The mangos are falling. The mangos are falling. There is fresh rhubarb in the grocery store. What to do? Make a rhubarb/mango pie, of course. I pulled out a vintage tin of cardamom seeds, and they still seemed to have some flavor. A vanilla bean. Some turbinado sugar. Lots of chopped mango. Chopped rhubarb. A pie crust. Bake and serve with a side of green tea ice cream.
Life is good.
Right up front, I’ll say that this wasn’t my finest moment, OK? But here’s the thing, I don’t get manicures because I work with my hands. I very, very rarely get pedicures, because they are an expensive indulgence. But Friday last, I had a lunch-time appointment to get my toes done. I took my wallet and my i-pod, loaded up with the Easy Stars All Stars Dub Side of the Moon, and prepared to go to my happy place.
When I got to the salon, it was full. They put me in a chair, and there were women on either side of me, in the middle of their treatments. There was another woman just finishing her manicure, and yet another in the wings. The woman to my right was on her cell phone, chatting about what time the sun set for lighting the shabbos candles. The woman on my left was chatting on her cell phone about nothing in particular, in Spanish. I apologized to the manager, who was about to start on my feet, saying that I hoped she wouldn’t mind if I just zoned out with the earbuds. Not at all. Ahhhhhh. Happy place.
And then. And then, a large, unpleasant woman came in through the front door and started demanding her manicure. And complaining that there wasn’t an open chair, when she had an appointment. And demanding to know who the manager was, and why did this salon make appointments if they weren’t planning on keeping them. And demanding service. RIGHT. NOW. And I could hear every word, through my headphones. And the tension in the shoulders of the three woman working on the three customers was visible and growing more so. The tension among the clients was palpable. Dammit, Beavis, this is unacceptable. So I took out the earbuds, and put on the carrying teacher voice, and said, as avuncularly as I could manage, “Madam. Please. They will get to you. Please stop. Take it outside. You are, to use the vernacular, harshing my buzz.” And I smiled.
It was like throwing gasoline on a fire. She exploded and started to yell at me. “Oh, I think you probably already have quite a buzz on. Why don’t you go back to Coconut Grove among your own kind.” I blinked. I thought of any number of replies, beginning with, what decade are you living in, honey, the Grove hasn’t been the Grove since the early 70s, through my kind? Spawn of yuppie scum spending mummy and daddy’s money? to the short and to the point, which is what I said… still in the teacher voice. “Hmmm. Yeah. Right. FUCK. YOU!!!” Like I said, not my finest moment.
Well, with that, the fat, unpleasant woman said that judging by my vocabulary, perhaps I should take myself back to Liberty City. Liberty City is the inner city, the hood, the 99% black, poverty-riddled heart of Miami. Oh, no, she di’n't. Oh, yes, she did. So I said, “Hmmm. Yeah. Right. Not only are you rude and impatient, you are also intolerant and a racist.” And with that, the woman on my right joined me in making fun of the fat, impatient, rude pig-woman. In normal voices, and as though she weren’t standing 10 feet away, we began to discuss what an unhappy creature she was, whether or not she should expect any sort of manicure after her behavior, and whether or not she was aware of how horrible she was.
Fat, unhappy, unpleasant and impolite, the pig-woman was still standing at the counter when I left with the best pedicure I’ve gotten in years.
The final three are given the script for their Cover Girl commercials. Aminat has gotta learn this. Wind In Her Face is overwhelmed. RabbityMouthBreather is going to do everything and anything to be the winner. Like, for example, stop breathing through your mouth and stop being terrified of everything? That would be nice.
They head to a studio for their shoot. M’Key is there to give them the drill on how to be a Cover Girl. The photos they take today will be the winner’s CG ad and go up in Wal-Marts every where. And they want to win this, why?
Aminat is first, and although Mr. Jay has to remind her to move her face when she speaks, she does an adorable little shoulder wiggle and girlish giggle at the end. Then it’s off to have Jim de Yonker shoot the stills.
RabbityMouthBreather has been given the winner’s edit hair and make up job. She can’t remember her lines. She’s stiff. Mr. Jay says she’s good but that he has his doubts. Jim de Yonker says she has a sort of Bettie Page look. Miz Shoes says that’s a Bettie and Veronica, Archie comics look.
Wind In Her Face looses her shit in a major melt down. She freaks, she cries, she flubs every line. She also has those weird backward top finger joints. Mr. Jay tells her not to worry, because editing will make it work. Jim de Yonks says that he liked working with her.
TYRAMAIL! One of you bitches has seen your last challenge. Time to go home and get a real job. Aminat knows that she’ll be in the final two because she was phenomenal. RabbityMouthBreather is, of course, scared. Wind In Her Face has lost her shit for good, and cries and cries in the confessional that she has lost her shit for good.
DISCLAIMER: at this point, my notes become more or less illegible as the second, and very strong dirty martini kicks in. I should know better than to skip food on ANTM night.
The judge is Rosa someone or other. After the judging, the girls will go straight to the 17 cover shot. Miss Jay’s tie is very pink and very huge. Wind In Her Face’s commercial is about thirty seconds of her crying. She cries at the judges, too. When the judges look at her still and declare it is the dictionary definition of “smiling with your eyes” she dries up the tears. RabbityMouthBreather’s commercial isn’t bad, but neither is it any good. She is expressionless (what has Miz Shoes been saying for 11 weeks?). The judges claim that her voice is more expressive than her face. Her still is commerical, and the judges call it sexy. Miz Shoes calls it pose number one: slack mouthed.
Aminat’s commercial is cute, she is a natural genius, but her still shot? Not so much. There is more deliberating, but we on the couch were busy making plans to go see the new Star Trek on Sunday morning, and so missed the rest.
RabbityMouthBreather gets the number one photo and my notes say “Fuck. Me.” Aminat has The Body, and got better and better every week (except for her face) and she had the best Cover Girl commercial. Wind In Her Face was super strong from the beginning, but completely melted down doing the commercial, which is, let’s face it, the big chunk of the Cover Girl prize. So who stays and who goes? Say buh-bye to Aminat, and What the Fuck? as Wind In Her Face gets the number two spot. Aminat can now go get a real contract with a real modeling agency.
Finally, the muthafuckin’ walk off. Wind In Her Face calls it do or die. M’Key is there. RabbityMouthBreather is scared (and come on, is she ever anything other than scared? I’m so over that walking Walter Keane painting, that I don’t know if I can last another 15 minutes) because her walk is shit. No kidding. And now she’s in a panic because it’s a swimsuit show.
What the hell is Miss Jay wearing? M’Key leads off with an awful walk. How did she win last season? Wind In Her Face is meh. RabbityMouthBreather is meh. The second pass is a samba theme and Wind In Her Face is good, and although it pains me no end to say this, RabbityMouthBreather is kind of cute. The third pass involves writhing down a runway that has become a black oil slick. Is this a statement? We’ll never know. Wind In Her Face works it like the rent was due yesterday and is flinging her weave around like a dancer in a strip joint when it flies off. She just grabs it and keeps working it.
The next scene is the girls cleaned up, back in their bikinis and in the judging room. There is some bullshit about a neck and neck competition throughout the season, but all I see is O-face and slack mouth versus some variety. And with that, and another round of Tyra blah-blah-blahing, Wind In Her Face wins season 12. Nigel shoots her with Tyra. And we are over and out.
The RLA and I have been in the Casita des Zapatos for 16 years. The pool was already in need of refinishing when we moved in, but the RLA has been diligent in his pool boy duties, and we have kept the pool intact far longer than any pool has a right to expect the marcite to last. But a couple of years ago, when the condos were being built across the street, the pounding and digging and all caused the pool to get a few cracks, and the builder promised to refinish it for us, but instead split with his profits to South America. So this winter, the RLA and I had to face the grim reality of refinishing the pool. I photo documented the whole thing, although I wasn’t fast enough to grab a shot of the Rasta Brothers pouring muriatic acid on the walls. The foaming electric green sluice was amazing.
Here is the pool, as it was, and if you look closely, you can see the holes in the marcite.
The next morning, the pool was drained. And the holes in the marcite are easier to spot. (Base of the steps, for one)
Another day, and we have a shot of the undercoating, the waiting Diamond Brite, and the rubble that was the rotten marcite that the Rasta Brothers removed from the pool walls.
You can see how uneven the surface is here…how much of the old coating was pulled off.
The next morning, the Brite Coat has been applied and cured overnight and the muriatic acid wash is scheduled for later in the morning.
The main drain hadn’t worked since Hurricane Andrew, when gravel and muck filled the pool. The previous owners hadn’t fixed it, and we didn’t bother. But with the pool empty, now was the time to flush the pipes.
Filling it up again. The color of the water is the most amazing jade green. I kept telling the RLA that this was going to be the color of the pool from now on. He got a little pannicky that he’d never be able to tell if we were growing algae again.
Only kidding. Once the chemicals were added, and the water shocked, the pool became a lovely turquoise. We’re ready for the summer.
OK. Let’s make this fast. I am overwhelmed at work. My new boss is a dream, but he actually uses me as an executive assistant, which means that I am busy from 8:30 to 5:30 inclusive. I love my job these days, and I love my boss, but I am in the weeds…all the time. So I’m trying to get this done before the final episode airs. I am also slightly tipsy, so deal wit it bitches.
Wind In Her Face is saying that she’s on a roll. Celia is distressed over being in the bottom two. She admits that she’s old. Aminat is a bitch about having to have Celia around for another week. RabbityMouthBreather is scared to be here. She is scared.
TYRAMAL! is something lame: tickiticki and nobody knows what it means. There is a dance hall. There are samba lessons. Allison is, of course, clumsy and scared. Because she’s a bad dancer. Aminat says that this is dope. Wind In Her Face gets dizzy from the movement. Celia moves like royalty: stiffly. She wants it too much. Desperation is not sexy. Aminat says that she’s gonna sex it up. She’s a natural dancer and has more expression in her face than anyone else. RabbityMouthBreather is rabbity, terrified and bleak. Wind In Her Face has two left feet, but is determined to fake it with confidence.
At the house, Celia is depressed because Paulina called her old. TyraMail says whatever you do, don’t look down. Which means that, during their samba challenge, every glance down at their feet will be a million zillion points off their final score. Aminat, knowing that she can dance, says that she will own this challenge. Paulina tells RabbityMouthBreather that she looks like a rickety wind up toy. And she keeps looking at her feet. Celia pushes herself and is impeccable. Wind In Her Face is told by Paulina that this was not her finest moment. Celia wins the challenge, much to the chagrin of Aminat. Celia shares her win (jewelry) with RabbityMouthBreather. Paulina is visibly peeved that Celia didn’t share with the next best girl, Aminat.
TYRAMAIL! says that at some point the mamma bird shoves the baby birds out of the nest. This leads Aminat to confessionalize that she wants it so bad, but that she just keeps coming in next to last. She’s dishearted. Oh, noes. The hamsters are woken up early by Sutan and Christian and get some very wild and messy hair and make up. Then they are bundled into a truck and driven out into the middle of the jungle. One of the girls says that this ain’t TeeVee jungle, but real jungle. Well, as real as reality tv gets, and then there is an accident blocking the road. Who can this be now? Why it’s TYRA! badly emoting and taking the girls on a walkabout to their location, where there is some weird ass, enormous bird nest looking thing wedged sideways into a cliff side. Wind In Her Face is not afraid to shoot with Tyra. She’s won too many challenges, she says, to be tossed out now. On the other end of the spectrum, RabbityMouthBreather is intimidated to be shooting with Tyra. As Tyra explains the “concept”: pterodactyl cum owlet leaving its nest, Miz Shoes says that the hamsters should all be very, very afraid.
RabbityMouthBreather goes first, and overcomes all her fears (well, looking like a scared little bird is playing to her strengths) she blurts out to Tyra, “you’re soooo pretty”. Way to suck up, RabbityMouthBreather. That’ll keep you on for another week, for sure. Aminat does Crouching Tiger, Hidden Aminat, and Tyra and Mr Jay discuss how gorgeous her body is, but how her face just sucks wind. Celia steps up her game and relaxes her face, her body and her mind. She gives Amazon. She works it. Wind In Her Face goes last, and they are losing the light, so Tyra tells her to lose the clothes. Wind In Her Face does. She also works it.
At panel, there can be only three. RabbityMouthBreather is scared and anxious, and when isn’t she? Aminat is confident that there is no way she’s going home. Ann Shoket and her honker are there to represent the sponsor’s voice. RabbityMouthBreather surprised Tyra by
being vulnerable and sweet. Nigel says that Wind In Her Face wasn’t using her body to its full advantage. Celia showed major strength and a straight on armpit. Tyra enjoyed working with her. Celia, despite being an actual pterodactyl, looked fresh. Aminat used every strength in her repetoire and managed to control her face.
RabbityMouthBreather found her niche as a scared baby bird. She has the YOUTH. Wind In Her Face has no fire or magic on set. She’s getting complacent. Celia has great style, but an awkward face. Paulina wants to hire her as a stylist. Ann Shoket loved the pic. Aminat has a beautiful face, but the camera doesn’t love it. She eats light and doesn’t shine it back, but her BODY. Oh. My. God. The body is to die for.
RabbityMouthBreather gets the number one photo (told you the suck up was a good idea), Wind in Her Face comes in second. Aminat and Celia are left. Predictably, Celia is given the boot for being older than dirt, and Aminat stays to try and master her angles.
Remember the poll about the Ile de France cooking contest? Well, a couple of weeks ago, RJ and MJ came over for a day in the kitchen. RJ whipped up a pink horseradish sauce and completely unrelated roasted vegetable and brie hogies, which were to die for.
She entered them, and breakfast strata in the contest, and is raking in the stars. Deservedly so. But as I have so often asserted in this blog, cooking is a competitive sport in these parts, so while I applaud her efforts (and want more of those little hoagies), and urge you to vote for her too, I’m here today to beg for my own stars.
MJ was taking notes for us, transcribing our efforts as we cooked and offering advice for herbs and spices.
The Chicken Kiev/Chevre won my little poll, and I went ahead with my plans. We started with boneless, skinless chicken breasts, and pounded them into scallopini. The chevre log was cut into quarters length-wise, then pressed into a thin rectangle, wrapped around three fresh, trimmed asparagus stalks and rolled in a mixture of freshly grated lemon zest and herbs de provence.
Those were then used a filling for the chicken breasts, which were wrapped and folded around the cheese like little burritos.
The pounded meat was moist enough that when I folded it on itself, it stuck shut.
Which was useful, because the chicken packets were then dipped in beaten egg, thinned with a touch of buttermilk, and then in panko. Placed seam down on a baking sheet covered in foil. Misted with olive oil and roasted until the panko was golden.
Served with a side of steamed asparagus.
So there it is. MJ sent me his notes, and I re-wrote them into a semblance of a recipe, and submitted it to Ile de France. Two days later, I received an e-mail from the contest person. Was that really the name of my recipe? Or did I want to change it. Why, I asked, what did I call it? And see, that was the one thing that we forgot. When we were cooking, we kept referring to my dish as Miz Shoes’ Chicken Fucking Something. And that’s what MJ had left as a title on the file. When I re-wrote it, and sent it to Ile de France, I had renamed the file, but I hadn’t remembered change the title in the document. My submission was titled “Chicken Fucking Something”. Yeah, I said to the rep. Probably should change that. If you head to the contest page, you’ll find Chicken Chevre. That’s mine, because I just couldn’t come up with a funny pun on Kiev.
Head on over and put some stars on me, it’s a competition here.