violence against women

Here is a blog post in which I bemoan violence against women.

A 15 old girl was gang raped by at least seven males after a Homecoming dance last weekend. She was waiting for a ride, from her parents I think. The gang rape last 2-1/2 hours. Did I mention that about a dozen people passed by and did absolutely nothing? Some laughed. I didn't know that rape was a laughing matter. Some took pictures. I didn't know that rape was a photo opportunity.

Contrary to popular belief, rape isn't about sex. It's about violence against women. It's about patriarchy. It's about power and control. Men don't rape because they can't get laid. They don't rape because they have uncontrollable sexual urges. Men don't rape because a pretty woman walks by and they can't control themselves. Rape has nothing to do with sex. Today, a 47 year old man plead guilty to raping and murdering a 93 year old woman. I told you rape wasn't about sex. Rape is about male dominance. It's about men who think that it is their god-given right to exert power and authority over women.

I don't know why it is difficult for society to acknowledge violence against women. I also don't know why it is difficult to recognize that violence is rooted in patriarchy and the social construction of masculinity. When are we going to learn that it is problematic to equate masculinity with power, control, and violence? When are we going to learn that these qualities do not make a man?

The other day, I read an article about campus violence. The columnist was referring to a recent stabbing of a UCLA student. As usual, he cited mental health issues. Why is it that every time there is an incident of campus violence, we turn straight to mental health and point our finger? It is as if we believe that if only the perpetrator had sought help for his mental health issues, none of this would have happened. If only a professor had intervened and noticed when a student was down in the dumps. If only. Fuck you, that's what I say to mental health issues. Not because they aren't real, and not because they don't matter. But because mental health isn't to blame.

When I tick off incidents of campus violence, Virginia Tech, Columbine, and Northern Illinois come to mind. And UCI. About a month ago, a graduate student was charged with shooting his ex-wife. It was over a custody dispute. He shot her in front of their son. She died. When this information spread, naturally people wondered about this student's mental health status. Yes, grad school is stressful. Yes, it's tiring and students work a lot. Yes, grad school is isolating and there may be higher rates of depression among grad students than among the general population. But most grad students do not shoot and kill other people, let alone former spouses.

If you think about campus violence, there is a pattern. Those wielding the guns or the knives are men. All men. Show me some incidents involving women, and maybe I'll give mental health explanations some credence. But until then, I'm going to continue to blame society and patriarchy. I'm going to continue to blame our construction of masculinity and how boys are socialized to be men.

By the way, here's the latest on Roman Polanski. The 13 year old victim's testimony unequivocally shows that Polanski committed rape. He was 43. He used his power and authority as a director, a man, and as an adult to take advantage of the girl, drug her, and rape her.

Now that I have sufficiently depressed you, I'm not even going to try to make it better.

bourbon peach pie

Whenever I bake something that calls for liquor, it takes me almost as much time to purchase the alcohol as it does to actually bake. I'm exaggerating, of course. When I'm mildly familiar with the liquor, its purchase doesn't take too long. When I made vegan margarita cupcakes, I think I had the tequila on hand. But when I have to buy rum or brandy, I take so long that it's almost embarrasing. Anyway, this time I had to buy bourbon. I don't know anything about bourbon, but now I know that it's a kind of whiskey.

This weekend, I made a Bourbon Peach Pie, from a recipe that was originally for hand pies. This is a recipe that Drew had been drooling over for the past few weeks or so. In fact, he had requested this pie last weekend, but we got our lines of communication crossed and I made the Pear Ginger Maple Pie instead. (also, costco had pears, not peaches that weekend) Ha! This story sounds so 1950s and anti-feminist, but it's not. I forgot to mention in my pear pie writeup that Drew peeled the pears. And he offered to peel my peaches today. And, he almost always washes the dishes, which is what he did today.

I bought peaches yesterday (they were among the last in the store), but they were not fully ripe. So I wasn't sure if I could start baking with firm, not ripe, fruit, but after consulting Drew's mom, we learned that I could. To compensate for the firm peaches, I cooked the pie for a few more minutes and added a touch more sugar. I took a minor liberty with the recipe; in addition to granulated sugar, I added two tablespoons of brown sugar.

The pie crust is mostly all butter; the rest is shortening. I'm getting more confident with my pie crust making, and I'm starting to get the hang of rolling out the dough. I made a double crust, even decorating the top with little hearts (I'm not being sentimental; they are the smallest cookie cutters I own!). Take a look:

Even though I covered the edge with a pie protector, it still got quite dark. This made me a little nervous, but the pie was bubbling and smelled SO good straight out of the oven.
Check it out!

This pie might be my favorite so far, and this might be my best pie crust too. Even though it was a little dark, the crust was buttery and flaky. The peaches were soft and creamy, with a subtle bourbon taste. The pie held together very nicely, not too juicy or runny.

At 4pm, I lamented to Drew that I had not yet gotten any work done. He said that baking pie was work. I laughed and said that yes, this is true, but pie isn't a Ph.D. requirement.

By the way, I have nearly a full bottle of bourbon remaining. If you have any ideas on what to bake with it, let me know!

game 5, ALCS

I have a few goals in life that revolve around sports. One of my goals is to attend the Olympics, both summer and winter. Another is to go to the World Series. Turns out that attending a playoff game is another goal, though I didn't know this until about a month ago. If you recall, the Angels played the Red Sox in the first round and the Twins played the Yankees. (the winners would play each other) Since Drew cheers for the Yankees and I cheer for the Twins, as long as the Angels beat the Red Sox, we could go to a playoff game and cheer for one of our teams. The Angels swept the Red Sox and the Yankees swept the Twins, so the Yankees and the Angels would face off in the ALCS.

On Thursday, Drew and I went to Game 5. The Yankees were leading the series, 3-1. Angel Stadium was a sea of red. I wore my pink "Virginia is for Lovers" t-shirt, without even realizing that it probably made me look like an Angels fan. I didn't mean for that to happen. Since I could not bring myself to wear Yankees paraphernalia, I wore the Virginia t-shirt to privately indicate my solidarity with Drew, a die hard Yankees fan.

Before the game started, people were making their way into the stadium. There were also bible thumpers with signs basically telling everyone that they were going to hell. I couldn't resist snapping a photo:

All right, back to baseball. We sat behind home plate at the top of the stadium. Even though we had nosebleed seats, we still had a great view:

I told you there was a lot of red!

The Yankees lost, 7-6 in a super exciting and suspenseful game. The Angels scored 4 runs in the bottom of the 1st inning. Then nothing notable happened until the 7th inning, when the Yankees rallied and scored 6 runs. In the bottom of the 7th, the Angels fought back to score 3 runs. The Yankees managed to load the bases in the top of the 9th, but then Nick Swisher hit a pop fly to end the game. It was a lot of fun to attend a playoff game. The tension was palpable, and the excitement was contagious.

pear ginger maple pie

Let me start this off by divulging my semi-addiction to the Food Network. Now, I'm no couch potato, and the Food Network is hardly a priority in my life. (I don't rush home to watch the Iron Chef, for example) But when I'm crocheting or being mellow in the evening, I like to see what's on the Food Network. And I really like the reality TV/competitive cooking shows, like the Iron Chef, the Next Iron Chef, and Chopped. (damn, I DO sound like a couch potato) So the judges on these competitive cooking shows have no mercy, and they are really critical and sometimes downright mean. Let me share a snip of a funny conversation between Drew and I:

Me: Drew, do you think that chefs watch competitive cooking shows on the Food Network? Or do you think they avoid them because it's just too close to home?
Drew: uh, I don't know.
Me: I mean, do you think that a bunch of academics would watch a competition about research?
Drew: I don't think anybody would watch that show.
(hahaha! He's probably right.)

Now, strange as this sounds, these shows are good for grad school. Sounds weird, but the judges' critiques remind me that even these seasoned, trained, extremely talented and knowledgeable chefs are still subject to these brutal reviews. One judge may think the meat is done just right, or the other thinks the exact same cut of meat is undercooked. One judge may have made the dish a particular way, while another would have taken it a different direction. So, amidst the entertainment, I am reminded that even those who are extremely good at their jobs are not flawless, still subject to criticism, and not to take criticism personally.

Even though competitive cooking shows might be good for school, they may not be so good for my baking. Last week, I made a Pear Ginger Maple Pie. (the pie is almost gone, so I have no original picture) When I took a bite, I actually said "the ginger is too overpowering for me." What? I don't talk like this. The Food Network has infiltrated my mind. How is it possible that I am more critical of my pies than the papers I write? Are my efforts misplaced?

So maybe I'm not a fan of ginger. Come to think of it, I'm not. (but I do like gingerbread and gingerbread cookies) So maybe that's why I wasn't a huge fan of this pie. When I first cut into the pie, something was weird. The crust was soggy and gross. Drew was not bothered, but I was. Per his suggestion, I covered the pie with foil, and put it back in the oven. I let it cook for about 30 more minutes on the bottom rack to make sure that the crust got done. It worked, but the crust turned out kind of hard and maybe a little dark. But at least it wasn't soggy.

Drew really, really, really liked this pie. He said that maybe it was his favorite. Heidi, another ginger fan, also liked the pie. In my quest to bake good pie, I'm getting pretty good at rolling out the dough, but not so good at baking pie. I am still trying to figure out how to get really good, buttery flaky crust. Stay tuned. Next up? Peach Bourbon pie.

reubens and spamalot

When the new Broadway musical Spamalot opened a few years ago, it was hailed as a "musical for men." Or something like that. Now I know why. Last night, the BF and I went to see Spamalot at the Orange County Performing Arts Center. I scored us some sweet tickets- first row and in the center. Spamalot is based on Monty Python and the Holy Grail. The main characters are men, and the women are eye candy and in the background sporting skimpy costumes and bearing cleavage and midriffs. Regardless, the show was funny, light hearted, and the only musical I've seen in which nobody dies.

Prior to the show, Drew and I went to Jerry's Famous Deli. Here's what I had to say on yelp.

chocolate pudding pie

I don't want to jinx the pie crust making, but I think I might be getting pretty good at it. Last weekend, I made a Chocolate Pudding Pie with an all butter pie crust. The recipe is from the Smitten Kitchen, and I followed the pie crust tutorial. And I did it. There were no expletives this time.

I started with a mixture of flour, salt, and sugar. I cut in the butter, and then slowly added ice water. The dough came together quite nicely, and then instead of adding more water to pick up the wayward crumbs, I was actually patient and followed the instructions to gently knead the dough together. (but not too much or else it will get stringy) And you know what? It all worked. I formed the dough into discs, wrapped them up with plastic wrap, and put them in the refrigerator for about an hour.

Before I rolled out the dough, I gave myself a pre pie crust pep talk. This time, I didn't roll the dough between wax paper. I sprinkled flour on the table and on top of the disc. The dough rolled out quite nicely and didn't even stick to my rolling pin. It did stick to the table, but I rescued it with my bench scraper. (that might be the secret weapon) I was able to gently pick up the crust, fold it loosely into quarters, and place it in the pie plate. Sweet, sweet victory. Everything turned out just as expected. Drew was in my living room when I first started, and I had to call him over to witness my success.

I baked the pie shell using my new ceramic pie weights and let it cool. The filling is a chocolate pudding with a whipped cream topping. And chocolate shavings.

The pie held together quite nicely after I cut into it.

I really enjoyed this pie. It wasn't too sweet, and it was nice and refreshing. The crust was flaky, but seemed a tiny bit tough and chewy. I'm not sure if that is because I handled the dough too much or if it's because the pie was cold from refrigeration. Or maybe it's a combination of both.

In other semi-related news, baking just got easier: Drew and I got a Kitchenaid stand mixer last weekend. It is red. I get to keep it at my place. The baking will commence as soon as I find a place to put it.

game 163

Did you catch the tiebreaking nailbiter between the Twins and the Tigers last night? The regular season stretched to game 163 to determine who would win the AL Central title. It was a tense game that went back forth all the way to 12 innings (I tuned in until the top of the 11th). I yelled so loudly at my TV that I feared that one of my neighbors would call the police with a noise complaint. The Twins fought hard, played well, and came out on top.

Today, the Twins lost the first game against the Yankees in the first round of the playoffs. It's a David v Goliath match up, as the Twins are now 0-8 against the Yankees this season and not so good on the road. For the next week, the BF's life and mine will revolve around baseball. Drew is a hard core Yankees fan, and I'm obviously a Twins fan. Things could get a little ugly.

I barely remember when the Minnesota Twins won the World Series. They won in 1987 and 1991, and I can't think of many other things besides another World Series championship that I would like to see in my lifetime. This year probably won't be the year. Damn you Yankees.

By the way, if the Angels beat the Red Sox, we are going to a playoff game! I'm so excited by this possibility that I might not even care too much if it's against the Yankees.

garlic jo's

Drew and I went to Garlic Jo's last weekend. Click here for my yelp review. Mmmmm! Or skip my review and just go to Garlic Jo's!

missing minnesota

I always get a little nostalgic for Minnesota during this time of year. Maybe it's because I know that the leaves are changing color and the temperature is dropping in Minnesota. Maybe it's because it's playoff season. Maybe it's because I just tuned in to the last few minutes of Monday night football to see the Vikings beat the Packers. Maybe it's because the Twins are playing the Tigers in almost an hour for a chance to advance to the playoffs. Maybe it's because people in California are pulling out their hideous ugg boots and scarves, and I want to go up to them, slap them up side the head, and tell them that those things are for cold weather, really cold weather, not cool weather. Boots and scarves are equipment for cold weather states like Minnesota or Michigan, not warm weather states like California.

This morning, I checked the weather forecast for Minneapolis. It was raining, and in the next 10 days or so, the daytime high will hover around the mid 40s. The mid 40s. That's not cold, especially for Minnesota. Already at the beginning of October, it is colder in Minnesota than it probably ever will be in Southern California, at least during the day. I admit, I have acclimated to the SoCal weather. I can detect a shift from summer into fall. I no longer wear skirts and flip flops year round. But the word "cold" has not entered my weather vocabulary, and my winter coat and scarves remain tucked away in my closet.

Did I mention that the BF loves the weather in Southern California? I miss winter, and he hates it. The temperature has dropped in SoCal, down from like 80 degrees to the high 60s and low 70s. It has cooled off fairly considerably at night, and Drew has used the word "frigid" once or twice to describe the temperature. The other evening, we took a walk to return a DVD. He was wearing a long sleeve shirt and as we were walking, I stripped off my sweatshirt to reveal only a t-shirt. He was cold, and here I was, walking around in short sleeves. I offered my sweatshirt to him, but he declined. But nice guy that he is, he carried it home for me.

All right, I'm turning back to my work now. I'm trying to get some stuff done before I go home to bake pumpkin swirl brownies and tune in to the Twins game. Go Twins!

the pie that almost wasn't, part 2

And now here is part 2 of the blueberry pie saga. I got the pie in the oven, but the drama wasn't over. I followed the baking instructions and placed a baking sheet lined with parchment paper on the rack beneath the pie to catch any possible juice overflow. After about 15 minutes, I could smell something burning. Thinking it was a leftover potato wedge that fell through the rack a couple weeks ago, I ignored it. A couple minutes later, I cracked the oven door and saw blackened parchment paper and smoke. Fortunately, there was no fire or anything, but I was startled. I removed the parchment paper and returned the baking sheet to the oven.

Alas, all ended well. The pie glistened from the egg wash and looked nice and juicy inside. Here is the finished product:

It pains me a little bit when I have to cut into a pie, but I know it's the only way to eat it, right? The pie began to ooze with the blueberries and all their juices.

I'm not sure if I've ever had blueberry pie before. It was phenomenal, maybe the best pie I've made so far. Drew and I silently devoured a slice with vanilla ice cream. He even said that he wished that he could lick the bowl. The crust was really great; I think I must have slightly underbaked it the last time. The butter in the crust provided a nice taste, and the filling wasn't too sweet or overwhelming. And the blueberries just tasted...so fresh.

In part 1 of this post, I mentioned that I was considering a $69 class on pie making at Sur la Table. After mulling this over, I've decided to pass. Tonight, I told Drew that when we go to his mom and dad's over winter break, I'm not leaving Virginia until I've mastered pie crust. But this doesn't seem like a good idea either because I think I'm really only doing this to bake pumpkin and pecan pies for the holidays. So what's a girl on a pie making mission to do? Rather than take a class or wait for winter break, I'm going to follow the pie crust making tutorial from the Smitten Kitchen. So in the meantime, I'm going to try to bake a pie each weekend. Drew isn't sure that there are enough varieties of pie to keep me occupied until winter break, but I'm up for the challenge. Stay tuned.

the pie that almost wasn't, part 1

Warning: This post is laced with profanity. There. Proceed at your own risk.

Yesterday, I picked up a few things at the grocery store. I walked down the baking aisle for powdered sugar when I saw cans of pie filling and silently scoffed. Ha! I thought, it's easy to bake pie. Why would anyone use a canned pie filling? Surely it's not as good as homemade. Ha! The joke's on me. To anyone who uses premade cookie dough, cake mixes, or frostings from a can, I promise to never silently wonder why the hell you don't just bake from scratch. I promise not to judge you. Seriously. I promise. Because now I realize just how frustrating baking can be. It must be fucking frustrating to follow a recipe and fail to achieve the desired result. You probably follow the directions exactly as instructed, only to have the recipe taunt and tempt you when things go horribly awry.

All right. That was a little dramatic. I have spent this weekend, among other things, baking a freaking blueberry pie. It has taken nearly all weekend, and as I write this, the pie is currently in the oven (smelling heavenly, by the way) but I have no idea if it will turn out. In fact, there are three failed pie crusts in my garbage at this very moment.

As you may recall, I am in a pie phase and I successfully made a Chocolate Pudding Pie, Almond Apple Pie, and a Strawberry Pie. I'm still trying to master pie crust and I'm trying out different recipes. I decided to try out a recipe from Drew's mom. Instead of butter or shortening, the recipe called for a combination of peanut oil and milk. The dough came together pretty nicely, but it was incredibly flaky and failed to hold together. Then I couldn't get these fucking little crumbs to just meld with the rest of the dough. I started chatting (or bitching might be a better description here) online with Drew, who called his mother, who suggested that I try to add more milk to the dough. While all of this was going on, I was in the kitchen, silently swearing at the pie dough mess. Then I added a couple drops of milk, but nothing. Even so, I tried to roll it out, but it cracked down the center. I tossed pie crust #1 in the trash.

I went to the trusty Simply Recipes blog and decided to try the recipe for a perfect pie crust. I cut in the butter and started to slowly add in the water. The problem is that I know that I'm too impatient. When I start to add water, the dough, for the most part, starts to come together. Except for these wayside crumbs. Lots of them. And so I add more water, but then the dough becomes a gooey, sticky mess, which isn't good because pie crust is supposed to be flaky and light and buttery. I managed to get crust #2 rolled out and into my pie plate. But when I went to peel off the wax paper, I couldn't. The crust was just too fucking gooey. I tossed pie crust #2 into the trash and gave up pie making for the rest of the day.

Now, a sane and reasonable person would have just relented, gone to the store, and purchased ready made pie crust. Apparently, I am not a reasonable and sane person, and I did not want to swallow my pride. After all, I had done this before. I even purchased a pastry wheel for the event:
Plus, the picture of the pie was taunting me, challenging me to bake it. Wouldn't you feel the same if you saw this pie? Seriously, look at the oozing blueberries!

The next day, I tried to make the perfect pie crust again (that would be today). This time, I followed the directions and didn't take ANY shortcuts. None whatsoever. After I cut up the butter into cubes, I even placed them in the freezer, just like I was told. After I cut the butter into the flour, I vowed to go easy on the water so I would not have a gooey mess. I did not add any extra water, even when those fucking crumbs failed to join all the others into the dough mound. And just like one of the readers recommended, I put the dough into a plastic bag to make it easier to shape into the prescribed disk. I refrigerated the dough for an hour and let it sit out for 5 minutes before rolling it out. As I was rolling out the crust, I actually gave myself a silent pep talk. But the fucking crust did not behave. It fell apart, crumbled, and was quite uncooperative. I guess I would be too if someone kept calling me a fucker. I tossed pie crust #3 in the trash.

Still, I refused to give up so I made the recipe that I used for the Strawberry Pie. This crust called for a combination of shortening and butter, and I wonder if there is something about shortening that makes the crust easier to make and handle. Anyway, as I was making the dough, I actually had this thought: This is harder than a qualifying paper. Can you believe it? I compared pie crust to grad school, and grad school came out ahead. I rolled out the dough, and it still came out a bit gooey because I added an extra tablespoon of water. I had to coax it into the pie plate and even patch up the thin spots in the center, but I did it.

The filling was simple to make, and I was excited to use my pastry wheel for the lattice top. I was almost done. As I got ready to put the pie in the fridge before baking it, I suddenly remembered: I forgot to dot the fucking pie with the fucking butter. Good thing I made a lattice top. Here is the pie prior to baking.
I think I need someone to give me a pie crust lesson. I looked up cooking classes at Sur la Table, but a pie class costs $69. I have to decide how important it is to master pie crust. Or I could just continue to practice with massive quantities of flour, butter, and shortening until my crusts look like those in the pretty food blog pictures.