Laundry Day

Originally written . . . a while ago.

Laundry day. The second best thing to having a washer and dryer in your house is having them right across the street. Thursday nights at the Speed Queen Dry/Wash are fairly quiet. The soft smell of detergent and fabric softener wafts through the little corner plaza, greeting me as I cross the street. On busy nights, the air is thick with that distinct aroma of clean, and a slight breeze can carry it all the way to my driveway. But tonight the laundromat is empty except for the owner, a heavy-set man from Mexico city, who happens to be a Scorpio. A previous conversation revealed this trivia, which was given as the obvious explanation as to why he will have a dream about someone, then see them a few days later.

Tonight’s trip revealed no new information on my astrologically-minded friend, so I sat on my blue plastic chair, feeling very much like a college freshman, wearing my sweatpants and Doctor Who t-shirt, and going over last year’s Russian text book. It is very difficult to read Russian while a Spanish radio station is playing.

Radio: радио.

Entirely too distracted to brush up on my non-existent foreign language skills, I found myself mesmerized by my clothes rhythmically churning in the front-loading dryer. Finally my clothes were done, and my tongue was loose enough to attempt “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”  это удовольствие встретиться с вами.

One step out of the parking lot, laundry basket on my hip, I had to jump back as three horses and their riders trotted up the side walk to  hitch up at the liquor store.

Horses have the right-of-way in Altadena, right?

Acorn Squash

You know those people who can haphazardly throw ingredients together and produce something amazing that tastes like cartoon woodland creatures probably helped make it?

Yea, I hate those people too.

Me and cooking can sometimes be akin to warfare.

The recipe usually wins.

I’ve been trying to break out my normal repertoire (thank you Google for understanding phonetic spelling better than Microsoft) of recipes that don’t stray much further than stir fry and Italian. Anywho, one day I found myself in the possession of an acorn squash.

First of all, let me say that I come from a family that isn’t necessarily picky eaters, just simple eaters. Squash does not exist as a food item. Squash is used for fall decorations, and if we are feeling particularly adventurous, for carving. This probably explains why I thought that I had a butternut squash.

Previous squashes in my possession had long rotted away, but I was determined that this gorgeous green orb would be cooked and eaten. And it would be delicious. I found a recipe for butternut squash soup (because that’s what I have – a butternut squash) that fulfilled my two requirements in a recipe – simplicity, and ingredients I have in my cupboard.

Do you know how hard it is to peel a squash? So many grooves! Who designed this thing? To make a rather long and anti-climactic story short,  I got my squares of squash minus the peels. Courtney - 1. Squash – 0.

I used this recipe, which turns out just fine even when using acorn squash!

Eaten with flat bread, it was indeed delicious.

The Coffee Gallery

The Coffee Gallery smells slightly of old greasy food and mold, but it’s the only coffee shop in Altadena – and it has character, you have to give them that.

Altadena has to be the only town in California that doesn’t have a Starbucks; either because they refused to let Starbucks open, or Starbucks never wanted to come in the first place. Either way, Altadena is content with it’s little coffee shop full of mismatched chairs and couches you think twice about before sinking into.

The clientele is just as eclectic as the rotating art work on the bare white walls. Today its watercolors, but the pastel flowers are cut into squares and rearranged, much like those plastic puzzles you got from Chuck E Cheese as a kid.  An avant garde twist on hotel room art.

A group of three or four plump, elderly women sit in the extra room around the dining room table, chatting, singing, and working on their painting. Most of the people who come here are older and gray. Altadena seems to be the promised land for leftover hippies and eccentrics. Most Sunday mornings when I come for coffee before church, I see the same four guys sitting at the round table, earnestly discussing their solutions to the world’s woes. Occasionally younger people will come in, like the 30-something flannel shirt sitting under the window, who thinks that this is Portland. Keep heading north, my wispy-haired and bespectacled friend.

“Is that good?” A friendly voice cuts through my thoughts. One of the women from the other room, passing by, nods towards the book in my hands: Lake Wobegon Days by Garrison Keillor. “It is!” I say, slightly surprised that someone is talking to me. “I just love him on the radio” she sighs contently as she walks past. “Me too!” I manage to call after her as she turned around the corner.

I don’t know why, but I’ve been in a super-domestic mood lately. Oh that’s right – I have my own house! I spend a good portion of time in my little white kitchen, trying to cook. I can’t say that I’m very good at it, but I’m getting better and I love experimenting. The wonderful thing about cooking for only yourself is that it’s much more relaxing knowing you’re the only one who is going to see (and eat) your failed attempt at that new recipe.

There’s really nothing more soothing than a bit of William Fitzsimmons playing in the background and my rolling pin or cast iron skillet in hand.

I found “The Pleasure of Cooking for One” for 50 percent off at Border’s close out sale. Wonderful concept, but a title that made me feel only slightly better than “Did I Kiss Marriage Goodbye?”  Nonetheless, the book was bought and placed next to my growing collection of cookbooks saved from a life of anonymity amongst  lost boxes in my parent’s garage or dug out of bargain sections at bookstores.

So, my cupboards stocked with pots, pans, and gadgets (the reward of years of thrift store shopping stuffed into some-day-this-will-come-in-handy boxes) and a growing collection of cookbooks, I feel I am on my way to becoming a cook.

Oh wait. What does every good cook need? (Besides talent) – an apron.

Of course! How could I even dream of trying to cook without one!

Silly Courtney.

Joanne’s. Fabric. Needles. Thread. A week later:

Sewing projects take a lot longer when you don’t have a sewing machine.

But I have my apron! Designed completely on the fly and from my own little grey cells as my Belgian friend would say.

NOW I’m ready.

Plus, I put a vanilla bean in my sugar jar – just like Stephanie Schiffer used to do, so I’m pretty sure that makes me a cook.

The fruits of my labor? Tonight’s dinner: Carne asada and naan:

My local supermarket

The Super King Market behind the 24 Hour Fitness is always busy. I have never been there without circling at least once to find a spot. But it’s worth it.

A black Jeep occupies the spot in front of me, it’s hood propped open. A woman, about 45, is peering into her Jeep innards with a wrench in her hand. She has the look of one with experience with a wrench.

Super King, is well, super. It’s an international market with everything that entails.

Glorious spices and seasonings for less than half of Whole Food prices.

Biscuits – real European biscuits.

Hookah sets lining the walls.

An entire isle of just rice from around the world.

A few boxes of Twinings tucked in next to rows of Indian and Middle Eastern loose-leaf tea.

Ridiculously cheap produce, including bok choy for 50 cents.

________________________________

In other news:

Made biscotti for the first time.

Bought some loose-leaf Indian tea. A pound is actually quite a lot, but it’s cheaper than a box of tea bags.

But thankfully, it does make some amazing ice tea.

Poor, Sad Little Blog

So neglected.

The truth is, I’ve been so busy I haven’t had time to even think about writing, or even pull out my camera! Which is a shame, because there’s been so much to think about and so much that I want to remember from the past two months.

I’ve basically been spending the last two months setting up my own home and trying to transition from striving towards being a Proverbs 31 girl, to a Proverbs 31 woman. I LOVE having my own place and all the joys and responsibility that comes with it: having my own kitchen to cook and bake for other people, decorating, cleaning, having people over, and gardening.

 

 

Its been fun to experiment with, and develop different styles – sometimes I surprise myself with what I find out that I like!

Sum up

Well now, quite a bit has happened since I last posted. In the words of a very wise man: “Let me ‘splain. No. There is no time. Let me sum up.”

_I finished the semester and passed all my classes with Dean’s honors. I have no idea what that means.

_I spent my final week in Oxford exploring as much as possible, trying to soak it all in for one last time, reading in local pubs after dinner, and walking for miles and miles. And miles.

_I returned to good ol’ Southern California from Oxford (a bit bittersweet and deserving of it’s own essay).

_I moved! I moved out from my parents house and have my own little apartment that is absolutely adorable and practically perfect in every way.

_I have a kitten. A ridiculously cute black 7-week old kitten named Wimsey. Did I mention she’s adorable?

_I just got my bike! Quite the ordeal, let me tell you. But it’s finally here and is vintage and will take me to work and (hopefully) back.

That’s pretty much it folks. I’ll fill in these sparse details later – right now, it’s late and past my bed time.

The Royal Wedding

Royal Wedding pictures!

Amsterdam!

Wohoo! Figured out how to do slideshows! Be forewarned: there’s a lot of pictures.

May Day!

I don’t think I have ever before thought, Oh hey, it’s the first day of May! Lets go out drinking, stay up all night, and in the morning listen to a choir sing on top of a tower and watch the police try and keep idiots from jumping off of a bridge into gross, bacteria-infected water.

Apparently, I’ve never experienced May Day in Oxford before. This is actually an annual occurrence.

This is after a week and a half of spring break in Rome and Ireland, a weekend in Amsterdam, and a weekend in London. Whew. Okay, another all-nighter. I can do this.

Around 9pm I headed over to Beth and Mark’s apartment for a late dinner where everyone was gathered and casually talking or helping with the cooking. Wilson was throwing spices around in the kitchen “Hey! I’ve improved the Amsterdam pasta recipe!” Ally was in the dining room and had improved the Amsterdam garlic bread. And this time there was an actual oven! Ohh this was going to be good.

A full stomach later, and after some good conversations about cigars, Bourbon, and high school acting careers, we headed out to the city center. We walked around for a bit and most everyone wanted to go to a nightclub. I’m not a huge clubber, (especially when I’m in my jeans and chucks, well prepared for a night of potentially sleeping in a park, but not so well prepared for a night of  being crammed in a room where you can neither move nor hear.) Judy didn’t want to go either, so we walked around quiet streets in between high stone walls, dimly lit by old fashioned street lamps where we talked. We met up with Robert, and the three of us started walking. By this time, it’s one o’clock in the morning, and my adventuring spirit had kicked in. “Quick this way!” I pointed towards a dark path nearly overgrown with foreboding trees. Robert and Judy glanced nervously at each other. “Come on! Where’s your sense of adventure?!” For some reason, they followed me, and we spent the next few hours wandering around residential areas, watched ducks on the Thames, and trying to scare Judy with ghost stories. We also stopped to pet Reginald the hedgehog, who was quite the gentleman.

Hedgehogs feel like soft twigs.

Around 4am we found Alex, and headed back to Cornmarket street to meet the rest of the gang. We found a spot near Magdalene bridge (pronounced Maudlin. Don’t try and ask why – you’ll just get blank stares. “Because it is” has been the best answer so far.)

We listened to the choir, and spent a good half hour trying to get through a solid wall of people. I was too tiered to wait for the bus, so a few of us walked home, and made it to our beds by 8am where we slept for the rest of the day.

It was quite the eventful May Day!