This Post Is About EARWIGS or God Doesn't Want Me Eating Peaches

At the beginning of the week I usually by fruit to eat at work the rest of the week. Lately I’ve been buying peaches. It’s a bit of a fine art, picking fruit that will be optimally ripe on each successive day of the week. At best, it’s a highly inexact science.

Now, if you’ve been following my XF Bite posts for this week you’ll know the events I’m about to recount.

The two ripest pieces of fruit I bought for the week were two white peaches. Upon diving into the first one on Tuesday, I realized: I really don’t like white peaches. They have no taste, or rather, they taste like slightly peachy water. The one I had was over-ripe in parts and under-ripe in others. All in all, it was not very good.

So Wednesday I skipped the white peach and didn’t have fruit at all.

Today, I decided to partake of the first of two yellow peaches I had purchased. By now they seemed appropriately ripe after spending the last two days in my designated fruit drawer. I moved the second peach to the fridge to prevent it from over-rippening.

I bit into it and it was a little mealy, but mostly juicy and delicious. As I chomped away I noticed that the fruit had seemed to grow free of the pit, leaving an empty space in between the fruit and the pit. As I continued eating I chomped into a part of the peach that was all discolored and bad. Taking a closer look, I discovered that the gap between the fruit and the pit was FILLED WITH MOLD. Fortunately I did not hurl.

So now it’s this afternoon. I’m wanting something to snack on and considering the two peaches I have in the fridge: one unevenly ripe white peach and one possibly internally moldy yellow peach. I decided to pull the white peach out and cut it up so I can look for mold and bad bits before I start eating it.

I cut it in half and the pit breaks in half too, but the fruit itself looks ok. I start cutting off wedges with some difficulty as this peach is clinging tightly to its pit. Then an earwig crawls out of the one of the pit halves.

EW!!!

I’m sorry, but that’s just gross. I couldn’t eat the peach and felt a bit of guilt about that. I mean I’m sure there are plenty of starving people in the world who would have loved to eat that peach earwig or not, but it would have made me puke. Does that make me a spoiled child of a decadent culture? I’m not sure I care. My sister had a traumatic encounter with an earwig when I was younger. I will not recount it, but I still don’t want earwigs anywhere near me.

Tomorrow I will cut open the yellow peach before I eat it. Stay tuned for updates.

(photos from Flickr Commons, taken in Colorado in 1940: link)

Shorts

If by some miracle the Cubs make it to the World Series this year (knock on wood), but drop the first two games on the road and go on to lose because the @#$@! All-Star Game gave the AL home field advantage, I am done with baseball. That’ll be just too heartbreaking.

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There, now I’ve said it. Nothing but positive thoughts, positive thoughts the rest of the season. Visualize winning.

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I had some problems with some off milk last week. I don’t know if the experience has left me particularly sensitive to spoiled milk, but I took one spoonful of my cereal this morning and had to spit it out. My milk had gone bad 3 DAYS before its sell-by date. I turned my fridge up. Maybe it’s not cold enough.

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I recently got a pair of glasses that correct for my slight astigmatism. I've never had it corrected before. I don't wear them that often because I feel like they strain my eyes. Just now I was wearing my old glasses standing in the elevator bay, and suddenly I could see how all the straight lines were curved and bowed out by my astigmatism. I instantly wanted to vomit.

Shorts

It’s one of those days where I could smell the fresh smell of the ocean from my neighborhood.

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Did you know that Peaches and Nectarines are the same fruit? The smooth skin and sweeter taste of the Nectarine is just a recessive trait, like blond hair.

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I’m stealing this from MEgAN’s blog! I can’t link to her blog because it’s on Tribe and you need to be a member. It’s John Lennon being interviewed in 1969 by a 14-year-old who broke into his hotel room:



Ok, I’ll admit, I haven’t actually been able to listen to it. (It won’t play at work for some reason.) But if I post it then I’ll remember to listen to it when I get home.

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When I’m at work, I keep thinking “I need to buy more music”. But when I’m at home and can download it, I think… meh, I don’t want to spend the money.

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Turns out I don’t actually need to belong to Publishers Marketplace to search their agent listings. Good to know.

The Brazilian Meat Torture

We had a department lunch at Espetus on Friday to celebrate all the new employees who’ve come on board in the last few months, myself included.

Oh my.

They have a buffet area filled with 17 (I think the waiter said 17) salads plus rice and beans and such. You serve yourself there and then sit down at your table. On you table is a little rotating chip that either shows red or green. If you turn it to green, they start bringing you meat. Meat after meat.

It’s all on skewers and they cut off pieces for you if you want some. They came by with at least three different types of sirloin, a couple porks, chicken, chicken hearts, sausages… It just keeps coming, but my was it good. I have no idea how much the whole thing costs, but it was well worth it. If my brother-in-law ever comes to visit, I will have to take him there. He loves meat.

We once had Christmas dinner at his and my sister’s house. His mother brought up restaurant grade prime rib from St. Louis. She works or worked or something at a restaurant down there. She’s a little Japanese woman and boy howdy can she cook. I find it highly amusing that the best biscuits and gravy I’ve ever had was made by my sister’s Japanese mother-in-law.

Anyway, that Christmas she brought up prime rib that tasted as fine as anything I’ve ever tasted, but she brought way too much of it. We kept eating and eating and joking and soon the concept of “All You Can Eat Prime Rib” became known in our family as the Chicago Meat Torture. (Why “Chicago” and not “St. Louis” where the meat originated, I don’t know.)

I have now discovered the Brazilian Meat Torture. Oh, so good though.

Shorts

I’ve been working out recently, which feels great, expect that I’m eating all the time now. I don’t really have any fat reserves to burn, so all the extra burnt calories need to be made up through more food.

I’m not complaining exactly. I just need to adjust.

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I think I’ve always been aware of this, but I’ve only recently been able to verbalize it: there’s a difference between being hungry and needing food. I can tell the difference and am usually ok with being hungry a while until I need food. Or with eating when I need food even though I’m not hungry.

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I think somehow this white chocolate coated wafer thing has coffee in it. We’ll see how wired I get from it.

BEA, Miracle Fruit, and Indy 4

I’m at BEA today stalking Neil Gaiman, but I’ll post a couple things here to keep you company in my absence.

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I must buy some of these and have a “flavor tripping” party. It’s a fruit that temporarily rewires your taste buds and makes sour things taste sweet. Read the New York Time Article or buy some.

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I liked Indy 4. It was no Raiders, but nothing is. I think people forget that the Spielberg, Lucas, Ford combo isn’t a sure-fire hit maker. As much as some would argue to the contrary, Temple of Doom: Not such a good movie. I actually think it’s underrated and taken on its own is enjoyable. Just don’t compare it to the other two.

Skull was flawed, but a ludicrously fun ride. The exposition was clunky. The actors had to strain to make some of the dialogue sound natural, and it suffered from Batman Movie Problem #2. (Batman Movie Problem #1 is that the movie is really about the villain. Solved by Batman Begins by not having a strong villain.) Batman Movie Problem #2 is trying to have more main characters than you really need (Batman Returns, Batman Forever, Batman and Robin). Action movies have little time for character development. The more main characters, the less developed any of them are, the less we care about them. The fact that FIVE characters are all walking into the temple at the end, being pursued by another, indicates the movie was trying way too hard.

As for the end, what else were they going to make an Indiana Jones movie set in the 1950’s out of? It’s not any more unbelievable than the Holy Grail or the Lost Ark. I applaud the movie for going where it did and having fun with it.

Breakfast Dogs and Sunshine

I’m sitting in a café in Woodland, CA marveling at how wonderful it is to wake up to a warm sunny day. Not a hot day, mind you, but warm with a nice breeze, the sun coming through the motel bathroom window and the sound of a lawn mower in the distance. It was one of those moments that reminds you so much of home even if you never really had any moments like that growing up.

The Savory Café in Woodland feels like a trendy modern addition to what one my companions tells me was a pretty run down nothing of a town even just 10 years ago. Ah, gentrification has long tentacles, but is that so bad really? After all, I’m about to eat “Breakfast Dogs”, which are two maple-bacon sausages dipped in pancake batter and served “corn dog style”. Does that not sound amazing?!

Yes it’s a little white trash, but its white trash chic in a way that you can only find in a hip, modern café complete with wifi. Oh, they’ve just arrived… Let me sample quick.

Mmm… so good. Dipped in Maple syrup. It’s exactly what you’re imagining and so much better. It starts out sweet with a savory finish, then you get that double hit of maple from the sausage and the lingering pancake after-taste. I should be filming this for Bizarre Foods with Andrew Zimmern.

OK, I have to eat this. Happy Friday!

Potstickers!

My sister, the same one who introduced me to Aliens, also introduced me to San Francisco, my current home. Around the time I finished up college, she and her husband moved to the city by the bay. After I graduated, I spent 2 summers sleeping on their couch before I finally settled out here myself 10 years ago this summer.

That first summer I visited, we all went out for drinks with some tangential acquaintances. With my sister and her husband new to the city, some friend of a friend had set us up with some locals for a social evening aimed at introducing us to the city. These acquaintances recommended a Chinese restaurant up Hyde Street from where my sister lived on Russian hill called U-Lee. A week or so later, we went.

Had it not been recommended, I doubt we would have ever eaten at U-Lee. The sign is old and faded. The inside is small with a few old tables crammed in it. The place felt like a hole in the wall. The kind of place you’d expect to more likely get botulism than a good meal, but oh was that not true. Not only was the food excellent, but U-Lee boasts the best potstickers I’ve ever eaten. They are literally as big as your fist. Seriously. Ball up your hand right now into a tight fist and imagine that in potsticker form.

We immediately became regulars. My sister and brother-in-law soon became known by the staff by face, name, and order. After my niece was born, a friend stopped by to pick them up dinner and bring it to the hospital. The staff, recognizing the order but not the person picking it up, new immediately the baby had been born. They had a picture of her on the wall for years.

I haven’t gone much in the years since my sister and her family moved back to the Midwest, but recently I returned. The place hasn’t changed much. My niece’s picture is no longer there and neither are the hundreds of old business cards that once lined the walls. (While they made for fascinating reading, I’m sure they were a health and fire hazard.) The food’s still the same though. Most importantly, the potstickers are still huge and delicious.

Mmm… just looking at my fist makes my mouth water.

Another Allergy Medicine Induced Ramble

Today I’m on pseudophedrine. Not the wimpy phenylephrine stuff that comes in Sudafed these days, but the full-on, you can make Meth out of me, pseudophedrine. This stuff is supposed to make you wired, unlike Claritin which makes me wired anyway. Why have I opted for the distracting rush of a near illegal decongestant?

Because the phenlephrine I took this morning did a sum total of nothing for my clogged ears. Whereas the pseudophedrine cleared them up exactly 12 minutes after I took it. 12 minutes! Which leads me to my next logical point:

I had to eat dinner at Piraat last night instead of the Theater Too Café. The Theater Too Café is downstairs and up the block from the theater where I spend a lot of my time either in shows or in rehearsals for said shows. A year or so ago, I went there and got a chicken wrap with humus and a little hot sauce. I immediately dubbed this the “Chicken Sandwich of God”. The name pretty much sums up my feelings on the sandwich.

Having not had one in a while, I salivated the long walk form the Embarcadero BART stop whereat I had left my sweetie to the Theater Too Café wherein I had planned to partake in the said religious experience that commoners call a wrap, but it was closed! Instead I wandered up the street to Piraat for pizza only to order rotisserie chicken, vegetables and rice. Good. Edible, but the heavens did not open up and shine a beam of light on my taste buds.

I need to go buy more pseudophed.

Photo courtesy PDPhoto.org