Weekends are for food lovers

Eating a good meal is, to me, one of life's principal enjoyments.  Beyond the obvious fact that food provides an often irresistible treat for the tastebuds, there are few better ways to socialize and catch up with friends than over a meal.  I was fortunate enough to spend my weekend doing all of these things.

On Friday, I visited Alex, Adam, and Joe in Frederick, where we ate a satisfying, hearty barbecue meal (sans cornbread, unfortunately).  Later, we experimented with a Chesapeake oyster shooter (a mistake we will not soon repeat) and devoured a soft pretzel.  Saturday involved excellent Mediterranean roasted eggplant pizza and a classier than expected dinner at Ming's in Chinatown with Jimmy.

Finally, yesterday afternoon I indulged my occasional urge to spend a few hours of a lazy Sunday cooking.  It's nice to have the time to produce a dish more involved than what is possible on a weeknight.  Similar to (though less ambitious than) the ethnic food feasts that Alex and I tackled last year, I wanted to try something I had not attempted before.  Spanakopita, with its tricky, temperamental phyllo dough but jaw-droppingly delicious payoff, seemed to fit the bill.

So I tackled it, fusing a couple of recipes from online and a cookbook and taking breaks to watch the Terps women's soccer team lose in the ACC Championship game on TV.  Though the entire process (including breaks and baking time) took a few hours, there were no major disasters and the end result was pretty tasty.

Spanakopita

1. Thaw 8 oz (about 16 sheets) phyllo dough, if frozen, in the refrigerator overnight or on the counter for two or three hours.
2. Thaw approximately 20 oz. frozen chopped spinach in the microwave.  Thoroughly squeeze the spinach dry to remove as much moisture as possible, pressing between plates or against the hard surface of a collander if needed.
3. Saute two onions, chopped and several garlic cloves, minced, in olive oil until soft.
4. Add spinach, as well as 2 tbsp. flour and dried or chopped fresh dill, salt, and pepper to taste.  Cook for 5-10 minutes, making sure any liquid has evaporated or been absorbed and remove from heat, allowing the mixture to cool a bit.
5. Mix in 1 lb. feta cheese, crumbled and 4 eggs, lightly beaten.
6. Melt 1 stick butter.
7. Unroll phyllo dough and cover with plastic wrap and a damp towel to keep it from drying out.
8. Grease a 9"x13" baking dish.  Lay in one sheet of phyllo and brush lightly with the melted butter.  Lay another sheet on top and repeat approximately 8 times, depending on the total number of sheets of phyllo you have.
9. Spread the spinach mixture evenly on top of the phyllo in the baking dish.
10. Place another sheet of phyllo on top of the spinach mixture and brush with melted butter.  Again, repeat approximately eight times.  Brush the top layer with the remaining butter.
11. Bake 350 (preheated) for about an hour and ten minutes, or until deeply golden brown and crispy looking.

 

The finished creation.  The stuff off to the side is grilled eggplant.

In a bookstore near you

I came across this hilarious pamphlet in Barnes and Noble last night. The inside features a list of "secret" two letter country codes, corresponding to the first two characters on diplomatic license plates. For only $3.99, you can own this guide and help your country identify and track suspected foreign spies. Countries deemed dangerous are listed in red ink, so that you can be particularly wary of these dignitaries.

Despite the inclusion of the USSR on the list, this brochure does not appear to be a joke. It was located among traveling books and maps, not kitsch-y prank gifts. I pity the idiot that buys this thing, if, for no other reason, because I'm sure all of this information is available for free online. Amateur counter-espionage agents can save themselves four bucks.

A worthwhile reminder

The message of this website is simple, if a little flippant - it never hurts to keep the past two years in perspective.  Much of the electorate is disgusted right now by a frustratingly stagnant economy and bitter partisanship, but to claim that Obama has not delivered on his campaign promises rings a little false.  He has ushered many significant pieces of legislation through Congress.  Despite Republican vilification of many of these victories, I'm hopeful that public opinion will ultimately swing back in the president's favor.  Poll numbers, too, seem to suggest that, despite voters' frustrations, Democrats - and particularly Obama - are seen as more likely to compromise than Republicans.

Just a small bit of sunlight to help fellow liberals bear what is certain to be a painful shellacking at the polls tonight.  And for God's sake, no matter your political persuasion, please go vote today.  As part of this representative democracy, it's one of our most important civic duties.

Toothless in his old age

Though only six days old, with the spat of unseasonably warm weather last week, my jack-o-lantern is becoming elderly in pumpkin-time.  He began with a toothy, somewhat sinister looking grin, with huge, dodgy eyes and furrowed brows.  The eyes are still there, but the formerly pointy teeth, four on top and two on the bottom, have shriveled backwards into his head.  Regardless, he has held up well enough and will be illuminating our steps tonight, as costumed little kids and opportunistic teenagers stop by for some candy.  Happy Halloween!

A glimpse of old grandeur

Inspired by Tom’s recent post about an organ-supported theater in Jersey City, NJ, I decided to pay homage to two fantastic places in the DC area.  The first, AFI Silver Theater in downtown Silver Spring, is not one I’ve frequented much over the years, though this is mostly due to the fact that I rarely go out to see movies. Originally constructed in 1938, it was renovated in the early 2000’s as part of the rejuvenation of downtown Silver Spring.  These days, the theater mostly screens artsy independent movies (I saw Waiting for Superman there recently) and is also heavily involved in the local film festival scene.

By contrast, The Uptown, despite modernized interior amenities, hearkens back to the heyday of single screen “movie palaces,” and all of the glamorous old-school Hollywood imagery that that conjures.  With its balcony seating and large capacity, the Cleveland Park theater draws crowds with major studio blockbusters.  The Uptown has been my favorite movie theater for as long as I can remember and it occupies a special place in our local entertainment scene.  When presented with the opportunity to see Star Wars or Star Trek or something equally big and sweeping on that huge screen, you don’t need to say you’re “going to the movies.”  Instead, you’re just “going to The Uptown.”

A day at BDL

I started the day in complete darkness, lying on my back on a mushy red couch in Sam's windowless basement in Hartford, CT. Without the gradual cues of morning light, what would normally be a fairly run-of-the-mill weekend wake up time of 8:15 seemed utterly unreasonable.

After a quick shower and a toasted bagel, Sam and Caryn dropped me off at Bradley International Airport. With negligible lines at the Southwest check-in counter and security, I made it to the gate with plenty of time to spare. Busying myself with listening to music from the Lost soundtrack, I noted, with some amusement, the airline staff's increasingly desperate pleas for three volunteers to be bumped to a later, not overbooked flight so that some folks with a connection to St. Louis could make it to their destination today.

At first, I gave this next to no thought. I relished the idea of arriving home in the early afternoon. But as I lined up to board, guilt struck. It was the same nasty feeling that compels me to donate to WAMU twice a year and it filled me with visions of hypothetical separated families and lonely nights in hotel rooms. I craned my neck to look at the Southwest agents and considered the smile of gratitude (and ample monetary compensation) I might get in return for identifying my itinerary as "flexible." But, facing the reality of sitting in the airport for eight hours, I turned back toward the gate. More guilt. Somewhat begrudgingly, I walked up to the desk.

Thus began a long day in Hartford's international airport, which, despite ostensibly launching planes overseas, is quite small. Feeling a bit like Tom Hanks in The Terminal, I roamed the corridors and newsstands, people-watched, and consumed a laughably large amount of overpriced food and beer. Every few hours, I dutifully made my way back to gates 4 and 6 to see if I could sneak onto an earlier flight via standby. Finally, I was lucky enough to get the last seat on a completely booked plane.

Since the situation was entirely of my own making, I don't think I have the privilege of frustration. I also have a nicely sized voucher to use on a future trip or two. But I can't help but feel a little aggravated with myself for getting suckered into giving up my seat. I'm not sure the buffalo chicken wrap with sweet potato fries and five onion soup, while delicious, was worth my entire Sunday. And the one thing that attracted me in the first place, which could have mitigated being stuck in the airport, didn't materialize. Far from showing glowing gratitude, the guy who got my spot just whined about having to cancel an appointment if he didn't get on the plane, then snatched the boarding pass and walked away, without so much as a look in my direction.

Now I'm wending my way through the Metro system, almost home. After this long trip home, it's easy to forget what a great weekend I had in Connecticut. And I'm glad to have been able to help someone, but, truth be told, even happier about the prospect of using my voucher to spark another adventure - hopefully with uneventful flights next time.

Fall membership campaign

Those three dreaded words are back in style at WAMU this week, meaning that, instead of crisp, insightful programming, my commute is filled with a parade of local on-air and behind the scenes personalities begging for donations of "whatever you can afford - maybe $1,000, maybe $5 a month."  I am actually fairly tolerant of these bi-annual (tri, if you count the spring's Morning Edition-only version) annoyances - I recognize the great importance of listener donations to the success and quality of public radio.  However, there is one thing I cannot bear.

Pat Brogan really needs to calm down about Marketplace.  Perhaps it's just because my commute often straddles the 5:45 - 6:00 zone, when his excitement is reaching its peak, but I feel as though he raves about little else.  The title Marketplace is frequently linked with the words "my favorite program" or "one of those shows where they just take something that could be so confusing, so tough to grasp, and make it just so digestible and so clear for everyone."

Although I mostly agree with this assessment of Marketplace's value and understand how difficult it must be to speak constantly about giving money (call 800-248-8850 or visit wamu.org) without sounding like a broken record, surely Pat Brogan can grasp that the same people listening to 88.5 FM at 5:40 in the DC area are probably still listening at 5:43, 5:47, and 5:55.  By the fourth or fifth glowing mention on the fourth or fifth consecutive night of the campaign, I think everyone gets it: he loves Marketplace.

I will most likely donate before the week is out.  But it will not be because of Brogan's clumsy, repetitive prattling.  And, if he could somehow promise to vary his pledge-drive commentary even a little bit, I would be tempted to give quite a bit more.

Maybe I can go to Brazil in four years

ESPN The Magazine has a nice piece reflecting on the ongoing recovery of Charlie Davies, the U.S. soccer national team star who almost died in a car accident about a year ago.  Despite the severity of the crash, Davies set a goal of returning for this past summer's World Cup in South Africa.  Once it became evident that that was not going to happen, rather than become despondent, he dug in and concentrated on rehabbing his injury at his own pace.

It sounds like he's making significant progress, and I would not be surprised if, by the time the next World Cup rolls around (or, most likely, much sooner), Davies is once again using his blazing speed to rack up goals for the American side, seeking out soccer glory.  With luck, maybe I can find a way to be on hand to watch.