My scholastic accomplishment this summer was the passing of my general exam. The purpose of the general exam is to convince a group of faculty members that you have what it takes to transition from course-taking to research-doing, in the hopes that they'll let you keep your job and work on a thesis. It isn't really much of an exam, by traditional exam standards. One writes a paper, on a problem in one's field of specialisation on which one hopes to work. Then one gives the edited highlights in the form of an hour-long talk. The faculty examining you can, in theory, grill you with all manner of questions, but in practice they're probably not all that likely to. Not in math, at least. Not at this school, at least. I'm told things are different, in other parts of the academic world.
I had a tough audience. Quiet and inert. It's hard to work a crowd that refuses to react. Maybe I should've had more jokes. At least Dr. E. gave me something to bounce off. It's a real shame departmental drama is driving him away.
What does this all mean? Well, since I passed my general exam, I suppose I've been promoted to general. This means I now outrank Colonel Sanders, and I'm up there with General Tso. It seems like the next logical step is to invent a chicken recipe.
Speaking of chicken...If, like me, you're a human, then every couple of days you need to eat. This is often inconvenient, but science has not yet freed us from the oppressive burden of digestion, so we've all got to make the best of it. Eating dry oats or jars of peanut butter soon pales. After a couple of years' worth of eating, I couldn't help but wonder if perhaps I ought to learn how to prepare something new, to keep the whole eating experience fresh and hip. Let me share with you the result of my experimentation.
1. Curried Shit
One easy way to make food fun again is to add curry powder or paste. You can do this with pretty much anything: eggs, potatoes, oatmeal, tacos, pizza, you name it! But the magic of curry doesn't end there. You can use it to render palatable things you otherwise would never dream of putting in your mouth. Things containing vitamins, possibly, or even fibre. Things that will help prevent scurvy, constipation, and death. Heat up a frying pan. Maybe a skillet. Are those different things? I'm not sure. It probably doesn't matter. Just get anything you'd feel comfortable frying an egg in, and put it over medium heat. Throw in some vegetable oil. I use olive. I don't know if this makes a lick of difference, but it helps me to feel better about myself and my position in the social hierarchy. Once you feel happy with your oil, add some chopped onion. The more, the merrier! Then, what the hell, why not some diced potatoes? Depending on how mushy you like them, you may want to boil the potatoes before you dice them, or get them from cans. The next step is garlic. Let it all do its crazy thing there in the pan for a while. You're going to turn it into a kind of thick stew. You'll need some kind of saucy substance to cloak the true vegetal nature of the dish, and render it visually homogeneous and isotropic, like the observable universe. This will make it easier to convince your brain to eat it. I like to use an ordinary can of tomato sauce, although for a more Indo-Chinese groove you could use coconut milk. Pour it into the pan full of frydom, and then add in curry powder (and maybe cayenne, who knows?) to taste. That's chef-talk for shovel it in until you run out. Mix it all together while it heats. You may want to use a spoon for this, or some form of spatula. Personally, I like to prepare the entire meal using no utensil but a single small knife. It makes me feel rugged, like a lumberjack. Then, the bulk: crack open a can of chickpeas, drain those bitches out, and dump them all into the sludgy mass. They're oh so good for you, and they have a pleasant, nutty flavour to boot. And then, lime! Or lemon, I guess. Or orange. Some kind of citrus fruit. Get the citrus fruit of your choice, quarter it, and squeeze the precious juices out with your iron fist over the pan. Maybe even a grapefruit; that'd be an adventure. The citrus is really key. The end result of all of this will be a thick reddish slop you can wolf down like nobody's business. And hey presto, you're fed!
2. Spinach and Mushroom Manicotti
This is a good one when one has company. Like parents. It really gives people the impression that you can look after yourself like a proper old-fashioned adult. And it's easier than it looks. It all starts, once again, with a frying pan. Oil. Et cetera. Throw in chopped onion again. Use at least a third of an onion. Maybe even a half. Be bold. Now wash and dice a handful of mushrooms; they'll be almost invisible in the final foodstuff, but will help to counterpoint and tame the wild excesses of cheese. Throw them into the pan. You'll probably want garlic again, too. The really important part, though, is spinach. Some people will tell you to use canned spinach. These people are lying to you, and I think they're al Qaeda operatives. Osama bin Laden uses canned spinach. We will use fresh. Get a bunch. (Is that the technical term for a mass of spinach? A bunch?) Wash it; spinach is filthy, so don't forget this part. Spinach is truly the king of the greens, and if you forget to treat it with due deference it will have you trampled by horses like the filthy insolent peasant that you are. Pull off the stems from the leaves, toss the leaves around in a pasta strainer some to dry them out, then chop them into strips and throw them into the pan. Leave this all to do its thing until the spinach looks dark and stringy. It's supposed to do that. Meanwhile, get a mixing bowl, and dump out a container of ricotta cheese into it. Stir it around some. There's no real point to that, but it's fun. If you get bored waiting for the spinach, dump some oregano and basil into the ricotta, and mash it around like an angry god smiting his tiny flock. As soon as you feel your spinach mixture is adequately cooked, dump it all into the ricotta and mix it up until it becomes homogeneous and isotropic, like the observable universe. (That's the key to cooking: food and the universe are as microcosm and macrocosm. I think Giordano Bruno realised this.) Next, get some manicotti, or big gigantic shell pasta, or whatever pasta-like objects you feel comfortable stuffing and baking. Boil them. As a general rule of thumb, one me-sized human can comfortably eat four manicotti tubes or seven giant shells. Don't you dare overcook them. You want them robust and still firm, what the Italians call al dente (not to be confused with Al Pacino). As soon as they're ready, drain them and rinse them in cold water. Now, don't delay. You can't give your pasta a chance to get sticky. It will try to break, and broken pasta isn't much fun to stuff. As soon as it is cool enough to touch, take a small spoon and start feeding your spinachy ricotta mixture inside. Put the stuffed pasta-like food objects in a casserole dish, perhaps, or a suitable equivalent. You'll likely have ricotta mixture left over; I find this produces enough stuff for two full dinners, although, as they say on the internets, YMMV. You're obviously going to douse the stuffed pasta with tomato sauce and some grated cheese, and maybe some herbs, and then bake it to your satisfaction. I don't know how long that is, because I don't keep track of things like time or measurement. Go with your gut. Your gut knows. But wait! Don't put it into that oven just yet. You've forgotten one small, yet vitally important thing: dice a roma tomato and use it to garnish your pasta. You'll be glad that you did. Now you're ready to stick it in the oven. And there you have it: rich and filling stuffed pasta, just like people rich enough to go to restaurants eat.
It's just that easy.
Posted by aloysius at August 28, 2006 07:29 PM |