11.20.08
Posted in cats at 12:23 pm by Hanne Blank
This is not, I repeat, not, a food-related post.
The cats and I have this game we play. It’s called Hide and Seek.
It goes like this.
First the cat gets up, in what one would call a huff except that the cat has been asleep to this point and no actual huffworthy events — indeed no events at all — have transpired since the cat was observed to be dead asleep.
The cat stalks off with a determined look on its face.
From some other part of the house, there is the ceremonial Pre-Vomit Show, which at my house can be one of two things. In Fez’s case, it is constituted by a protracted series of Monkey! Monkey! My Stomach Is Escaping! Help! Help! Help! Yowls, and in Callie’s case by the even more advanced and viscerally affective Crescendo Of Gagging And Making Horrible Strangling Noises.
The human, therefore, is able to hear the general direction in which the cat is making its play, but not determine the precise location. Attempts on the human’s part to find the cat during the Pre-Vomit Show are Not Fair Play and the human is obligated to forefeit one (1) point, which is be awarded to the Cat on principle. Human intervention in the Pre-Vomit Show will additionally necessitate the cat’s jetting off to restart said show elsewhere, unobserved by human eyes. Humans will thus be best served by following the rules, which clearly state that humans shall not attempt to commence vomit-amelioration measures until the cat has returned to its former sleeping spot or gone and found another one it likes better, whichever pertains.
This is where the human gets its turn at the game. The human, paper towels and other impedimenta having been collected, goes in search of puddles of things which have until recently been inside a cat. These will, as the name of the game suggests, have been most cleverly hidden, occasionally in plain sight so that you will find them by stepping in them, although research suggests that this ploy is adopted by cats primarily during the warmer seasons when the humans are more likely to be barefoot. If a human treads in the vomit, the Cat is assigned one (1) point per involved foot, with a half point (.5 points) bonus if it squishes between the human’s toes.
In rare cases the trodden-in vomit will represent the only available vomit puddle. If this is the case (not that the human will know it is), the Cat, as should be obvious, wins.
If, however, the human has not trodden in the only vomit puddle available (wise cats usually leave 2 or 3 for this reason), the game continues.
The human will search in vain all over the portion of the house in which the Pre-Vomit Show has recently been conducted, and will be unable to find the alleged effluvia anywhere. The human will be distressed at the thought that this may mean that the dog has somehow preceded the human into the Pre-Vomit Show Arena and has, with the wholesale relish that only a dog can muster, already cleaned up, as it were. (Note: Checking on the dog will reveal that the dog has been asleep in the dog bed the whole time.)
At the moment the human checks on the whereabouts of the dog, the Cat is assigned one (1) point. (Note: In households without a dog, the Cat will be assigned one (1) point anyhow, on the basis of the fact that the Cat has obviously waged a successful campaign for a dogless household and should be recognized for this achievement.)
The human will recommence the search for cat vomit. For each minute the human continues the search for the vomit, the Cat is assigned one (1) point.
If the human finds any vomit within five (5) minutes, the human is assigned two (2) points. If the human does not find any vomit within five (5) minutes but does find it within ten (10) minutes, the human is assigned one (1) point. If the human by some fluke of fortune manages to find all extant vomit puddles within ten (10) minutes, the human is awarded a number of points equal to the number of vomit puddles found.
For each puddle of vomit not found by the human within ten (10) minutes, the human is deducted one (1) point, which is assigned directly to the Cat.
Vomit puddles undiscovered by the human within 24 hours (1 day) earn the Cat an additional point per puddle undiscovered.
Vomit puddles undiscovered until the next time the furniture gets moved earn the Cat an additional fifty (50) points.
Scoring is continuous and additive and the game does not end until the cat dies. Do not worry that the cat has not been recognized for its score achievements. The cat is fully aware that it won.
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08.20.08
Posted in blogs, cats, desserts, food, squeeeee! at 3:06 pm by Hanne Blank
Autumn (the best season, and make no mistake) is on its way.
I have proof.
Or rather, I had proof. But, because I am basically a LOLcat at heart, I eated it. Nom!
The first Mellocreme Pumpkin of the season has been et. Bring on the Autumn!
Fez is ready. She is practicing her hibernation skills with the dog’s squeaky stuffed hedgehog.
Y’all know about the Schadenfreude carnival that is the Cake Wrecks blog, right? No? Well, now you do.
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07.11.07
Posted in arrrrgh, cats, cooking, domesticity, food, housekeeping, humor, original recipes at 9:43 am by Hanne Blank
First, buy a hunk of beef. A piece of round roast, eye in this case rather than bottom, because it was super-duper cheap because its sell-by date was today and I bought it yesterday when they were doing their darndest to clear it out and I knew I’d be cooking it today.
Next, put the hunk of beef in the freezer. It’s a lot easier to cut meat into small uniform pieces if it’s partially frozen, so leave it in there for an hour and a half or so. Not long enough to freeze all the way hard, but definitely long enough to firm it up thoroughly.
Remove the beef from the freezer. Unwrap, and place on cutting board. Get out your favorite butcher’s knife or cleaver and slice meat across the grain into finger-thick slices. Then take each slice and cut into four or five crosswise strips, and then cut the strips into 1/2-inch dice.
Pile the chopped meat at one end of the cutting board while you get out a large heavy cast-iron pan and put a small but workable quantity of oil in the bottom, and put it on a highish heat.
Turn around to find that your kitten has soundlessly levitated up onto the cutting board and is standing with one paw half on the blade of the knife, half off — the sharp side, too — and the other paw smack in the middle of your pile of meat while he does his level best to eat as much as he possibly can. Realize that shouting may result in a cat with a sliced paw due to cat’s foot placement.
Carefully, use right hand to grasp knife handle and press sharp edge of blade firmly against cutting board while grasping scruff of cat’s neck with left hand. Lift cat from cutting board, ignoring the chunk of meat dangling from his claw and the one hanging out of his mouth. Deposit cat on kitchen floor, where he will look offended and continue to eat the beef he managed to take with him.
Ponder what to do now that a cat has been dancing in your raw meat. Cat will now look up at you with wide pitiable eyes and meow at you in as plaintive a starving-orphan-kittycat fashion as he can manage. Vent frustration with cat by stomping, hissing, yelling, waving arms, and flapping your skirts at him until he runs and hides in the basement.
Return to kitchen, asking self the question “WWJD?” In this case that means “What Would Julia Do?” (Despite the fact that Julia Child never actually <i>did</i> drop a roast on the air (see Snopes for details), nor yet had a cat marching about in her ingredients, I feel sanguine that she would’ve figured out a good solution if she had.)
Resolve that
a) this meat will be first seared at a high heat, then boiled in and subsequently simmered all day in an acidic (tomato) liquid, so
b) it is unlikely to successfully breed any nasty bacteria despite having been partially trodden by my horrible kitten.
Wash the meat in plenty of cold running water anyhow, for the purpose of rinsing off any yuk or cat hairs introduced in the feline snacking process. Be sure to turn down the heat under your pan, or the oil will start to smoke. Note that at this point, your ankles are being made ardent love to, and that an insistent chorus of chirps and trills is emanating from under your skirt. (Yes, I have a singing pussy. He’s quiet when he wants to be, though, quod erat very much previously demonstrandum.)
Ignore Feline Aria of Loving Adoration And Hopeful Petition For More Beefy Goodness. Similarly ignore equally loving and similarly hopeful looks from the dog, who has come to see what’s going on because if the kitten is getting some of that meat, he wants a cut of the action.
Sear beef cubes heavily on all sides, then remove them to the stockpot.
Roughly dice four onions and saute until transparent in the oil and rendered fat from the beef, in the same pan.
While onions are cooking, open one large can crushed tomatoes and one large can diced tomatoes. Go to dump can of diced tomatoes into stockpot. Stumble badly due to treading on the tail of the aforementioned kitten, who until that instant had been operating on the assumption that if singing to me didn’t get me to give him anything, the least he could do was sprawl across the middle of the kitchen floor to keep an eye on things in case some meat magically flew out of the pot and landed on the floorboards. In attempt to not fall, lose grip on open can of tomatoes.
Chase tomato-splashed kitten in an attempt to grab him before he can get tomato on the couch (cream-coloured), upstairs carpet (light tan), or bedspread (light blue). Get an escort from the dog, who wants to know what’s going on, but really doesn’t care because he thinks this thing where we both chase the kitten up the stairs is a fantastic game.
Catch tomato-splashed kitten despite canine assistance. Without heed to how much tomato gets all over one’s own person, deposit kitten in bathtub and rinse clean, ignoring heart-rending yowls and pleas for someone, anyone, for the love of God, to contact Kitty Amnesty International.
Towel-dry and release kitten, who jets off into the bedroom to lick himself the rest of the way dry. Wonder why you didn’t think of just dousing him with water earlier, as the task of licking himself dry seems likely to keep him occupied for some time.
Return to kitchen. Open reserve can of diced tomatoes, add to stockpot, along with can of crushed tomatoes. Fill both cans with water and add that to the stockpot, too. Turn heat on under stock pot to a medium flame.
Clean tomato and/or tomato juice off of more kitchen surfaces than you thought possible. Scoop up as much from the floor as you can, and discard. Sop up the liquid with sponge and paper towel. Then mop the floor, which has now been mopped twice in two days, thank you very much.
Add chili powder, oregano, a handful of peeled garlic cloves (whole), and some epazote to the stockpot and stir. Notice as you are doing this that you missed several little spots of tomato juice on the cupboard-fronts.
Sponge clean the affected cupboard-fronts.
Look despondently at the other ingredients you’ve set out in order to do the other cooking you planned to do this morning, and instead of embarking immediately upon making tabbouleh or cha siu, go sit down with the computer for a bit instead while the meat and onions have a chance to simmer. You’ll put beans in later, as per usual. Do not under any circumstances think about the fact that eating raw meat tends to give the kitten an upset stomach.
No, really. Do not think about it. It’s not going to help, anyway. That train has left the station. There is nothing in the world you can do.
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01.28.07
Posted in arrrrgh, cats at 8:12 am by Hanne Blank
Qiao, the new kitten, is a little too smart for my own good. And possibly his.
The lesson he has evidently drawn from our usual schedule since he has become part of this household is that all monkeys need to be awake and out of the bed by the time it starts to get light out. If dawn has been permitted to advance too much and the monkey or monkeys are still sleeping, it is the duty of the kitten to make sure the monkeys don’t oversleep.
This is clearly best accomplished through a programme of stomping on their heads and chests, attempts to lick and chew on their fingers and forearms, and, should these prove ineffectual because the sleepy monkeys shove their appendages deep under the counterpane, climbing aboard and licking their lips with great vigor. Licking a monkey on the lips with your nasty scratchy little kitten tongue is pretty much un-ignorable and the monkey will wake up right smart. Especially since the monkeys know that for this particular kitten, thorough lickies are a prelude to chewing.
This is why I am now posting a blog entry whilst waiting for the kettle to boil so that I may caffeinate myself and continue the (highly entertaining from the half-grown boycat perspective) job of moving furnishings around the ground floor of the house preparatory to sweeping and mopping all the floors.
Did you know that our sofa is an incubator of cat toys? Apparently they go under there to breed. I am fairly certain I did not purchase this many. As I picked them up I stuffed them in the front pocket of my hoodie, and by the time I had gotten the last of them I had acquired an even more pronouncedly kangaroolike aspect than I normally have (kangaroovian? or, if one is to be Latinate, macropodal? that really doesn’t work, does it? sure they have big feet, but that’s not really the feature we mean to emphasize here, is it?).
I have relocated the jingley balls and fur mouses and such (all humanely) to the catnip bin so they can marinate prior to (re)consumption.
One begins to strongly consider the installation of VelcroTM wallpaper so that troublesome kittens may simply be applied to a convenient surface and kept out of mischief for long enough that one may gratify one’s need for a tiny bit of lie-in on a Sunday…
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01.17.07
Posted in cats, cooking, domesticity at 7:31 am by Hanne Blank
Much of my night last night was spent frozen in one position by three opportunistic cats. One was sleeping on top of my hip, one was curled behind my knees, and the third was curled up under my chin and against my chest. While I am pleased that Kitty Detente has proceeded, after less than a week of them all being together in a currently-at-war Feline States can agree to put aside their differences long enough to live up to their reputation as body-heat leeches, one of these days I am going to be deeply enough asleep that I don’t know they’re there and I will roll over, whereupon I will be exsanguinated when my semiconscious carcass becomes the site of triple-threat kitty warfare caused by the undesired instantaneous collision of hostile forces due to shifting ground.
And now that I have done the needful and bolstered the Internet’s daily quota of cat-related content, I will fulfill the other of the Two True Purposes of the Internet by providing you a gratuitious bit of kitty porn in the form of Inspector Qiao’s spotty, stripey little sleepy belly:
Several tweaks to a basically standard molasses spice cookie last night have yielded a truly superior item. Try it, you’ll like it. If you like molasses spice cookies, that is.
Nearly Platonic Molasses Spice Cookies
4 cups all-purpose flour
1/2 teaspoon salt
3 teaspoons ground Ceylon cinnamon
3 1/2 teaspoons ground dried ginger
1 1/2 teaspoons ground cloves
1 teaspoon ground allspice
2 teaspoons baking soda
1/2 pound butter, at room temperature
1 1/2 cups molasses sugar (muscovado sugar would also work)
2 cups white sugar
generous 1/2 cup blackstrap molasses
2 large eggs
extra white sugar for rolling
Prepare pans by lining them with parchment paper or silicone baking sheets. Preheat oven to 325 degrees F.
Sift together dry ingredients, set aside.
Cream butter and sugars until fluffy and uniform in color. Add molasses slowly while beating to incorporate evenly. Add eggs one at a time, beating after each addition.
Add dry ingredients to wet ingredients in 6 roughly equal portions, mixing thoroughly after each addition. Finished dough will be stiff but workable.
Roll dough into large-walnut-sized balls, roll balls in sugar, and place on pans, leaving ample space between them for spreading. Bake 18 minutes at 325, then remove promptly from oven and let cool completely on a cooling rack (about 10 minutes). Cookies will be exceedingly soft when removed from the pan, use of a thinbladed metal spatula is advised; they harden as they cool.
Make these at least 24 hours ahead of when you plan to serve them, and preferably even longer. Like many spice cookies their flavor improves given a few days’ time to bloom. The texture (crisp on the outside, chewy on the inside) should remain uncompromised for up to a week if they are stored in a dry box or tin with a little air circulation.
Makes about 4 dozen.
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