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December 19, 2004

Bake at 350 degrees, then slather with aloe.

Friends are visiting from out of town, so the queen-sized bed She moved in with is temporarily set up in the living room. The cats are getting a double-shot of attention, but there's an attendant increase in their crazy quotient. At least now we have additional witnesses for their wack-ass behavior, so we know we're not going crazy.

Sorry to babble. This sunburn is still with me, and I haven't slept decently since returning from Meheeko. I've absorbed enough Aloe barbadensis to float a battleship, or, at least a canoe full of hippies.

Loose cotton is the order of the day.

Yesterday, we attended a long-planned dinner party. Since I'm not a long-planner, I ended up doing the cooking the day of.

This was not a chore for me. I love to cook, and baking particularly gives me pleasure. Baking feels more like alchemy than actual food preparation, and there's plenty of time to clean while one bakes. I enjoy preparing whole meals for others, but I hate the pile of pots and pans that usually accumulates afterwards.

Not to mention the chore of parcelling leftovers into small plastic containers, so I may be sure to forget them in random corners of the fridge, rediscover them later, then sniff them with disgust before tossing them guiltily into the trash when no one's looking. Why am I so bad with leftovers? It's really a true test of my own cooking. For which foods will I shout "encore!", and which should open and close on the same night, like an ill-conceived musical?

Getting back to the baking. Yesterday, the guests were off on an outing to visit another friend who performs in various fora, so I had the kitchen to myself.

Not only did I manage to view three episodes of Law & Order (thanks TiVo!), I prepared the following:

When everyone got back from visiting Victorian London, they oohed and aahed at the cooking smells, which is always gratifying.

Baking diffuses any potential holiday anxieties of mine. I can prepare something with care and intent, and make it as good as I can so it'll appeal to the people I care about. I'll still deal with the crowds at the stores this week, but being able to bring a basket full of food to a party with friends meant a lot.

My building's manager has slathered kitsch Xmas crap all over the foyer downstairs. In addition to the plastic pine boughs taped to the banister, there's plenty of tacky window decals, and a perfectly ugly lighted tree. The control box for the tree lights even plays one or another awful carol, about as well as you might expect a 12-volt adapter to sound.

Several of us residents turn it off regularly, but the super constantly reactivates it. Now, another holiday-minded soul has dropped a Santa head into a ficus by the front door. It has an IR sensor, so when you walk past, it plays a crappy electronic medley, along with a tinny, "Ho, ho, ho!"

Luckily, Santa quiets down when you kick him behind the right ear. The tree is more complex, so I scurry up the stairs, rather than get caught fiddling with it.

Posted by Your Protagonist at December 19, 2004 06:37 AM