In the college-girl kitchen

I'm living the college-girl life this week. I'm shacked up in Emma's room, where I find a wall calendar with due dates for assignments, textbooks stacked beside her bed, and the student herself frowning over her schoolwork.

So if you get the urge to cook while visiting a college student/working girl, the food better be quick and require minimum kitchen equipment. Out of all the dinner ideas I brought to her, Emma said, "Let's definitely do this one."

CHICKEN SALSA PIZZA


CRISP GRAHAM COOKIES

YIELD: 7 doz. 2-in cookies which, if you can make them that small, will have 64 calories each. Goodness, who could possibly make them that small? We came out with 39 cookies and three (or was it four, Emma?) spoonfuls of raw dough.
If the dough seems a little sticky, throw in a couple spoonfuls of flour.


As for the Finished Book Pile, I forgot to mention Freakonomics by Steven Levitt. Finished it weeks ago. Returned it to the library rather efficiently. Forgot it while I dove into research-type reading.

Levitt, as economists go, can't keep his mind on truly boring economic stuff, but spends his days wondering about questions like Do schoolteachers cheat? and What were your parents telling the world when they gave you your name? Being an economist, he's comfortable with numbers and data, which he uses to answer these compelling little questions. Title chapters include: "Why Do Drug Dealers Still Live With Their Moms?" and "What Makes a Perfect Parent?"

I'm currently working my way through Mark Winegardner's Crooked River Burning, a novel about . . . Cleveland. Hey, out in the Midwest, they call Cleveland "the mistake on the lake," referring to the time when it had polluted its waters so badly, they caught fire.

So what has Winegardner got to say about Cleveland?

He starts his story back in the '40s when, according to the jacket, "Cleveland was America's sixth biggest city," a decent place, a hometown to be proud of. His story, complete with star-crossed lovers, advances to 1969, by which time Cleveland had lost population and prestige. Readers like me are willing to let Winegardner tell us: what happened?

Readers like me are not, however, willing to read about Cleveland Indians' baseball games. Winegardner likes to give us blow-by-blow accounts of famous games, or infamous ones, I don't know and don't care. Easily skipped.

He's a fun writer when he's not trying to be too glib. I can see him sometimes, taking a writerly break, making a sandwich and repeating to himself some phrase he just wrote, feeling awfully proud of it, juggling the mayo and the mustard playfully as he puts them back in the fridge.

Cow patty count for this book is 2 1/2 or 3 out of 10.

Too Much High-Livin' for Cookin'

Yes, Emma. Me and my laptop at Panera. I've joined the . . . the whatever-it-is-now generation.

Anyway, it was a high-living week, dashing down to Louisville on Wednesday to join my husband on his business trip. On Thursday, I wandered home in time to meet our guests, Jim and Mercy, who arrived at midnight. On Friday, Jim and I took Mercy to Chicago, where she'd never been before. "Pretty much like New York," she pronounced, "but I don't like the wind." When we could not find our way out of town, we learned that it does indeed matter whether you put the GPS in drive mode or pedestrian mode. Meanwhile, we drove around, quite lost, in some cool neighborhoods that bear further exploration. Once the GPS started being nice to us again, we drove home, arriving late, only to turn around the next morning and return to Louisville for a temple trip.

So after a few days like that, when you get back to the house, and the cat's litter box is full, and the laundry rises out of the hamper, climbing halfway up the wall, you still have church music to practice and something to get at the store, your wallet says you've already eaten out too much and--oh my goodness, when did there get to be so many dishes?--what do you fix to eat?

CHICKEN CAESAR SANDWICHES


As we go to the Finished Book Pile, we'll have to cheat just a little because we are not quite finished with Wendy Holder's Farm Fatale. This British novel is all about Londoners that think the country is peaceful, quiet and charming. So they decide to move there. You can well imagine the antics that follow. It's a fun read. Holder loves puns; to her credit, I don't remember any groaners.

Since this is a book about country life, we'll call the parts you should skip "cow patties." The chapter on Samantha's party is thick with 'em. Otherwise they are just now and then throughout the story, so just step carefully and you can avoid them.

Holder's earlier novels sound interesting, though I don't think I'll get to them anytime soon. They are: Simply Divine, and Bad Heir Day.

How to Fake an Enchilada

Well, starting with The Finished Book Pile as I sit here in a Panera in Louisville, we have Invisible Ink by Carl Veno. The jacket bills Veno's book as a bunch of short stories by a master storyteller. What it turns out to be is a memoir by a self-admitted "bronze-medal" kind of news reporter (compared to the "gold-medal" types he knew who really went somewhere in the business) who bounced around from one minor newspaper to another. The "short stories" are just chapters in his life which, if anybody takes on the task of writing their life history, is the only sane way to undertake it. Not far into the book, I started examining information about the publisher and--just as I suspected--self-published. But an OK little tour through Orlando, Yonkers, Newark and eventually Quakertown, PA, where he worked for newspapers that are mostly defunct now. Oh, ooops, shouldn't have given that away.

Next up, Seventh Son by Orson Scott Card.

I'm not usually a fan of fantasy writers, but this book appeared on a list of best all-time Mormon novels. And I can get Card's books in my local library.

It's been a long time since I enjoyed a book as much as I enjoyed this one. Seventh Son went by way too fast. It's the first in a series of five books about Alvin Maker, a little boy in frontier America born with special powers. Mormon readers will take special delight at all the symbolism hidden in there just for us. I love all the subtleties between the characters, the way Card had them saying one thing while meaning another. I loved the interaction between the children in the family--fierce loyalty right next to murderous competition. And I got very caught up in the forces that both threaten and protect Alvin. Can't wait for the next four books.

As for kitchen stuff, we just tried Cilantro Chicken.  Everybody around the table thought it tasted like enchiladas.


I made a little extra and sliced up the leftover breasts for sandwiches on one of those too crazy-to-cook nights.

Thank you for returning it to the library

Hey, I finished The Kite Runner last week. I'd tell you all about, but I'll bet you've read it already. The reason I'm so late getting around to it is that I've been waiting for you to return it to the library.

Next book up was Verandah People, a collection of short stories by Jonathan Bennett. It was so-so. I put up with it because it was a mini-trip to Australia, where all these story characters sit out on their seaside verandahs, leading not very happy lives. Hey, if I could sit on a seaside verandah in Australia, I'd be happy.

If you decide to take on the book, but don't like yucky stuff, skip "The Slow War Cry of Grammar."

Now I'm slogging through The Knitting Circle by Ann Hood. The book jacket is covered with liberal praise from other authors I have read and enjoyed, but I must be missing something. Knitting is a Lifetime Channel movie tucked between bookcovers. All the drama feels trumped up, with just enough lovely jaunts to Europe thrown in. All the characters have pretty jobs, the kind soap opera characters might have. Real people spend their days making phone calls for collection agencies, or providing respite care for handicapped children. Hood's people own knitting shops, or blow glass, or run darling little bakeries where they make delicate pastries all day long. They own charming beachside cottages on the East Coast on their knitting-shop pay. Hey, do you know how much charming beachside cottages cost?

The most sympathetic, humane woman in the book falls in love with another woman. I guess it turns out badly; I'm not sure because I skipped that part. Now that I'm 3/4 of the way through, things are finally getting truly terrible for the main character, which means that the story is finally picking up.

All in all, Kite Runner was far superior--great description, spare prose, credible characters and real drama.

Since I didn't offer you anything new and compelling to read, how about a great cookie recipe:

CHOCOLATE MINT SUGAR COOKIE DROPS
Mix together:
1 cup sugar
3/4 c. vegetable oil
Beat in:
2 eggs
1 tsp. vanilla
Mix together and add to the sugar-egg mixture:
2 1/2 c. flour
1 1/2 tsp. baking powder
3/4 tsp. salt
Stir in:
1 - 10 oz. pkg. mint chocolate chips
Form into balls and roll in:
1/4 cup sugar
Place on cookie sheets. Bake at 350' for 8-10 minutes. For those of you who care, the whole batch weighs in at 5784 calories.

If you can't find mint chocolate chips, just use regular ones after adding 1/4 tsp. mint extract to the dough. Or maybe 1/2 tsp., I can' t remember. Just make sure the dough smells minty.

Our Crystal Lake bishop's wife made these at Christmas time and brought them to book group. As we all traded goodies, we were encouraged to take enough home for the family. So I took plenty of these. And they just never made it home. Not sure where they went ;-)

But, we're not Amish.

Well, I just didn't eat anything interesting this week. I passed up my chance for a Sonic Blast in Louisville (Abbey got the Reese's PB) because I was saving room for dinner at Indy's best Italian restaurant that night. But after more than an hour waiting for a table, John and I gave up and drove through at Fazoli's. That is so lame, but that's just how things turn out sometimes.

So I can only feed your minds this week. If you're hungry, go to Emma's blog. Things are rather meaty over there right now.


Over on the Finished Book Pile, we have Rumspringa by Tom Shachtman. Delving into the Amish culture, Shachtman explores the "running around" period that Amish parents grant their 16-and-up children, wherein they are free to roam without supervision, sampling the wares of the outside world, deciding whether to "join church," settle down in the Amish life or not.

It is hard to believe that such a strict, traditional people allow their kids a window of time to smoke, drink, sleep around. (I've got my own rumspringa child. I just want to tell her, "But dear, we're not Amish.") Shachtman examines: how much do the parents know about what goes on? Is a sheltered Amish childhood adequate preparation for meeting The World and its temptations? How many kids, in the end, opt for Amish life and why? And as for the ones who don't, why not?

Shachtman follows several youth through their rumspringa and beyond. We get to be the fly on the wall, watching them choose between wild parties and traditional "singings," cashiering at the tourist restaurants, driving fast for the first time, negotiating with a parent who offers a fully tricked-out buggy "if you'll just end this running around and join church now."

Shachtman also draws a picture of what it means to choose the Amish life: How do the they adapt to a changing world? What rules do they change and why? Would the religion survive if it allowed education beyond the 8th grade? What happens to those who leave the church? And, finally, what about the Amish is worth emulating and what should the Amish learn from the rest of us?

The author concludes that Amish youth could spend their allotted running around days hiking in the Rocky Mountains, or tracing their roots in Switzerland, or moving to Chicago and studying biology or in any number of world-widening pursuits. But with their short educations and sheltered childhoods, they don't know enough to even dream about these things.

Haste, oh haste, oh haste away!

Let's just get to the food right away, shall we? Today, we feature:   Honey Chicken Stir-Fry


This is the kind of recipe where I hide the leftovers behind something ugly, hoping the family will forget about them, so I can have them for lunch the next day.

And as for something to read, last time I mentioned George Ade, whose collection of writings I had just started. Now that I've finished the book, I want to rave about George's best, which was his treatment of musical comedy. In one story, a wife drags her husband to the opera. He thinks it's ridiculous and, just to make his point, writes his own little opera in which a fire alarm rings in a city apartment building and all the residents stand around singing about how they really must get out to save their lives--"Haste, oh haste, oh haste away!--but they just keep standing around singing. Then there was "The Sultan of Sulu," probably Ade's most famous work, a 3-act (or maybe 5-act, can't remember) play in which a bunch of soldiers land on the island of a sultan with 8 wives and proceed to Americanize everything. The song lyrics rival Gilbert and Sullivan. Finally, I could not wipe the smile off my face as I read Ade's essay poking fun at the all the conventions of the musical comedy.

In the dry period between returning the last stack of books to one library and getting a new stack at another, I am catching up on my periodical reading, namely Irreantum, one of the Mormon journals. After a hiatus in publication, they put out a double issue last fall from which I'd like to plant a big virtual blue ribbon on the chest of two authors: Darin Cozzens and Emily Milner.

Cozzens' short story, "Reap in Mercy," tracks two farming neighbors from the point of view of the serious, responsible one. Resentment builds through the years as the narrator watches the other get away with carousing, though repenting just long enough to try to go on a mission. Later, the narrator finds himself drawn in when his nemesis always gets "in a bind," the kind of bind that sends the him to work in the other guy's bean field at the expense of his own beans. Then the neighbor goes through his know-it-all period. Won't reveal more.

Milner launched her essay, "Beauty for Ashes," with remarks about the show, What Not to Wear. This is one of my favorite shows, so Milner hooked me right away, never mind her criticisms of dear old Stacy and Clinton. I liked peeking into her mind as she considered how she looks (pockmarked and overweight) and how people respond to it. Since I visit teach Milner's sister (lovely cheekbones, abundant curly hair, exercise enthusiast), I kept trying to picture what Milner really looks like.


Well, that's it for now. I'm off to stir tonight's spaghetti sauce.

Sorry, it's not exotic cheese

Today, we're going to go to the Finished Book Pile and see what we have there.

First up is Laura Kalpakian's novel, These Latter Days. If that sounds Mormon-y, it is, although the characters are highly imperfect. It's really kind of amusing to see them thinking, Well, this is really against the Word of Wisdom, but here goes (Note to my posterity: this is only funny in fiction). Sometimes it was hard to tell if I was reading the characters' misperceptions of church doctrine, or the author's. That Mormons believe we enter heaven two by two, and thus the importance of marriage, came up again and again, but they are all confused about it. Nobody seems to think there is any place in heaven for single folks, and they also are sure that if your spouse messes up and goes to hell, there you go right along with him. By the end of the book, it's pretty clear that Kalpakian has no use for the church or its leaders. But I read on anyway, citing the motto: We Don't Adopt Other People's Grievances; We Only Nurture Our Own. Besides, it was a delicious saga, great to turn another page and learn what happened to all the children when they grew up, who married who, who broke who's heart.

Next, I read The Argument Culture by Deborah Tannen. News stories present everything as two extreme sides. Lawyers fight to win, not to find the truth. Everything is too much shouting and debate. It was one of those books that makes me say, "I guess so. But there's not much I can do about it." Tannen's fire for her subject grew when she wrote an earlier book, went on talk shows to publicize it, and was constantly thrown into debates that kept her from getting her message out. Or they didn't want her on if she wouldn't go along with the pit-one-against-another format.

Next, we have The Day the Earth Caved In by Joan Quigley, an account of a mine fire burning for decades under the town of Centralia, PA. It starts when the earth opens up and swallows a 12-year-old boy.

Centralia was not terribly far from Bethlehem, where I used to live. I've seen towns like it, "coal-cracker towns" the locals called them, hard-bitten, shabby places. Besides the main story, I loved for book for explaining those towns to me, i.e. who immigrated there, people who live their whole lives in a 5-mile radius, related to everybody, thoroughly caught up in the high school football games and bowling leagues of the community.

After that, I read Hack: How I Stopped Worrying About My Life and Started Driving a Yellow Cab by Melissa Plaut. Ah, New York! I miss it. Following Plaut in her cab was a delicious virtual return to the throb of the Big City. Be warned, though. It's a pretty profane little book; Plaut sees the underbelly of the city, which I happily managed to avoid when I visited. And when she wants to relax, she and friends head for their favorite dyke bar. Still, she's a thoughtful writer and someone who's trying to be a decent person, in her own way.

Now, I'm reading a collection of short stories, fables and essays, The Best of George Ade. He's a Hoosier writer from days of yore--like, he went to college in the 1880s. I was charmed right away as I opened the first page and read:

"Two Sisters lived in Chicago, the Home of Opportunity.
"Luella was a Good Girl, . . . but she was Plain, much. . . .
"The other Sister was Different. . . .
"From earliest Youth she had lacked Industry and Application.
"She was short on Intellect but long on Shape.
"The Vain Pleasures of the World attracted her. By skipping the Long Words she could read how Rupert Banisford led Sibyl Gray into the Conservatory and made Love that scorched the Begonias." . . .

I thought I have to read this out loud to John. I tried, but it didn't translate well. We didn't catch lots of Ade's slang; also, the hearer misses the wink-wink message conveyed by the capitalized words. I could tell that John was Working Hard at Showing Interest.

But it still makes a great private read. And it's clean. I need something clean after Plaut's book.

And now, for a recipe that you might find appealing: Cheesy Wild Rice Soup

I took the soup to John's father's 95th birthday party last Saturday and when the other Carson wives wanted the recipe, it was so simple, I could write it down for them right there. When she saw the ingredients, one sister-in-law's enthusiasm appeared to cool a bit.

Maybe she thought the soup got it's cheesy groove from that $7-a-wedge imported stuff, but no, it's only Velveeta. Some people have scruples against Velveeta. But I don't see what's so bad about it. My cat likes it.

Oh, wait, that's probably no compliment to Velveeta.