Ravioli a Marinara

I feel guilty posting this immediately after a post about dieting. Nevertheless, I've been overdo for some experimental cooking. In retrospect, this may not seem like a particularly original or challenging recipe, but the experience was definitely worth the effort.

Before I get to the food, let me first outline the circumstances of this little adventure. I was dogsitting at my cousins' house for one night while they attended a friend's wedding. I brought Marianne along for company. And since we weren't able to leave the dogs alone in the house for very long (the whole reason we were there to begin with), we decided to stay in and cook something from scratch.

And this brings me to lesson one: for the love of God, always cook in your own kitchen. Even if you don't cook, chances are you know your way around your kitchen better than you think. At the very least, you'll be aware of the level of aggravation your kitchen requires. For example, I know that measuring spoons in my kitchen are scarce. But I know which drawers I have to scrounge around in the bottom of in order to find one. I'm prepared for that annoyance. However, in someone else's kitchen, you don't know if they have spoons, where they'd be, if they're all together, if they're clean, etc.

For some reason, cooking at my cousins' seemed like a good idea. That is until I needed things to cook with. Like a bowl. Or a spatula. Or a freaking egg. Now the pots, they're no problem. My cousin has the pots hanging from the ceiling. Which I think is a really cool idea, except all three of them are short enough to pass under them. Not me. Every time I walked into the kitchen it was like my head was a bowling ball headed for a strike. I felt like the Dude, only I didn't get to look up any skirts or meet Saddam Hussein along the way. Marianne and I spent the better part of an hour getting things together. And we still had to go to the grocery store to get things like flour and basil. Eventually we just said 'screw it' to any sort of measuring tool and eyeballed it.

And so we started cooking. Step one: open the cans. Now, if you've ever witnessed me attempt anything, you know that for every inch I take forward, I stumble back a foot. Aside from getting our ingredients and bowls together, our first challenge was operating an automatic can opener. ...Ugh, that fucking can opener. The magical one-step can opener that, as the YouTube videos proved, only requires you to plug it in and aim it at a can, and it picks it up, hooks in the blade, and quickly and thoroughly removes the lid. Well, that's not quite how it worked for us. I hold up the can, the magnet grabs it. So far, so good. Now push the blade in. It won't go in; it keeps retracting into the thing. Okay got it. Not push down on the lever. Okay...nothing happens. Do I hold it down? No, they say just press it once and it will go until it's done. Well, I'm pressing it and it's not working. Well let go of it! I let go and it turns off, look! But it works fine without the can on there. Except it doesn't, cuz its job is to open cans. And when the can's not on there, it's not being opened, is it? Okay, relax...is it plugged in? Of course it's plugged in! Why wouldn't it be plugged in? You heard the motor turn a second ago! Whaddya think I unplugged it? Well try pushing the lever again. Uh, I am trying. It turns on for a second and then stops. Ah shit, the can just fell off the magnet and splattered sauce everywhere. Which is impressive since the only hole we've created (by accident) is tiny! The video says that the blade is removable. Why would I want to remove the blade?! I want it to fucking cut something!! I HATE YOU, CAN OPENER! YOU EVIL FUCKING BASTARD! THAT'S IT! WE'RE GOING TO TARGET!

Except, cheap ass that I am, I buy the cheapest can opener i can find, for $1.50. We drive all the way back to the house only to find that this opener is not aligned correctly. Once you try to crank the handle, the gear just rotates against the side of the can, and nothing happens. Am I in the fucking Twilight Zone? Are these cans made of adamantium?! THAT'S IT! FUCK THIS! JUST GIVE ME A FUCKING KNIFE, OR FORK, OR WHATEVER!! FUCKING CAN LID! I'LL GET YOU OPEN! YOU THINK YOU CAN KEEP ME AWAY FROM THAT PRECIOUS PRECIOUS RED GOODNESS IN YOUR BELLY?! DIE! DIE!

(Now, if you've been paying attention, my last blog post was about a self-designed diet I've been trying to stick to. And at this point, I had eaten nothing all day and was two hours late for dinner. My teeth were grinding and my eye was starting to twitch. And I all I wanted was, if not to taste, than at least to just look at, some tomato sauce.)

This is the 21st century. I'm 22 years old. I'm a graduate student. And here I am jabbing at this can more desperately and deranged than a caveman on LSD trying to open a coconut with a banana.

You smug son of a bitch.

Anyways, once there were enough dents in what was left of the can to pour out the glorious contents, we set up the sauce and left it on the stove to simmer. This was my second time cooking a basic red sauce. And what I've learned is that the key is time. Just leave that baby simmering for as long as possible, and no less than an hour.

Next, onto the ravioli and the filling. My partner had the honors of making the dough, which was just flour, eggs, olive oil, and some water. Once that was good and mashed, it had to sit for half an hour. Meanwhile, I went to work on the filling, which was really just ricotta, mozzarella, and Parmesan cheese, with some basil, parsley, and oregano.

While that all sat for a bit, we had a good opportunity to clean up the disaster zone that was the kitchen counter and cabinets surrounding my crazed can infiltration.

Once it was time to make the pasta, we found ourselves without a rolling pin. First we used our hands. Then we tried squishing the dough with the bottom of a pot. Finally, I had the brilliant idea of using a wine bottle, which worked for a while. Then I had the even brighter idea of just texting my cousin and asking if she had one. Sure enough (she claimed) there was one in the cabinet next to the sink. Deep, deep in the back of the cabinet, behind a heap of pots and pans, I spotted, amidst the tarnished chrome and oil-stained metal, a hint of...was it maple? Like a miniature light from heaven had descended upon it, the handle of the rolling pin seemed to glimmer brighter and warmer than everything else. Victory at last.

Still pretty effective

Hm. I really only wanted 3 or 4.

That made the entire process much easier. Roll that bad boy out, plop on some filling, fold it over and pinch the ends closed. Needless to say, at this point, nearly three hours into the process, I was ravenous. And that's when i remembered the great thing about ravioli. They only need to boil for two minutes or so before they're ready for eating. And of course by now the sauce has had plenty of time to cook. Let's get this shit on the table!

Final verdict: absolutely mind-blowing. Okay, maybe that's a bit of an exaggeration, because I was starving. And just looking at it now is making my stomach rumble. But seriously, I really have no complaints. The sauce was tasty; my grandma might even have been proud. The ravioli were a bit chewy, but that comes with fresh-made pasta. In the future, I may try to roll the dough even thinner, or at least trim the edges a little closer so that it's not quite as thick and can absorb water faster. I also wasn't sure if the shredded mozzarella would melt into the rest of the cheese in the filling, but it did, and tasted fantastic. I know the meal seems simple, but it really is fun and relaxing to make, and by taking at least an hour, it gives your appetite a chance to grow.

We're all unhappy. Do we have to be fat too?

That's it. I'm going on a diet.

More accurately, I'm already a week or so into a diet. Nothing special. My main goal is just to keep a closer eye on what I eat. You see, I am one of those people who eats casually when there is nothing else to do. I blame this on a big stomach. I don't know if that has anything to do with it at all, but it just seems like I'm never full until I'm stuffed. I'm never really hungry either; I just get the urge to eat. And eat. And snack. And eat.

Well, no more. From now on -- or, at least, for as long as I can and before I lose interest -- I'm going to pay attention to what and how much I consume. I'll stick to the serving size on the package. I'll drink lots of water. And most importantly, I'm going to slow down when I eat. No more stuffing my face and then getting a bellyache.

And switch all of those verbs to the present tense, because, like I said, I've already been doing this for a week or so now. That was test number one; to see if I could last that long, before bothering to write about it.

I survived so far. But don't get me wrong, for the past week, I have been pretty consistently hungry. So much so that I'm beginning to find fast food commercials somewhat arousing. Food is popping into my fantasies. No more sex...just...a slab of bacon. Fuck that, this is MY fantasy, make it a mountain of bacon. With meatball boulders cascading down the slopes, over the prosciutto-thatched roof of my sausage-link cabin. Sauce is raining from the sky. Watch out for the orecchiette hail; they can get up to six inches in diameter. And what's this? It's a sauce flood! Gotta hop onto my macaroni raft and paddle to safety. Better yet, I'll hop onto a lasagna ark with two of every cold cut.

Okay okay! Snap out of it, sicko! Now I'm all hot and bothered. And starving.

Anyways...

Let me just collect my thoughts...

I try to skip breakfast. If I can't, I'll go for one egg and a piece of whole wheat toast. But if I have that, then I skip lunch. I make big delicious salads now, with cucumbers, apple slices, grapes, tomatoes, whatever I can find. As long as it's not chocolate chip cookies. And I try to go by the rule that a meal isn't a good meal unless I am still a little hungry [read: not engorged] afterwards.

My next mission is to start exercising. I'm too cheap for a gym membership, but I have a lunatic of a dog, with infinite energy, who would love to run with me. I already tried it, and unfortunately for him, my most consistent jog is barely a fast walk for him. But we'll start there. ...Okay, let's be honest. We'll START with a walk around the block. Then maybe a longer walk. Then maybe a bike ride or two. And eventually I'll get to running.

I don't like to set goals for myself. Mainly because I don't know how to create a realistic goal. And then when I don't reach it, I get discouraged. So my goal for now is...improvement. If we reach that goal, then I'll come up with a more specific one, along the lines of: MORE improvement. Worst case scenario, I get into no better shape, don't lose any weight, but feel slightly better about myself. Couldn't hurt, right? Then again, if I go through all this trouble and don't lose any weight, I'll probably just feel worse. So maybe there's an even worse case scenario. But let's not talk about that.

I'll try to check back in another week or two to talk about that goal I mentioned earlier.

They do good things. They read...

I read! Whole books sometimes. It's kind of a new thing for me. Reading always seemed like a chore for high school English. 'Read two books by the end of each quarter and take some pointless test on them for a grade.' It wasn't until after college that I got bored and started reading. And I haven't stopped. I obsessively have to get through a story as quickly as possible. And if it's a series, well...look out. I read Foundation by Isaac Asimov. Two weeks and fourteen books later I had read the entire Foundation series. Oops.

And on that note, let me get to the point of this post: Stephen King. My mom is a huge fan of his, and so I have been familiar with his work since long before it was appropriate for me to read it. I'm not going to review his work or anything like that. Not in this post anyway. It's just I realized how impressive it is that he is still relevant. This guy has been writing for what, forty years now. He has no problem producing a 1000-page epic novel every year or so, with other short stories and volumes in his Gunslinger series to fill the time between. I won't say all of his work is pure gold, but you have to hand it to the guy for having so many original stories. Chances are, if you somehow do not know him by name, you have seen his work in one form or another.

What I find even more impressive is how so much of his work is constantly being adapted to film and television. And it shows no sign of slowing down. Carrie was already a movie, but is now being remade. Under the Dome, published only in 2009, is being made into a (mini-)series, starting this summer. They are now almost definitely remaking Cujo. The Shining is getting a prequel movie, and there is a separate documentary out now about the Kubrick adaptation of the novel. I had heard a few months back some rumors about rebooting It and/or The Stand, which were both miniseries in the 90's.

It must feel really cool to sit back and see how people are still being fascinated and terrified by your storytelling. And to know that your characters -- Carrie White, Jack Torrance, Annie Wilkes, among others -- are among the most compelling (and disturbing) literary characters of our time (in my humble opinion). If you haven't read any of his works, get on it. Be it horror, sci-fi, or fantasy, his work is easy to read and will draw you in. You'll be finished before you even realize how quickly the shit hit the fan. Just be sure to keep a nightlight plugged in.

Just Take One Dip and END IT

I officially have too many posts dedicated to The Walking Dead. However, I decided after my last one -- which pointed out how boring and nonsensical the middle episodes of the second half of this season have been -- that I would need one more follow-up after the season finale, just to see if the story redeemed itself in the final episodes. As it turns out, it didn't. I was pretty frustrated by where the show has been headed (nowhere), but the season finale seems like the final nail in the coffin. The new writers don't seem to know how to create and maintain a story, let alone an interesting one.

The entire season has been building intensity between Rick's group and the Governor, who has proven again and again that he's completely insane. We should have learned our lesson in season two, when way too many episodes were dedicated to the same thing: Shane going against Rick. We all knew Shane's death was coming because he became so illogically disagreeable that there was just no place for him in the group. Now we have the Governor, who is senselessly evil. From the very beginning, Michonne suspects that he is crazy, and we side with her because, well, she has a cool sword. Other than that, there is no revelation of his motives or what makes him evil. He's just 'the bad guy.' So by the end of the season, he should be dead, right? And it should be some epic battle between him and Rick, or at least their respective groups. Of course, we're expecting other casualties along the way. That's the fun of the show, right? And there haven't really been any deaths recently, with the exception of Merle a week before.

There are also the comics to consider. Will this finale in any way bring us back around to something even resembling the source material?

The answer to both of these questions is a resounding NO! Rick and the Governor don't even see each other face to face. The Governor and his people storm the prison, which apparently Rick's group has booby-trapped and temporarily vacated. Some teargas cannisters explode and the Governor is forced to retreat. And...that's it. That is the resolution to the conflict that has been building for months. No one dies. No one of importance anyway. I guess we're supposed to assume some of the Woodbury people get killed at some point; Maggie and Glenn shoot at them all for a while as they run for their trucks. Rick and the others aren't even around.

The Governor leaves, alive. Down the road he decides to open fire on all of his people, because he's evil, and that's what an evil person would do. For some reason, none of them fire back. And the Governor and his two main henchmen drive off. Rick shows up at Woodbury and invites all the remaining people -- including Tyreese -- back to the prison.

And if that sounds out of character, it should. Rick has proven time and again that he doesn't care about other survivors. If anything, they represent a threat. But I guess they saved all of his character development for this last episode, where he completely changes his mind and rescues a bunch of women and children that for months had been told to fear him and his people. Also, Carl shoots an innocent kid, only reinforcing what we already know, which is that he has lost his humanity. Except even this is inconsistent with a scene earlier in the episode where he was lovingly cradling a picture of him and his parents.

As for the comics, I guess the writers just use them as toilet paper. The whole point of the prison shootout is to get Rick and Carl out of the prison and on the road alone, so the story has somewhere to go. Now they are still there, with an even larger group. People who should be alive are dead, and people who definitely need to die are still breathing. At least at the end of season 2, they got off of that unbearable farm. I'm not sure where they plan on taking the show next season, but I am starting to lose interest. There was no cliffhanger, other than the Governor still being alive. I hope we don't have to sit through another season of him trying to attack the prison. Then again, I'm not sure I'll even watch next season.

Anyways, this show has been moved to my WHAT THE HELL HAPPENED? list, right there with Dexter and True Blood.