Tiramisu variations

I must be feeling better. After finishing my cases today, I lifted weights for twenty minutes, stewed in the sauna for ten, went grocery shopping, came home, and spent three hours in the kitchen.

Oh so cleverly I split some of my ground beef, using some for burgers (tonight), some for meatballs (tomorrow night). Mostly, though, I made Karen another tiramisu. My plan is working: thanks to this calorie-loaded confection of mascarpone cheese, whipped cream, eggs, espresso, and pound cake*, my wife has gained three pounds. If I can get her into the low nineties, my job is done.

(Yes, I realize I’m not doing her lipid profile any favors, but cholesterol will only harm her decades from now. Falling on an unpadded butt, that could happen any time.)

What’s a patissier to do? She doesn’t like cheesecake, so tiramisu is the most fattening dessert I can make (440 calories for a typical serving; but hey, I wonder if she’d like spaghetti carbonara?) She’s finally getting a bit sick of the same old same old, so tonight I used Amaretto for the liqueur, omitted the cocoa powder and shaved chocolate, and topped it with powdered sugar, cinnamon, and shaved/toasted almonds.

She’ll tire of this version soon enough. Here’s one for crespelle (crepes) stuffed with a tiramisu/zabaglione mixture and topped with berries, but it omits the espresso. Ignoring the essential question of whether tiramisu is tiramisu without the coffee, would Karen cringe at a version lacking that necessary caffeine kick? Probably. But my main objection is storage: those crespelle are going to go stale fast. I like a tiramisu which can last several days in the refrigerator.

From that same website, here’s an attractive recipe for parties: Duomo Tiramisu. It doesn’t look any more difficult than the standard recipe, but it sure would wow the guests.

Here’s a compendium of tiramisu recipes. Most of these are tiramisu trifles, the standard recipe taken in the berry direction or the chocolate direction, but there are a few unique items, like tiramisu pizza, peach brandy tiramisu, and for the coffee-hater in your family, root beer tiramisu. Of these, the peach brandy version sounds the most interesting. They don’t omit the espresso, which leads me to wonder how well the peach and coffee flavors will meld.

One of the joys of googling: you can test your imagination. Does banana tiramisu exist? Oh, yeah. Peanut butter tiramisu? Apparently so. Tiramisu erotica? Yuppers.

By the way: Tiramisu Toffee Trifle Pie might sound good, but any recipe calling for instant coffee granules and “mascarpone or cream cheese” — or cream cheese, are you fucking kidding me? — should suffer culinary kareis**.

I think I need to sleep on it. That shall be my goal: a novel application of basic tiramisu principles, one which preserves the caffeine and calories yet takes tiramisu into an altogether new direction.

Tiramisu hand roll, anyone?

D.

*Ladyfingers are traditional. We prefer the flavor of pound cake, pound cake is readily available in the grocery stores (not so, ladyfingers), so pound cake it is.

**One of those nasty punishments from Leviticus. I think it means “premature death.”

Belief

I suppose my son should be considered Pope of his own Church, the Church of the Lucky Penny. I’m sorry, Jake, but I cannot bring myself to pray to the Lucky Penny, not when the Flying Spaghetti Monster makes so much sense.

Been busy reading some of your suggested books. Made it about 100 pages into The Lies of Locke Lamora when Pat’s suggestion, Towing Jehovah, showed up in the mail courtesy of Paperback Swap. This particular book has had an interesting past: it used to belong to the Georgia Public Library, but they discarded it! Now, what could make them do a thing like that? The spine isn’t broken. No one has defaced the pages. The plastic-protected dust jacket is in top shape. No reason that I can see for the Georgia Public Library to discard a novel about the towing of the dead body of God to His final resting place in the Arctic Circle.

Like anyone who wants to believe, I would prefer to believe in pleasant things. Especially in light of yesterday’s rejection from the folks at Ellora’s Cave, I don’t want to believe in anything to gloomy or too doomy. Thenceforth, I shall believe in fortune cookies. I had two in today’s lunch-cookie (truly an auspicious sign, all by itself):

You will be rewarded for your efforts within the month.

The month of November, or a thirty-day interval? Please be more specific.

There will be many surprises; unexpected gains are likely.

Since I expect to get picked up by an agent or publisher, this last one could only mean that a movie deal is imminent.

I like my Church of the Fortune Cookie.

D.

PS: Really, really apropos: Catholic League’s William Donohue has his edible thong in a twist over the upcoming release of Golden Compass, the movie.

Netflix Picks from John Waters

In case you missed NPR this morning, the man who brought us Pink Flamingos, Pecker, and Hairspray shared some of his favorite lesser-known movies, including Baadasssss! and Sins of the Fleshapoids. Read about it here. Of the listed films, the only one I’ve seen is David Cronenberg’s Crash — not one of my favorite Cronenberg films, but I understand why it’s one of Waters’s faves.

D.

Flickr Follies: a slippery trail of because

Chemistry, not astronomy, because
Mattresses are a poor reason for career choice.
Biology, not chemistry, because
Solvents reeked
Those boats looked nice
And the math was getting too tough.
Medicine, not biology, because
Mice would not cooperate.

School, not honor, because
If you had the chance, you’d take it, too
And the sky was so very blue
And I was free
And we had all the time in the world.
Honor, not comfort, because
The truth? I missed the honor.

Crappy poetry, not a post, because
Like her host
The muse has a head cold, too.

D.

Bet you always wondered what we keep beneath those lab coats.

Listen. Publishers. To sweeten the deal, I have arranged for my own cover art.

Yes, I know my heroine needs to make an appearance on the cover. Perhaps my publisher would be kind enough to photoshop her in?

D.

Sleepy Saturday

I spent the morning making tiramisu and cleaning the kitchen. Afterwards, I took a trip to the grocery store for some much-needed kitty litter. Got home to find Karen asleep, and she’s still snoozing, two hours later.

A nap sounds nice right about now. Instead, I forced myself to do some brainstorming on a new-old project. Or is that an old-new project? It has been my “intended next” for the last three years: a novel using grown-up versions of my characters from “The Mechanic.” First thing that happened, my muse decided to scrap the idea of Russ and Carl in their 30s. (Leave that for the sequel.) If I stick to my source material, they cross paths again when Russ is 23. This would put him in the third year of med school — a clinical year, conveniently enough.

Russ isn’t really a sociopath, nor is Carl. They both have their own code, and in Russ’s case, his rules are anything but Hippocratic. He’s loyal to friends, old and new, even to the point of committing murder. A mercy killing, really, one which pulls Russ into the middle of Norteño vs. Sureño gang warfare.

Yup, I think I’m going to have Russ euthanize one of the Norteños respected elders, their poet laureate, at the old guy’s request. I wonder if I need to change all the gang designations? Wouldn’t want to walk in Edward James Olmos’s footsteps, after all.

So Russ runs afoul of La Eme, and maybe someone else on the medical staff has figured out what he has done; I have in mind a troublesome girlfriend, too, but that’s all very nebulous. Since Russ’s friend Carl has always been the more clever of the two, Russ brings him in to help fix the mess.

I have in mind something which begins funny and poignant, and ends with a lot of bloodshed.

Live-blogging tonight, maybe. If I’m completely exhausted, I can use the laptop’s camera; that way, I can live-blog from a nearly horizontal posture.

* * *

Eh, forget it. I’m too wiped. Check back tomorrow!

D.

We’ve got to stop getting the kids drunk.

This is one of two good photos I took yesterday.

No, they weren’t really drinking all that wine. At least not while I was watching.

D.

Friday Flickr: Turkey Babes

Our first chef has attitude to spare, no doubt because some jackass is taking her picture while she’s hanging onto a twenty-pound bird. Meet “Turkey,” by Ara Alexis.

She’s cute, don’t you think? I don’t know her, but I like her.

More turkey babes below the cut.

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Thirteen things I love about the Bay Area

Negative thirteens sorely tempted me this morning:

  • thirteen things I hate about Thanksgiving (forced gaiety, turkey, overeating, turkey leftovers, dishes, the mess, memories of getting the short end of the wishbone EVERY single time, soggy stuffing, eating at the wrong time of day, wasting food, Thanksgiving Day Parades on TV, canned cranberry sauce, spending a day of vacation cooking/cleaning/eating turkey when we could be having fun in Berkeley),

for example, or

  • thirteen things I hate about our hotel (down comforter, down pillows, ten dollar a day internet access, five dollar coffee, eighteen dollar LOUSY breakfast brunch, I mean for eighteen dollars they ought to have a chef preparing omelets stuffed with foie gras, don’t you think?, ten dollar creme brulee that looks good on the outside but has the texture of scrambled eggs on the inside, over-chlorinated pool that makes my eyes burn and gives my son a stomach ache, double beds and not queen-sized beds, no MSNBC on their basic cable, watered-down drinks at the bar, teensy weensy ice bucket I mean would it kill you guys to give us a normal-sized ice bucket?, nothing but anime on Adult Swim not that it’s the hotel’s fault but I have to listen to my son bitch about it, don’t I?, and no affordable suites)

but I’d rather not subject my readers to such a barrage of anger on a feast day. Instead, I give you thirteen things I love about the San Francisco Bay Area: below the cut.

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Talking cats, and the translation

Good day today. We had merciless dim sum at Ming’s, spent four hours at the Exploratorium, and had an awesome dinner fixed by Mr. Corn Dog. Corn Dog & her Mister, Jake, Karen, and I spent a good bit of time futzing on the computer. Yes, that’s what blogging geeks do when they get together.

Y’all have probably seen this before: two talking kittens. But have you seen the translation?

If either of my cats ever does this, I’m hiring an exorcist.

This talking cat is hard to believe. She really says, “Hello.”

Easier to believe. Equally cute.

Oy, that’s quite enough of that.

D.