What's up with the Swedes?

My roommate and I started a book club almost four years ago, and since then, it has evolved into a co-ed gathering. That's right, a co-ed book club. The guys actually enjoy attending and are more active participants than some of the girls. My favorite part about book club is not the reading, per se, since I have the poorest record of book completions of the entire group. What draws me is the excuse to hang out with friends and prepare food for a delicious potluck dinner.

Each month, we try to tie the food theme to the book selection. And this month, as we discuss Stieg Larsson's The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo, we will dine on Swedish fare. Swedish fare? After googling Swedish food recipes the other night, I was amazed at how little came up. I hope there's more to Sweden than meatballs, lingonberries, pancakes, potatoes, and pickled herring. Sheesh. Thank God I didn't grow up in Sweden. I would've starved!

My friend Julie said she read somewhere that their diets were limited due to the lack of access to fresh food. Wikipedia noted that spices were sparse and that like other Scandanavian countries, Swedish cuisine was traditionally simple. My maternal grandma Hilda (after whom my name choice evolved) has ancestral ties to Sweden, but I don't recall ever having a dish from her that was Swedish. Maybe my mom and aunts know more about this and are hiding flavorful Swedish recipes from me.

My food contribution for the evening? I'm bringing a cucumber salad dressed with apple cider vinegar, white vinegar, sugar, and dill. Simple and hopefully not as bland as it sounds. Either way, here's to hoping the medley of contributions tonight will make me change my negative opinion of Sweden as an appetite killer.

Fraudulent Charges?

In the aftermath of the credit card scandal, I have been picking up the pieces of my life. Much of the moving on has involved feeding my feelings. From Belgian bites to Neapolitan pizza to classic American fare, I have put my new AMEX card to use in the two days since it arrived at my home.

While I thought my phone calls to the credit card companies had negated the fraudulent charges incurred from Wednesday evening, my online statements suggest otherwise. As you can see below from an excerpt from my Capital One statement, the first three charges were not mine. They appear to be typical charges, but they occurred after the card was stolen. For one, my car does not take $70 worth of gas, but Capital One does not know this. Anyways, I showed this activity statement below to my mom online to so she could see the unauthorized charges that had posted so far.

And then I noticed the item pasted at the bottom.

Posted Date	Description	All Categories Payment Fee Interest Charge ------------------ Airfare Car Rental Dining Entertainment Gas/Automotive Healthcare Insurance Internet Lodging Merchandise Other Other Bills Other Services Other Travel Phone/Cable Professional Services Utilities	Amount
AUG 27, 2010	EXXONMOBIL 47828272 ARLINGTON VA	Gas/Automotive	$70.59
AUG 27, 2010	WASH METRORAIL00006304 WASHINGTON DC	Other Travel	$60.00
AUG 27, 2010	WASH METRORAIL00006304 WASHINGTON DC	Other Travel	$60.00
AUG 26, 2010	TAYLOR GOURMET 485 K LLC WASHINGTON DC	Dining	$15.51
AUG 23, 2010	INTEREST CHARGE:SPECIAL TRANS	Interest Charge	$18.66
AUG 19, 2010	UNITED AIR 0162112233068 ROSEMONT IL	Airfare	$221.40
AUG 18, 2010	CARMINE'S WASHINGTON DC	Dining	$29.20
AUG 17, 2010	CAPITAL ONE ONLINE PYMT AuthDate 17-AUG	Payment	($293.14)
AUG 13, 2010	24 HOURS OF BOOTY 704-365-4417 NC	Other	$25.00

24 Hours of Booty?! A twinge of panic hit me. What in the...ohhhhh, yeah. While my mom's eyes scanned my charges, I was quick to mention that charge there.

Me: "Oh, look at that charge there. Hahaha, haha. You would think that'd be something inappropriate, right, Mom? Well you see, the thing is, I have this friend Carl..."

Mom: "What is THAT?"

Me: "As I was saying, my friend Carl is participating in this 24-hour bike ride to benefit cancer research, and I contributed to the cause online. You'd THINK that would be something kinky, right? Hahaha!"

The Lance Armstrong Foundation organizes these 24-hour bike rides in different cities across the country, and Carl had signed up for the one in Columbia, MD this weekend.

Now, what I should've done is pretend it was indeed something salacious. Here's how that would all go.

Me: "What the he-I have no idea how that-How did that charge get on there?! Those bandits sure must be at it again (insert nervous laugh). I'm outraged that they would soil my name with that trash!"

Mom: "But, Hilary, that charge is from August 13. That was over a week ago..."

Me: "Oh, that's so strange, they must've manipulated the system somehow-hey what's that over there?"(furiously pushes ALT F4 to close browser window)

Then I'd leave my poor mom cursing the 18 years of her life she spent raising me. Good thing it was a legit, wholesome charge. And, she did raise me right. I'm smart enough to know not to show her my AMEX statement. KIDDING, Mom. Kidding!

Cotton Candy, Sweet and Low, Let Me See Your Lobster Rooooll

While that 1994 song "Tootsie Roll" by 69 Boyz from the middle school/high school mixer era has fallen back into the woodwork (thankfully), lobster rolls have never lost their style.

When it was all said and done, I spent two hours of valuable work time stalking, waiting and then mercilessly devouring a delicious Maine lobster roll. After hearing from a friend that the Red Hook Lobster Truck had made its way to McPherson Square yesterday, I was on high alert for their pending trip to the Metro Center area today.

I sounded the bugle. I sent out an email to those I knew who worked nearby Metro Center to generate interest. I bookmarked the Lobster Truck's Twitter page on my phone. I made a special trip to the bank for plenty of cash. And lastly, I cut back on my regular morning breakfast to save room for my upcoming feast.

Then, I embarked on my journey at 10:45AM from Chinatown to Metro Center. Phone in hand, I updated the Twitter page every minute. Obsessive? Yes. To make myself feel less stalkerish, I stopped in at H&M and Banana Republic to convince myself that I wasn't just wandering aimlessly in search of a food truck. I walked around several blocks, several times hoping I would spot the truck before the location was posted on Twitter. No luck.

And then the crowds started. Around 11:15AM, four people with smart phones in hand walked towards me at the intersection of 12th and G talking about the food truck. Noooo, I thought. NOOO! My friend Patrick and his coworker, also on high alert, called me to find out where I was and met up with me at my corner. Our group got larger, and then spotted another line forming across the street by the metro entrance. Guess we'll follow the crowd. An older man assured people that the truck would be arriving at this corner and like sheep, we all believed him.

Around 60 people formed that initial line. Friend Teddy and his coworker made an appearance soon after and decided to wait back in line rather than cut. After waiting 30 minutes for the lobster truck to arrive (it was stuck in traffic), we waited another 20 or so to get to the ordering counter. My friends Laura and Mehul met up and saved a spot nearby to eat in the shade while I made the purchase. They charged $15 per lobster roll and $3.50 for a whoopie pie.

The Lobster Truck owners drive up to Maine weekly to get fresh lobsters and you could tell that they weren't messing around. Our sweetly succulent lobster meat was mixed with mayo, scallions, celery and special seasoning. There was the option to have the meat mixed in plain butter, too. Shrimp rolls, Maine root soda, freshly squeeze lemonade, and plain fresh lobster meat were also on sale. Pricey, but well worth the wait!

Here are some testimonials from my friends:

Before the adventure began...

"I’ve got a lunch scheduled [today], but a) if the truck arrives near 12:30 and I can persuade my group to come to the truck, I will, or b) if the truck arrives significantly earlier, I will try to flee the building, run to the truck and then fake it during my second lunch. “Oh, this sandwich is so good, mmm, oh yes, I’ve never had a lunch this good [insert more lies here]."" -- Patrick

"Is Rock Lobster going down today or do I have to settle for Love Shack?" -- Mehul

Upon eating...

"This lobster roll is great, but why the hell didn't you buy us lemonade?" -- Laura (whose testimony comes with a side of sarcasm)

"While it may not be true that Lobsters find a mate for life, I'm glad that one found its way into my delicious sandwich." -- Mehul (whose testimony comes with a picture)

"The food was good. The experience was great. You can't go wrong standing outside in nice summer weather with happy, about-to-be-fed people. But you can wish for much more butter in your lobster roll." -- Patrick (whose testimony comes with wishful thinking)

"It might have been the wait. The anticipation. The anxiety. Or the hunger in my belly... But, that was seriously D-E-L-I-C-I-O-U-S. The dudes in front of us went strong and got the Connecticut, which apparently is the lobster meal deal, plus the shrimp roll ($8) for $26. I think I should have done that. The whoopie pie is good, but a bit too much. I'm in need of milk. I haven't washed my hands [because] I'm still savoring the smell of butter and lobster..." -- Teddy (whose testimony comes with buttered hands)

An hour later...

"Sadly, I'm going to wash my hands now." -- Teddy

Dear Bandit(s):

I am writing to thank you for making my life a little spicier last evening. I am usually quite careful when it comes to keeping my "valuables" (and by valuables, I mean my perpetually cashless wallet) close to my person, but I guess your little stunt last night has resurrected my paranoia.

Who knew a little Greek Cafe in Dupont Circle would be prime location to prey on an innocent coed. In any event, I credit you for your slickness. Had my Metro SmartTrip card registered at the turnstiles, I would've trotted on home without even thinking to look inside my wallet until the next day. Instead, I tried each turnstile twice to enter the station, but the card seemed de-magnitized. Then and only then did I re-open my wallet to put the dud card back in and look for an alternative. I'll say, though, the fact that you took my Loft gift card, insurance prescription card, and Carefirst card and stuck them in as placeholders for the three credit cards you stole was pure genius. Furthermore, stopping first at Starbuck's to charge something was even smarter because "everyone" drinks Starbucks, right? That doesn't arouse the suspicion of credit card companies, right?

Wrong. I don't drink coffee. And bad idea to burglarize my wallet with your burglarious hands since I never have cash on me. The joke's on you. You may think you made off well with your $550 Walmart purchase, but I'm thinking it may not get delivered to your residence since the credit card company notified Walmart today of this fradulent charge.

I am also curious, do you really like sushi or did you just charge $50 to Thai Chef up the street to throw the credit card companies off your track again? If you really do like sushi and stopped for a quick dinner, well, then I like your taste. Maybe we could be friends after all. Thai Chef is a great spot. Though the $120 worth of Smart Trip metro fares and gas you purchased will never be seen again, I will be refunded certainly. And have fun riding the DC metro system. It'll open doors to a misery you'll never quite get used to.

In any event, this all turned out for the better. My American Express card was on its last legs. It was starting to split and I had been wondering lately whether it would make it another year until the expiration date yielded a new card in the mail. Thanks for expediting the process of getting a fresh card.

I also want to thank you for giving me material for my blog, the excuse to use the out-dated term "bandit," and the opportunity to type the word "burglarious," that I didn't know existed until reading it recently in a local newspaper.

Take care and hope you enjoyed the sushi.

Best,
Hilary

P.S. I don't know whether to curse DC Metro for ineptitude yet again or thank them for the malfunctioning turnstiles. Turns out my card worked fine this morning. Anyways, I'm babbling now. I'll see you when I see you...and this time, I'll be ready.

Speaking of Roast Beef...

How do you like yours? Medium?

Or are you more of a well-done kinda person?

Me? I kinda like mine medium-well, with lots of marbling.

Except that's not roast beef. That's my burnt forearm in its third day of healing. Actually, it kind of resembles dry-aged beef or a slice of prosciutto. Good thing it it doesn't smell like roast beef, or I would slather it with brie and eat it for lunch.

Take Me to Cherry Street

Today's shout out goes to Taylor Gourmet. I met up with a former coworker there to lunch on some good eats. We both empathized with how we struggle to decide what to order anytime we enter the premisis. Their sandwich selections are just so tasty! Instead of going with my favorite, the Philadelphia Landfill, I opted to try one of their chicken cutlet hoagies.

My eyes scanned the list of options and screeched to a halt at The Benjamin Franklin Parkway. Hello, weight gain. I chose to order a six inch sandwich, which came with their homemade marinara, sharp provolone, and homemade italian breaded chicken cutlets. Fantastico. But as the words were exiting my mouth at the time to place the order, something caught the corner of my eyes. As if time switched to slow motion, my mouth kept moving as my eyes were pulled down to focus on the paper sign taped to the register. "The Cherry Street is here!" Or something like that. This speciality sandwich consisted of freshly-carved roast beef, garlic spread, brie cheese, hot peppers, and arugula. Wow, I thought. What a great combination.

As I regained my focus and came to from my momentary blackout, I repeated my order. I stuck with the chicken cutlets and was pleased with the outcome. But, I still plan to head back there soon before I switch jobs so I can check out the Cherry Street.

I read elsewhere online that they roast this cut of meat with cloves of garlic imbedded in the flesh. That particular article posted a picture of the sandwich. Now I know what I will be looking for next time. Though, I think I would prefer mine heated and melty. Not so much a fan of cold, meaty, roast beef.

Put Me on IR

A spectacular day of food and friends ended with a sizzle. Earlier in the day, I met up with some good college friends for a potluck brunch at Sheri's house. The spread was killer: bagels, lox spread, egg casserole with cheese sauce, home fries, turkey sausage, dumplings, chocolate cupcakes with peanut butter frosting and mimosas. My college roommate of four years, Jenny, brought her 6-month-old daughter Molly with her which was one of the highlights. She had the sunniest disposition, cutest smile and bounds of bouncy energy. It was great catching up with everyone and I hope we can do it more frequently.

Next, I traveled to my parents' house for Sunday dinner. The only downside was that I was still carrying a food baby from brunch. There wasn't much room left for our feast of pulled pork sandwiches, coleslaw, cornbread, baked beans, mac and cheese, salad and fruit. And to make things worse, I burned part of my forearm on the inside of the oven door as I went to remove the cornbread.

You can't quite tell from the picture, but burn mark is swollen about a half inch off my arm. Just as the poison ivy from my landscaping escapades has started to fade, in comes another dermatological affliction. Let's just hope this one heals better than the other oven burn from four years ago that now resembles a birth mark. This weekend also marks one of the first times I haven't made cobbler in almost three months. I'm falling apart!

Oh, and my house still smells like pork.

Wielding the Mighty Power of Pork

Yesterday evening, I created a monster. A monster powerful enough to infuse a house with flavor. At last, I slow-roasted some pork shoulder. The label called it pork butt/shoulder, which bewilders me. I've seen pigs before, and their anatomy doesn't suggest their shoulders are anywhere near their rear ends. Maybe these are freak pigs from the Amazon.

The friends who piggy-backed on my journey? An ancient Cuisinart blender, a big porcelain baking dish, a yellow onion, four garlic cloves, dried mustard, brown sugar, white wine vinegar, oregano, cumin, salt, black pepper, and chili powder. (I decided to follow The Pioneer Woman's recipe).

In any event, the pictures will document my journey. I only opened the oven three times. Once after ten minutes of cooking (I guess I really do have OCD), once two hours in to see if I needed to add more liquid, and lastly to remove the butts from their nice long nap.

It's like two pigs fightin' under a blanket. These pork butts got back! Each weighing in at about 3.5 pounds and boneless, I slightly trimmed some of the top fat layer before introducing them to their aromatic rub.


The yellow onion was SHARP! If that's even how it should be described. BOY did it make me cry. Butt, soon enough, I knew they'd be tears of joy. And then the Cuisinart didn't work. Maybe I should have taken the "I haven't used this blender in years since it doesn't normally work" comment from my mom more seriously. Or at least tested it out before I had loaded it up with ingredients.


On to plan B. My college blender. I used to curse it for its inability to crush ice, but it worked out just fine on the onion. Crisis averted.

And then I slathered the blended rub all over the pork butts finding every nook and cranny. I stared at them for a few minutes, admiring their beauty and wiping the stinging onion tears from my eyes. It was still so potent. Then I popped them into a 300 degree oven at 10:00pm and set my alarm for 5:00am. Seven hours should do the trick, I thought.

Next it was time to make some barbecue sauce. This was taken from a Bobby Flay recipe that I ever-so-slightly modified by adding sauteed onion and making a roux so that it would turn out thicker than it has for me in the past. In this mixture is dry mustard, brown sugar, apple cider vinegar, Worcestershire sauce, molasses, soy sauce, salt, ground black pepper, and water. Sweet and tangy! It will be used tomorrow on some pulled pork sandwiches.

I finally went to bed sometime after midnight by which point the smells from the oven had wafted their way around the premises. I woke up several times, each to a more intense aroma. Luckily I was too tired to get up each time to check on my project, but the mouth-watering scent eventually worked its way into my dreams. And then, at last, I woke up on my own at 4:59am and hopped out of bed to retrieve my presents from the oven.

Oh sweet goodness. The rub had crisped up on its own on the top layer of fat which protected the succulent meat falling apart below. And oh, the aroma was times ten. I think it was a good thing both of my roommates were out of town because it was ridiculous. After using a spatula and tongs to lift each butt out of the baking liquid, I looked in horror at the inside of the pan. My mother's going to kill me. The top two inches of the white porcelain were soot black. The clear lid was also black. I used Pam, but my attempts to wipe it away with a paper towel to see how strongly it stuck was fruitless. I decided to deal with it later. More important pressing items lay ahead. The pulling of the pork! After letting the meat sit for about 20 minutes, I put each butt on a separate plate lined with paper towels to mop up some of the grease and grabbed two forks out of the utensil drawer.

After removing the top layer of fat/skin, I pulled away. Look at that! So tender, so juicy, so layered with flavor! At this point it was about 5:45am and I was shredding my pork. I paused here and there to eat some, but it was as if time stood still. And finally, I was finished. The fruits of my labor.

I wish my old camera could better capture the radiance of colors and textures of the finished product. The fragrance of the tender shreds of meat permeated my inner being.

Noticing that darkness had crept silently away, I seized the opportunity to check out the sunrise from my backyard. I can't tell you the last time I saw a sunrise as I am NOT a morning person (unless it comes to catching a flight or pieces of pork). After successfully cleaning the pan and lid, I declared my mission accomplished. I rewarded myself by watching an episode of Mad Men and then heading back to bed for a couple hours.

Upon waking again, I headed to my parents' house to deliver the pork and return some cooking wares. Sebastian was especially eager to greet me this time. He couldn't stop sniffing me! I was smothered in delicious pork fumes. When I returned home, I opened the front door to an assault of smells. Good smells, but it was like a gust of wind hit me in the face. I knew the aromas were strong, but hadn't noticed how powerful they were until I had left and come back. Everything and anything with cloth in the house absorbed the smell of the pork and the rub. Having seen a TV commercial where a hideous woman at a bar lured many a man over because she had bacon in her purse gave me a feeling of confidence. If I don't air the house out, I may have weeks and weeks to wield the power of this pork scent in my favor. I know my roommates will thank me later. What better way to meet guys than wearing clothes infused with pork?

A Solution to the Impatience Problem

Saturday morning will be like Christmas morning for me. I decided it's finally time to slow roast some pork shoulder after talking about doing so weeks ago. The main roadblock that has preventing me from executing this task is time. But tonight, I plan on buying the meat, making the rub and placing it in the oven around my bed time. That way I can prevent myself from checking on it and can wake up to the sights and smells of succulent slow-roasted meat.

I can't wait to eat a pulled pork sandwich for breakfast tomorrow! Pictures soon to follow.

Weird Ice Cream Wins My Heart

Maybe a couple of months ago, I tried something from a dessert menu that did not sound the least bit appealing from its listing: sea salt ice cream. For one, it's ice cream, and my body does not tolerate it much these days. Two, ice cream is usually the last thing on my priority list of desserts in general. And three, sea salt?! It ended up being surprisingly delicious. Something about the sweet and savory combo made it special.

Well today, as part of the DC area's Restaurant Week, I went to Indian Restaurant Rasika with coworkers to take advantage of the good lunch deal. $20.10 for an appetizer, entree, and dessert. Rasika never ceases to amaze me. I have only dined there twice (this being the second time) because it's pricey, but would be a frequent customer if I had the means. It's hands down the best Indian I've ever had.

The highlight of the meal? Banana-black pepper ice cream. Strange and mysterious it appeared, but amazing it was. I was leery of selecting it, especially after the waiter stressed that the black pepper played a major role in this concoction. But, again, I was pleasantly surprised. It was phenomenal. Pure genius. The banana was the star in this dessert, and the black pepper undertones gave it a punch that elevated my taste buds. I'm not sure if this is a regular dessert item on their menu, but highly recommend trying it. Maybe I'll have to start going there for Happy Hour and ordering drinks and ice cream at the bar. I'll figure something out...

The Memory Game

Did you ever play that memory game as a kid that involved a deck of special cards spread out face down on the floor? Maybe you don't remember. Ha. As my memory serves me, I was quite good at it. The object of the game was to turn over two cards at a time with the hopes that you could add them to your pile if they matched. If they didn't match, you had to turn them back over and remember their placement, so that when your turn came around again, you could remember where the pairs were and turn over two matching cards. Pretty simple, eh?

Well, I wish they had a similar game for adults, but one that was applicable to daily life. A sort of exercise that helped you remember the bits and pieces of your day. I usually don't have a problem remembering work-related tasks, but when it comes to life outside of work, that's another story. Sometimes it's like a fuse shorts out in my brain. I can be walking from my bedroom to the kitchen with the intent of finishing a piece of pie in the fridge but once I've arrived at my destination, I forget why I came there in the first place. Tragic.

After recently cleaning and reorganizing my room to make better use of the space, I decided to start regularly making my bed to keep up that pristine appearance. Well, earlier this week, upon returning home from a busy day at work, I got into my room and stood there for a second utterly shocked.

"Who the hell made my bed?!" I thought.

And then I was glad that was a conversation going on solely in the quiet of my head. How could I have forgotten that I made my own bed?! I think it's time to start charting my day on cards. Then at the end of the day, I can turn them over and look at them to jog my memory. Let's just hope I don't shock myself when I read cards like "Went to work," or "Rode the metro." Because then there's no helping me.

Quit Doggin' Me, Dog!

My beloved Sebastian is growing weary in his old age. He recently turned 11 in early June and shows now signs of perking up. Yes, he has his moments where snippets of his puppy-hood work their way into his daily routine. But, he mostly just lies around looking cute.

We got him as a wee puppy right before I set sails to college in the summer of 1999. Since then, he's learned to love each of my family members in a unique way. For me, at least, he seems to perk up a lot more when I arrive at my parents house. But, for reasons I'll never understand, he continues to act sheepish or untrusting around me at times. I don't get it! Other than the couple of times I stepped on his tail by accident, I have done nothing but love this guy and treat him like a little brother (well, in a good way).

One of my signature moves is to lay down on the floor and wait for him to trot over and curl up next to me as the little spoon. He knows I am a fan of cuddling. But then why is it that he can't relax and fall asleep? Any time I do this, day or night, he keeps one eye parked on me and the other closed. He's stares at me, wondering my next move. He sleeps with one eye open.

And then, the other day, I rushed over to my parents house in the morning sans shower to only get a butt-out hug from him. The normal greeting scene involves a speedy run to the front door on his part where I then squat down so he can jump up to put his front legs on my shoulders and lick my face. Yes. But this morning after he jumped up, he turned his head away and leaned back so that nothing other than the pads of his feet touched me. The nerve! Why you gotta dog me like that, Sebby? Why?!

The remainder of his myterious ways include staring at me from other rooms as if I'm going to steal something, stopping a couple feet short of me when I beckon him to come hither, immediately striking the submission pose when I come over to pet him, and giving me a prolonged stare of hatred following a routine bath (and by routine, I mean twice a year).

All that aside, I love this dog. I just wish I could understand him sometimes. I've asked him on several occasions to explain himself, the response to which is...a blank stare. At the very least, the staring and judging has to stop. I know trust takes a long time to build and seconds to shatter, so I can be patient with that. But, I didn't judge him and stare when he celebrated Mardi Gras earlier this year. So, why can't he extend me the same courtesy with how I act around the house?

Stuffing My Pie Hole with...well...Pie.

On a swampy Washington evening with appetites in tow, friend Patrick and I embarked on a journey in search of some Dangerously Delicious Pies. Delicious they were. Dangerous to the waistline they will be. Located in the newly revamped H Street Corridor in Northeast DC, this pie stop's got it going on.

After disembarking from the sardine can that was the X2 metro bus, we walked a couple of blocks until we reached the pearly gates of pie-dom. The place was narrow like a row house and had a funky feel to it. Inside was a long bar counter featuring pie upon pie in a glass display case, and a chalked menu on a blackboard on the wall near the register. So many different options! And, many thanks to Patrick's $25 dollar Living Social deal, we had to order $50 dollars worth of pies. We seized that challenge and ordered a variety of sweet and savory pies and of course some quiche. They sold all of their items either by the slice or whole.

Our picks? A slice of each of the following for our dinner:
(Clockwise from the top)

• BBQ Pork Pie
• Wilted Spinach and Mushroom Quiche
• S.M.O.G. Pie (Steak, Mushroom, Onion, Gruyere)
• Crab and Cheddar Quiche

When ordering pie by the slice, the servers heat the pie up in a small counter-top oven and then deliver them to your table in these mini circular pie tins. Now, you would think that a BBQ Pork Pie would be a bit strange. At least that's what I thought. So glad we ordered it. The buttery, flaky crust of the pie was like a biscuit enveloping the pile of shredded pork, onions, sauce and spices. The S.M.O.G was equally satisfying and comforting. The Gruyere cheese was the winner in that pie. The two quiches were typical quiches, but the crusts had the perfect balance of crunch, flake and butter.

And for dessert? More pie!

• Blueberry Pie
• Apple Pie

My favorite blueberry pie hails from Maine and I will say, that this slice here was just as good! The apple pie, too, was delicious, but I would be curious to taste it warm next time. Yes, there will be a next time. And in case that next time doesn't come soon enough, we grabbed some pie slices to-go! Two slices of blueberry, one pecan, and one Key Lime. My two boxes made it home safely without leaking into my bag, being smashed, or eaten prematurely. I'm not so sure I can guarantee the safety of Patrick's pies.


I am happy to report that I know what I'm eating for breakfast tomorrow. The to-go boxes say "Thank you!" on them. But, who should I really be thanking? Thank YOU, DDP. I'd also like to thank Living Social for promoting pie gluttony. Lastly, and most importantly, I'd like to thank Patrick for helping to keep the eating spirit alive by sharing this coupon with me.

Skirting Produce Issues

I was a little leery of the produce selection at my Safeway this afternoon. Having made a trip to the Whole Foods earlier to buy some skirt steak, I had contemplated buying some plums and blueberries because they just looked so pretty. But, as I suspected, they weren't anywhere near ripe. I ended up picking out this lemon instead because it looked so strange. It appears to have a outtie belly-button.

One thing my Safeway's reliable with is having consistently ripe/near rotten produce. For me, though, it tends to work out fine since I am usually too impatient to wait for fruit to ripen. In the case of making guacamole and cobblers, I like my fruit to be ripe upon purchase. This time, though, the number of fruit flies swarming the peach, plum and nectarine section almost outnumbered the fruit. A clump of donut peaches were so over-ripe that their skin was wrinkled and shriveling. The plums, both red and black, were quite ripe too. I decided to go for it anyways.


And now I am quite concerned that this plum blueberry cobbler might be a bust. After slicing the red plums, I found most were complete mush...like apple sauce consistency. The black plums weren't ripe enough and lacked depth in flavor. Why's it always so hit or miss with you, Produce?! I made a peach blackberry cobbler Friday night with Sheri that turned out fine (though I continue to not be a fan of the blackberry (or raspberry) seeds that stick to my molars afterward). The only problem here was the fruit bubbling over the crumble topping resulting in soggy topping. The filling was tasty, though. I never thought I'd say this, but I think I am finally growing weary of all this cobbler making.

I will take a step back to earlier this evening when I grilled four skirt steaks. That's got me all jazzed up! I had never tasted one before, let alone cooked one. The steaks were about five inches wide by a half-inch thick and long enough to serve as belts. Some of them looked like strands of ammunition. I decided to give them a dry rub before submerging in some liquid marinade. I first rubbed them with some brown sugar before dusting them with ground black pepper, ground ginger, dried diced onion and dry mustard. I then plunged them in a ziplock bag with a mixture of olive oil, soy sauce, Worcestire sauce, white wine vinegar, balsamic vinegar, Dijon mustard, and minced garlic. MMmm, I wanted so badly to lick my hands after making sure the mixture was all up everywhere in the steaks.

The grilling part was fantastic since they cooked so quickly in the heat of the molten hot coals. I didn't even have to put the lid on the grill. Slicing them up was a workout, but the taste made me forget how profusely I sweat during the process. The crust on the slices complemented the juicy, tender meat. The sweetness of the brown sugar mellowed out the tangy bite of the Dijon and vinegars. I wish I had taken pictures! Next time!


At last, the cobbler made it out of the oven. And, the filling didn't bubble over the crust! It tasted just fine...just not as exciting as the skirt steaks.

A Happy Bloggiversary!

I made it! One year ago, I dipped my toes into the world of blogging, and now am almost completely submerged. I still have some things to learn, but for my intentions, I've got the basics down and have enjoyed every minute. I started this blog for one main reason: to keep up my writing skills while in between jobs or working outside of my career path. I soon found it to be a great way to chronicle the good times in life, most of which revolve around food. I didn't care about readership. I still don't. I have to admit, it's fun when other people enjoy my posts, but I still mainly blog for my love of writing and food. What makes my blog unique? It has only seven, count, SEVEN official followers. And even with that, I don't even know who reads it regularly.

As luck may have it, today I had the opportunity to meet a former winner of The Food Network's Throwdown with Bobby Flay, Father Leo Patalinghug. Try saying that five times fast. A Catholic priest, foodie, and culinary whiz, this guy's perspective on life couldn't be more perfect. He's truly the Philipino-male-priest version of me when it comes to passion for food.


I ventured to McPherson square with my brother James (aka Jamie, Jimbo, Jim, Jimmy, BB Bumpkin, mini-punk, and little &#$*@! (the last three of which were coined by our loving father, Big Bad Bob)) to a small gathering at the Catholic Information Center. Winning the Throwdown for his steak fajitas launched Fr. Leo onto a new platform for sharing the good Word and palatable wisdom about bringing families closer with regular meals. He recently published the third edition of his book "Grace Before Meals," has a website that contains cooking webcasts, a blog of recipes, a weekly newsletter, and countless appearances on TV, speaking engagements, and radio shows.

What excited me most initially was the promise of eating whatever Fr. Leo planned to prepare. What inspires me most about him, besides his culinary talents and dynamic personality, are his sage wisdom, strong convictions, and ability to use his gifts to do good in this world. The energy he brought to his cooking table was also quite contagious. He told stories of how all of this began and how the simple concept of satisfying hunger is at the root of all love and good things in this world.

He threw in some Biblical references during his presentation where he prepared a tasty, yet spicy penne a la vodka for us, and expressed how important food was to nourishing the body and soul. His sense of humor was also entertaining. Before the camera's started rolling, Fr. Leo took the bottle of vodka he planned to use in his dish and pretended to open it and shake it at us like the priests do when blessing the congregation with holy water in church during major holidays. He later referred to it as Russian holy water. My man.

My short narrative about my adventure doesn't do Fr. Leo justice. He had several nuggets of wisdom in there--the main of which was the importance of family meals (or gatherings of friends and families for meals). Strong families are the difference-maker in society. Food brings us all together. It encourages conversation.

After enjoying the pasta dish that Fr. Leo prepared, Jimbo and I got our books signed and headed straight to the grocery store to replicate that simple goodness.


Here's me talking to Fr. Leo while he signs my book. Note (or please refrain from noting) the disaster that is the nest on the back of my hair. I think I might have found where Fievel is hiding out.

I guess all those squats finally paid off as I was able to mug for the camera, crouch down, and hold the pose with Fr. Leo for several consecutive seconds.

And here is the divine concoction. Creamy, spicy, aromatic and layered with flavor, my replication of Fr. Leo's Penne A La Vodka.

As this bloggiversary winds down, I want to thank all of those blogger friends out there and non-blogger loyalists (all three of you) who read mine. I have found many an inspiration from reading my friends' posts and have also discovered many entertaining blogs from seeing who follows what. It's been real tasty.

Weird Food Combos

Friday the 13 is supposed to be a creepy day. For me, not so much. I partook in a fair amount of creepy food combinations, but otherwise thought this Friday the 13th was the best I've ever had. Things are starting to fall into place. I have a few general goals before I turn the dirty 30 in just over a year from now, one of which has to do with my career aspirations. And getting a much-desired job offer in the afternoon was the vanilla ice cream on the cobbler I like to call my life. I can't begin to describe how elated I am, how relieved I feel, and how positive things are looking for the future. Once things are finalized with my acceptance letter, I will write more about that.

But aside from that, I wasn't feeling so hot as I discovered the beautifully smooth Shiraz I enjoyed Thursday night had a nasty side the next day (even after only a couple glasses). It's being all sorts of mean today...and to help take that edge off, I've been cramming the most unlikely of food combinations down my gullet in the hopes to chase the angry Shiraz out of my system. Why is it that hangovers dig out the lust for greasy, comfort food? It would make more sense to head towards fruits, vegetables and freshly prepared foods to purge the hurt from one's system. I guess when you feel like you've been run over a circus train, thinking logically is out of the question.

This got me to thinking about my occasional cravings for strange food combos. As I frosted my perfectly toasted cinnamon-raisin bagel with smoked salmon cream cheese this morning, I wondered how many other people (other than pregnant women) have food quirks like mine. You would think that grouping would be repulsive...fish with cream, cinnamon, and raisins? Yes, please. It's delicious (hungover or not). For lunch, I downed two ice cream sandwiches (a Snicker's ice cream bar and an M&M ice cream sandwich) along with half of a toasted blueberry bagel with smoked salmon cream cheese. Is your mouth watering yet? Thought so. Here are a couple of other good numbers that seem so wrong, but are oh, so good.

1. Cinnamon-raisin bread, toasted and smothered with melted, sharp cheddar cheese
2. Baked beans mixed with grated parmesan cheese and dolloped on a hot dog with plenty of ketchup and mustard
   
3. PB & J sandwich, covered with a mixture of apple sauce and raisins on the top slice of bread
4. Cold, chunky New England clam chowder straight out of the can
5. Or just plain old cold dinner leftovers for breakfast, the best of which are spaghetti and meatballs, or eggplant parmesan.
   

Don't be scared. Give them a try.

Drowned Rat

I will start off by saying that the picketers came back again today. The strong rain torrents and winds did not discourage their plight to fight for benefits from their employer. This time, though, the blow up rat was replaced by several more cowbells. Maybe the rat wouldn't have fared well in the rain. As I was walking past them to grab some food, I noticed them stopping to take a break. I meant to go ask one of them for more details on their cause, but my hunger defeated that curiousity.

In addition to the cowbell annoyance, my basement flooded this morning as a result of the flash flood that drowned parts of the region. I am not one to point fingers, but all ten fingers and all ten toes are pointing right at my landlord all the way over to his cottage in Ireland. Having the main downspout from your house gutters empty at the top of the outside stairs leading to the basement is, let's say, less than ideal. The result? A little change of scenery for my morning shower. I spent the main portion of my morning outside with the lightning and rain torrents hauling bucket after bucket of rain water that streamed through the cracks in the door frame to the basement. Rugs soaked. Dirt and leaves everywhere. Only half of the wood floor got covered, and I was able to move stuff in time to spare more damage.

Oh, did I mention that I've always wanted to use a wet/dry vac? No. Because I don't. But, now I get to see how well the landlord's works. And, regular emptying of his dehumidifier will become a new chore for the next few days. Upon calling the landlord, who I have no problems with otherwise, I was informed that he has pieces of wood outside near the bushes that he uses in his effort to re-route the downspout waterflow around the entrance to those stairs. A teeny bit of information that could've been more useful at the lease signing.

Last but not least, Fievel remains at large. The landlord told me to move the traps under the crawl spaces under the kitchen sink and the stove since that is where he has caught mice in the past when they had a "problem." Again, another piece of information that would've been more useful at the lease signing.

I am now drowning in work after coming in a couple hours late after dealing with the house woes. I wish I wasn't such a downer today, but hey, at least the weekend's almost here and the sun's finally out.

Needs Less Cowbell

On my morning walk from the Gallery-Place/Chinatown metro stop to my office at 7th and Indiana, I was greeted by the hollering and angry drumming of picketers in front of a building across the street.

I wonder what they're so angry about? Could it be wages? If so, then why'd they spend a couple hunny on a gigantic, 20-foot blow up rat perched on top of a parked car? How long will they last out there in the heat? From the sounds of it now, they're still going strong, beating plastic buckets, parading their signs up and down the block all the while screaming, whistling and jeering.

And if my ears have served me correctly, there might be a member of the Blue Oyster Cult working the lines with them. Whoever's working the cowbell down there deserves more than a pat on the back. I can hear the loud tinging of said cowbell all the way up on the 9th floor of my building. And, it's starting to get old. Real old. If it's annoying me way over here, then whoever they're targeting at their building must be beyond irritated. I might go down there and join them just so they'll stop soon.

And what will become of the blow up rat once they're done? Who's the lucky one who gets to take that home with them? I say take it to the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade.

Good Baked Goods

I dined at Chef Geoff's downtown last night with my family and cousins, and for the first time in a while, ordered dessert at the end. I usually don't have room for dessert, and come to think of it, didn't have room this time either, but went for it anyways. My parents were there to treat us all, so that may have played a role in my decision.

As my eyes darted through the menu selections, they screeched to a halt at the word "Mixed Berry Crisp." I remember making a mixed berry cobbler earlier this summer and not enjoying the berry marriage going on under the crumbly topping. There was something about it that ruined it for me, but I can't quite pinpoint it. The fruit tasted like it had been mulled with wine or tea, and I am not a fan of mulled wine. Maybe that's it. I wanted so badly to order it and see how a good DC restaurant prepares the one item I can make in my sleep. But, I decided to go with the pineapple upside down cake with cinnamon ice cream instead. The presentation was great and the cake itself was decadent.

My dad and cousin-by-marriage Erika both ordered the cherry pie (which came highly recommended by our waitress). And, hoping to change my mind about cherries, I asked for a bite. The pie came out in a bowl, so it appeared like a chicken pot pie. And, OH, was it mercilessly hot. Scalded my mouth instantly. Strike two, Cherries! And the crust was a bit too gummy for my liking. My dad and Erika liked it, but to me it was disappointing.

It made me think of all the times I have been disasppointed by fruit pies or cobbler-esque desserts. Whole Foods' take on these have never met my expectations. I love all of their prepared foods, but their fruit pies were always lacking in punch with the filling and especially the crust. This has been precisely why I do not order these kinds of desserts at restaurants, to spare myself the disappointment. As of now, besides homemade cobblers, my favorite pies and fruit desserts are a blueberry pie from a restaurant in Maine, McDonald's apple pie, and Burger King's apple or cherry pie. Sad, but true.

My friend Patrick told me about this Dangerously Delicious pie place on the H Street Corridor that I have mentioned before. But, I have yet to try it. I just want to find a restaurant (bakery even) that has basic, yet fantastic fruit pies. Is that too much to ask? How hard can it be? Maybe I have just been looking for greatness in all the wrong places.

Lemon: 1, Hilary: 0

Time continues to tick away as do my options for cobblers. Last week I made a cherry cobbler and a white peach-nectarine one. I am rather indifferent about cherries. Eaten fresh, they're a pain what with that interfering pit. Baked, and used as flavoring for candy et al, they're fine but not noteworthy to my tastebuds. The cherry cobbler was just "fine," but to cherry lovers (my roommate) it was deemed a success. Later, on the weekend, I found perfectly ripe white peaches and nectarines that served as perfectly pretty partners in their baked form.

Both were beautiful on the outside and the inside, with specks of cranberry colored flesh that carried a sweet, perfumey aroma. In my haste to get this operation in and out of the oven, I made an unfortunate choice. Rather than squeeze the lemons over a bowl, collect the seeds, and then pour into the fruit bowl, I squeezed them quickly and directly over the bowl. Juice sprayed out everywhere, but I took no notice. There was aready flecks of flour and sugar, and tomato sauce (from the spaghetti and meatballs I threw down earlier in the evening) about my outfit.

And then I noticed my favorite avocado-green tank top! Ruined! Out, out damn, spots! Who knew that lemon acid was that powerful. I guess that's why most normal people wear aprons. I blame the GAP for their sub-par dying.

This turned out quite nicely. It's on my top list of favorite.

Another happy ending for all, thanks to vanilla ice cream!

Fievel Goes East

This morning while checking email I found out that I wasn't home alone after all. Fievel has headed east...far east to downtown Silver Spring. I saw him scurry through the living room, pause for a second to make eye contact with me, and scurry onward into the mixing bowl of TV wires. I swear I saw him smile with my ear-splitting proclamation of "OH. MY. GOD."

I can handle ants, I can handle small spiders, but I can't handle unwanted mammals. Thank goodness I didn't see a cockroach, but mice rank second in terms of the shudder factor. After my basement roommate came upstairs to see what the yelling was about, I headed to Strosnider's to pick up some mouse traps...the friendly ones. I couldn't bear the thought of sleeping and being woken up to the snap of a traditional mouse trap and then go find Fievel (and quite possibly friends) bloodied and broken on my floor. NO, thank you.

Instead, I spent an extra couple of bucks on these catch and release bad boys. I hope Fievel and friends like Jiff Extra Crunchy peanut butter. I took my two traps to the kitchen and placed a generous spoonful of peanut butter in each before treating myself to a spoonful. I texted one of my friends to tell him that I decided to use peanut butter in the traps and he replied with "Ha, don't you eat the mouse trap!" Jeez, people. I am a fan of the midnight snack, but I'm not that bad!

Check out Fievel's soon-to-be traveling case. It's only about four inches wide by five inches long, but for Fievel, it'll be quite roomy and has the promise of a free continental breakfast. I've decided that upon capture, I will be taking Fievel with me to Chevy Chase to release him to greener pastures.

Pay Me in Meatballs

I used to love watching the movie The Wedding Singer, and especially enjoyed the part where Adam Sandler's character was paid in meatballs by a cute old lady who was using him for singing lessons. Last night, I met up with a former coworker of mine at newly-opened Carmine's in Chinatown to talk about things related to jobs, one of which I am seeking at her new place of employ. I have always been curious about Carmine's, having heard much talk about their family-style Italian feast and here I was, sitting at the bar, so close to actually experiencing it. While we grabbed a drink, I decided to tell my former coworker, that if hired, I would gladly accept overtime payment in the form of meatballs. She diligently jotted that down in her notes. Sweet. I hope she passes on the word to HR.

As luck had it, she and her friends invited me to join them for their meal and I graciously accepted. It got better. An order of spaghetti and meatballs, ravioli, and fried zucchini soon arrived to our table. My pupils dilated instantly. The meatballs were huge. The combination of the steaming spaghetti, pieces of the velvety meatball, and slices of ravioli melted in my mouth. In honor of Discovery Channel's "Shark Week" I devoured my serving without much regard for anything or anyone else at the table. Maybe I should've been a tad more dainty.

One the guys with us was the editor of the Washington Business Journal and was recognized by the woman heading up the PR for Carmine's. After she came by to chat him up, assuming the rest of us were reporters aiming to take a bite and pump out a note about the new place, she sent the CEO of the parent company of Carmine's over to meet us as well.

He was actually very interesting to listen to. He told stories of how they got a restaurant launched at The Atlantis in Paradise Island, Bahamas and gave cut-by-cut details of the rigorous training every cook had to undergo before the DC restaurant's grand opening. I was intrigued, but mostly by his tale of the quality control guru--their taste-tester. He made stuffing oneself into oblivion seem excruciating. Um, I'd love to get paid to live my life! He said there's one poor soul who has to fly down from New York every month to The Atlantis (such cruelty) do a taste test of everything on the menu (the nerve!) to assure that things maintain consistency for the sake of their brand. The owner said once you get through taking a bite of each appetizer, you have to sit down for a serious breather, then put your head back to the grindstone and eat on. Bravo! What do I need to do to get PAID to eat my heart out? Jeez, I am in the wrong line of work.

Overall, the experience at Carmine's was fantastic. I wouldn't say the food was out of this world, but it was pretty solid.

The Simple Life

While I thought about writing today's post about my near-attempt at preparing a melted cheese on cold cheese treat, I found myself more compelled to unleash a commentary on Earthlings. So, I will take a break from my slammed day at work to pose a series of rhetorical questions.

• Why are only babies, old people, and animals allowed to toot in public?
• Why is it only ok for babies, old people, and ESPECIALLY animals to stare?
• How come everyone looks the other way when when B, OP, and A throw table manners to the curb, yet they exhibit sheer disgust when I wind up with food remnants all over my face and clothes?
• Why don't B, OP, and A have to suffer the daily 9-5 grind?
• Why are there discounts (or sometimes free passes) for B, OP, and A on airplanes and food establishments?
• Why do most people feel comfortable making small talk with B, OP, and A that they've never met, yet find it painful to make eye-contact, let alone exchange a smile, with non BOPAs in public?
• Why are B, OP, and A always so adorable, endearing, and cute?

No, I'm not bitter that I have to conform to societal constraints when these genres of beings do not. I just find this all interesting sometimes. And, I often wonder when the lines begin to blur in that transition from childhood to normal-hood, and from normal-hood to old-hood. At what point in my 50s, 60s, or early 70s will things start to slide? Or will the slide begin earlier than I expect with much more subtlety? I have lived my childhood, but I didn't have the awareness then to cherish that blissful innocence and ignorance to civility. Since I won't be reincarnated as an animal, I must now wait until I am in my later 70s to really cut loose.

I can't wait for a more simple life. A time when I can really exhale, pause, sit back, and relax. Animals, mainly domesticated ones, have the life. Though, they will never understand how good they have it. All they have to do is love, eat, and play (except in this dog's case). Is there anything better in life than that? Why must we complicate things so much? Yeah, I know...the fully-developed human mind is a beautiful thing and has the capacity to achieve great things. A mind that babies don't quite have yet, that old people start to lose pieces of, and that animals will never have. I wouldn't trade that in for free-for-all tooting and staring. But sometimes, I just wish us non BOPAs could dial it down a bit, and lead lives not bogged down by the circus of activities, decisions, work, distractions, challenges, and hardships. But, I guess life's supposed to be that way. And in the end, we will be rewarded with AARP discounts.

Now that, my friends, is a look into the inner-workings of my mind. It's not terribly efficient, I'd say. I wish I could train my mind to do something earth-shattering, rather than clog it up with these musings. Back to work.

Finding a New Obsession

Cobbler making season is nearing its end. I can feel it. And it makes me sad. I'm thinking once September hits, I will only have a couple more weeks left to obsess. That brings me to my next dilemma: what to do next? My friend Sheri was thoughtful enough to ask me this question earlier today and it has sparked a much-needed brainstorm with ample lead time for a decision.

I could steer my focus to savory items, which is likely what will happen. Or, I could stay the path of sweets and focus on pies. Pies! There are so many different kinds of pie, many of which can be fruit-filled making my life easier. Speaking of pies, my friend Patrick told me of this pie place (I think this is the spot) in the H-Street corridor of DC. Must check it out!

Yet, I think I am leaning more towards the following:

• Sliders (beef, chicken, seafood, veggie--you name it. And the combinations of homemade condiments, toppings, and cheeses make it even more enticing to me).
• Casseroles (there are a million of these out there! They could also double as my lunches/dinners for the week.)
• Dips (layered, cream based, cheese based, baked--whatever!)

OR, I could just focus on one ingredient and see how many savory and sweet dishes I can make from them. Take bananas, for example, I could make smoothies, ice cream, bananas foster, quesadillas, hmmm....maybe not.

I've got at least another month to get cobbling out of my system. And, I hope by then I will be ready and eager to enslave myself to the demands of another food item.

We the Displeased

Having raved about former Top Chef contender Spike Mendelsohn's Good Stuff Eatery earlier this week, I went to try his newest establishment, We The Pizza, last night. With high hopes of being transported into happy town, I was underwhelmed and frustrated with his New York-style pizzeria. Located right next door to Good Stuff, the place appeared to be set up similary on the inside. Seating upstairs, big menu displayed on the wall above the counter, and open kitchen.

But the service and the food itself left much to be desired. When I arrived with friends Julie and Laura, there wasn't much of a line yet. And behind the counter and display glass, there were at least ten people working, if not more: a few spinning raw dough and adding toppings to new pies, a few working the registers, a few pulling pies in and out of the oven, a soda maker and two people handling the order buzzers and handing out of food.

Then why did it take forever for them to serve us our already-baked slices of pie? How long does it take to toss a chopped salad together? If only they would've spent all that time making sure the food had more flavor, then the wait would've been worth it. Instead I was left with settling for an OK meal. It wasn't terrible, but I expected more from Spike.

Here's the Chop Salad. Complete with sundried tomatoes, chopped ice berg, red onion and slices of salami, ham and provolone, it could've used much more vinegar, or salt even in the dressing. The red-wine vinaigrette was over-used and tasted like plain vegetable oil.

The pepperoni were great, but the piece itself was crunchy on bottom due to reheating and slightly charring. I thought it tasted fine, albeit somewhat bland. I would have to say I prefer Sbarro's over this. Though, presentation wise, it looked like a winner.

Last and least was the white pizza. It tasted like plain American cheese on bread. The bottom was very crunchy, but burned black like a piece of charcoal. There wasn't even a hint of garlic and zero punch from the some of the sharp white cheeses they used.

Here's to hoping that these are just "kinks" that can be worked out over time. I will go back to try a different slice of pizza and the spaghetti and meatballs. I haven't given up completely, yet