Cooking With Michael
The Paper Towel Edition
Sometimes I'd like a hardboiled egg. And sometimes, when I want that egg, I don't want to wait 10 minutes for the water to boil. But because we live in modern times we have technology available that lets us cook food faster: The microwave.
I know, if you microwave an egg the pressure will build up inside and it might explode. I thought of that and I poked a hole in the top. Problem solved. Won't some of the egg spill out? No, I put it in a little plastic cup so it might remain upright, pressure reducing steam spouting from its apex.
I closed the door and set the microwave for 1 minute.
1 second.
5 seconds.
10 seconds. A small pop. I check my egg to find a small crack has developed and a tiny bit of egg has seeped out. I guess the hole on top wasn't enough, but a hole and a crack has to be sufficient. Right?
15 seconds.
20 seconds.
30 seconds.
45 seconds: BOOOM! Certainly the loudest indoor explosion I've experienced.
I opened the door to find an even coating of mildly cooked egg on all 6 interior surfaces of the microwave. And as the door hung open its coating of egg started to drip onto my fridge and floor.
Some things you may or may not know about partially cooked eggs:
1) They smell awful. About half way between scrambled eggs and a dead thing.
2) They are runny enough to evenly cover a surface, but firm enough to take several wipings to fully remove.
3) They smell awful. A repeat, I know. But it's true enough to be on the list twice.
4) It takes roughly twice the time to clean a medium sized microwave covered in partially cooked egg than it does to fully cook an egg by the conventional boiling method.
People keep telling me that if I want to learn to cook I have to learn by doing. I'm not sure that's always good advice.
Saturday, March 24, 2007
Tuesday, March 06, 2007
On to New Things
I may have a new job on the horizon, I'm not sure and I don't want to jinx it. Suffice it to say that if the new job comes to fruition I'll be seeing significantly less of the aged and nude.
Things are looking good, I think. The universe is on my side, or at least its trying to tell me that my current job has run its course.
Last Tuesday I made a delivery up to Clearlake, CA. For those of you who have never been to Clearlake, it's tucked inside a mountain roughly 40 miles from the middle of nowhere. Clearlake needed a bed frame which required stopping in Manteca. Manteca, for those who have never been there, is quite a bit south and east from that same middle of nowhere. My schedule went as follows:
10am Leave San Francisco.
11:30am Arrive in Manteca.
11:55am McDonald's drive through.
12:25pm Regret McDonald's drive through.
4pm Arrive in Clearlake.
4:30pm Leave Clearlake for San Francisco.
At that point I thought I was going to make it back home early enough to take the object of my coffee affection to Costco to get some pictures printed. But as I was cruising down HWY 29 a guy in an orange vest a blue-tinted Jon Lennon glasses shut me down. Placed sideways on a stand beside him was a sign which said "Chains Required." (I don't think there is any significance to the orientation of the sign, he may have just been dumb.)
"How can I get to San Francisco from here with 29 closed?" I asked.
"I have no freaking idea, dude." He replied. "I'm not from around here. I think you can go up that road there [pointing to my left] and you'll come out in St. Helena."
"Ok, thanks." And I turned down the road.
It was an entrance to a trailer park.
After extricating myself from the trailer park I found a corner store and the helpful man behind the counter told me I could best get to San Francisco via 29. He was even more helpful when confronted with my road closure information and clued me in to Butts Canyon Rd. It meanders through Lake County and finally into Napa County where Howell Mountain Rd heads toward home, where the grapes grow strong, and where the snow ceases to annoy me.
Lo and behold it was snowing on Howell Mountain Rd. In Napa. On the grapes. It shouldn't snow in Napa. The universe was out to get me.
The proof is in the pictures.
The following day I got the call informing me that I probably have the job. I excitedly exited my van, strode into a facility to pick up a mattress, and promptly slipped in a puddle of pee.
To paraphrase Lajos Kossuth: The time draws near when a radical change must take place for the whole world in the management of mattresses by me.
I may have a new job on the horizon, I'm not sure and I don't want to jinx it. Suffice it to say that if the new job comes to fruition I'll be seeing significantly less of the aged and nude.
Things are looking good, I think. The universe is on my side, or at least its trying to tell me that my current job has run its course.
Last Tuesday I made a delivery up to Clearlake, CA. For those of you who have never been to Clearlake, it's tucked inside a mountain roughly 40 miles from the middle of nowhere. Clearlake needed a bed frame which required stopping in Manteca. Manteca, for those who have never been there, is quite a bit south and east from that same middle of nowhere. My schedule went as follows:
10am Leave San Francisco.
11:30am Arrive in Manteca.
11:55am McDonald's drive through.
12:25pm Regret McDonald's drive through.
4pm Arrive in Clearlake.
4:30pm Leave Clearlake for San Francisco.
At that point I thought I was going to make it back home early enough to take the object of my coffee affection to Costco to get some pictures printed. But as I was cruising down HWY 29 a guy in an orange vest a blue-tinted Jon Lennon glasses shut me down. Placed sideways on a stand beside him was a sign which said "Chains Required." (I don't think there is any significance to the orientation of the sign, he may have just been dumb.)
"How can I get to San Francisco from here with 29 closed?" I asked.
"I have no freaking idea, dude." He replied. "I'm not from around here. I think you can go up that road there [pointing to my left] and you'll come out in St. Helena."
"Ok, thanks." And I turned down the road.
It was an entrance to a trailer park.
After extricating myself from the trailer park I found a corner store and the helpful man behind the counter told me I could best get to San Francisco via 29. He was even more helpful when confronted with my road closure information and clued me in to Butts Canyon Rd. It meanders through Lake County and finally into Napa County where Howell Mountain Rd heads toward home, where the grapes grow strong, and where the snow ceases to annoy me.
Lo and behold it was snowing on Howell Mountain Rd. In Napa. On the grapes. It shouldn't snow in Napa. The universe was out to get me.
The proof is in the pictures.
The following day I got the call informing me that I probably have the job. I excitedly exited my van, strode into a facility to pick up a mattress, and promptly slipped in a puddle of pee.
To paraphrase Lajos Kossuth: The time draws near when a radical change must take place for the whole world in the management of mattresses by me.
Sunday, March 04, 2007
Long Time No See
Goodness, it has been a while hasn't it. Things have been busy and I've been falling behind on everything from blogging, to sweeping, to putting my old high school German class video onto DVD. (Subtitles are a frustrating and time consuming endeavor.)
Part of the reason I've been away so long is that I'm finally dating somebody. She's exceptionally cool, and I'm therefor doing my best to demonstrate the fact that I'd make a swell boyfriend. Case in point: making the morning coffee.
To many people (mostly coffee drinking people) making a morning cup of coffee is no big deal. But I don't drink coffee and therefor had no idea how to go about making a cup. Luckily I had the following things at my disposal: a coffee maker, a box of filters, and the knowledge that she usually gets her beans from Peet's.
First stop: Peet's coffee to get some freshly ground coffee beans. I entered the coffee shop and walked over to the coffee bean counter where a girl walked over and asked, eyebrows raised, if I wanted coffee beans. I think she thought I was trying to subvert the drink line.
Me: Yes.
Her: Ok. What kind?
Me: Oh, well, this isn't for me. What are your most popular beans?
Her: Most people like the rocaprincesshouseblend.
Me: Right. I'll have that one.
Her: ...
Her: That was two different kinds.
Me: Oh. I'll have the second one.
Her: Ok, the house blend. How much to do you want?
Me: Enough for two cups.
Her: [A long and pained sigh.]
Her: Um, no. I'm going to sell you a quarter pound. It's more than you want, but that's how much I'm going to sell you.
Me: Ok.
Her: Which grind do you want? Oh, right, not for you. [Sigh] I'm going to go with the universal grind.
Me: Ok.
Her: There are instructions on the side of the bag on how to make the perfect cup of coffee.
Me: Oh good. I need that.
Her: [Eye roll] Yeah. Do you want a complimentary cup of coffee or tea? [Obviously really hoping I would say no and leave.]
Me: No thanks.
Her: [Looking relieved] Thanks. Goodbye.
With coffee obtained and Barista torture behind me I was ready to make my first cup of coffee.
When that fateful morning came I quietly sneaked out of bed and readied my implements. I got the coffee maker out of the cupboard, which was unfortunately behind some pots and pans which made its extraction a little less quiet than I was hoping for.
With the coffee maker freed I carried it over the stove to the toaster oven where there was a free plug. Unfortunately I didn't have the plug quite contained and it dragged across all my gas burner covers. Clinky, clinky, clinky, clinky. Again, not quite as stealthy as I had planned.
Electricity flowing free, I measured out the coffee. According to the side of the bag the perfect cup of coffee requires two tablespoons of coffee per 6 oz of water. Because I don't have anything with oz lines on it, I had to use my 1/4 cup measuring cup. (6oz = 3/4 cup.) I figured 9oz of water would just about do it, so I measured out 3 table spoons of coffee. I realized, at this point, that 12 trips to the sink with my 1/4 cup would probably result in a lot of water on the floor and a skewed measurement, so I unplugged the coffee maker and moved it over to the sink. Unfortunately I didn't have the plug quite contained and it dragged across all my gas burner covers. Clinky, clinky, clinky, clinky. Again.
The final transport of the coffee maker back to the plug was whisper quiet, and the coffee started percolating. I inquired into the use of cream (1% milk) and sugar and mixed in what I hoped were the desired amounts. I presented the cup and a sip was taken. Her eyebrows went up and she said, "Oooh. It's strong."
I now make coffee with 2.5-3 cups of water per 1/4 cup of beans. And I get nearly twice the coffee. I think the "Peet's Perfect Cup of Coffee" recipe allows for each drop of water to have its own coffee ground to seep through. As a result not many drops of water make it down to the coffee pot.
It's a good thing that it's the thought that counts.
Goodness, it has been a while hasn't it. Things have been busy and I've been falling behind on everything from blogging, to sweeping, to putting my old high school German class video onto DVD. (Subtitles are a frustrating and time consuming endeavor.)
Part of the reason I've been away so long is that I'm finally dating somebody. She's exceptionally cool, and I'm therefor doing my best to demonstrate the fact that I'd make a swell boyfriend. Case in point: making the morning coffee.
To many people (mostly coffee drinking people) making a morning cup of coffee is no big deal. But I don't drink coffee and therefor had no idea how to go about making a cup. Luckily I had the following things at my disposal: a coffee maker, a box of filters, and the knowledge that she usually gets her beans from Peet's.
First stop: Peet's coffee to get some freshly ground coffee beans. I entered the coffee shop and walked over to the coffee bean counter where a girl walked over and asked, eyebrows raised, if I wanted coffee beans. I think she thought I was trying to subvert the drink line.
Me: Yes.
Her: Ok. What kind?
Me: Oh, well, this isn't for me. What are your most popular beans?
Her: Most people like the rocaprincesshouseblend.
Me: Right. I'll have that one.
Her: ...
Her: That was two different kinds.
Me: Oh. I'll have the second one.
Her: Ok, the house blend. How much to do you want?
Me: Enough for two cups.
Her: [A long and pained sigh.]
Her: Um, no. I'm going to sell you a quarter pound. It's more than you want, but that's how much I'm going to sell you.
Me: Ok.
Her: Which grind do you want? Oh, right, not for you. [Sigh] I'm going to go with the universal grind.
Me: Ok.
Her: There are instructions on the side of the bag on how to make the perfect cup of coffee.
Me: Oh good. I need that.
Her: [Eye roll] Yeah. Do you want a complimentary cup of coffee or tea? [Obviously really hoping I would say no and leave.]
Me: No thanks.
Her: [Looking relieved] Thanks. Goodbye.
With coffee obtained and Barista torture behind me I was ready to make my first cup of coffee.
When that fateful morning came I quietly sneaked out of bed and readied my implements. I got the coffee maker out of the cupboard, which was unfortunately behind some pots and pans which made its extraction a little less quiet than I was hoping for.
With the coffee maker freed I carried it over the stove to the toaster oven where there was a free plug. Unfortunately I didn't have the plug quite contained and it dragged across all my gas burner covers. Clinky, clinky, clinky, clinky. Again, not quite as stealthy as I had planned.
Electricity flowing free, I measured out the coffee. According to the side of the bag the perfect cup of coffee requires two tablespoons of coffee per 6 oz of water. Because I don't have anything with oz lines on it, I had to use my 1/4 cup measuring cup. (6oz = 3/4 cup.) I figured 9oz of water would just about do it, so I measured out 3 table spoons of coffee. I realized, at this point, that 12 trips to the sink with my 1/4 cup would probably result in a lot of water on the floor and a skewed measurement, so I unplugged the coffee maker and moved it over to the sink. Unfortunately I didn't have the plug quite contained and it dragged across all my gas burner covers. Clinky, clinky, clinky, clinky. Again.
The final transport of the coffee maker back to the plug was whisper quiet, and the coffee started percolating. I inquired into the use of cream (1% milk) and sugar and mixed in what I hoped were the desired amounts. I presented the cup and a sip was taken. Her eyebrows went up and she said, "Oooh. It's strong."
I now make coffee with 2.5-3 cups of water per 1/4 cup of beans. And I get nearly twice the coffee. I think the "Peet's Perfect Cup of Coffee" recipe allows for each drop of water to have its own coffee ground to seep through. As a result not many drops of water make it down to the coffee pot.
It's a good thing that it's the thought that counts.
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