Unfortunately, I was no longer able to uphold the city life. It has been said that if you live in NYC for at least 7 years you can call yourself a NYer. So I now consider myself a transplanted city girl. If you like my blog, please like my page on Facebook. See link in the right sidebar.
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As I stood there in the heart of the Electric Ladyland Brewery (aka R__’s kitchen) and watched the wort boil over I knew it was my fault. Wasn’t it my hand that dropped the hops into the pot just a few seconds before? I turned away and turned back to see all this liquid and stuff (you know the STUFF that is in wort) end up on the stove. I have this magical ability to ruin things that have to be made in a kitchen just by being in the kitchen, and in this case I actually took part in the brewing process. Double whammy. Of course the master brewer (aka R__) and her competent assistant (aka M__) said it was because the pot was too small, and the master brewer said she needed to update the equipment (buy a kettle from the brewing place, as you can see I am a very technical person). Still part of me still believes it was my malevolent-non-cooking aura that did it. Kitchens and me don’t get along. I should stick to making catnip socks for the in-house entertainment (resident furry citizen).
So how did I become part of this marvelous brewing crew at the excellent Electric Ladyland Brewery? The master brewer invited me to join the festivities and it was fun. After being a part of it I understand why brew brewing is best done with more than one person. And after all there were only two minor mishaps, one of which I captured on video, (the master brewer forbade from posting it, you can clearly hear on the video “THE HELL YOU ARE POSTING THIS ON YOU-TUBE”, though so it is not here). The other two videos I took of the brewing process are at the end of this post.
Besides being the competent assistant, and the only other person beside the Master Brewer with brewing experience, M__ was the assigned documenter of the day. Put in simple turns, she photographed the steps as we did them. I took a few, hopefully I will get the titles right, but here goes anyway.
I believe this is as R__ was pouring in the liquid malt, this is done when the water boils, it takes a while because it is very thick and so comes out of the bottle slowly. After this a powder is put in, I don’t remember what this powder is called, but its pictured in the second video. It all comes in a kit, everything is pre-measured and labeled, the only thing we had to measure was the water, and time the cooking process. One must also have the proper equipment, and one needs a kitchen. I don’t have a kitchen, I also don’t have the desire to brew beer. I had a lot of fun helping but it’s not something that I yearn to do.
Then after the hops are added and boiled for the correct time period, the whole pot was put in the sink with ice to cool it. When got to the correct temp it is then poured into a big jug, water is added and then the white stopper goes in and the big jug gets rocked around to aerate the liquid. Then the yeast is poured in. I’m told this is how it is supposed to look like. Then it sits, I don’t know if it is still called wort, but the yeast gets eaten up and the water bubbles in the clear thing above the stopper. R__ said she would video it, so it will almost be like I’m there.
It smelled though, I turned to R__ and started to say, “It smells …” and she replied “Yes doesn’t it smell good?” I didn’t agree so I just shut my mouth. After a while I either got used to it or it got less intense, but that is another reason I will probably not open a “Princessa Brewery” in the Upper East Side.
The brew was a brown Ale with the clever name: Caribou Slobber. And I know you all want to know, did I ruin the beer? R__ doesn’t think so, we will know in two weeks. In the meantime I have “Hemingway IPA” a black coffee IPA from Electric Ladyland brewery to try. Cheers.
Yesterday I rode the bus, it is an event that happens with sufficient infrequency to be noteworthy. It would never have happened if I knew how to cook sausage in a non-stick pan. I suppose I could blame that on my mother, since she had a cast-iron skillet and taught me how to cook sausage and eggs in that instead of a non-stick pan. Or maybe I could blame it on the fact that I now eat chicken or turkey sausage and there is not as much fat draining out into the pan. The fact remains that I ruined my pan cooking sausage in it and when I told Em I wanted to buy a cast-iron skillet she suggested going to Home Goods after the game yesterday.
We took the B train from Yankee Stadium to 103rd, from there we walked to Home Goods, where I found a small cast-iron skillet, mission accomplished! I also saw these green Ramekins which I had to have. They are oven safe to 500°F (260°C) and also microwave, blowtorch and dishwasher safe, except I don’t have any of those. Really! I don’t have a blowtorch, never needed one. Em said they would not be a frivolous purchase because I would make baked eggs in them. I was thinking they would be good for single servings of baked Macaroni and cheese myself, or for heating up macaroni and cheese since I don’t have a microwave. Then we stopped at Model’s for socks, which they didn’t have. After that we went to eat Mexican food.
Em was ready to walk to Grand Central, I was ready to go home, but we were on the west side and I didn’t want to walk across the park since I always get lost walking across the park. Don’t ask and don’t judge. Also I was carrying this heavy cast-iron pan, 4 green Ramekins and 3 yellow bananas. And my knee hurt. That was when I got on the bus. If you’ve been reading this blog you may know that I hate the bus more than the train. Even when a friend tells me, “If you take the bus from church it will drop you right by your apartment.” I will still walk the two blocks to the Green Train and then walk the two blocks back to 2nd Ave. The Crosstown bus is not that bad. However once I got off the crosstown bus I walked up 2nd Avenue home. Which is how I ended up with a bottle of Aleve (that I needed) and a bottle of shampoo (that I didn’t really need but Ricky’s sucked me in).
While riding the bus I was struck by the thought that public transportation in NYC represents the diversity of the city. At one stop a man got on wearing a pale suit and straw Fedora (a different type of hat I would have said he was a southern gentleman), followed by a woman wearing a skirt and shirt (not quite pulled together businesswoman attire, looking pissed off, I wonder if the southern gentleman made a chauvinist comment to her), then a middle aged man wearing shorts and a Mets shirt (EWWW!), a teenage boy was next (he might have been with Mr. Met). There was also this ancient woman with hair down her back that looked like one big dreadlock (please don’t sit too close to me).
At least it was better than the subway ride to the stadium when I saw two women not wearing bras that should have been. One had on one of those strapless dresses that are cute if you’re not a DD cup, the other woman was wearing a white racerback tank top. My eyes, please my eyes hurt after that.
It started with the yogurt. When I was on Weight Watchers I started eating non-fat Greek yogurt, the reason being Greek yogurt is high in protein (18g in 6 ounces of plain non-fat Greek yogurt, 9g in 6 ounces of regular non-fat yogurt). This guy, (who’ll I’ll call Guy) walks back and asks what I’m eating, after telling him he says “Oh fancy yogurt.” From then on he called it “Your special fancy yogurt.” which really pissed me off. It was more the way he said it, which to me sounded like, “Oh you think you’re so special (better than everybody else) you have to have special fancy yogurt.” Like my ‘specialness went that far’. NO I think I’m fat and need to lose weight. When I tried explaining it to him, in an effort to get him to stop saying it, Guy insisted that’s not how he meant it. He meant it as a compliment.
Fast forward to this week, Guy and I go get lunch, I got chicken cutlet with mixed vegetables. The deli gave us plastic forks, which I don’t like using, so when we got back to the office I went to my cubicle and got a flatware fork. Immediately he says, “Oh you had to get your fancy fork.” I almost stabbed him with it. It’s not fancy, I’ve had plastic forks break when stuck into food, sometimes they won’t stick into food the tines bend, if I had been by myself (which is how I prefer to have my lunch) I would have told the deli people I didn’t need a fork. If I had brought my plate he would have said “You had to get your special plate” (oh wait, my plate is special, it’s heart shaped and says LOVE on it). You might be thinking why don’t I just say “No” when he asks me to get lunch with him? It’s not just that he pays for lunch, if I say “No, I brought my lunch” then for the next month he goes on about how hurt he was, how if it was him, he would have left his lunch for the next day. Reinforcing the “You think your so special, better than everybody else.” I’m not special, I’m an introvert and need my alone time.
Then there’s the favorites, my FAVORITE deli, and if I find a new place I like, your FAVORITE new place. All with that special inflection on favorite that makes me want to spit. There’s a word for what you’re doing Guy, its called “HARASSMENT”.
As you know I have the job of cleaning the refrigerator every Friday, that means I throw out leftovers and spoiled food. I find it hilarious that this is my responsibility, my refrigerator at home has beer, energy drinks, pitcher of water and a carton of milk in it. Even more hilarious is despite being a single girl living alone in Manhattan whose idea of ‘gourmet’ cooking is stirring a spoonful of hot sauce into her boxed macaroni and cheese, I apparently know more about food storage than you do.
For instance, I know that if you leave strawberries in the refrigerator for three weeks they get all this nice gray fuzz on them. Except its not nice, IT’S DISGUSTING!
It is probably a good thing I don’t know who you are, since you would probably have found moldy strawberries in your desk on Monday. So to keep things nice it would be better if you didn’t come to my desk and complain about the fact that I threw out your berries. We really don’t want to find out if I actually took my Workplace Violence training to heart.
One day this week a woman got on the train carrying a cup of coffee. Instead of a paper sleeve she had a crocheted one. My first thought was, I want it! My second thought was I can make it myself. I went online to find a pattern, all the patterns I found were crocheted, but I wanted a knit one. I decided it wouldn’t be too hard to figure out how to make one myself.
And here it is, and here are the directions. I used “Caron Simply Soft Party yarn” medium size, gauge is 18 stitches, 24 rows with #8(5mm) US needles=4″x4″ (10 cm). I used size #4 US, (3.5 mm) double pointed needles to make the knitted sleeve shown.
Cast on 34 sts. Join
Rnd 1: K
Rnd 2: Purl all even rows.
Rnd 3: K 17 sts, increase one stitch, K 16 sts, increase one stitch, K1
Rnd 5: K
Rnd 7: K 18 sts, increase one stitch, K 17 sts, increase one stitch, K1
Rnd 9: K
**Rnd 11: K to last stitch, increase one stitch in space before last stitch.
Rnd 12: P
Rnd 13: K
Rnd 14: P
Repeat from ** until sleeve is as long as you want it. Bind off next row, weave yarn ends in.
After finishing it and trying it on the cup to make sure it fit, I did another test. I took the sleeve off the cup and boiled some water, then I made tea in the cup. I put the sleeve on and held the cup, yes I am holding a paper cup with boiling water in it. So not only does it protect my hand, I was also able to get it on the cup when the cup was full. I call that success.
One day last week I went to work without putting my contacts in. I noticed something was wrong when I was standing on the subway platform and couldn’t read the signs. Don’t ask me how I got from my apartment to the subway without noticing nothing was in focus, apparently my brain was in a fog and my legs were on autopilot. After all the subway is always in the same place.
Going shopping after work was an adventure and I discovered advantages and disadvantages to shopping without glasses. The disadvantage was not being able to see down the aisles and having to walk down each one to find canned black beans. The advantage was being able to read the labels without putting on my reading glasses.
I spent Saturday night at my old place. I used to rage against people who said I lived upstate, “I don’t live upstate, I live in the Hudson Valley.” Saturday when Em was in the city and the Greenpeace guy was asking us for money, the first question they always ask is “Where are you from?” Em answers, “Upstate.” So ….
I slept in my old bedroom, except it wasn’t my old bedroom. The bed was where my sewing machine used to be, they actually turned the two rooms into one, so there is a sleeping area and a sitting area, so Sarah can have a friend over. Em got corn and roasted it on the grill. It was so good, but I was sick, I am still sick. Blech.
Yankees lost on Sunday, CC went on the DL, I told Alex, “The Yankees are doomed, that means no more half-price Papa John’s.” His reply was they better start winning again because he wants his pizza!
So my head is going to explode anytime now. I should post the rest of my pictures before that happens.
Did you think I was going to say ‘green’? Specifically, it is not easy being a single girl living in New York. I don’t know how it is elsewhere. The only other place I lived by myself was Buffalo and I had no problems going out because I never went out because there is nothing to do in Buffalo.
In New York there is plenty to do, especially since in this neighborhood, especially since this is a relatively nice neighborhood. There is a place near hear that has mac-n-cheese, which I am not supposed to have, but sometimes I crave it, so I go there. Actually I used to go there, I will never go there again. Twice I have been harassed there. By the same man, he is a vile nasty creeper, one time he tried to follow me home. The homeless guy helped me out. The second time by what he said I got a very good mental picture of just how big a jerk he is. So this place is scratched off my list of places to go.
The second place I had trouble was at Yankee stadium. I see no reason why I shouldn’t go to games by myself. As far as I know I am not breaking any rules. With all the other fans there, you’re not really all alone anyway. So first this guy starts off by insisting I have to have a boyfriend. No I don’t, what the hell do you care anyway? Nasty little s*** that thinks he’s badass cause he lives in the Bronx. I don’t have a boyfriend, I don’t want a boyfriend, I don’t need a boyfriend. Then he starts asking me all these personal questions, which of course I don’t answer honestly, there is no way I am telling a complete stranger (a creepy one at that) personal details about me. Then he starts keeping track of the ‘lies’. ‘That’s three times you lied to me.’ Then I find out the seats he’s sitting in aren’t even his seats, the person who had those seats came to the game, so he moved. Here’s the kicker, as I’m watching him for the rest of the game, to make sure he doesn’t come near me again and I can tell he has forgotten all about me and our conversation. He ruined my evening, made me a nervous wreck and he is clueless about how his actions affected me.
This isn’t the middle ages is it? I didn’t get suddenly transported back in time to Victorian England. I’m not in one of those bizarre religions that oppress their women am I? So why can’t I go out by myself and have a good time and not have to worry about being harassed? I just want to go to dinner or go to a ballgame and be left alone.
So I headed to SoHo to partake of tea and scones at Harney and Sons. Someone had told me that a friend of her’s was going to do her nails, 4 nails one color and the ring finger another color. Then I saw it in a blog or online, I’m not sure where, being that I am only a little adventurous, I just had Esther put glitter polish over the color, can you see it?
Belleza
just a (transplanted) city girl 