What's your BFS (Black Friday Strategy)?

Those of us who venture into shopping malls and stores on Black Friday face an adventure replete with drama, intrigue, strategy, and yes, danger (Will the nearest restroom be closed for cleaning?). It is thus important to have a strategy for facing all of these challenges head-on (such as Don't drink ANYTHING).

A Female Relative and I have our Black Friday routine down to a science. Here is our typical game plan:

1. Drive to mall: 23 minutes

2. Look for parking space: 77 minutes

3. Shed unnecessary outdoor clothing and stash in car: 6 minutes

4. Dash to mall entrance in freezing cold weather: 0.63 seconds

5. Shop: 1 hours, 21 minutes

6. Check watch to see whether it's time for a break yet; too early  

7. Decide to take a break anyway, go to cookie shop: 12 minutes 

8. Shop: 58 minutes

9. Think about lunch: 49 minutes

10. Look for available table in food court: 3 hours, 6 minutes

11. Eat cold lunch: 2 minutes 

12. Stand in restroom line (me): 22 minutes

13. Use men's room instead (Female Relative): 1 minute, 30 seconds

14. Shop: 2 hours, 28 minutes

15. Think about getting Starbucks: 0.6 seconds

16. Wait in line at Starbucks: 2013-2019 AD

17. Become eligible for Social Security benefits due to long wait at Starbucks 

18. Wait in restroom line: 35 minutes

19. Shop: 52 minutes

20. Get another cookie: 9 minutes

21. Declare shopping trip a success, look for car: 34 minutes

And most important, 

22. Sleep: 365 days, until next Black Friday 

A no-snow event

It is that time of year here in the East when we note the chill in the air, see the thin layer of frost on our car windows in the morning, and say, "A storm is probably coming! We need to get milk and bread!"

That is what we do best here: freak out about things that may or may not occur, or that are occurring 753 miles away from us, and therefore MIGHT also occur here. Within the next hour or two.

So that we can be prepared, sometimes the winter forecast comes to us before summer is even over. If it calls for severe cold and snow, we can stock up on supplies when they're plentiful, in August. And hope that we don't have any power outages from a summer storm.

So I checked the winter forecast for our area early this fall. One expert suggested that we had "a 50-50 chance of being above or below normal temperatures" this winter.

I pondered the source of this brilliant prediction, and narrowed it down to two choices:

1. An actual, degree-holding, paid meteorologist with access to the most up-to-date instruments and weather models

2. An individual with the mathematical understanding of a marmoset

My scientific analysis leads me to believe there is a 50-50 chance of either being the source.

A few weeks ago there was some excitement among the radio weather people and reporters about a potential snowstorm brewing in the West that might, just might, give us a couple of feet of snow. Or maybe a dusting. It was hard to tell, the weatherman emphasized. He suggested, only half jokingly, that perhaps listeners should go stock up on their bread and milk NOW, just in case, even though any activity was an entire week away.

A major weather website had this to say about this particular meteorological situation:

"It is important to stress that this will not be a major snow event. It will not even be a non-major snow event. Probably, you will get nothing."

But you should DEFINITELY go to the store, just in case.

Cookie Monster and Martha

In a time when it is becoming fashionable to assault certain food groups -- specifically, everything that tastes good -- it is refreshing to come upon individuals who unapologetically and wholeheartedly enjoy these foods. Like Cookie Monster.

I saw a video segment of Cookie Monster on the set with Martha Stewart as she made Pumpkin Whoopie Pies. Cookie Monster was not so much helping Martha make the cookies as willing her to just get the cookies DONE, like NOW. Whereas Martha was calmly attempting to impart some of her vast Baking Wisdom to a blue fuzzy puppet, as well as to the myriad children in the audience.

"...and now we're adding one teaspoon of salt," Martha would say, showing Cookie Monster the bowl of premeasured salt before dumping it in the mixing bowl.

"Yeah, yeah, salt, how much longer?" he would say impatiently, although not altogether impolitely.

To distract Cookie Monster -- and perhaps because Martha felt an obligation to set a good example for the children present -- Martha tried to steer the conversation away from cookie adoration:

"So, Cookie Monster, we shouldn't eat TOO many cookies, right? Cookies are really yummy, but boys and girls need other foods too."

Cookie Monster looked uncomprehendingly at her for a moment, wondering how this statement could possibly have any relevance for him.Then he recovered. 

"Oh, sure, me eat other things too...fruits, vegetables."

"Oh, so you eat vegetables? That's very good."

"But me no change my name to Brussels Sprouts Monster," he said hastily.

"No, of course not," Martha agreed.

"Me eat cars too...once, me eat whole truck," he said, proud to report this balanced diet to an apparently nutrition-conscious Martha.

"I see," she said, nodding. "So you eat your main foods, and then you gorge on cookies."

"Cookies!" he growled happily, thankful to be back on familiar ground.

Martha continued to add ingredients to the mixing bowl. "Now we eyeball the vanilla," she explained, pouring in what looked like a very generous amount.

"Eyeball? What eyeball mean?" Cookie Monster said suspiciously.

"It means we don't measure it, we just use our eyes to put in how much looks right," she said. Then, noting Cookie Monster's own prominent eyeballs rolling around, she suggested, "YOU would probably want to use a measuring spoon."

Finally the chocolate dough was mixed, and Martha showed it to Cookie Monster.

His gaze into the bowl was reminiscent of new parents gazing at their firstborn in a bassinet. Awe, wonder, longing -- it was all there.

"Put in oven," he commanded.

"We will. First we have to scoop them onto the cookie sheet." Martha carefully, and ever so slowly, measured out each scoop, placing a perfectly shaped ball of dough on the sheet.

Cookie Monster showed great restraint at not falling upon the enticing cookie dough, although he did go so far as to put his blue furry hands on the sheet. Someone probably made him repeat, before the show, "Me will not grab Martha's cookies" 100 times.

"They no need to be perfect," he said, practically drooling at the thought of devouring his beloved cookies.

"Oh, yes, they DO have to be perfect," Martha said.

"No, no," he said. "Trust me. Go in oven now."

"No," she said. "We're going to put them together, so they have to fit perfectly on top of one another."

"Put together? What this mean?"

"To make pumpkin Whoopie pies," she explained patiently.

Cookie Monster looked as if he might want to have a word with his agent, or whoever was responsible for putting him on a show with this madwoman.

"What happened chocolate chip cookies? Me thought we making chocolate chip cookies!"

"And when we return," Martha said brightly to the cameras and ignoring Cookie Monster, "we'll have some lovely pumpkin Whoopie pies to put together."

I did not get to see how it all turned out -- both the cookies and the disagreement -- but presumably Cookie Monster and the kids got some yummy cookies in the end. And Cookie Monster probably started dreaming about his next appearance on Martha's show -- titled "Martha and Cookie Monster Make Chocolate Chip Cookies One Enormous, Gigantic Chocolate Chip Cookie."

A letter of appeal

Dear CSA folk who give us yummy food every week,

Let us guess -- it must be squash season. We suspect this because squashes keep showing up in our basket *(we're quick, aren't we?). 

Accordingly, we have had squash soup. Squash salad. Squash and pasta. Roasted squash. More squash soup. More squash everything. (I really cannot recommend Lucky Charms Squash, however.) 

Everyone may have their own opinion, but we personally believe that the best way to consume squash is to drown it in syrupy goodness, such that the squash becomes merely a vehicle for conveying all that sugar to one's mouth. Our own experiments suggest that the best ratio of squash to sweetness is roughly 1 to 8. As in, squash ala mode. Yes!

Not that we are against all the nutritious food we receive. We know that you work very hard to bring your customers the best produce and other foods around. But we have a longing, just once, to have something a little different in our weekly basket. 

Might we suggest chocolate?

Clearly this would require a shift of focus for a CSA. We could start with what CSA stands for. Chocolate States of America? Chocolate Supporters Anonymous? Think about it, won't you?

A neighbor recently attempted to come up with some combination involving chocolate that would not be tasty. It was hard. Chocolate goes with pretty much everything -- even, as you might know, as a secret ingredient in an eggplant dish.

So if squash will be making yet another appearance in the baskets, we would suggest pairing it with some chocolate. Who knows? Chocolate squash soup might be just the thing.

Sincerely,

All Squashed Out

_______

*The basket is actually three bags, of course, but we assume that you call it a basket because "basket" carries a much higher quaintness factor. 

IKEA 911

According to news reports, a call was made to police in Britain about "screaming and banging" that could be heard in a nearby house. It was very late at night. Was there domestic violence occurring? A robbery? Murder??

No. Just a couple attempting, as the police reported, to "put together their IKEA furniture." 

This accounted for the banging. The screaming was the couple's infant, apparently protesting having its sleep time interrupted by the assembly of a chest of drawers. Reports indicate that police left the home "satisfied that no crime had been committed."

Perhaps not. But I personally suspect that the infant in this case was unjustly accused of creating a racket, and that the screaming was in fact due to other causes -- namely, the parents who were putting together the IKEA furniture. If I had been engaged in this endeavor, for example, it could very well have been accompanied by screaming, along with much weeping and gnashing of teeth. And that would have been while just trying to get the stuff out of the box.

Further, given my assembly skills, I imagine that had police been called to MY home, they may have concluded that a crime WAS committed:

"I'm sorry, ma'am, we're going to have to take you in for questioning. From the looks of things, you have assembled the Brimnes Wall Cabinet with Sliding Door upside down, which violates the Geneva Conventions. Please come with us. And no screaming, please."

Which presents a quandary, because the only things that will fit into our tiny rowhouse are things that can be brought in in pieces. A sofa minus its legs, for example, or a refrigerator without doors, shelves, back panels, freezer, sides, etc.

Fortunately I have the Hero, who, in his bachelor days, was Mr. IKEA, enjoying the process of putting together shelves, beds, desks -- anything made of cheap wood. 

I imagine that the next time the neighbor who made that call in Britain hears unusual noises from anywhere, he is not going to be in a hurry to call the police again. Someday the wife is going to be attacked in their own home by aliens, screaming for her husband to get help, and the husband is going to be like, "Oh, no, Edna. Not this time. I'm not going to send the bobbies on another wild goose chase...see, there? It's quieted down already. Edna? Edna?...Hello, police? Please send someone right away. Something's very wr--Aggghhhhhh!!" 

"Who was it?" a dispatcher will ask the one who took the man's call.

"I dunno. Some guy putting his IKEA stuff together, I guess."

Important cooking terms to know (and then forget)

Today we are pleased to bring you some techniques the Princess has been learning in her cooking course. This is a go-at-your-own pace course online, and the Princess has adopted the strategy of that wise old literary character, the tortoise, who has become synonymous with the saying "Slow and steady pretty much guarantees there won't be any food left for you when you get to the finish line."

Chopping Techniques

Rolling technique: maneuvers by which you encourage raw meat to roll over and play dead (when this fails, please see "Hi-ya!" below)

Slash and burn: to roughly chop a given set of vegetables or greens, throw them in the cooking vessel, and promptly ruin them by scorching them

Pivot: to anchor the tip of one's knife with one's palm while deftly using the other hand to move the knife across the food (alternatively: to dance from one foot to the other when this technique has proven to be not quite deft enough and one cuts one's hand)

Dice: to cut foods into evenly sized cubes, poke a varying number of holes in each side, run a string between pairs, and hang them from your rear view mirror

Minced: the result of obsessive, uncontrollable dicing

Chiffonade: to cut a food into such fine pieces that, when they are cooked and added to a dish, no trace whatsoever of them can be found ("I DID put mushrooms in the rice, dear -- see right there?" "That's not a mushroom, it's a proton").

Hi-ya!: as a measure of last resort, to put away the knife and use one's hands to bring the food into submission

Cooking and Preparation Techniques

Refresh: a process whereby greens are rehydrated and reinvigorated by soaking them in a bowl of cold water, gentling massaging them, and offering them Perrier, soothing music, a place to put the feet up, etc. 

Saute: to cook foods at relatively high heat in a great deal of butter (roughly equivalent to 2 sticks). The butter not only adds essential oils but also completely camouflages the natural taste of the food, making this ideal for things like Brussels sprouts, cabbage, raw leather, etc.

Braise: to cook foods in a liquid at low heat for a long time, allowing you to focus on other parts of the dinner, such as watching Iron Chef

Coup d'état (often used with "to score a"): to fail so miserably at bringing together a nutritious, appealing, tasty meal that your spouse suggests going out to dinner instead. (After one has achieved coup d'état, one is considered to have graduated from cooking class -- forever.)

Congratulations! You now know as much as the Princess does about cooking. Possibly more.

Donuts on the loose

"Hey, get out of there!" I hissed. A box of 12-count Entenmann's donuts had appeared out of nowhere in my grocery cart. "What are you doing? You're not supposed to be here!"

"You don't like us?" they said, hurt.

"One of you, maybe. Not 12."

But they were not about to go back on the shelf. They were giddy to be in a cart, exploring the world outside Baked Goods.

This was going to be a dilemma.

"Oooo, where are we goin' first? We've never been anywhere else in the store!" they chorused.

"Shhhhh!" I said. "Keep it down in there. I don't want anyone to see you."

In the refrigerated section of the produce department, they let out a whoop. "Cider! Get some! We go good with cider." They started to chant:  "Ci-der! Ci-der!"

I grabbed the first thing I could.

"Heyyy!" they said when something big and dark crashed down on them. "Get that cabbage off us! We're gonna be smooshed."

"Good," I muttered. "Then I won't be tempted to eat you."

But there were 12 of them, and they couldn't be held down for long. Straining, they managed to roll the cabbage off them.

I pushed the cart through the produce department, trying to keep the donuts out of sight. But somehow, as I turned away to look at some apples, they reached out and grabbed a container of caramel sauce and pulled it into the cart. Full fat.

"Caramel sauce! For apples!" they said happily. "We go good with them. AND they're healthy."

"Ohhhhh, no," I said. "No. No. No. If we have to have caramel sauce, it's going to be fat-free."

While I was busy switching out the caramel sauces, I heard a small voice say, "Want donut." I turned to see a boy sitting in a nearby cart, staring at my box of donuts. 

The donuts were WAVING to him. 

"Mommm...WANT DONUT," he said more insistently to the woman with him. He pointed to my cart.

I hurriedly dumped a large bag of apples in the cart, on top of the donut box, but not before the mom spied it. With a horrified look on her face, she made to put some distance between her son and me, telling him, "We don't eat...things like that."

"Look at the trouble you're causing me!" I said to the donuts. "For goodness' sake, just be quiet!"

Not for long. "What does THAT say," they said, squinting at a sign by the coffee stand. "La-...lat-..."

I quickly turned the cart, but it was too late. "Latte!" they shouted in unison. "Donuts are PERFECT with lattes!"

Before the chanting could begin, I swung into the first open check-out lane. I had to get them out, fast.

"Oooo," they said, looking at the magazines. "Hot chocolate. We'd be yummy with THAT."

"Hey," said a package of marshmallows, abandoned on the shelf among the candy and magazines. It sounded vaguely sinister. "Hot chocolate is MY territory."

"Sorry," the donuts said.

The abandoned marshmallows gave me an idea...if no one was looking, I could just slip the donuts behind Real Simple. It was the holiday edition, several inches thick --

"Hey!" the donuts protested as I picked them up off the belt. "We gotta go back on the belt! We've been waitin' all day to ride the belt!"

I sighed and put the box back on the belt, along with the rest of my groceries. Idly gazing at the order of the woman in front of me, I saw whole oats. Lots of fruits and veggies. Organic orange juice. The donuts would NEVER have jumped into HER cart.

I leaned in closer to the cashier and said in a low voice, "I changed my mind on the donuts. I'm not going to take them."

"No problem," she said cheerily, and set them aside.

"Hey!" they protested. "We're supposed to go in the bag!"

I deliberately turned away from them -- it was easier not to hear their clamoring that way -- and paid my bill.

I snuck a peek at the donuts as I pushed my cart by them, but I was already forgotten. They were endeavoring to climb into the cart of a man in the next lane, while his back was turned.

I wished them luck.