Slowing down...

...at least for now.  I still can't figure out how I got from there to here, but I'm in one piece.  And yesterday's mistakes all got fixed, and they had the bread, and the nice man from down the street gave me a good price, and he could relate.  And I only had to go to the albatross for a few minutes today, escaping with a cup of tea to nurse my food hangover.  A word of advice:  if you're at a fancy restaurant, make a joke about turning 74.  They will send you cake.  Brown butter brown sugar cake with the season's first rhubarb and ricotta ice cream.  Throw your special needs diet out the window and eat it, and get a Williams pear brandy too, because they pair so nicely and you're finally old enough to appreciate it.  

Heartbeet

I tend to take things way too seriously, though the argument has been made (by myself) that I don't take things seriously enough. For me cooking is very emotional, and I tend to put my heart on the plate. So when things don't go my way, or smoothly, or they don't fit into the beautifully wrapped package I've created in my head, I become terribly disappointed. Mostly in myself, because I could have done it smarter, better, more thoroughly. I'm trying to learn from my mistakes and give myself a break for being human and overtired and forgetful. It's hard, but I'll keep trying.
I'm enjoying a rare day off, trying to get some things sorted out. Hopefully I'll be able to go back in to battle with some sort of plan, but I'm easily overwhelmed so I'm keeping my fingers crossed. I think I'll start with coffee.

Here It Is

The most impossibly artisan/locavore breakfast ever. It kind of makes me sick that I even ate it...in my own apartment no less. Alright, not food poisoning sick, but like, "gag me" sick. That said, it was incredibly delicious. And artisan. And as local as it gets. How annoying, right?
It's all because of two things. One, that I have taken on way more responsibility than I probably should be trusted with, therefore becoming the most popular girl in the world for about one week. I mean, people are coming out of the woodwork man! And giving me their artisan shit! So I'll buy it from them, yes, but still, the samples are free and plentiful. I will have you know though, that I do share.
And two, because I have decided that this is the year that I learn how to cut up fish. Of course I thanked the noble steelhead (caught by Native Americans just off of Bainbridge Island. Duh.) for the life it was giving me, and yes, I also swore a blue streak (S says I am getting more crass by the day) at the noble creature for not giving up it's huge scales in a timely manner. That fish made me work for it, and how could I blame it? And so, dear friends, I give you:
Native Caught Steelhead Salmon Cheek "Chops" with Braised Winter Greens That We Picked On the Farm with Adorable Three-Year-Old Twins, Green Olive and Rosemary Boule That The Nice Man From Down the Street Brought to Me in a Lovely Paper Bag, and Mark's Eggs from His Chickens Who Roam Free Just Like the Ones in the Great Chicken Escape by Nikki McClure.
Yea, I know. Disgusting.
But the best part was getting to eat this impossibly artisan breakfast with my dearest friend whilst drinking french press coffee (also totally artisan, and free trade, because I'm better than you) and feeling like I had a life, if just for a moment. And we played Bananagrams.

note

Just a quickie. More tomorrow, but I'm checking in. Life is feeling more like life right now. But maybe that's the lack of sleep and the whiskey talking, though I don't think that's it. Or maybe I'm getting used to it. I sort of hope so and I sort of don't.
I was just looking in the mirror a few minutes ago, and as I took out the braids I said, out loud, "ugh...I feel like I'm in my thirties".

I'm a shitty logger.

It's true, but I've got a really good reason. First: the hours. Seventeen yesterday, and I sort of feel like I shouldn't be doing it for someone else, but I guess it's kind of for me too. You know, like an investment in my future, a training period if you will, for when it IS all for me. Second: the hours. There are simply not enough of them in the day for all of the things I'm supposed to be accomplishing, let alone the sleeping, eating (something besides buttered white rice, please), drinking (water, but whiskey too) and fun that make life worth living.
But I think about it. The logging that is.
All I need is a great second hand. And a trip to Europe. And some macarons and truffles and cheese when I get there. And some sleep. And some love.
So, here's a quick recipe, the one I get the most requests for at the albatross, and some love for you.

Cornbread
1 and a half cups flour
1/2 cup sugar
1/2 cup cornmeal
1 tbl baking powder
1 tbl kosher salt
1 and a quarter cups milk
2 eggs
1/3 cup vegetable oil
3 tbl melted butter
1/2 a standard (14oz.) can creamed corn

Mix the dry in one bowl, the wet in another. Grease, and line with parchment, a 9" cake pan. Mix the dry and wet together and pour into prepared pan. Bake in a 350 degree oven for 62 minutes. Eat warm, butter is nice, but not necessary. Some things I've added to the mix from time to time: minced jalapenos, chipotle chiles, bacon crumbles.