In honor of Halloween (and in lieu of a recipe), I present for your consideration, friends & enemies, something a little more...poetic.
Based on true, real-life events.
"The Opossum"
Once upon a midnight dreary, I returned to my car, weak and weary,
After teaching many a bored and drowsy first year boor—
The wind whipped ‘round the fallen leaves, dry and crinkling, from the eaves,
And though I’d parked in the Black Lot before, I felt a shudder to the core,
“You’re over-tired and under-paid,” I said, unlocking the car door,
“Only this and nothing more.”
Ah, distinctly I recall, it was October in Athens, in the fall,
The kind you can’t help but adore.
Yet eagerly I yearned for Break, the six-week kind we Bobcats take,
when I could leave student essays behind, for reading of a simpler kind;
the kind of romantic, character-driven lore, the stories your brain cries out for—
mindless fluff, and nothing more.
As I left my job behind, a somber mood filled my mind, creeping, grasping
eerie fingers, lingered ‘til I could not ignore
the rapid beating of my heart. So I sat at a red light repeating,
“You’re over-tired and under-paid,” pushing the gas to the floor,
“Only this and nothing more.”
Pulling into my apartment’s lot, I gathered all the courage I got
“Silly,” said I, “you’re far too old for megrims anymore;
it’s just this creepy season that has relieved you of your reason
and has your imagination teasin’” – here I opened the car door –
“Only this and nothing more.”
Toward my apartment I started walking, though my fears continued stalking
each step I took along the path to my front door.
Suddenly I heard a rustling, as if something quietly bustling
stealthily hustling, quickly muscling through the bushes
under the window of the apartment next door—
halting my approach to my apartment door.
The moon from behind diaphanous clouds, silvery streaks like burial shrouds,
shone down upon the path to my apartment door
and revealed to me the noise’s source, that which stopped me on my course,
my fear returning in full force— an opossum crouched at my apartment door!
Crouched upon the brick-lined stoop in front of my apartment door,
Crouched, and staring, and nothing more.
This ghostly animal beguiling my fearful fancy into smiling
by the spooked and panicked countenance it wore,
“Though your fur be pale and matted, thou,” I said, “art sure not rabid;
creeping, twitching marsupial wandering on paws of four—
get thee off the stoop in front of my apartment door!”
He just crouched and stared, and nothing more.
Then. me thought, the shadows grew denser, the muscles in my shoulders tenser,
and my hopes for safe passage plummeted to the floor.
“Wretch” I cried, “what Devil lent thee – by what demons hath he sent thee
courage – courage to remain there sitting, staring at the stoop of my front door?
Let me pass without your caring and enter through my door.
He just crouched and stared, and nothing more.
“Opossum!” said I, “thing of evil! – Opossum still, if rat or devil! –
Get thee back into the bushes and away from my front door!
Leave no droppings as a token of the peace of mine you’ve broken
and the curses I have spoken – quit the stoop before my door!
Take thy creepy tail from out my heart and take they form away from my door!”
He just crouched and stared, and nothing more.
And the opossum, never quitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
on the brick-lined stoop just before my apartment door;
and his red eyes have the seeming of a demon who is dreaming
and the porch light o’er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor
and my soul from out that shadow that is crouching on the floor
shall be lifted – nevermore!
Friday, October 30, 2009
Saturday, October 24, 2009
Absence Makes The Heart Grow Fonder
If that is, in fact, true, loyal readers and detractors, then you all must be pretty damned fond of me at this point.
And though I continue to hold all of you in the highest regard, I'll be honest; I haven't missed any of you one bit. Sorry. It's just been too busy 'round here for me to do much pining.
What, you may be wondering, could possibly be so busying that I would abandon my beloved blog?
Two words: Par. Tay.
Yes, indeed, it was that time of year again - Roomie's Birthday Weekend. It's kind of like a holiday unto itself. This is the fifth year that I have hosted the soiree and it's always rocking. If there is one thing I love more than vegan cooking & baking, it's hosting a party. It's in my blood. My mother is a consummate hostess. I have very fond memories of the Christmas parties she would throw for the hospital where my dad worked. The house all lit up, everyone in cocktail dresses, waiters in black tie with trays of drinks and hors d'oeuvres. My sister and I in stiff taffeta skirts or velvet dresses sipping sparkling grape juice and staying up way too late; raiding the cookie & candy trays, sliding around on the hard-wood dining room floor in stocking feet (after finally kicking off the patent-leather dress shoes). I love to throw a party.
Since Roomie's bday is in October, his party is usually a Halloween-themed masquerade. Crepe paper, balloons, paper lanterns, cake, ice cream, costumes, fog machines & strobe lights, souvenir buttons and t-shirts...the works. This year, though, he requested something that wasn't ghosts and ghoulies. He was turning the big two-five so I decided on a silver-bedecked gala evening. Twinkle lights, sliver and gray streamers and balloons, stars hanging from the ceiling, three white-draped tables of cakes and cookies, and, of course, an open bar. There were 40 people in our little apartment at one point, and I was dancing on top of a cooler. If you're gonna throw a party, throw it right.
Obviously a party of this magnitude takes a lot of planning and preparation. I start buying supplies in August, sending out the invites in mid-September. My mom bakes for two weeks straight. And the week of the party is a whirlwind of grocery- and liquor-store runs, furniture moving, and bruised thumbs from pushing pins into the walls and ceilings. I'm getting the hankering to throw another party just writing about the last one.
However, I'm always a little bummed the week after a party. Kinda like the day after Christmas, you know? The crash after the high. That depression combined with the fact that I'm still teaching from 6-9, four nights a week, doesn't leave much time for cooking, let alone blogging.
But I'm feeling better now (thanks in part to a manic show of poor judgement the other night at Casa and The Raccoon's visit/stop-over on her way to moving to NC with her beau), and better = blogging.
Re-Fatted ChocoPecan Banana Bread
3 very ripe bananas
1/4 cup applesauce
1/4 cup canola oil
1/2 cup sugar
2 tablespoons molasses
2 cups white flour
3/4 teaspoon baking soda
1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1/4 teaspoon ground nutmeg
1/2 teaspoon salt
2 handfulls vegan chocolate chips
2 big handfulls pecans
In a large bowl, mash up the bananas and all the wet stuff until smooth.
In another bowl, sift together everything else (but the chips & nuts).
Add the dry to the wet, until just combined.
Add the chocolate chips, stirring to distribute evenly.
Ditto for the pecans (I crumbled them up in my hands because I didn't feel like pulling out/having to wash my nut grinder. This gave me a pretty chunky bread so feel free to grind them first, if you like a smoother nut consistancy.)
Bake in an oven, pre-heated to 350 degrees, for 45-50 minutes.
***
And though I continue to hold all of you in the highest regard, I'll be honest; I haven't missed any of you one bit. Sorry. It's just been too busy 'round here for me to do much pining.
What, you may be wondering, could possibly be so busying that I would abandon my beloved blog?
Two words: Par. Tay.
Yes, indeed, it was that time of year again - Roomie's Birthday Weekend. It's kind of like a holiday unto itself. This is the fifth year that I have hosted the soiree and it's always rocking. If there is one thing I love more than vegan cooking & baking, it's hosting a party. It's in my blood. My mother is a consummate hostess. I have very fond memories of the Christmas parties she would throw for the hospital where my dad worked. The house all lit up, everyone in cocktail dresses, waiters in black tie with trays of drinks and hors d'oeuvres. My sister and I in stiff taffeta skirts or velvet dresses sipping sparkling grape juice and staying up way too late; raiding the cookie & candy trays, sliding around on the hard-wood dining room floor in stocking feet (after finally kicking off the patent-leather dress shoes). I love to throw a party.
Since Roomie's bday is in October, his party is usually a Halloween-themed masquerade. Crepe paper, balloons, paper lanterns, cake, ice cream, costumes, fog machines & strobe lights, souvenir buttons and t-shirts...the works. This year, though, he requested something that wasn't ghosts and ghoulies. He was turning the big two-five so I decided on a silver-bedecked gala evening. Twinkle lights, sliver and gray streamers and balloons, stars hanging from the ceiling, three white-draped tables of cakes and cookies, and, of course, an open bar. There were 40 people in our little apartment at one point, and I was dancing on top of a cooler. If you're gonna throw a party, throw it right.
Obviously a party of this magnitude takes a lot of planning and preparation. I start buying supplies in August, sending out the invites in mid-September. My mom bakes for two weeks straight. And the week of the party is a whirlwind of grocery- and liquor-store runs, furniture moving, and bruised thumbs from pushing pins into the walls and ceilings. I'm getting the hankering to throw another party just writing about the last one.
However, I'm always a little bummed the week after a party. Kinda like the day after Christmas, you know? The crash after the high. That depression combined with the fact that I'm still teaching from 6-9, four nights a week, doesn't leave much time for cooking, let alone blogging.
But I'm feeling better now (thanks in part to a manic show of poor judgement the other night at Casa and The Raccoon's visit/stop-over on her way to moving to NC with her beau), and better = blogging.
Re-Fatted ChocoPecan Banana Bread
3 very ripe bananas
1/4 cup applesauce
1/4 cup canola oil
1/2 cup sugar
2 tablespoons molasses
2 cups white flour
3/4 teaspoon baking soda
1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1/4 teaspoon ground nutmeg
1/2 teaspoon salt
2 handfulls vegan chocolate chips
2 big handfulls pecans
In a large bowl, mash up the bananas and all the wet stuff until smooth.
In another bowl, sift together everything else (but the chips & nuts).
Add the dry to the wet, until just combined.
Add the chocolate chips, stirring to distribute evenly.
Ditto for the pecans (I crumbled them up in my hands because I didn't feel like pulling out/having to wash my nut grinder. This gave me a pretty chunky bread so feel free to grind them first, if you like a smoother nut consistancy.)
Bake in an oven, pre-heated to 350 degrees, for 45-50 minutes.
***
No matter the size of the party, from intimate dinner to beer-pong bash, everyone ends up congregating in the kitchen. This is perhaps because the bar is usually in the kitchen. Maybe it just feels more homey. Whatever the reason, the centrality of the kitchen to a successful party requires a pre-party clearing of the counters. Everything not nailed down gets tossed in the laundry room or in the trash.
Now, try as I might, and despite having very little time to bake, I just couldn't bring myself to throw away the black bananas in the fruit basket. These were so rotten, I couldn't even peel them; I just had to snip the top off and squeeze the banana part out like a gel. So in between streamer-hanging (and freaking out that I had to teach in 2 hours sans the lesson plan that I had decided was less important than party-planning), I baked some bread. It was so dubbed "re-fatted" because I took a low-fat banana bread recipe and added the fat back in via vegan chocolate chips and pecans.
This was a pretty delicious "morning after" treat with a hot cup of yerba mate to chase the tequila shots away. Keep this bread in the fridge and it will last for at least two weeks, allowing you to have "fresh" bakery on hand to offer The Raccoon, when she comes to stay the week. Don't make a face when she dumps a pudding cup on top. Anything goes at a party.
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