In addition to a number of crazy things that have demanded my time and attention, including, but not limited to: buying a washer and dryer, struggling to get them to my apartment and then installed (please don't ask about this process it kills me, it's my Waterloo).
I got a promotion. Seriously, I'm going to be in charge of things. And people doing things. Who'd a thought you could be a restuarant manager without having any server experience. Not me that's for sure. But the boss likes me, so who am I to question those decisions when it entails a full time pay check, health insurance and a corp gym membership. sweet.
I am still writing other things too. My writer's group started up again, so I have a reason to kick my butt into gear and turn out some words. In addition to applying to every theater company attached writer's group in NYC. I can't tell if that's a good idea to apply all in the same year or a horrendeous idea. I think I'm banking on the fact that if I do get in anywhere there is no way I'd get in to a second one.
Well back to work.
Saturday, April 24, 2010
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
If you have time today
A friend - Jesse - theater's company, the puppet-tastic Sinking Ship Productions, is entered into a small business competition to win $5,000 by getting people to vote on a short video. Their video is way better than everyone else's, and I'm not being biased. They have puppets. Other small businesses have, um. Webcams? HR departments?
Anyway!
You can watch their entry here: http://newdeal.verticalresponse.com/index.php?page=11&utm_source=tweet-this&utm_medium=Twitter&utm_campaign=story-promotion
BONUS: There is live action footage of Jess puppeteering a blue-footed boobie!
If you have time to register and vote for them, that would be AWESOME! They're getting beat by like Antique Tractors R Us right now, and that's just sad. Plus if they win they will use the money to put on a show about the guy who wrote the Looney Toons music. What are the other businesses going to do? Probably buy staplers or something. TO KILL PUPPIES WITH.
Please help support theatre. It will only take a minute of your time.
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
Play Reading
My play MORE THAN BREAKFAST is being given a staged reading by eyeBLINK on March 31 at 7pm at Where Eagles Dare, 347 west 36th Street, 13th floor, Blackbird Stage. That's in NYC. Hope to see you there.
Sunday, March 21, 2010
New House
I just moved apartments - an in with Kevin and Theresa - and am in the middle of working to set everything up. Needless to say I've been busy. But the apartment is beautiful. It's in Long Island City, Queens. So I'm now living in my third - and probably final - borough. I doubt I'll ever move to the Bronx or Staten Island.
MY ROOM TODAY
I did make my second trip to Staten Island this weekend to pick up a washer and dryer. That's right folks. I now own fancy big appliances. And as soon as I can get them up the stairs, everything will be great.
BEFORE WE MOVED IN.
AFTER WE MOVED IN.
TODAY
MY ROOM TODAY
THERESA'S BOOKS IN THE LIVING ROOM
Monday, March 01, 2010
Tempestuous
The Tempest
The Bridge Project at BAM
Directed by Sam Mendes
This is the second year of the Bridge Project, a joint production between the Brooklyn Academy of Music and The Old Vic Theatre in London. The show is also scheduled to tour in Asia and Europe. Last year I was able to catch both Bridge Project productions – The Cherry Orchard and A Winter’s Tale - at the Old Vic. I’m not a Chekov fan and this production did not change my mind, but I was pleased. A Winter’s Tale, however, was stunning, beautiful and finely nuanced.
The Tempest is one of my absolute favorite of Shakespeare’s plays – the other two being Romeo & Juliet and Macbeth - and my hopes were high for this production.
The Tempest is playing in BAM’s Harvey Theater. I’d been to the space before, quite a few years ago, but had forgotten the feel of it. The theatre has intentionally been left in a dilapidated state. There are cracks in the cement, the paint is wearing thin on the walls, and even the speakers look like they’ve been though an earthquake or two. It gives you the feeling that you are trespassing into a building that could fall down around you at any moment. Your presence feels like an intrusion, so does the performance. The entire experience feels taboo.
At first glance the set looks like a production manager’s nightmare: a pool of water and a pit of sand. On second glance it was confirmed as a production manager’s nightmare. In order to get from both upstage doors to center stage the actors had to walk through the pool of water. Everyone, minus Prospero and Miranda, had wet feet all night.
The main playing area is a fifteen foot diameter pit of sand. None of the characters, spare Prospero and Ariel, said any lines outside this space. They also never exited the stage. I saw what Sam Mendes was doing. I understood it on an intellectual level. I liked it on an intellectual level. It just did not work. I knew the sand pit was Prospero’s sphere of influence and everything that happened inside of it was caused by him. But Prospero never felt like he was in possession of magic power. I understood that when the characters sat in chairs in the pool of water they were waiting for the puppet master to call them forward to take on their role. But I kept worrying they were going to catch cold just sitting there.
The Tempest begins with a mighty sea storm splintering a ship before the audience’s very eyes, and ends just after a fanciful pageant celebrating the future marriage of Miranda and Ferdinand. The eponymous Tempest, in an attempt to show how the storm was controlled by Prospero and Ariel, lacked an element of ferocity or fear. The revels of the end of the play, which can be just as joyful as the storm is dangerous, also fell short of being the entertainment Prospero promises. Juliet Rylance played a very matured, courtly Miranda, which is contrary to the fifteen year old girl raised on a deserted island whom Shakespeare wrote. Stephen Dillane’s Prospero felt like a tottering old man plotting an ancient revenge, not a man who can conjure up sea storms or visions of pageants. The one highlight was Anthony O’Donnell’s Trinculo, who brought an energy to the stage, which was lacking from everyone else. He was a little life, in a production otherwise rounded by sleep.
This is concept Shakespeare at its most contrived and ill executed. I would advise Shakespeare fans to skip this production.
The Bridge Project at BAM
Directed by Sam Mendes
This is the second year of the Bridge Project, a joint production between the Brooklyn Academy of Music and The Old Vic Theatre in London. The show is also scheduled to tour in Asia and Europe. Last year I was able to catch both Bridge Project productions – The Cherry Orchard and A Winter’s Tale - at the Old Vic. I’m not a Chekov fan and this production did not change my mind, but I was pleased. A Winter’s Tale, however, was stunning, beautiful and finely nuanced.
The Tempest is one of my absolute favorite of Shakespeare’s plays – the other two being Romeo & Juliet and Macbeth - and my hopes were high for this production.
The Tempest is playing in BAM’s Harvey Theater. I’d been to the space before, quite a few years ago, but had forgotten the feel of it. The theatre has intentionally been left in a dilapidated state. There are cracks in the cement, the paint is wearing thin on the walls, and even the speakers look like they’ve been though an earthquake or two. It gives you the feeling that you are trespassing into a building that could fall down around you at any moment. Your presence feels like an intrusion, so does the performance. The entire experience feels taboo.
At first glance the set looks like a production manager’s nightmare: a pool of water and a pit of sand. On second glance it was confirmed as a production manager’s nightmare. In order to get from both upstage doors to center stage the actors had to walk through the pool of water. Everyone, minus Prospero and Miranda, had wet feet all night.
The main playing area is a fifteen foot diameter pit of sand. None of the characters, spare Prospero and Ariel, said any lines outside this space. They also never exited the stage. I saw what Sam Mendes was doing. I understood it on an intellectual level. I liked it on an intellectual level. It just did not work. I knew the sand pit was Prospero’s sphere of influence and everything that happened inside of it was caused by him. But Prospero never felt like he was in possession of magic power. I understood that when the characters sat in chairs in the pool of water they were waiting for the puppet master to call them forward to take on their role. But I kept worrying they were going to catch cold just sitting there.
The Tempest begins with a mighty sea storm splintering a ship before the audience’s very eyes, and ends just after a fanciful pageant celebrating the future marriage of Miranda and Ferdinand. The eponymous Tempest, in an attempt to show how the storm was controlled by Prospero and Ariel, lacked an element of ferocity or fear. The revels of the end of the play, which can be just as joyful as the storm is dangerous, also fell short of being the entertainment Prospero promises. Juliet Rylance played a very matured, courtly Miranda, which is contrary to the fifteen year old girl raised on a deserted island whom Shakespeare wrote. Stephen Dillane’s Prospero felt like a tottering old man plotting an ancient revenge, not a man who can conjure up sea storms or visions of pageants. The one highlight was Anthony O’Donnell’s Trinculo, who brought an energy to the stage, which was lacking from everyone else. He was a little life, in a production otherwise rounded by sleep.
This is concept Shakespeare at its most contrived and ill executed. I would advise Shakespeare fans to skip this production.
Saturday, February 06, 2010
HOME
I haven't felt it in a while. That urgent pang in the bottom of my heart. A deep desire to go home and hide. But the problem remains, I don't like anywhere is home.
As I wait for the results on an apartment application, I hope this new place will be the place my mind conjures up when I just need to hide from the world for a while, regain my composure, inhale without an audience. These are the desires that make me question whether NYC is really the place for me. I haven't learned how to close my eyes and block out all those people when I need to, I haven't learned how to cry on a crowded subway car. And as the man at the closed book store said, I'm too nice to be a New Yorker. But then again maybe my generation of New Yorker's are nicer.
As I wait for the results on an apartment application, I hope this new place will be the place my mind conjures up when I just need to hide from the world for a while, regain my composure, inhale without an audience. These are the desires that make me question whether NYC is really the place for me. I haven't learned how to close my eyes and block out all those people when I need to, I haven't learned how to cry on a crowded subway car. And as the man at the closed book store said, I'm too nice to be a New Yorker. But then again maybe my generation of New Yorker's are nicer.
Then you go to Queens, or Brooklyn, or even walk out along the piers on the West Side Highway and you look back at the glowing skyline, reaching up and conquering the stars. You pick out the Empire State Building and the Chrysler Building, the UN, the gap in the skyline where you know Times Square hides. And it hits you, 'I live here'. I live in this crazy city. People all over the world dream, love, hate, visit and fantasize about this place, but I get to live here. And according to some one's set of rules, I'm making it.
As the day comes to a close, the sun sinks and Broadway turns up it's lights, you seek a way to pass the time in a new bar. And in the most unlikely of places, on that smooth white brick just above the toilet bowl, you find your answer.
As the day comes to a close, the sun sinks and Broadway turns up it's lights, you seek a way to pass the time in a new bar. And in the most unlikely of places, on that smooth white brick just above the toilet bowl, you find your answer.
It doesn't really matter where you are, but this place is home.
Friday, January 29, 2010
Accomplishing Life
In the last month or so I've have learned how people go about their daily lives and reach retirement - a time to "reflect on life" - and realize they've never accomplished anything. But the truth is they might have. It's enough to be happy and to love and be loved and care for the people around you. It's enough to just lead a good life.
Doesn't mean I'm still not reaching for the stars. In the words of the Pussy Cat Dolls (yes, I realize quoting Burlesque acts doesn't really legitimize my observations) "When I grow up I wanna be famous".
With that in mind, I'm writing like mad. Writing, writing, writing words, words, words. "Though this be madness, yet there is method in 't."
Doesn't mean I'm still not reaching for the stars. In the words of the Pussy Cat Dolls (yes, I realize quoting Burlesque acts doesn't really legitimize my observations) "When I grow up I wanna be famous".
With that in mind, I'm writing like mad. Writing, writing, writing words, words, words. "Though this be madness, yet there is method in 't."
Monday, January 04, 2010
This Kid Jacked my Name!
So I was busy googling myself at work the other day - because I'm allowed to, particularly when the phone isn't ringing. And what do I find? I find some punk ass kid in the Cook Islands with my name. That's right. He stole my name. The bugger. I've been going along assuming that I'm the only Callan Stout on this planet, but lo and behold there's another one sullying the water, turning up google hits which have nothing to do with me. Further more... well I supposed I can't actually rip on his personality, he's only a wee pint of about 11 years or so. But by golly it's my name and I won't have it paddling around the Cook Islands. If I could, I'd send him AND his parents a cease and desist order. Make the little brat find another name. It's mine and I don't want to share.
He's the one on the left. Bastard. At least he's on a junior outrigger canoe team that seems to win a lot of competitions. But still. GR!!!
He's the one on the left. Bastard. At least he's on a junior outrigger canoe team that seems to win a lot of competitions. But still. GR!!!
Monday, December 28, 2009
The Penultimate Week of the Decade
OMG it's almost 2010, a decade gone, blah blah blah. I could post about how we were all freaking out about 10 years ago and stocking up on water and band-aids due to the potential demise of the entire world. Blah, blah, how boring.
Last weekend, I got snowed into Boston. Now that's exciting. I've never been snowed in anywhere. I mean properly snowed in. Like snowed in you're-supposed-to-be-somewhere-else snowed in. Yeah, kinda "sucked" that I couldn't get to work. Actually, I kind of felt bad. And it was incredibly boring. Resa and Keph were going to teach me about football, but then that game was cancelled. So no go.
But then two days later I was in LA. And it was not snowing. Which is normal. It was also sunny half the time and overcast the other half. Which is normal. And I sat around my parents house doing absolutely nothing. Which is normal. And kind of like being snowed into Boston. Except in Boston all I had was a food court. In LA I had an entire house, which is less boring. And my family, which at least gives me the oppurtunity to get mad at someone. My Dad also recently got a machine that can convert VHS to DVD, so I spent some time watching 7 year old Callan at dance recitals. OMG I was horrible. But I was able to confirm my dance skill improvement by watching a much later performance. Damn was I good ten years later.
And then it hits me, god, it's been ten years. I remember the last ten years. All of it, well except for that one night, no just kidding. But seriously 10 years. Here's to the next decade being a lot better. This decade promises no puberty, no high school, no exams, more writing time, more theatre time, more friend time and lots of exciting possibilities. I like possiblities, the way I like white paper, so full of promise and titillation, it could become anything, a new play, a love letter, a paper airplane, it is only limited by its own four edges. Here's to the next 10 years only being limited by its 3652 days. Here! Here!
Last weekend, I got snowed into Boston. Now that's exciting. I've never been snowed in anywhere. I mean properly snowed in. Like snowed in you're-supposed-to-be-somewhere-else snowed in. Yeah, kinda "sucked" that I couldn't get to work. Actually, I kind of felt bad. And it was incredibly boring. Resa and Keph were going to teach me about football, but then that game was cancelled. So no go.
But then two days later I was in LA. And it was not snowing. Which is normal. It was also sunny half the time and overcast the other half. Which is normal. And I sat around my parents house doing absolutely nothing. Which is normal. And kind of like being snowed into Boston. Except in Boston all I had was a food court. In LA I had an entire house, which is less boring. And my family, which at least gives me the oppurtunity to get mad at someone. My Dad also recently got a machine that can convert VHS to DVD, so I spent some time watching 7 year old Callan at dance recitals. OMG I was horrible. But I was able to confirm my dance skill improvement by watching a much later performance. Damn was I good ten years later.
And then it hits me, god, it's been ten years. I remember the last ten years. All of it, well except for that one night, no just kidding. But seriously 10 years. Here's to the next decade being a lot better. This decade promises no puberty, no high school, no exams, more writing time, more theatre time, more friend time and lots of exciting possibilities. I like possiblities, the way I like white paper, so full of promise and titillation, it could become anything, a new play, a love letter, a paper airplane, it is only limited by its own four edges. Here's to the next 10 years only being limited by its 3652 days. Here! Here!
Saturday, December 26, 2009
Chowder Cha-Cha
Over the last two weeks I tried three - read it - THREE different clam chowders. One in Boston - yes Dad, REAL Boston Clam Chowder (from the Green Dragon, like in LOTR [yes I just had a dork-out moment]). One from Whole Foods and a third from The Getty in LA.
And the winner is The Green Dragon.
And the winner is The Green Dragon.
Tuesday, December 15, 2009
Whole Soups
Despite the intense disappointment brought about by New York Magazine's list of New York's 50 tastiest soups, I realized that their soup list was from actual restaurants. I choose - for the most part - to cover quick lunch soup spots. Soups for on the go New Yorkers to grab and slurp with a vengeance. This way New Yorkers will have a complete - a whole, if you will - soup experience. Which leads me to my liquid thoughts on Union Square's most grab and go food destination: WHOLE FOODS.
In addition to having a fabulous salad bar, Whole Foods, has a really awesome soup bar. They have eight selections which change regularly. You can scoop the soup yourself into a variety of sized containers. Unfortunately, they don't have re-usable soup bowls for customers who stay, the way they do for the salad.
On Tuesday, I scooped up a small bowl of butternut squash soup and a small bowl of apple pumpkin soup - I couldn't resist. The butternut squash was pretty much prefect. The only better I've had was from the Harrison, and they topped it with toasted pumpkin seeds. I wasn't sure what to expect with the apple pumpkin soup as I've never in all my soup eating days encountered such a liquid concoction. It was darker in colour than the butternut soup, and milder in flavour. It wasn't actually any sweeter, but it was more dense and thicker. On the whole I preferred the butternut squash and probably wouldn't buy the apple pumpkin again. But if I ever crave squash submitted to a blender I would definitely indulge the craving with this butternut squash soup. This soup really is a whole 'nother thing.
In addition to having a fabulous salad bar, Whole Foods, has a really awesome soup bar. They have eight selections which change regularly. You can scoop the soup yourself into a variety of sized containers. Unfortunately, they don't have re-usable soup bowls for customers who stay, the way they do for the salad.
On Tuesday, I scooped up a small bowl of butternut squash soup and a small bowl of apple pumpkin soup - I couldn't resist. The butternut squash was pretty much prefect. The only better I've had was from the Harrison, and they topped it with toasted pumpkin seeds. I wasn't sure what to expect with the apple pumpkin soup as I've never in all my soup eating days encountered such a liquid concoction. It was darker in colour than the butternut soup, and milder in flavour. It wasn't actually any sweeter, but it was more dense and thicker. On the whole I preferred the butternut squash and probably wouldn't buy the apple pumpkin again. But if I ever crave squash submitted to a blender I would definitely indulge the craving with this butternut squash soup. This soup really is a whole 'nother thing.
Wednesday, December 09, 2009
Reflections in Soup
If you've ever tried to look at your own reflection in a bowl of soup, you know what a messy affair it is. If you haven't tried, don't, you'll wind up with a carrot in your eye and a noodle coming out your nose.
This Tuesday I shuttled myself and my cohort in soup down to Katz's deli on Houston. Yes, the famous Katz's, where I've never managed to haul myself before. I was also meeting a friend and her friend from Scotland. So on the whole I was excited about this lunch excursion.
I got the matzoh ball soup. A soup I've been craving since I got back from Scotland. Which is actually kind of strange, because I never much ate it before. But I think in my mind matzoh ball soup came to define everything I couldn't get in Scotland - except for my friends who I could telephone. It's very difficult to call a bowl of matzoh ball soup and have a conversation with it.
I find the problem with matzoh ball soup is that it is always one giant ball of matzoh. I always want it to be like two or three smaller balls floating in my bowl of chicken brothy goodness. It was oily, but not salty, everything you could ask for in a deli chicken broth.
I rounded out the meal with a mozzarella grilled cheese, a combination you could probably only in New York City. It was perfect.
In other news, I never did find out what she was having.
This Tuesday I shuttled myself and my cohort in soup down to Katz's deli on Houston. Yes, the famous Katz's, where I've never managed to haul myself before. I was also meeting a friend and her friend from Scotland. So on the whole I was excited about this lunch excursion.
I got the matzoh ball soup. A soup I've been craving since I got back from Scotland. Which is actually kind of strange, because I never much ate it before. But I think in my mind matzoh ball soup came to define everything I couldn't get in Scotland - except for my friends who I could telephone. It's very difficult to call a bowl of matzoh ball soup and have a conversation with it.
I find the problem with matzoh ball soup is that it is always one giant ball of matzoh. I always want it to be like two or three smaller balls floating in my bowl of chicken brothy goodness. It was oily, but not salty, everything you could ask for in a deli chicken broth.
I rounded out the meal with a mozzarella grilled cheese, a combination you could probably only in New York City. It was perfect.
In other news, I never did find out what she was having.
Monday, December 07, 2009
Solace
Why is it that no one can offer me words of comfort that stop my brain from turn and wheeling and stumbling over the biggest stress of my life? Why do I feel like I'm falling but not going down? And there are no resolutions in sight. No places for me to sit, and rest and dream of something else.
I recently finished reading W.S. Merwin's translation of Dante's 'Purgatorio'. It's a poem so full of hope and action on longing, and yet I take no solace from it. Dante might find his Beatrice after seeking her through Hell and climbing the mountain of Purgatory, but I cannot see over the next ridge of the journey and I am no where near to Dante's trial. While Dante seeks his answers among the dead, I keep living. And keep looking to live. And keep working at life. And grabbing at new pieces of it. Perhaps searching for something. Perhaps...
I know why I went to Scotland now. It took too long to figure out. I was looking for something. I didn't think I was yet old enough for a quarter life crisis, but that's the thing about life, you don't really know how long it is or how much you've really lived. I fought through a year of knowing that everything I went searching for I had actually left behind. But the thing about a wild, mad, desperate search is that even if you don't find what you want, or realize you've already lost it, you do find other things. I would not give up the things I found for anything in the world. And I think the pain was part of the finding. And I'm not just saying that because I'm an artist. The true conundrum is that you can't have the things you found and the things you left behind together. By definition that must remain apart. And no amount of wishing can bridge the distance of a year.
I found the following in a footnote to Purgatorio. It is the second most beautiful thing I've read in years. The first still being 'The Girl with Glass Feet'.
A countenance of snow colored with scarlet,
If only she could know my desire
I usually don't hold with writing about my personal stress in such a direct way, and yes, this is as direct as I'm going to write about my personal stress on this blog. But sometimes I just need to spill, even when nothing directly references the stressor. This is by way of an apology to anyone not interested in this post at all.
I recently finished reading W.S. Merwin's translation of Dante's 'Purgatorio'. It's a poem so full of hope and action on longing, and yet I take no solace from it. Dante might find his Beatrice after seeking her through Hell and climbing the mountain of Purgatory, but I cannot see over the next ridge of the journey and I am no where near to Dante's trial. While Dante seeks his answers among the dead, I keep living. And keep looking to live. And keep working at life. And grabbing at new pieces of it. Perhaps searching for something. Perhaps...
I know why I went to Scotland now. It took too long to figure out. I was looking for something. I didn't think I was yet old enough for a quarter life crisis, but that's the thing about life, you don't really know how long it is or how much you've really lived. I fought through a year of knowing that everything I went searching for I had actually left behind. But the thing about a wild, mad, desperate search is that even if you don't find what you want, or realize you've already lost it, you do find other things. I would not give up the things I found for anything in the world. And I think the pain was part of the finding. And I'm not just saying that because I'm an artist. The true conundrum is that you can't have the things you found and the things you left behind together. By definition that must remain apart. And no amount of wishing can bridge the distance of a year.
I found the following in a footnote to Purgatorio. It is the second most beautiful thing I've read in years. The first still being 'The Girl with Glass Feet'.
I have seen the bright star of the morning
that appears before the break of day
take the form of a human figure shining
above all others, as it seems to me.
A countenance of snow colored with scarlet,
eyes shining and full of love and joy-
I cannot believe the world has in it
I cannot believe the world has in it
a Christian girl so full of good and beauty.
And from the love of her I am overtaken
by so violent an attack of sighing
that I do not dare say a word before her.
If only she could know my desire
without my speaking she might show compassion
and so reward me for my suffering.
-Guido Guinizzello (1235-1276)
I usually don't hold with writing about my personal stress in such a direct way, and yes, this is as direct as I'm going to write about my personal stress on this blog. But sometimes I just need to spill, even when nothing directly references the stressor. This is by way of an apology to anyone not interested in this post at all.
Wednesday, December 02, 2009
Pride and Prejudice and ZOMBIES!!!
I would probably have never read 'Pride and Prejudice' without the ZOMBIES. I hadn't yet, and my opinion of the literature from the period, written by women is not very high. But throw in some Zombies, and hot damn, sign me up.
However, I probably would never have gotten around to actually buying 'Pride and Prejudice and ZOMBIES' (emphasis mine). But I would have tried to borrow a copy. Lucky for me, there are wonderful people in the world, who also think I would enjoy this book - without the two of us discussing it - and think it an appropriate birthday gift. And they were right.
And it really was just as exciting as I had personally hyped it up to be. Austen should never be read without the inclusion of ZOMBIES.
However, I probably would never have gotten around to actually buying 'Pride and Prejudice and ZOMBIES' (emphasis mine). But I would have tried to borrow a copy. Lucky for me, there are wonderful people in the world, who also think I would enjoy this book - without the two of us discussing it - and think it an appropriate birthday gift. And they were right.
And it really was just as exciting as I had personally hyped it up to be. Austen should never be read without the inclusion of ZOMBIES.
A Lack of Soup
Sadly, my December first had a distinct lack of soup. However, if I had not been running around doing errands at odd intervals, I would have made soup.
I'm sure some of you still have a turkey carcass sitting in your fridge, with really not enough meat to make a sandwich. Have I got a solution for you. Turkey Soup.
Take that turkey carcass and chop it into more manageable pieces (halves, quarters, you get the point). Dump those puppies in a pot of water (any size you want, depending on how much soup you want to end up with). Boil that sucker for an hour or so. Then turn off the heat and let it cool down a little. When it's cool enough scrap off as much of the left over meat off the bones as possible. Throw out the bones, give the broth a stir and put the whole thing in the fridge.
Let that sit in the fridge for a day, or until the fat has solidified on the top into a gross white layer. Scoop that layer off and throw it away. It's gross. You don't want to eat it.
Now that you've de-gross-ified your broth pop that pot back on the stove and start bringing it back to a simmer. While that's doing its thing. Start chopping up the other stuff you want to put in that soup.
My recommendation for soup contents (in the most random order possible):
- carrots
- sweet frozen corn
- white onions
- scallions
- thyme
- rosemary
- oregano
- frozen peas
- rice or barley
- potato (although I'm aware that some people feel cheated by potatoes in soup)
- broccoli
Now chop up that onion and that scallion and saute them together in butter. Yes, butter, lots of butter. Throw some oregano into that saute pan (or frying pan if you don't have fancy pans). Pour the whole thing - yes all that melted butter - into the broth. Give the broth a stir.
Chop up your carrots and potatoes and put those into the broth. Add in the rosemary and thyme or whatever herbs you fancy. Let that simmer for about an hour. Or until the carrots and potatoes are just about soft.
Now put in the broccoli and rice or barley. Let that continue cooking for about 2o minutes or so.
About 15 minutes before you're going to serve it put in the frozen peas and sweet corn. You want to keep them fresh. That's the reason you don't put everything in the pot at the same time. Particularly the rice or barley, which can get way too over cooked and just melt into the broth and do horrible things to your soup.
When you put in the peas and corn, taste the soup. Actually taste it all along the way. But if the soup doesn't taste "finished" or like "something's missing" you have two options. 1) chop some bacon into small pieces and fry it in lots of butter, the pour it all into the soup. 2) or just put in a chunk of butter. Yes, seriously, just add some butter. Give it a stir. Let simmer a little longer and serve.
Serve in a bowl - cause it's soup moron - with perhaps some croutons on top, or some cheese and croutons. It depends on what you like.
Best wishes. Hope your Dec 1 was filled with more soup than mine.
I'm sure some of you still have a turkey carcass sitting in your fridge, with really not enough meat to make a sandwich. Have I got a solution for you. Turkey Soup.
Take that turkey carcass and chop it into more manageable pieces (halves, quarters, you get the point). Dump those puppies in a pot of water (any size you want, depending on how much soup you want to end up with). Boil that sucker for an hour or so. Then turn off the heat and let it cool down a little. When it's cool enough scrap off as much of the left over meat off the bones as possible. Throw out the bones, give the broth a stir and put the whole thing in the fridge.
Let that sit in the fridge for a day, or until the fat has solidified on the top into a gross white layer. Scoop that layer off and throw it away. It's gross. You don't want to eat it.
Now that you've de-gross-ified your broth pop that pot back on the stove and start bringing it back to a simmer. While that's doing its thing. Start chopping up the other stuff you want to put in that soup.
My recommendation for soup contents (in the most random order possible):
- carrots
- sweet frozen corn
- white onions
- scallions
- thyme
- rosemary
- oregano
- frozen peas
- rice or barley
- potato (although I'm aware that some people feel cheated by potatoes in soup)
- broccoli
Now chop up that onion and that scallion and saute them together in butter. Yes, butter, lots of butter. Throw some oregano into that saute pan (or frying pan if you don't have fancy pans). Pour the whole thing - yes all that melted butter - into the broth. Give the broth a stir.
Chop up your carrots and potatoes and put those into the broth. Add in the rosemary and thyme or whatever herbs you fancy. Let that simmer for about an hour. Or until the carrots and potatoes are just about soft.
Now put in the broccoli and rice or barley. Let that continue cooking for about 2o minutes or so.
About 15 minutes before you're going to serve it put in the frozen peas and sweet corn. You want to keep them fresh. That's the reason you don't put everything in the pot at the same time. Particularly the rice or barley, which can get way too over cooked and just melt into the broth and do horrible things to your soup.
When you put in the peas and corn, taste the soup. Actually taste it all along the way. But if the soup doesn't taste "finished" or like "something's missing" you have two options. 1) chop some bacon into small pieces and fry it in lots of butter, the pour it all into the soup. 2) or just put in a chunk of butter. Yes, seriously, just add some butter. Give it a stir. Let simmer a little longer and serve.
Serve in a bowl - cause it's soup moron - with perhaps some croutons on top, or some cheese and croutons. It depends on what you like.
Best wishes. Hope your Dec 1 was filled with more soup than mine.
Sunday, November 29, 2009
Cobbles
Has anyone else ever noticed that cobblers are people who fix your shoes and cobblestones are things that ruin your shoes.
Coincidence?
I think not.
Coincidence?
I think not.
Wednesday, November 25, 2009
Returning to Soup
This week's adventure in soup brought my cohort and I back to an old steadfast: Karen's on Astor place. As I spooned warm broth into my mouth, I spooned memories into my soul. memories of weekly lunch dates with close friends where we tipped out the problems of the week, and filled ourselves with warm soupy goodness.
This time was not too much different. I had the broccoli rabe and white bean soup and my friend had the chicken and vegetable. Now, in years previous, I have loved all Karen's soups, but today it wasn't as good as I wanted it to be. I added a small packet of salt and that seemed to help. I also felt the same about my cohorts soup, but I couldn't force him to add salt to his. Mind you I was a girl raised on Campbell's soups, where the sodium content is through the roof. So I've come to believe that salty soup is the norm. Although this was never a complain on previous visits to Karen's.
All the vegetables in both the broccoli rabe and the chicken vegetable were perfectly tender and holding their shape until crushed. And the brocoli rabe's tomato broth was the perfect balance between watery and think. The chicken vegetable was a golden shiny chicken broth.
Ultimately, if you like not salty soup Karen's is for you.
This time was not too much different. I had the broccoli rabe and white bean soup and my friend had the chicken and vegetable. Now, in years previous, I have loved all Karen's soups, but today it wasn't as good as I wanted it to be. I added a small packet of salt and that seemed to help. I also felt the same about my cohorts soup, but I couldn't force him to add salt to his. Mind you I was a girl raised on Campbell's soups, where the sodium content is through the roof. So I've come to believe that salty soup is the norm. Although this was never a complain on previous visits to Karen's.
All the vegetables in both the broccoli rabe and the chicken vegetable were perfectly tender and holding their shape until crushed. And the brocoli rabe's tomato broth was the perfect balance between watery and think. The chicken vegetable was a golden shiny chicken broth.
Ultimately, if you like not salty soup Karen's is for you.
Sunday, November 22, 2009
The Professional
I have now entered the realm of professional writer. I got my first writing check in the mail yesterday. I'm writing for an as of yet not launched website. My editor tells me it will be launched in Russian first. So when I become a professionally published writer it will be in Russian. Yes, that's right. I'm going to be published in Russian. I know exactly 3 people who will be able to read it. And then 2 more who might be able to read it. I am in neither category. It will give an entirely new meaning to not being able to read what I've written. Normally, my handwriting is just too sloppy, but this time it will be in a foreign language. I wonder if my wit translates into Russian.
I would also like to point out to all my dramatic writing friends that because this is not a dramatic writing gig I do not need to get a tattoo as per anyone's deal. Just in case anyone asks. No way no how. Unless of course I get some wicked cool phrase in Russian that I'll never understand, cause then the tat doesn't really count.
I would also like to point out to all my dramatic writing friends that because this is not a dramatic writing gig I do not need to get a tattoo as per anyone's deal. Just in case anyone asks. No way no how. Unless of course I get some wicked cool phrase in Russian that I'll never understand, cause then the tat doesn't really count.
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
Adventures in Soup
Apolegizes for the late review. My tuesday become incredible full.
For the premiere of Adventures in Soup I headed over to lower Chelsea and picked up my partner in soup from work and we went across the street to Rocking Horse Cafe. (8th Ave and 19th st) It's a cute, hip and sexy Mexican restaurant that aims at making mexican food haute. It was rather empty for lunch when I walked in, but it was a little late for lunch.
They only have "soupa del dia". They had a cauliflower soup and a spicy chicken. We ordered both. The cauliflower soup didn't look like too much in the bowl, but it was a creamed spoonful of cauliflower goodness, topped off with crispy duck. It was also topped with some sort of oil something, but the waiter spoke too fast for me to catch what it was. It didn't add any flavor and being a New York female my first thought was of my thighs. So if you can, order without - if you worry about things like thighs. Behind all the flavors of the soup was the slightest hint of anise. Intriguing. It's the kind of soup you'd want to curl up into and watch a snow storm.
The spicy chicken was indeed spicy and full of chicken. But not too full. It reminded me of a cross between torilla soup and minestrone. The heat lingered in my mouth a little too long, but the avocado on top helped cool that a little. I liked it, but the whole time wished it wasn't quite as lingeringly spicy. And I'm a fan of spicy.
If you want Mexican-ish soups I'd go here. But if you just want a really good soup I'd go somewhere else. Hopefully I'll find that place in the coming weeks.
For the premiere of Adventures in Soup I headed over to lower Chelsea and picked up my partner in soup from work and we went across the street to Rocking Horse Cafe. (8th Ave and 19th st) It's a cute, hip and sexy Mexican restaurant that aims at making mexican food haute. It was rather empty for lunch when I walked in, but it was a little late for lunch.
They only have "soupa del dia". They had a cauliflower soup and a spicy chicken. We ordered both. The cauliflower soup didn't look like too much in the bowl, but it was a creamed spoonful of cauliflower goodness, topped off with crispy duck. It was also topped with some sort of oil something, but the waiter spoke too fast for me to catch what it was. It didn't add any flavor and being a New York female my first thought was of my thighs. So if you can, order without - if you worry about things like thighs. Behind all the flavors of the soup was the slightest hint of anise. Intriguing. It's the kind of soup you'd want to curl up into and watch a snow storm.
The spicy chicken was indeed spicy and full of chicken. But not too full. It reminded me of a cross between torilla soup and minestrone. The heat lingered in my mouth a little too long, but the avocado on top helped cool that a little. I liked it, but the whole time wished it wasn't quite as lingeringly spicy. And I'm a fan of spicy.
If you want Mexican-ish soups I'd go here. But if you just want a really good soup I'd go somewhere else. Hopefully I'll find that place in the coming weeks.
Monday, November 16, 2009
The Girl with Glass Feet
One of the perks of my life is getting copies of books before they are released. This book was the best thing to come out of this life perk.
"The Girl with the Glass Feet" by Ali Shaw is probably the best book I've read in the last 10 years. When it finally hits the book shelves in January everyone should buy a copy. EVERYONE. I'd buy everyone a copy for Christmas, but it wouldn't be out so you'll have to either a) buy it yourself. or b) tell me you're willing to wait. Mind you if you tell me you're willing to wait you're making the assumption that you're on my Christmas gift list. So think before you send that email. Just kidding. If you're not on the list I'll pretend the email never made it to spare the awkwardness. I promise.
What you need to know about this book is that my best friend and I agree that it is the most beautiful kind of sad and "gorgeously painful".
As the title makes obvious the focal character has glass feet (I'm loath to say main character, because it's not that easy). The book explores the inhabitants of a small Northern island as the girl with the glass feet searches for an answer to her peculiar physiognomy. Through her journey she forces the people who she seeks out for help to confront the solidarity of the lives they have built themselves.
This book will make you both want to grab life by every piece of its existence; drink it up, slurp it down, chew it up and roll around in the glory of it. It also makes you want to stop and notice the flowers emerging from the winter snow, a fish jumping through the ocean's waves and the crinkles around the eyes of your best friends when they laugh just so. And make you cry for the joy and beauty even in the most sad of times.
"The Girl with the Glass Feet" by Ali Shaw is probably the best book I've read in the last 10 years. When it finally hits the book shelves in January everyone should buy a copy. EVERYONE. I'd buy everyone a copy for Christmas, but it wouldn't be out so you'll have to either a) buy it yourself. or b) tell me you're willing to wait. Mind you if you tell me you're willing to wait you're making the assumption that you're on my Christmas gift list. So think before you send that email. Just kidding. If you're not on the list I'll pretend the email never made it to spare the awkwardness. I promise.
What you need to know about this book is that my best friend and I agree that it is the most beautiful kind of sad and "gorgeously painful".
As the title makes obvious the focal character has glass feet (I'm loath to say main character, because it's not that easy). The book explores the inhabitants of a small Northern island as the girl with the glass feet searches for an answer to her peculiar physiognomy. Through her journey she forces the people who she seeks out for help to confront the solidarity of the lives they have built themselves.
This book will make you both want to grab life by every piece of its existence; drink it up, slurp it down, chew it up and roll around in the glory of it. It also makes you want to stop and notice the flowers emerging from the winter snow, a fish jumping through the ocean's waves and the crinkles around the eyes of your best friends when they laugh just so. And make you cry for the joy and beauty even in the most sad of times.
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