Flossing my toes

It's finally Friday and I just finished shoving dental floss up underneath an ingrown toenail. Usually it's my big toes that get the ingrown nails and I can shove tiny bits of cotton up under the nail to encourage it to grow away from the toe. I couldn't fathom getting cotton up under my third toenail so I figured I'd just pick at it everyday. Internet to the rescue- hey, dental floss works too! It took me a minute or two to figure out how exactly to get dental floss under my toenail and to get it to stay, but with a curved fingernail tool and a little bit of guts, I've managed to get it up under there, put neosporin in it and bandaged it up.

Summer has evolved from shorts and sandals to long pants and heavy boots. For some reason my boots don't seem to fit this year. Either the leather got too cold and shrunk (it does that you know) or my feet are starting to collapse and flatten out, thus making them longer. I suppose fire season is not a good time to figure this out. So my toe is red and angry, it's been flossed and bandaged and I'm thinking I'll need to buy a pair of boot stretchers. They're good to have on assignment anyway being as feet swell at night and boots shrink in the cold night air. Makes for a little taste of hell at 5am. I guess it's not so much that feet swell at night, it's more like they try to swell during the day but can't actually do so until you take off the tight leather boots and give them room. Whatever the case is, boots don't fit well in the morning. Ask any wildland firefighter.

Given my current predicament, I've decided to put out an ad for some hired help. Wanted: gardener/maid/ingrown toenail specialist who is also fairly comfortable painting houses, sanding decks and searching a human body for ticks. Fluent in massage a plus. Pay is meager- room and board plus a smidgeon of food. If you can grow enough vegetables for the both of us, you can eat that too. Otherwise I might be able to smuggle home a packet of jalapeno cheese from an MRE.

Saddle Sore

The sun was shining on the beautiful town of Montague when I decided to suit up and go for a 15 mile bicycle ride around the stunning green pastures that lay surrounded by towering mountains that were still topped off with snow. I was slightly put off by how large the tight shorts made my muffin top look but comforted myself knowing that bike shorts make most muffin tops larger than life.

Three miles out of town I heard a snap and my butt slid to the left. I looked down to see my saddle disconnected from the seat frame (no, not the post). I had a moment of panic as I realized my saddle was now free and my feet were both locked into the pedals. Nice. I calmed myself and sat back onto the saddle and managed to twist a foot out and actually (miraculously) lean to the side of my loose foot.

I chided myself thinking that my muffin top had actually caused the collapse, but on closer inspection decided that maybe the saddle was just never all that together anyway. It's got a steel frame that the pad sits on and the tongue of it was never quite in the pad, but the back spoke thingies were. That explains a lot. I considered the possibility of riding back without the saddle and then pictured a horrible fate similar to that of Frida Kahlo (I won't explain, look it up if you don't know). I managed to rig it back together but decided I should probably turn around to avoid further trouble 5 miles out of town.

I've put some thought and effort into it and I'm not quite sure it's fixable. I'm sure in theory it is, but I can't see a way to get all three ends into their proper place without maming myself. I've already crushed a finger and I'm covered in bicycle grease. Saddles aren't cheap, at least not the good ones. And any ride over 5 miles deserves a good saddle. I think this is just a sign that I should stay in my pj's for the rest of the day.

Pork, the other white meat.

I just got home from being a crew leader at the Wildland Firefighter Apprenticeship Academy in Sacramento. One day I was with a group of guys in the cafeteria poking around at our inedible dinner when one asked if I had seen the pork and coke video... being on the subject of gross food. I said I had not and he pulled it up on his nifty phone that also serves as a computer. Reason #8 not to have a phone that functions as a computer: the ability to conjure disgusting facts about the food we eat, while eating food. Youtube raw pork and coke. It's disgusting. Supposedly if you add coke to raw pork (approved by the USDA), the acid levels in it will force maggots (or some sort of worm) out of it. Gross. To say the least. So only watch the video if you can handle seeing worms crawl out of a perfectly good packet of pork.

So I'm back home and my fridge is empty. I decided I had to go to the store and re-stock. Entering the meat aisle, I let my eyes scan the numerous choices...and couldn't stomach any of them. I thought about the pork and coke experiment and wondered if maggots really could come out of raw pork. I think they're too big. That's not to say that smaller parasites can't live in there, virtually undetected until you put a magnifying glass to it. Or pour coke on it.

I've been eating pork the majority of my life and I'm still alive and don't have any weird parasites living in my body- although after the conversation I had a nightmare about worms crawling around inside my skin. For the most part I have not contracted very many diseases or illnesses from meat sold in the United States. I'm still here, right?

Well I left the store with ground turkey and tofu. That was the extent of the meat I could handle looking at. There's a push toward vegetarianism for ya. So I googled the pork and coke experiment. The US National Pork Board says this is in response to the fear that since pigs eat virtualy anything, including worms, you can get trichinosis from parasitic worms in the meat. Here's what they have to say about it: "Because of modern feeding practices, trichinosis is a no longer a concern. Although trichina is virtually nonexistent in pork, if it were present, it would be killed at 137 degrees F. That's well below the recommended end cooking temperature for pork, which is 160 degrees F."

Huh. Kinda like the tobacco company stating that cigarettes aren't that big of a deal? Maybe. Maybe not.

One of those weird conspiracy theory websites states you should just cook the pork until done all the way through and the worms will become an added source of protein. Nice. Some one else on there says you should add coke, remove the worms, then cook. Nicer still. Plus I heard fizzy products (like coke or beer) are a great marinade.

The Montague Project Part 2

I walked to the post office this morning and dropped off my recyling along the way at the gas station that flies the state flag (Jefferson, not California like you would expect) along the way. I bet many of you did not know that I live in the 51st state of the United States of America, Jefferson. For more info on the beautiful state of Jefferson, click here.

After dropping my mail in the drop box, I peeked into the windows of what used to be the Montague Hotel and Bar. Every time I drive past it I see neat antiques in the window but no "Open" sign to go in and look. There's a certification of inspection posted in one window that certifies there was no violation which leads me to believe that it'll be opening soon. In another window there's a mannequin in a blue dress with a red vintage hat. On the window is taped a poem that speculates who she is and for whom she awaits. Behind her, amidst construction debris and dust is an antique bar with pendant lights and a deep mahogany finish. I'm intrigued about what will become of this historic site.

Montague was built as a stop along the California-Oregon railroad; perhaps a place to stretch your legs on a long journey and enjoy the views of Mt. Shasta. The railroad doesn't run through here anymore as far as I know so you can imagine the railroad stopping place has now become, well, a town formerly know as a stop on a railroad. The old train depot that used to load ticketed passengers onto the trains was donated to the town years ago with the only stipulation being that they remove it from railroad property. So it now sits along the main drag and serves as a museum. It's only open in the summer so I wasn't able to go in and see what they had to offer.

Walking back to my house from the old bar and hotel, I stop to absorb the history of the town and breathe it in. An old train sits next to the tracks and I spot an old hitching post for horses as well as the ramp up to board the train where the depot used to be. I stand on the tracks and look north and then south and think that back in 1887 it was probably very similar to what it looks like now.

Martin's Store, which appears to have had a major fire, is closed up and stands next to the Montague Fire Department with its offensive air raid siren that I'm becoming quite fond of.

Other things of interest seen around Montague:

Cute little Methodist church in town.

Old Skool Ink- one of Siskiyou county's highest rated tatoo parlors. Do they really call them parlors anymore?

The city pool. It's not kept up in the winter and only runs a few months out of the summer. It's snows up here, need I say more?

City Hall is located adjacent to the pool. There's also a little park with a kid play-thing in it. Swings, basketball court, etc.

A historic building...

Chickens. How can chickens not be interesting when you're from San Diego? Cows will probably be in the next installment.

The photos of the paintings are taken from the walls on the Community Hall. For more information on the town of Montague California, see it's official website.

Where did my self respect go?

Anybody seen it? I may have lost it in Bakersfield in a Borders that was going out of business. I had grown a little tired of my current collection of cookbooks, what with all the Mediterranean, Italian and Greek healthy morsels and all. You know, at one point I considered learning how to make sushi, but the idea of buying and consuming raw fish in Yreka made me slightly nervous. So some crazy idea popped in my head to buy a French cookbook. I blame it entirely on Julie and Julia. Did any of you see that movie? The chick gains somewhere around 20lbs in midst of all her self taught cooking lessons. Why? Because French food is BAD FOR YOU! That's why they call it French fries. Not because those are French made potatoes (no, French made potatoes probably have much more creme and butter in them) but because anything that scrumptious and bad for you must be French.

Oh sure, you look at my last entry and see all the healthy fresh ingredients that I have laid out on the cutting board and think what a healthy path I've laid out for myself. But you don't see the story behind the photos, the story that I never wrote, because little did I know (or maybe I knew and this super long winter caused me not to care) that I was heading down a dark and dangerous path.

Friends used to come over to my house and have coffee and wonder where I kept my sugar. I had none. When I went to thicken some sauces and it called for flour, I had none, and dealt with the thinner sauce. Who needed filth like sugar and flour in the house? No, not me. I drink my coffee black and eat fresh meats and vegetables and use extra virgin olive oil instead of butter. I've got wild rice and whole wheat pasta and fresh fruit and greek yogurt.

What has happened to me??!!! In my cupboards as we speak, a terrible thing is happening. I've got cane sugar (white, by golly), cocoa powder, semi-sweet chocolate and I just bought butter (real butter) for the third time in a month!!! Something needs to be done. This is ridiculous and it is so not me. I need to go back to Mediterranean cooking and learn how to make Indian curries. I'm thinking I should get rid of the sugar and flour and hide my French cookbook. I am not a baker and there are reasons for that. I certainly don't need to be adding creme fraiche to all my meals, not to mention the large amounts of butter I've consumed on my own this past week. Aarrgghh!!! This is cabin fever at its worst!

Poulet flambe a l'estragon

Tonight I am flaming chicken. With Cognac. This is a risk for several reasons: I don't have a "long match" to light it with and I'm not entirely sure my wok is "flame proof". Yes, enter my wok once again. I figure it's probably the most flameproof pot I own. This should get interesting. Not to mention I have flammable cabinetry above my stove. - Ahh, look at those fresh ingredients.

So, I'm pouring a glass of wine to ease the nerves of lighting a chicken on fire and I'm putting on my Tango music for ambience (ask young Emily what that means, she'll explain it to you along with symbioses). Here we go.

Ok, the flaming of the chicken wasn't nearly as um, explosive as I thought it would be. Strangely enough I think the butter and olive oil in the pan with it put out the flames. So I did it twice. And by the way, Cognac is not for straight drinking. At least not for me. Eesh!

My flamed chicken is now simmering in the cooking juices with a few sprigs of tarragon and I'm wisking eggs with creme fraiche, a French staple apparently along with butter and Cognac. My Tango music wasn't sultry enough for the flaming chicken so I've switched to Paulina Rubio.

The eggs and creme fraiche mix I blended into the cooking juices with the tarragon leaves and poured it over the chicken. It made a real rich sauce, I could learn to love French cooking. The sauce should be thicker but I didn't have any potato starch to thicken it. I don't think I've been eating enough vegetables lately so I heated up some broccoli with lemon and pepper. I don't do well with presentation, it doesn't look nearly as good as it tastes but it's absolutely fabulous.

I bet if I had some different music to cook to, perhaps some Mambo, things would go more smoothly. Whenever I get cooking, Dean Martin's "Mambo Italiano" comes to mind and I pop in the Tango Around the World, probably because the only thing I own that slightly resembles the mambo is Lou Bega's Mambo Number 5. More like pop music. It's not exaclty what I'm feeling, but it gets the creative cooking going. I'm not exactly sure why cultural music appeals to me while I'm cooking, but I think it adds a certain flair to it. Maybe more flavor. Hey mambo!

La Cuisine

I picked up a French cookbook La Cuisine at a Borders in Bakersfield that was going out of business. After watching "Julie and Julia" I decided Mastering the Art of French Cooking was not for me. I don't think I'm a Julia Childs type of person. As much as I'd like to say that I'm going to take on an adventure like the one in the book or movie, there's just no way. Especially with French cooking. I was looking for a simple French cookbook until I realized what an oxymoron that was and picked this one because it claims I can make this stuff at home... as opposed to a high class French restaurant?

I'm excited to report that eggs baked in ramekins (oeufs cocotte) are absolutely amazing. What thrills me even more is the fact that the French have a higher life expectancy than we do (as do most countries not located in Africa or the Middle East- ponder that for a moment) and yet their cooking calls for copious amounts of butter and cream. And alcohol. Yes! So I've purchased cognac for a flambe, but that's for in a couple days. Tonight it's garlicky pork chops with tomato (cotes de porc a la tomate). I've been excessively tired lately and can only guess it's the weather, so I've got to give myself a little kick in the pants.

To get me motivated and in the culinary mood, I've put on my Tango Around the World cd that I bought in Oaxaca, Mexico. You can't go wrong dancing around the kitchen with some tomato paste, garlic and tangoes from around the world, glass of wine in hand: Spanish red.

With my cotes de porc simmering in my sauce a la tomate, I pour another glass of wine, break out the cheese and crackers and put the brussel sprouts (from Brussels perhaps?) a la butter in the microwave and switch the cd to Gypsy Kings: Cantos de Amor.

I've come to the conclusion that I need a much larger skillet, one that comes with a cover and can fit 4 pork chops and 2 onions in it at a time. I've got it in a wok (very multi-cultural) which of course does not come with a cover, so instead of simmering it on low covered, I'm simmering it on medium low uncovered. Looks rich and tasty anyway.

The cotes de porc turned out quite well, very flavorful. It's so unfortunate that I decided against buying the French chocolate truffles I saw the other day. Maybe I should learn to make some. The recipe is in here. My next recipe will be Cognac-Flamed Chicken with Creamy Tarragon Sauce (poulet flambe a l'estragon). I'm a little nervous. I've lit things on fire before but never indoors in my own kitchen. Ok that's not true. I haven't purposely lit things on fire in my kitchen before.

I'm considering learning to make the desserts, after all, isn't that the best part of French food? I would have to bring it to work though because I can't be trusted with desserts in my house. I know most of you think I have a plethora of self control but it just isn't so. I have to practice control when it comes to introducing it to my environment. Once it's there, I'll eat it. So generally speaking, I do no baking. Baking is bad. Baking can lead to late nights in front of the tv watching a ga-zillion episodes of Fringe that I rented from Netflix only to realize it's midnight and I've got to be up at 0515 to go to the gym. Which would usually lead to me not going to the gym and after eating an entire chocolate marble pound cake, it would just be castastrophic.