Canadians and Americans (again)

It was announced yesterday that Canada is kicking the penny to the curb.  Production of their one-cent copper coin (which is actually 94% steel) will cease in April because, as one official put it, their penny is "currency without currency."

(G)O Canada!

The United States needs to follow suit.  Our penny costs more to make than it's worth. 

The dollar coin never went anywhere because merchants complained there was no room for it in their cash registers.  Well, get rid of the penny, and there's a slot for it.  If we quit printing one-dollar bills, which need to be replaced every 15 to 18 months, we'll save even more money.  (The life expectancy of a coin is 30 years.)

Canada replaced both its one- and two-dollar bills with coins, and it didn't kill anybody.

But then, they're Canadians.
  

Juice Gone

When I was young, which I freely admit was a very long time ago, when you ordered a meal in a nice restaurant, you were asked if you wanted soup or juice.  The question followed as night follows day. 

"I'd like the Veal Parmesan."
"Soup or juice?"

These were appetizers of a sort, one of which came with the meal, its cost included in the price of the entree.  For an extra quarter, you could probably have had both.

I always went with the juice.  Usually it was tomato, but if there was a choice, the server popped the follow-up question.

"I'd like the Veal Parmesan."
"Soup or juice?"
"Juice."
"Tomato or grapefruit?"

I always went with tomato.  It came in a small, clear glass that held six fluid ounces and sat on a small saucer or in a little shallow bowl.  There was a lemon wedge too, usually next to it but occasionally stuck on the rim of the glass.

By the mid-1960's, however, the soup-or-juice thing somehow fell out of favor and the standard antipasto was a mix of iceberg lettuce and sundry little extras like a tomato slice, a ring of red onion, and a couple of croutons.  The question got changed.

"I'd like the Veal Parmesan."
"What kind of dressing on your salad?"

There are now plenty of restaurants in which you get a choice of soup or salad, but I cannot recall any restaurant in which I have dined in the last several decades where a starter of tomato juice was an option.  But I'm going to keep my eyes open.

Why bother when you can buy a bag?

Well, last Friday I got around to trying that recipe I mentioned that was in the New York Times, the one that required the cornmeal.  It was for home-made Fritos.  It was simple enough -- cornmeal and water, a little salt and a little oil, roll between two pieces of parchment, score, bake, break apart.

They were dreadful.

Some of it was my fault.  I had trouble getting the dough rolled to an even thickness.  The parts I got too thin burned, the parts I left too thick were gummy, and there really were no parts that were just right, I guess, because none of it got crispy enough to satisfy me.  They tasted all right, if you like the taste of cornmeal, water, salt, and oil.  They might have been improved by frying instead of baking, but I don't plan to try it again.

I am on the lookout for recipes that call for cornmeal, though. 

Diagnosis: KGR

There was an article in the New York Times this week about Kitchen Gadget Regret. This occurs when you acquire cooking or baking equipment that you are sure you can't live without but then never use.  The chefs they interviewed cited things like a salmon poacher, a polenta maker, and a device for cutting a one-pound block of butter into small pieces.  They've got nothing on me.

The only thing I like better than kitchen gadgets is more kitchen gadgets, but I've had my share of white elephants, starting with the potato ricer I used once. The reason that box of discarded items in the trunk of my car hasn't been dropped off at Goodwill yet is that it contains the blender we recently decided we didn't use or need.  But I am reconsidering. What if I need to blend something that the food processor or the immersion blender can't handle?

And speaking of immersion blenders, my Secret Santa came through this Christmas with the exact one I wanted. Haven't used it yet, but it's only March.

Some of my problem is having to go through various types, makes, and models before obtaining exactly the right thing. I recently put the old mandoline in the Goodwill box after doing some serious research and splurging big bucks on the one of my dreams -- and not any old ordinary mandoline either, but a Japanese benriner. Works like a charm. I have already used it. Once.

A good way to avoid Kitchen Gadget Regret is to avoid Pampered Chef parties. It looks so easy when the demonstrator does it, but I've been disappointed at home. I will say in their defense that theirs is the best garlic press I've ever had. And I've had plenty.

And then there is the ridiculous Pasta Boat.*  My partner freely admits she gave me this As-Seen-On-TV plastic thing as a gag. I should be embarrassed to own it, much less use it, but use it I do. It makes perfect pasta.

My partner tells me we need to own a food mill. I believe she got the idea from her Hero-Chef Anne Burrell, who says it's her favorite piece of kitchen equipment. The only thing I've seen Chef Anne do with it is mash vegetables.

Couldn't you do the same thing with a blender?

_____________________
*See posting  of January 19, 2011.

Who could it be?

When I was in high school, my girlfriends and I sometimes hung out in the public library after school.  We studied and used reference materials, but we also did a lot of teenaged-girl things, like whisper and giggle and pretend to pay no attention to the boys.

One day I noticed a telephone number written in pencil on the back of my library card.  It was my writing, and it didn't look fresh.  I didn't recognize the number, and I wracked my brain trying to remember the occasion of having written it.  I started speculating, coming up with possibilities that ranged from the mundane (a classmate about an assignment) to the romantic (a cute boy wanting me to ask him to the Sadie Hawkins Dance) to the spectacular (a Hollywood talent scout). 

It drove me nuts for a day or two, but in the end, I knew the only thing to do was to call the number and find out who it was.  I rehearsed what I would say, then screwed up my courage and dialed.  I was all nervous and excited, wondering who would answer.  It was the library.

Vernal, Vern

In northern climates like the one I've always lived in, it sometimes snows on the first day of spring.  The first time I witnessed such an event I was about eight years old.  My mother called to me to come look outside and see that it was snowing, even though it was officially spring.  I got it.  Even at that tender age, I apparently had an adequate sense of irony.

Now I am forced to do a complete about-face and deal with it being 85 degrees on the first day of spring, and not an isolated occurrence, either.  It was 85 yesterday and will be again tomorrow too.  The windows are open and the ceiling fans are twirling.  After checking the forecast for the immediate future, I have decided it is not worth engaging the air conditioning, since temperatures will be back down in the 50s and 60s by Thursday.

I can ride it out.  I'm thinking a tall, cold drink of something special will help.
 

Did you want rice and beans with that?

There is a woman named Melissa D'Arabian who has a cooking show on which she demonstrates how to make meals for four people that cost $10 or less.  Except that she seems to be overly fond of zucchini, her recipe ideas are not bad.

What is bad is her lipstick, which is actually lip gloss.  It's not the color, which is usually muted and pinkish; it's the wet shine on them that bothers me.  This woman is doing a cooking show, here and there tasting as she goes along, and it looks for all the world like her lips are wet from chicken grease or zucchini juice, or whatever she's just put into her mouth, maybe even just plain spit.  It is not an appetizing look for a cook.

I would have thought shiny lips were more appropriate for evening (especially a date with somebody you hope will kiss you on the mouth), but not for daytime wear.  I tried to look online for information about this by Googling "shiny lip gloss."  I never found anything like an intelligent discussion about making your lips look wet -- the first three pages were all about specific products -- so I gave up.  What was really intriguing, however, was this item that Google returned:

Here you go, Melissa -- forget all that expensive makeup and just get yourself a can of Old El Paso Enchilada Sauce instead.