Daily Archives: April 1, 2010

You just can’t win them all, I guess…*

Perhaps if I’d had more patience and hadn’t let things get to the point where I was like ‘RAWR, ANNE HUNGRY NOW’ which is followed closely on the spectrum of things by *HULKSMASH*, I would have had better luck with the pitas.

First, I think I didn’t roll them thin enough – I really should keep a ruler in the kitchen because otherwise, I have to go digging through the Closet of Despair trying to find my tape measure or end up just using a yardstick, which would be laughable in this situation. Second, I think they probably did need a little more moisture – Smitten Kitchen recommends spritzing them with a little water if necessary, but again…*HULKSMASH*

Also, I totally burned myself, not once but twice, when I was trying to get the first batch of them out of the oven. The first time, because the cowardly upper rack just came out of nowhere and the second time because I foolishly went back for more.

It feels a lot worse than it looks there – which seems unfair – I keep having to pause my dinner to go run my hand under cold water and, like I said, HUNGRY!

Anyway, once the falafel were done baking (I used this method of baking them [because I hate, hate, hate frying things - it never goes well and it just ends up with my apartment smelling of oil] – they turned out a little dry, but I think that’s because, not only do I think I made them kind of on the small side, they were, you know, frozen first) – I looked at the size of my pita flatbreads (cowardly bastards):

and looked at what I had ready to fold up in one (along with the falafels and, uh, minus the timer, of course):

And quickly deduced (Holmes would be proud of me) that what the situation called for was an open-faced sandwich. Which is what I did.

And, lo, it was yummy.** So I guess I did win after all!

*Hey, look, it’s my 700th post! If only I was as prolific in my real writing…

**And, yes, I did chase it with that big, girly, pink drink you see there (Margarita + grenadine = OMG WIN!). Dammit, my burnt hand deserves it!

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Filed under Channeling my inner domestic goddess

I think I’m in love…

Okay, here’s a quiz for you about how well you know me – who here can name the Big Three on my Literary List of Hatred? Don’t worry, it’s not going to be a very hard quiz because I’m about to tell you the answers:

  1. Dan Brown – Ruined an interesting premise with COMPLETELY CRAP WRITING. And still laughed his way to the bank. Bastard.
  2. James Patterson – Cannot even be bothered to write his own books anymore and yet still felt it necessary to jump on the YA fiction bandwagon and take up valuable shelf space from honest-to-goodness *cough*me*cough* YA writers. Bastards (him and his committee).
  3. Nicholas Sparks – Writes the same melodramatic romances (YOU SEE WHAT I DID THERE? WELL, YOU WILL IF YOU FOLLOW THIS LINK! FOLLOW IT! But be careful, you will have to fight an overwhelming urge to actually punch your computer screen) over and over and COMPARES HIMSELF TO HEMINGWAY. I DON’T EVEN LIKE HEMINGWAY AND I’M STILL HORRIFIED AND OFFENDED ON HIS BEHALF.

But, Anne, I hear you say, Anne, surely this is a post filled with hatred and bile! Why did you title it ‘I think I’m in love…’ Because Roger Ebert agrees with me and is not afraid to say so! From his review of The Last Song:

“The Last Song” is based on the novel by Nicholas Sparks, who also wrote the screenplay. Sparks recently went on record as saying he is a greater novelist than Cormac McCarthy. This is true in the same sense that I am a better novelist than William Shakespeare. Sparks also said his novels are like Greek Tragedies. This may actually be true. I can’t check it out because, tragically, no really bad Greek tragedies have survived. His story here amounts to soft porn for teenage girls, which the acting and the abilities of director Julie Anne Robinson have promoted over its pay scale.

[...]

To be sure, I resent the sacrilege Nicholas Sparks commits by mentioning himself in the same sentence as Cormac McCarthy. I would not even allow him to say “Hello, bookstore? This is Nicholas Sparks. Could you send over the new Cormac McCarthy novel?” He should show respect by ordering anonymously. But it seems unfair to penalize Miley Cyrus fans, Miley herself, and the next Peter O’Toole for the transgressions of a lesser artist.

Oh, Roger, you’re the best. Oh, and so is Linda Holmes over at Monkey See on NPR (she of the fabulous Twilight read-along posts which have inspired me to wonder about but not yet come up with an intelligent post about pop culture and our formative years) for posting more delicious Spark SnarkTM.

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Filed under Books