under pressure

what do my hand and a lemon pie have in common?

2009-02-15T14:51:00.000-08:00

I'm not sure if you're aware of a birthday tradition William began for me two years ago. He is an incredible artisan baker and also quite good with sugar creations (cakes, cupcakes, tarts, pies, muffins, anything). He knew he couldn't possibly let me have a birthday without making me a most delicious and beautiful birthday cake. Knowing I have an unusually large sweet tooth, he knew I would appreciate this sort of gesture. (Also, that year for my birthday, he gave ice cream maker, which is the kitchen appliance equivalent of the key to my heart.)
Not wanting to make me just any cake, he turned to this particular recipe - originally conceived by John Baricelli, the prep kitchen manager at Martha Stewart's television studio, for Martha's birthday.

After my 24th birthday in 2007, I decided that this would be the only cake I would eat to celebrate my birth. It really looks like that picture!!! It is unbelievable. Almond Swiss Meringue. Buttercream. Amaretto. Apricot Jam. Almond Swiss Meringue. This cake requires a fancy kitchen blowtorch. It is truly a sight to behold...and eat. It looks even better with lit birthday candles. I remember that May 21, when William came to my house to pick me up to go to my birthday party with our weekly Monday Night dinner crew. I knew he was making me a cake, but I didn't know how involved it would be. He walked in the front door and had icing on his arm and on his chin. When I got in the car, I noticed even more icing on the dashboard. Thankfully, for the rest of the journey, I held the cake in my lap...in utter shock and disbelief that he had gone to so much trouble. I knew the size of his kitchen. This could not have been easy.

I could go on and on about this cake. It is worthy of the praise I'm giving it. Ask a handful of my friends who have eaten it two years in a row. But now I will move on to William's birthday. I'm the kind of person who gets really excited about birthdays - and not just my own. I'd been planning William's birthday for weeks...or rather anticipating it for weeks (since the planning required only a couple of phone calls to make reservations). The restaurant I'd chosen for dinner told me they would do something special for William in honor of his birthday. For a moment, I thought, great! I don't even have to make a cake! I don't have to buy a cake! (We live a block away from arguably the best cake bakery in all of Chicago...buying a birthday cake from Bittersweet would have been no big deal...and oh so tasty.) But then I remembered the labor of love that is my birthday cake.

I casually asked William one night what kind of cake we had last year for his birthday. We both couldn't even remember what kind it was - some sort of sheet cake. I don't even remember if I bought it. I think I did...but I don't remember. He also mentioned that he doesn't really like cake all that much - he's much more of a pie guy, a Lemon Meringue Pie guy. How could I not have known this? How has it never come up in conversation before? I knew he didn't have any sort of sweet tooth in comparison to mine, but I didn't know he loved that particular pie so much. I also love that pie - not only because of the way it tastes, but also because if it's costarring role in my all-time favorite joke. It's much better in person, but it goes like this:

What do my hand and a lemon pie have in common?
(present hand followed by a dramatic pause)
They both have MY-RINGUE on it!!!

When you factor in my southern accent,
this joke is downright hysterical.
(if I do say so myself...)

Anyway, having learned this new information regarding my boyfriend's pie preference, I decided I would make him such a pie for his birthday. It must be said that if I had mentioned this idea to any member of my family, they would have scoffed at the idea that I could pull off such a pie. Growing up, I always helped with the dishes and loved setting the table; but as far as conceiving of and executing dinner, my mom and sister were better. I remember one night the year after I graduated from college, I invited my dad and stepmother over for dinner. I made them the driest, toughest chicken we have probably ever eaten. It was embarrassing. I've also got a stir-fry tuna story. Also embarrassing. And I don't have a whole lot of pie experience. The last time I made a pie, though, was for my then roommate Carter's birthday. On a regular basis, he would demand that I go in the kitchen and make him a pie. So for this birthday I made him an apple pie. It's been awhile, but I remember that pie tasting sooo good. It's hard to mess up an apple pie. Especially with some ice cream on top. Mmmm... But meringue can be tricky. You have to beat the egg whites for a really long time. Longer than you think. On top of that, I wanted to make my own crust, and I'm not the artisan baker in the house. I was really nervous. I really wanted this to be a surprise...how would I pull this off for his birthday on Thursday night?

William is a grad student with about an hour commute home at night (we live in Lakeview, north of the Loop in Chicago, and he commutes back and forth to the University of Chicago in Hyde Park.). That gave me extra time to grocery shop and prepare the dough on Monday night. I only had to mix the dough, roll it in a ball and put it in the fridge. Easy enough. He never noticed. The next night, I had to make a bigger decision. His birthday was on Thursday, but I wouldn't have time to make it, bake it and let it cool on Thursday afternoon. I wouldn't have time on Wednesday afternoon either. I had to bite the bullet and make it Tuesday night. I figured next year I could make it on the day of his birthday, but this year I wanted it to be a surprise. I wanted it to be special. So I read the recipe and re-read it. Then I read it again.

I fully-baked the pie crust and squeezed lemons for the filling. I followed the recipe exactly - though, I almost left out the lemon zest but remembered just in time.

Everything looked good: on to the meringue. The recipe told me to beat the egg whites (and superfine sugar and cream of tartar) until it had shiny stiff peaks. This is the tough part. It seriously takes a long time. Thankfully, William and I have made other icings together before...and though they're not quite the same as meringue, I did recognize the peaks and know when to stop beating.

Next it was time to put all the components together. I spooned the filling into the pie crust. I then began adding the meringue on top and shaped it with the back of a spoon, the picture from the cookbook my inspiration. Then I waited. I did the dishes. I prayed a little. I wanted this to be half as delicious as my birthday cake. About 15 minutes later, I pulled the pie out of the oven.

I have never been so proud of anything in my entire life. And I had to wait for two more nights!!! The last part of the recipe was the only part that lead me astray. It said I could store the pie in the fridge overnight, no problem. I knew it needed to be refrigerated anyway, and I’d bought a special pie container to store it in. I didn’t think twice. I didn’t think it would be a problem. It was so beautiful! Nothing could happen to it! Well. Low and behold, William came home from school about 15 minutes earlier than he was supposed to. That was fine. The pie hadn’t quite finished cooling, but it would be fine.
I put it in the refrigerator anyway.
At this point, William knew something was going on.
And I wanted to show him sooo badly!!! But I had to wait.

I checked on the pie on Wednesday and discovered the inevitable. The meringue, my beautiful meringue, had wept. I was somewhat distraught. I did not know this would happen. Little naïve me trusted the Williams-Sonoma cookbook when it told me I could put it in the fridge overnight. Grr. That is not true!
Well, it is true. But it weeps!

I found a forum online discussing this occurrence and learned that refrigerating a Lemon Meringue Pie will make it weep. It’s unavoidable.
(Or if you know something about meringues and how to keep them cool without weeping, let me know!).

Finally, Thursday arrived, and that night I lit a candle and sang Happy Birthday to William. He was so happy and very pleased to have a homemade treat.

The Lemon Meringue Pie turned out to be incredibly delicious. It only lasted 3 ½ days, but hopefully the tradition will last for many birthdays to come.

The entire experience reminded me of the
famous Eleanor Roosevelt quote:

“Do something every day that scares you.”

I was certainly terrified to bake for my baker boyfriend,
but I’m certainly glad I did.

Next on the baking list: Key Lime Pie. I have Spring Fever.

winter in chicago

2009-01-19T16:38:00.000-08:00

Yes. Winter in Chicago is extremely cold. It snows on a regular basis, and it's as windy as they say. But having discovered a love for these chilly temps, I thought I'd share a list of my favorite Winter Experiences as a new Chicagoan.

1. Warm is the new black. Forget greige or purple. Warm is all the rage in Chicago '09. I was told this would happen: nobody cares what you look like all bundled up walking to the train station or out and about at lunch or during any amount of time spent outside. Nobody cares about hat hair. The goal is to stay warm no matter what. Thankfully my coat feels like it's part sleeping bag.

2. Bear Feet. These are my spectacularly warm fuzzy slippers. Fuzzy may be an understatement. They are GLORIOUS. William got these for me right after we moved in. It took Boudreaux the Cat a little while to get used to their presence. My feet have certainly depended on them for their warmth and occasional protection against Boudreaux.

3. I've never made so much soup in my life. William and I have started going through Alice Water's Chez Panisse Vegetables cookbook making all of the soups. So far the Carrot and Cilantro has been my favorite. It's comfort food that you can eat every day.

4. I locked my keys in the car while it was running. This experience makes the list because it would have never happened in the Spring, Summer or Fall because typically those seasons seem to steer clear of blizzards. One morning before work, I got in the car, turned it on, cranked up the heat and got out to scrape the snow and ice off the windows. Somehow, when I got out of the car, I managed to lock the doors. William was out of town with the other set of keys. All I could do was run down to the local bakery and use their phone to call a locksmith, who'd already been to five other cars that morning. He may have made that up to make me feel better. And it did. When I finally made it back in the car, boy was it toasty. It had completely defrosted. It looked like it was sweating. This kind-of mistake doesn't happen on a pretty Spring morning when there's no snow to scrape. Lesson learned. It's funny now.

5. Phone calls about the weather. Every single time one of the national morning shows makes a big to do about the frigid weather in the Midwest I get a phone call. I'm not kidding. It's hilarious. Low and behold, we're still alive and well. We try not to spend a lot of time outside. That seems to help.

remember answering machines?

2008-10-04T11:31:00.001-07:00

I loved recording our answering machine message as a kid. I'd change it all the time. It was something I took great pride in. The only one I can remember word for word to this day was a collaboration with my mom. It cracks me up. She claims to not remember. It went like this:

Fall is near,
But we're not here.
The leaves are falling,
Thanks for calling.
If you'll leave a message after the tone,
We'll call you back when we get home.

Nothing like being a 10 year old and totally unaware of your own cheesiness. I thought it was absolutely brilliant!

I kind-of miss playing messages when I get home. Maybe I'll get a land line. Is that taking a step backwards?

life in the big city

2008-09-09T21:11:00.000-07:00

the title of this blog probably makes me sound more like a small town girl, which is appropriate because i think deep down on the inside i am and probably always will be. i lived in the same 30-mile radius for 25 years. i'm experiencing big city culture shock and have just now had the wherewithal to recognize and deal with it. i've been so focused on the differences that i've hardly taken the time to notice the similarities between little rock and the third largest city in the nation. mostly, i miss running into people i know and can say hi to. i have seen a lot of lookalikes though. chicago is full of doppelgangers.

here, people usually smile back...a trend that seems to be more popular in the southern states due to the dose of hospitality babies are injected with at birth; but smiles go a long way up north too. chicagoans love their sports...only not the arkansas razorbacks - it's the cubs, the sox or da bears (not so much da bulls right now...maybe in january.). i see lonely shoes in the middle of the expressway, like the random shoes i always saw in the middle of the road where kavanaugh crossed markham at the edge of stift station. and people get excited about fall and the changing of the seasons; it just takes place about two months sooner.

there are subtle differences in my daily life. if i forget part of my lunch at home, tough luck for me...there's no going back once i've left the apartment in the morning. i have a harder time trying to find a parking spot at 10:30 pm than i would on the corner of holly and lee in hillcrest. cubs home games have a great effect on my evening commute. william and i typically don't buy more than we can carry back from the grocery store (who knows if we'll be walking back and forth in january..). though it pains me to realize, i can now see why going to one store to buy everything is so appealing and popular.

in dealing with these new realities, i've felt like the world said, moving to chicago? great! c'mon up! abracadabra presto-chango POOF! behind a cloud of smoke an oz-like voice says, you're an adult now, by the way. chicago isn't going to slow down just because yooooou moved in.

deep breath

my boss says, you know this is the biggest show the goodman has ever produced?!

deep breath

i finally understand the uniqueness of the monday night dinner group i ate and laughed with for almost two years every monday night (with a few holiday exceptions). i miss those intense games of scattegories and the delicious pies joe would bring from community bakery. i miss the way summer smells and stars. i miss the whoodle.

but i think missing is good. it was time to go. and now i'm here.

so far, so good.

prime time

2008-05-16T06:52:00.000-07:00

i want to voice my abhorent dismay for kark's programming during the season finale of ER last night. as a disclaimer, i must admit that i never watch ER (or haven't since high school) and was intrigued by this particular finale because i thought it was the series finale. during the episode, i realized i was wrong and that next year ER would conclude it's fifteen year run in the coveted nbc thursday night time slot. however, i'd already invested about half an hour into the show and wanted to see what happened. it turned out to be an incredible episode - great shots of downtown chicago. everything seemed very peaceful and very un-finale-esque until BOOM the INTRO TO THE NEWS WITH FRIGGIN JANCEY SHEATS COMES ON ABOUT 10 SECONDS EARLY and we MISS the CLIMAX OF THE SHOW!!! first of all, what kind of name is jancey? secondly, kark quickly switched back to the show, having realized their error (i hope), but it was TOO LATE. the climax had come and gone. i could infer what happened but my anticipation and excitement had turned quickly to anger and disgust for my local channel 4 station. i had road rage on the couch. i usually try not to be too negative a person, but this incident RUINED the finale. how do you make a mistake like that?!

i'm disappointed. first meredith vieira joins the today show (seriously? from the view to the today show? what?!). now this.

i'll stick to renting 30 rock dvds. no commercials. no idiots spoiling the show.

happy friday :)

chicken's got back.

2008-04-21T12:45:00.000-07:00

during the interview for my current job (production assistant, jones productions/cranford johnson robinson woods) i was told there wasn't a typical day, that my job duties would include just about everything under the production world's sun. so far, in addition to my accounting responsibilities and general office duties, i've had some very interesting projects. one time i had to find the cutest, most personable gold fish for a bank commercial. if you live in northwest arkansas, you may have seen our first federal bank goldfish ad starring "fishie." another day, i had to walk the streets of little rock with a film crew in search of a "giant chicken," which can be seen at giantchickenspotted.com. i've powdered sam waterston's nose. i've worn tracy byrd's rolex. i've done make-up for the grim reaper.

most recently, i traveled to chicago to help promote a new menu item at pollo campero, the "latin chicken loved 'round the world." i was a substitute marketing girl, filling in for one of our dallas executives. one of the reasons i wanted to go on the trip was to finally have an opportunity to BE the pollo campero's mascot chicken, pollito.

my entire life i have always wanted to dress up in giant costumes, like the ones at disney world. in high school i considered trying-out for our mascot, the wampus cat... but knew football games would interfere with theatre rehearsal schedules. i considered going to the university of arkansas so i could try-out to be boss hog, the large inflated razorback, the newest addition to arkansas' mascot family...but knew i needed a better reason to choose a college. my first job after college, i toured around the country as "baloo the bear" in the jungle book with the missoula children's theater. i was SO excited about the costume until i saw it. it wasn't one huge costume with a huge bear head. it came in separate pieces and i had to wear "baloo make-up" on my face. don't get me wrong, it was still fun. what's not to love about a big fat bear costume?

recently when i saw a video clip with pollito at work, i knew i would soon have my chance. i'd mentioned it a couple times around the office, kind-of testing the waters...trying to figure out where the costume was. several people were discouraging, saying it was too heavy or too hot or too awkward. but no one could bust my pollito bubble. when i arrived in chicago, the clients mentioned pollito and i immediately spoke up and said i'd happily play the part. they looked at me like i was crazy but were excited that someone would stand on the corner and wave to the kiddos in this hilarious costume. on thursday, april 17, 2008, i suited up to BE the giant chicken. you can't tell from the photos, but i was about to jump out of my skin with excitement. i had to wear this fan (the black vest looking thing) to keep pollito inflated. the fan was a little heavy, but it kept me cool. in the following photos, you can watch me enter the world that is pollito, with the help of my coworker esperanza.

apparently we were stopping all kinds of traffic and people were lining up to get our coupons. the next day, i suited up for a photograph for the chicago tribune and made some kids cry.
you win some, you lose some.

all in all, it was a wonderful experience.

i mean, oh my god. becky, look at that chicken...

grayish

2008-04-08T12:03:00.000-07:00

i have hesitated to start a blog. i've never really been into blogs. i would occasionally read other blogs but usually had no interest whatsoever. also, my one other published literary endeavor was a complete and total disaster.

i was in the tenth grade. i had just joined the theatre department of conway high school and made some new friends who welcomed me with open arms to the quirky, exclusive world that was conway theatre. we took it very seriously. we auditioned, rehearsed, built sets, played improv games, sang all of rent and would then stay up half the night chatting about our idealistic creativity on icq. we'd go to punk shows and head to little rock on the weekends to check out the latest indie flick or go to barnes and noble. we were that kind of crowd. so when my friend hank, a senior, told me he was publishing an underground literary magazine and asked if i had any poems to contribute, i of course turned to my most recent english notes and gave him what had been an innocent mind blurb, probably during the great gatsby lectures...if we even had lectures in the tenth grade.

my poem titled gray concisely told a tale of indecision and muddled feelings, the normal emo high school goodness that drives with the windows down and the good will hunting soundtrack blaring were made of. i simply printed him a copy of my deep yet amateur six lines of writing and handed it over. i completely forgot about it until the magazine was published and distributed at school. our long-term substitute drama teacher handed me a copy, and i read everyone else's comments on our teenage existence. there were short stories, photographs, my poem and others. what caught my eye the most, though, was the poem about the illicit behavior between our principal and the cheerleaders. a complete and total fabrication (most likely), this did not sit well with the administration, once someone finally turned in a copy. i was sitting in fifth period trig/precal hating life (probably because our math teacher, mrs. brown, was trying desperately to explain some complicated formula to me, the terrible math student who probably didn't need to be in the upper-level math class) when the secretary called my name on the intercom, asking me to come to mr. bishop's office. our high school was split into two campuses. ninth and tenth grades were on the east campus while eleventh and twelfth grades were on the west campus. mr. bishop was the nine-ten campus' principal, not mr. tyler, whom the poem in question was about. as president of the student congress, i interacted with both principals on a regular basis and got along with each just fine. i had a good reputation and had even gone to homecoming with mr. bishop's son john (a blog waiting to happen: most awkward dates to date).

i had no idea what this meeting could be about and happily walked over to the front office with all the confidence in the world. as soon as i stepped into the musty office full of wampus cat regalia and football memories, i saw the magazine on the desk and immediately knew why i had been summoned. my face turned beet red, and i'm sure tears began to well up in my eyes. i sat down and looked at mr. bishop, who was shocked and frustrated that i had been called in to talk about such a questionable piece of literature. he asked all sorts of questions and wondered why in the world i'd hand over a poem to be published without knowing what sort of material it would be published next to. i wanted to tell him to chill out and let it go...that i had nothing to do with anything besides submitting my tiny little poem, which he proceeded to read out loud and declare reasonable and not offensive. then he called my house and left a message for my mom. it was embarrassing. i didn't have much to add except that i was sorry for being a part of something so controversial and would think twice before submitting anything to an underground whatever. as i left his office, feeling so guilty and mad at myself for blemishing my pristine behavior record, i began to feel ill. really ill.

i continued on to seventh period (i'd been in the office for quite awhile and totally missed my sixth period class) for a frog lab practical. mrs. walchuck, my favorite biology teacher, noticed that i'd gone as white as a sheet and urged me to go home early. instead, i ran down the hall and began a twenty-four hour stomach virus with gusto. after i left school, i drove over to hank's house in the powder blue toyota camry rental car i had while my volkswagon was in the shop. a couple weeks before i'd run into the side of a cement truck. not my fault, entirely. anyway, when i finally arrived, i continued to get sick while trying to explain to hank the unfortunate day that i believed he was responsible for, indirectly sending me to the principal's office. after my little tirade, i somehow made it back in the car and drove the couple miles to my house, having to pull over once to puke on the side of the road. finally, i made it home in time to crawl into bed and try to forget about one of the worst days of my high school career. when my mother got home, i had to explain the message on our answering machine from mr. bishop. i'm not too sure what her reaction was to the entire situation. i really only remember the intense virus that i had somehow contracted and how that took up an entire weekend which i probably spent in bed watching meg ryan movies.

so...since then, i've never published anything, really. except a couple of paintings in the literary magazine during college...but those weren't controversial at all...just paintings of normal everyday objects or landscapes.

and hank and i are still friends.

so i'm going to try again, for my own personal amusement.

just promise you won't tell on me.