RICE CONCOCTION

My roommate recently sent me one of those “recipe exchange” emails. If you’ve been lucky enough to avoid them, here is an example of what one might say;

“You have been invited to be a part of a recipe exchange. You only have to send one recipe, so actually it is super fast and fun!1- person 1
2- person 2

First, send a recipe to the person whose name is listed in first position above, (even if you do not know them).

Second, copy this letter into a new email and move my name to the #1 position and put your name in the #2 position. Only your name and mine should appear in this list when you send it to 20 people you know.

If you cannot do this within 5 days, please let me know so it will be fair to those participating. You should receive 36 recipes.

Seldom does anyone drop out because we can all use new recipes.Happy Cooking!”Had it actually seemed “super fast and fun” I would have considered participating, instead of immediately deleting it and making a mental note to throw a pair of dirty underwear at my roommate later (Oh, and don’t think I’ve forgotten Katy. I have not forgotten). But even though I totally blew it off, I found myself thinking about it a lot. It confused me. Particularly the line “Seldom does anyone drop out because we can all use new recipes.” In my head, the record player came to a screeching halt. “People actually cook different meals for themselves….every night??” I wondered. My brain just simply could not – cannot – wrap itself around this. Cannot.
I can honestly say, without exaggeration, that every time I have cooked myself dinner in the last seven months, I have made the exact same thing. The exact. Same. Thing. My roommate and I have dubbed it “rice concoction.” So, for all you out there lining up for new dinner recipes, here is a super fast and fun one that’s super delicious. Please Enjoy!

RICE CONCOCTION
Ingredients
½ cup Instant Rice (I prefer brown)
1 onion slice
1 green pepper slice
1 bowl of frozen vegetables (I’m really into the “Santa Fe Mix” right now)
Lite Soy Sauce (for flavor)

Directions

• In a pot, add 1 cup of water. Heat on high until it boils. Add ½ cup of instant rice. Cook until done (Approximately 5 minutes, or right before it starts to snap crackle and pop. If you hear it snapping, crackling, and/or popping – you have failed bitterly.)
• In a microwave safe bowl, add a cup of frozen vegetables with a splash of water. Heat on high for three minutes.
• Slice a piece of onion and dice. Do the same with the green pepper. One whole onion and green pepper should last you for a week’s worth of Rice Concoction.
• Add oil to sauté pan. As the oil heats up, fantasize about being on Top Chef. Tom Colicchio has just walked into the kitchen to see how you’re doing. “Everything’s good Chef!” You say to him. He looks over your shoulder. “Are you going to mix those frozen vegetables in with the fresh vegetables you’re sautéing?” He asks. “Sure am Chef!” You respond. He smiles and nods approvingly. Later, Padma will describe this decisions as “Risky, but innovative.” Guest Judge Michael Chiarello will agree. Toby will not, but no one cares what he says anyway.
• Once onions and green peppers are sautéed, mix with the microwaved vegetables into the pan and heat for a few more minutes. Cook until flavor is gone.
• In a bowl, mix the rice and vegetables. Cover generously with soy sauce – for taste.
• Serve with a nice cold Coke Zero – preferably straight from the 2-liter bottle.

Now, I have made some slight variations to the recipe, as over the last 7 months, my palate has become more refined. When my hair began falling out due to a protein deficiency, for example, I added sliced tofu to the mix. (I would really like to stress though, that I am not a vegetarian. I am simply too lazy to cook meat.)
The saddest thing about all of this is, for Christmas my parents bought me a ridiculous amount of top-of-the-line pots, pans, knives, and other cooking utensils, all of which will only be used to make my flavorless gruel. Yes, I probably could try cooking something else. Maybe mix it up a bit. Throw in a taco night, or a spaghetti night every once and a while. Maybe make a salad. But I just don’t see a point. I’m a man of habit. I like rice concoction. I enjoy eating rice concoction. I find myself drooling when I think about it as I walk home from work. I’m not a picky eater by any means. I honestly cannot think of a single food I do not like. I’ll eat anything! But all I really want is rice concoction. And I figure, if it ain’t broke….

Oh – and incase you’re wondering – I also eat the same meals everyday for breakfast and lunch as well. But those are stories for another time. You also may be asking wondering – What did Chris make before I started making Rice Concoction? It was called Noodle Concoction – and that too is another story for another time.

NEW YEARS EVE - THE WORST

If I were forced to rank all the important holidays, I would put my birthday as my very favorite (obviously), which would be closely followed by Christmas, and then Thanksgiving – which I enjoy due to its close proximity to my birthday. The list would work its way through Halloween and Easter, until at the very bottom, past Lee Jackson King Day and even Valentines Day, you would find New Years Eve. I hate New Years Eve. It is the worst. The very very worst.

I, in no way think this is a novel sentiment. Nor do I believe that I am the only one to feel this way. On the contrary, I think most rational people above the age of 12 and outside of New Jersey hate New Years Eve. It’s a terrible holiday, with entirely way too much pressure put on staying up until midnight. I stay up past midnight almost every night, and very rarely does this call for celebrating by downing a bottle of shitty champagne and vomiting into a bathtub.

This year’s seemed doomed from the very start. To simplify an overly complicated and entirely uninteresting story – I will give just the facts: my friends in New York are jerks who hate me and intentionally and maliciously excluded me from their New Years Eve plans. Why? Because they are evil and enjoy making me cry.* Well, I am very proud to say that as hard as they tried, I shed not a single tear. Instead I decided to spend my New Years with my friends back home in Virginia.

And things got a little out of hand.

The evening began at my parents’ home, where a group of us drank a few cocktails over a fine spread of hors d'oeuvres. Later in the night, we ventured down to a swanky restaurant conveniently located a few minutes down the block. 12 hours later, I awoke to a nasty hangover, and my friend Chase sleeping next to me. “What the fuck are you doing in my bed?” I asked. He replied by pushing me off the mattress and falling back asleep.

The events from the previous night were nothing but a haze to me. The few of us that remained gathered over a warm breakfast, and my friends began to fill in the blanks.

The first fight I almost got into involved two young looking women who approached me when I went to the bar to buy myself a drink. One grabbed me by my shirt as I walked by and screamed “Heyyyyyyyyyyyyyy!” I wiggled my way out of her drunken grip without speaking a word. One of her companions – a young lady sporting a whole lot of cleavage – came up to me to apologize on behalf of her friend. “She’s an annoying bitch isn’t she?”

“Um….yes?” I responded.

“Yeah, I don’t like her very much. I think she’s annoying.” She continued. A young man came up behind her and added “Yeah! I don’t like her either!” They both smiled brightly as they bashed their friend. I remember the two of them both staring at me with gleaming eyes, waiting for me to confirm my dislike for their drunken friend who I had just met literally seconds before. I smiled politely and nodded, bought my beer and went on my way. I saw them later in the evening. The cleavage-sporting girl smiled and waved at me. I waved but said nothing.

According to my friend Chase, the young fresh-faced man who had shared with me his dislike for the drunken girl, grabbed him – his eyes no longer gleaming. “Are you with that guy?” He asked, pointing an angry finger in my direction. He was joined by another man, who seemed equally as perturbed. “You better tell him to stay away from our women. I hope he knows he’s hitting on two married ladies!”

“Yeah!” added the friend. “Tell your little faggot friend his gay little bowtie that he needs to back the fuck off of our wives!”

“I’m confused,” Chase responded. “Are you accusing him of being gay, or of hitting on your wives?”

Later in the evening, I received a text message from someone I had been on three dates with. It said “really???” I checked back to see what it was in response to. I had sent a text message 20 minutes before saying “I love you.”

The next morning, when looking for my phone, I noticed that the first person I had wished a happy New Year too was not my mother or father, my brothers, or any of my close friends. It went to a coworker who had quit and moved to CA a few months before. I wrote to her simply “I miss you and your boyfriend more than you could ever know.” I have no idea why.

The next fight I almost got into came a little later in the evening. At this point, alcohol had eroded away any rationale or logic left. I was simply a puppet, and drunkenness my puppeteer. As I walked through a crowd, I reached over and grabbed a stranger’s hat off his head. I didn’t take the hat with me. I just took it off his head and put it right back on, and continued walking. I have no idea why. I just did. And as soon as I returned his cap, I saw his large frame jump angrily off his stool. I decided that my best approach would be to continue walking – only faster.

I can’t really tell you what happened next - as I do not have eyes on the back of my head. I can tell you what I heard though. There was a lot of commotion – I believe a woman screamed. A stool was knocked over. A chorus of people yelled “WOAH WOAH WOAH!” I heard my friend Ian jump in between the charging drunk man and myself and yell “Back off dude!” Next, I heard the bartender jump over the bar and tackle the guy to the floor. By this point I was out the door, and still moving.

The man was kicked out. I was allowed to stay, but only after the bartended lectured me – telling me “never to pull that shit again.” I wasn’t sure what I had done, or why, but I nodded my head quietly.

Last call was shortly thereafter. I closed my tab, and then went outside to join my friends. We were all going to head down the street and continue the party at my parents’ house, but they were nowhere to be seen. I was less than a minute behind them, but they all had vanished. Just like magic. Poof - gone. I couldn’t help by feel like Kevin McAllister as I walked home all by myself. Left behind – forgotten – unloved and alone. My brother called me in a panic “Where the fuck are you?” he screamed. “We’re coming to get you!” But I just hung up on him. It was too late. The dye had been cast. The damage had been done. They had forgotten me. Sure, it had only taken me 4.5 minutes to walk home. But at the moment, it was about the principle. I walked in the door, and went straight to bed. I was going to punish them with sleep.

The party continued without me until God-only-knows-when. Our friends – too drunk to drive home – fell asleep across the floors of my parents living room and basement – never mind the fact that there were four empty bedrooms upstairs. Around 7AM, Chase, his mouth full of carpet, decided to get up off the floor and crawl into my bed. He woke me up as he settled himself atop the sheets, and I thought to myself “I wonder if he knows I’m not wearing any underwear.”

So over breakfast we all relived the previous evening’s shenanigans. We laughed until tears welled up in our eyes – embarrassed about what we had done – shocked at what we had forgotten. I definitely wasn’t the only one to make a giant ass of myself – but I’ll let my friends fill you in on their misadventures themselves. I’m still a firm believer that New Years is the worst holiday ever – but this one was a special exception. This New Years – despite everything listed above – was awesome.

*Their version of the story may differ slightly. 

BANANA CAKE

My roommate Katy and her boyfriend have been contributing to a food blog called "Mad Tasty" (www.madtasty.blogspot.com), and asked me if I'd like to write an article about my recent misadventures trying to bake a banana cake. I submitted the first article below - and shockingly, it did not received the response I was looking for. My roommate suggested that jokes about domestic violence and implications that Paula Dean may or may not perform oral pleasure on her sons perhaps might be considered "offensive" by her readers - many of whom, she explained, are older women. In response, I wrote the second of the two posts - this time adapting a different persona that her followers could relate to - one I like to call "Aunt Betty". I leave it in your hands, readers, to tell me which one you like better...

Banana Cake - Draft 1
by Christopher J Miles

The precarious vestiges of my manhood were destroyed this weekend when I reacquainted myself with the art of baking banana cake. I was hesitant at first, as few would disagree that real men don’t bake. However, after hand sewing a teddy bear for my newborn nephew, I have come to terms with the fact that I am indeed, a woman.

My first attempt at banana cake came a few weeks back while watching the Grammys. I don’t know what sparked the craving, but something about picturing Rihanna getting bitched slapped made me think “banana cake.” Instead of using any number of the cookbooks my roommate has conveniently stored on our bookshelf, I decided it would be best to search the internet for a recipe – because who wants the ease of looking in a book when you can instead scribble everything on the back of a used envelope? On the Food Network site, I found a recipe that was endorsed by my favorite fat Southerner (who shall remain nameless), and I thought to myself “would someone who loves butter this much really steer me wrong here?” Truth be told – it sucked. Now, maybe it was due to the fact that I can’t cook worth shit. Maybe it was because I was moderately intoxicated while I tried to bake. Or maybe Paula was just too busy fluffing her two sons to really notice that this recipe was rancid. Whatever the reason – the cake was bad. It was dense and chewy. Basically – it was banana bread with cream cheese frosting. My roommate humored me by eating a couple pieces, but we ended up throwing most of it away.

Feeling somewhat defeated, I thought I would once again try to conquer banana cake. My roommate suggested using a recipe in her cookbook entitled “The Weekend Baker” by Abigail Johnson-Dodge. Now usually I tend to steer away from anything to do with women sporting hyphenated names, but the recipe seemed pretty decent. Katy promised me that this would make something somewhat more cake like, so I gave it a shot.

Now Johnson-Dodge stressed the importance of using – as she states “very very very ripe bananas.” Apparently this is common knowledge, but I sincerely had no clue. The bananas I used for the banana cake 1 were only “very ripe.” Apparently the extra very’s can make all the difference.

I’m a big fan of cream cheese frosting, but I decided to go out on a limb and try her “tangy vanilla frosting.” Instead of using cream cheese, the recipe called for sour cream (sour cream in frosting?!? Now I’ve seen EVERYTHING!). I have to say – very tasty. However, since I made the cake a day in advance, I had to stick the stuff in the fridge. By the time I was ready to frost, it was hard as a rock. I let it sit out for a few, and it became goo. So I put it back in the fridge, and it was back to being a rock again. Back and forth. Rock to Goo. Goo to rock. I thought to myself “if the Three Stooges had been homosexuals, this is the kind of bit they would have done.” I finally gave up and made my roommate frost the cake – and despite the challenges, she did a mighty lovely job.

To gussy it up a bit, I thinly sliced an extra banana I had laying around, and put the pieces around the edge of the top of the cake. It’s fancy. It was a work of art, but I should warn that unless you planning downing this cake fast, this might not be the best idea for a garnish. I’m looking at the leftovers right now, and all I can see are dark brown little blobs covering the top – not too unlike Rihanna’s battered face (see how I bring it back full circle?)

So for all you banana lovers, I would definitely recommend defiling this healthy fruit with lots of sugar and butter. Just stay away from recipes that call for thick batter. Thick batter, much like thick women, are just simply no good.

The Banana Cake

Banana Cake - Draft 2
by Aunt Betty

I have to say, my friends and family just simply LOVE bananas! In fact, you could even say that they go BANANAS for them!! Now, I’ve always been somewhat of a banana purist myself. The thought of defiling a beautiful banana with any unnecessary additions seems like a sin against deliciousness. A banana split? I’ll take mine minus the split, thank you very much. So, as you can imagine, I was somewhat skeptical when one of my dearest girlfriends Martha told me I had to try banana cake. If it had been anyone other than her, I would have thanked them kindly, and then gone home and permanently removed them from my Christmas card list for ever suggesting such a culinary abortion. But this was Martha, and she has always had exquisite taste (she was the one, after all, that turned me onto Mary Higgins Clark) – so I thought I might as well give it a shot.

My first attempt at banana cake was a disaster, and I should have expected as much. It was doomed from the start, as I mistakenly decided to employ the use of Satan’s instrument – the internet. Now Pastor Mike has repeatedly reassured me that the internet is not only for the homosexuals and Presbyterians, so I have made it one of my New Years resolutions to start using it more (along with losing a couple pounds in my mid section and trying to stop giggling at church). I searched online for a recipe that looked appetizing, and found a seemingly good one on the Food Network website. The recipe was one of Paula Deans, and though I firmly believe that if you can’t say something nice, you shouldn’t say anything at all – I have to say that this recipe was just the worst! I don’t know why I was surprised. That woman’s love of mayonnaise errs on the side of inappropriate. The cake was hard and chewy, and simply not bananany enough. After one bite, I threw the whole cake in the trash can. You should have seen the looks on my children’s faces. They really shouldn’t have been surprised though - I demand perfection from them as I do myself. Why, I would have done the same thing if they brought home a report card that was any less than straight A+’s – right in the trashcan it would go.

I immediately rang Martha, and in the nicest tone possible suggested that she was going straight to hell for wasting my time with such a terrible suggestion. Yearning to redeem herself, she said she would drop off the recipe she used post haste. One for forgiveness, I decided to give both Martha, and banana cake a second chance. The next morning, she dropped off a cookbook called “The Weekend Baker,” by Abigail Johnson Dodge. Although I found the pictures in the book to be garish and a bit flashy for my liking, Johnson Dodge’s anecdotes about her husband and children warmed me up. I found the book marked recipe and for banana cake, and banana cake – take two – was under way!!

The recipe was – well – a PIECE OF CAKE to follow!! And a lot of fun too! One fun suggestion Johnson Dodge recommends is using sour cream in her vanilla frosting instead of cream cheese to give it a tangy zing. And tangy it was! Well played Abigail! One little addition I would like to recommend is to thinly slicing a banana after frosting the cake, and use the slices to decorate the top. I put rings of banana in concentric circles on top, and it was just simply adorable. It’s the little things like this that make my husband love me.

In the end, I was glad I was strong-armed into making a banana cake. It was a huge hit – fluffy and moist and packed full of flavor. Martha sure may be on to something, and I look forward to defiling more healthy snacks by covering them with sugar and butter. Chocolate covered strawberries, here I come!!