but no there’s not,” I said, “not unless you’re saying the Brown’s House or the Brown’s car.  Only if it’s possessive.”    I know the customer is always supposed to be right, but as an English major, I could not allow her to walk out of the store with an ornament personalized in my handwriting with a grammatical error on it.  I would get someone else to write the ornament before I’d add an apostrophe.

“Are you sure?” She looked confused and angry at me, like maybe I was trying to trick her because I was a stupid teenager and that’s what stupid teenagers do.

“Yes,” I said.  “Sorry, English major and all that.”  I gave an apologetic smile, as though I could help myself when it came to correcting apostrophes.

She looked at me again, this time evaluating if I really looked older than 18.  It was a common mistake people made.  I happen to look young, and even younger when standing next to The Biddies who worked in the store with me.  “Well, if you’re sure…” she said slowly, finally.  I guess I passed the appraisal.

“I am,” I said, and smiled again.  She walked away.

When I finished her ornament, I brought it up to the counter.  Later that day, as I headed for the back room to eat lunch, one of The Biddies, this one my particular friend, stopped me and said, “So, it’s not right to put an apostrophe at the end of a last name?  This customer came up and asked about it because of an ornament you personalized.”  My favorite Biddy was smiling.

“No, it’s not right,” I said.  And we laughed together, because she knew I was right and it must have been awkward for me to tell the customer that, and I knew that she could ask me anything because she still wasn’t entirely sure about the apostrophe rule herself.  But she trusted me.

I hope poor Ms. Brown didn’t go home and add an apostrophe onto the ornament herself.  I wonder if she looks at it an thinks of me.  I hope not.

The Pooper

I am all out of Christmas spirit.  In July, I had plenty.  I don’t know where it all went.  But here’s a holiday tradition that keeps me happy:

(source) What is that, you ask?  Why, it’s the Caganer, also known as The Pooper.  It’s a little figurine that gets put into the nativity scene.  This pooping man is native to Catalonia, and their nativities include an entire townsworth of people — or at least enough space to have this man defecating in a corner somewhere.  No one knows where the tradition comes from, but he’s always there.  I don’t recall reading about this in the bible….

Oh, and then there’s the Caga Tío, or the shit log.  Instead of Santa, the children of Catalonia make their Caga Tío, and then in the days preceeding Christmas, they feed it lots of fruits and vegetables and fibrous stuff (easier on the pooping, you see).  On Christmas, they all gather around the Tío, which is snuggled under a blanket to keep warm, and start beating it with sticks and singing songs that tell it to shit shit shit.  And then it does!  The kids lift up the blanket, and the  Tío has magically converted their vegetable trimmings into presents.  I wish I had known about this before I started making vegetable stock out of my veggie ends.

(source)

Many thanks to Shakesville for telling me about these great traditions!