This post should really be called “The Quirky Things You Did While You Were Alone In The Apartment For Two Weeks Of Spring Break.”
The list may or may not include:
– Trying to say the alphabet backwards while you’re waiting for the toaster to pop.
– Videotaping to see what you actually look like while head banging.
– Organizing your perfume bottles by scent.
– And then by size.
– And then putting them back how they were before.
– Learning the chords to awful(ly good) songs and pretending to be a pop star, aviators mandatory, towel-turban optional.
– Convince yourself (out loud, preferably), that’s it’s fine to eat chocolate-covered potato chips for breakfast.
– And lunch.
– Seeing just how big you can tease your hair and how much really obnoxious blue eyeshadow you can wear.*
Left to my own devices, I open 27 tabs in my internet browser, start 9 different projects, change songs approximately every 6.8 seconds, and walk around all morning looking like a slightly strung-out strumpet.
And so I made French pastries. It was good that I was alone the first time this happened. Because a talking-to-dough, big-haired, blue-eyesahdowed street stroller is not something that should be on public display. Ever.
I’m not going to lie. These stressed me out. I’m used to cookies and brownies and other predictable baked goods. These things puff up. They’re delicate. The remind you of tiny fancy bakery shops in the winding streets of cobble-stoned Paris (does Paris have cobble-stoned streets?). You may be inclined to lift your pinky finger while eating them. If you do, just go with it.
I made half of the batch using Belgian pearl sugar on top. I should have pressed it in more to the dough, because I watched through the window of the oven, horrified, as much of the sugar fell off during the “popping” process. There may have been cries and screams of agony.
Again, good thing I was home alone.
If you use the sugar, really go to town with it because it’s entirely possible you’ll have the same “problem” I did.
First world problem: The Belgian pearl sugar I put on my French pastries fell off during baking!
The other half of the batch I took David Lebovitz advice in his book The Sweet Life in Paris and added a handful of chocolate chips. Because. Just because. I still haven’t figured out if I was just supposed to press them on top, similar to the sugar, but I added them to the dough. This batch turned out so ugly, but there was chocolate. There are no pictures to prove that this actually happened.
If you choose to add chocolate chips, you may or may not eat the entire batch by yourself. Blue eyeliner suggested, but not required.
* A lot. That’s the answer to both of those questions.
Another Manic Monday post! In other news, so long, Spring break. School’s started back up.
Also pretty sure I just ate a cookie for breakfast. Totally acceptable back-to-school food. There was coffee in it.
Blame this curiosity on the fact that I work with 6-year-olds.
Rockin’ rockin’ band. “Mental Incarceration” has been playing on repeat. Check. It. Out.
Iced coffee season is starting! Dig in your couch for all that lost change.
In the spirit of new beginnings: How Mad Men isn’t (or is) handling the subject of race.
Anyone interested in throwing a Hunger Games party? Fighting to the death doesn’t HAVE to be included.
(Photo by Anders Ruff Custom Designs)
I spent Sunday on the couch. In my sweat pants.
I feel no shame.
I may have also tried dipping chocolate Teddy Grahams into peanut butter. It was just one of those things that needed to happen.
No big deal.
Marilyn looking far more put together on her couch. [Image via Retronaut]
Cheaper, tastier, and more fun than buying at a store. Yes, please and thank you.
Maybe I need to consider these tips more seriously.
This turns into a totally different song when it’s sung like this.
Apparently, we’re more similar to flies than previously thought.
Does it need to be St. Patrick’s Day to make homemade Bailey’s? Probably not.
What CAN’T you microwave?
March is a big birthday month, it seems.
Thanks, Facebook, for reminding me every time there’s a birthday. Because I definitely wouldn’t remember them all.
And then WHAT kind of a friend would I be? Sheesh. Especially because I can’t claim it’s due to my never-checking-Facebook problem. Because we all know that doesn’t exist.
One birthday that I have a hard time forgetting is my dad’s. I think that, of all the birthdays in March, that’s probably the best one to remember, right? I mean, the whole, “helping to give life to, raise, support, yadda yadda” stuff.
I think I remember because it’s the day before St. Patrick’s day, and everyone makes a big deal about of green beer.
I think I also remember because he begins to remind me a week before.
I do the same thing.
Apparently it’s in my genes.
For my dad’s birthday, I decided to make a dessert.
Not a cake. Because that’s not really his thang. So cupcakes were out, too.
Ugh. Not sure I was up for rolling a pie crust on a Friday morning.
But! A crisp!
If there is an apple crisp on the menu, you can almost be certain that it will be given a second, third, and possibly fourth glance. I may question the genetics behind birthday countdowns, but I can say with absolutely certainty that my father passed the love for apple crisp on to me.
It worked out perfectly, too. Because, after all the warm, 75 degrees and sunny weather, the forecast for today was grey and rainy.
I totes planned it that way. Nothing makes gross weather ok quite like cinnamon does.
So, for the man who repeatedly taught me how to check the oil in my car, spends countless phone calls helping me with my taxes, made sure I was exposed to all the right music, could name the band, the instruments, AND sing the harmonies*, I give you a birthday crisp.
*Obviously, there was more stuff, too.
I have a confession:
I’m on Spring break.
And it’s glorious. I’m not even gonna pretend. I’m so flipping excited to be able to take these next two weeks and do the things I’ve neglected since my last break in December.
Like get my hair cut. And hang up pictures in my room. And take my coat to the dry cleaners. And order a desk. And learn how to apply liquid eyeliner. And go on a hunt to find avocado milkshakes. And see the inside of the gym that I pay far too much money for each month.
Yes. These are the things I get excited about. These are the big things in life.
Part of me feels guilty. Like, who am I that I get to do nothing all day except find excuses to go outside and drink coffee and paint my nails an outrageous shade of turquoise?
There are others!
Who may or may not be on Spring break right now!
Doing this, too!
It’s amazing what you see in the city while you’re not at work in the middle of the day. Who are these people, what do they do, and how can I be like them? We’re clearly dealing with some jealousy issues right now. Two days into break and already I’m mourning my return to work.
One thing that my break will not contain?
The beach. Or palm trees. Or tropical drinks. Or bikinis.
Oh, goodness. For so many reasons, this break will not contain those things.
But! It will contain things that are sunny and bright and make me think of warmth and happiness.
Like this ginger grapefruit curd. Oh yes.
But can we be honest for a second? I’m all about honesty these days.
That word curd is awful. Whoever decided that this luscious treat should be called curd should reconsider. Because there are very few good associations with the word curd. Ick.
Another honesty moment? I kind of wish this curd was tangier. I wanted the almost-make-your-mouth-pucker taste of the grapefruit to come through. Something to experiment with, I guess.
Don’t get me wrong. This curd is still awesomely awesome spicy silky deliciousness.
It’s good on muffins, scones, cake, yogurt, a spoon, your finger. Anywhere, really.
I’m starting a new thing! How exciting!
It’s called Manic Monday. And yes, I have the song in my head right now. I hope you do, too. You’re welcome.
It’s going to be a list of 10 or so links from things I’ve found around the interweb. They’ll be posted on Monday. Hence, the name.
… don’t respond to that.
I find lots of things and (usually) I want to share them with others. Because I’m a sharer like that. And I have a hard time keeping things to myself.
100 best first lines from novels makes me want to read more. A lot more.
The 8 new cupcake shops in New York better provide something new and different. Because I’m picky.
I need to give this card to somebody. Soon. Seriously.
Cute idea, but I don’t think I’d be able to stop at one. Is that a problem?