Calamity in the Cuisine: Culinary Catastrophe!

It all started one rainy morning, when gray, dreary skies kept us indoors with our meager kitchen stock at our disposal. Breakfast was coming, but in what form?

Eggs? Check.
Meat? Check, question mark.
Vegetables? Check, check, and check.
Milk? Check.

I was going to make a big, sloppy, U.S. Egg-style skillet dish with all of the above ingredients. I diced up some red and yellow bell peppers, some onion, and some tomato.

I pulled out the ground beef leftover from our spaghetti masterpiece. First question of the day: is it still good? Just a small aside, this entry is not for either the faint of heart, overly-worrisome people, or chefs, so please pardon our ignorance when applicable. We have no saran wrap or tin foil or anything of that sort to store things in. We keep forgetting to pick it up at the store. So the meat was in the 'freezer' of our mini fridge, which is hardly a freezer, until yesterday afternoon when I pulled it out to thaw for dinner last night. We didn't end up cooking, though. I'll admit, it had changed colors slightly since the last time I saw it. But it smelled like raw beef, so I assumed it was just a bit of harmless oxygenation. In hindsight, eating meat rust is probably not the brightest idea. But as I said, it didn't smell bad, and my motto with food is that if it smells okay, it probably is okay, unless it's chicken, in which case it may still not be okay, even if it smells like chicken.

So I cooked the ground beef and set it aside to wait until the other ingredients were ready. I rinsed the pan and threw in the peppers, onion, and tomato and let them sautee for a little while. Threw the toast in the toaster so that everything would be ready at the same time.

Then, I cracked four eggs into a bowl and whisked them (with a fork). Eggs come in half-dozen cartons here (that would be six if you're counting at home). Yet another sign manifested itself when one of the eggs was stuck to the carton. Eggs are not sold in a container that allows you to check them before you buy here. My Mom's words resonated deep down in the recesses of my memory banks, "Never use eggs that are stuck to the container, it means they cracked open and they might be spoiled." Smell test: check. Normally, I crack them straight into the pan, but I had so many things going on I wanted to make sure I had time to stir them around before they cooked too much. The fact that I was (quasi)-inexplicably changing my routine should have been yet another sign that all was not right with our breakfast.

I poured the eggs in, quickly sprinkled salt, pepper, and our spicy powder on them, then grabbed the milk out of the fridge. I dumped the beef back in with the rest of the ingredients in the pan. Expiration date on the milk is June 30th. Good by a long shot. It is my usual custom to smell milk every time I open it because, of all the things that can go bad, milk and eggs are the most potent and the most odorous when spoiled. For those of you who do not include milk in your scrambled eggs, I highly recommend it. It gives the eggs a perfect amount of fluffiness (I believe this is a trick from my Dad, although I could be wrong).

I only pour a splash of milk in, so it is a slow, careful practice not to overload the eggs with milk. In this instance, two things happened. One, I caught a slight whiff of something unholy. Two, I saw chunks of curdled milk plopping into my eggs. I instantly stopped pouring, my reflexes a fine-tuned machine when it comes to rescuing food. But it was too late. In the middle of our eggs was a small pile of milk lumps looking up at me with a scowling smile.

I cursed. I told Johnny what happened, but he had no immediate reaction. I thought to myself, the meat should have been my sign. The cracked egg should have been my sign. The change in routine should have been my sign. Someone didn't want us to have a delicious breakfast today. On the day before my birthday, of all times.

I grabbed a spoon and started scooping out the chunks. But with each successful extraction, I also succeeded in spreading the milk around, forcing it deeper into the non-navigable depths of our uncooked eggs. When I got what I felt was about all of the milk out, I made Johnny come look at it. We debated for a good five minutes. I cooked while we weighed our pros and cons.

Johnny hopped on the computer and Googled, "is it okay to cook with spoiled milk?"

Google's response was a resounding, no-questions asked, are you f'ing nuts, "No."

We questioned it. What's the worst that could happen? Stomach ache for a couple hours? Maybe throw up and get it out of our systems quickly enough to avoid any lingering effects?

Not on my birthday, not on vacation...er...study abroad in Florence. The eggs were a wash. We had to give in to reason. It was just not meant to be.

The toast burned, by the way. I slathered peanut butter on the two pieces and poured the last little bit of jelly on top so that we could at least have an open-faced peanut butter and jelly. Of course the jelly would be running so low that I had to scrape the jar to get a satisfactory amount on to the bread.

We will probably go to a restaurant in a little while and wallow in a slight bit of misery at the thoughts of what could have been. But we will take a little spending and peace of mind over violent bodily rejection of our breakfast.

Also, on a totally unrelated note, what is with the celebrity deaths all around us? Ed McMahon was a fixture on Johnny Carson's Tonight Show, widely considered Hollywood's greatest sidekick. Farrah Fawcett was an international sex symbol and a fashion icon in her day; she remained beautiful until the day she lost a three year battle with cancer.

But Michael Jackson: how do you pay homage to one of the world's greatest entertainers, and the butt of more jokes as a result of his transformation from child star to the King of Pop, and then freakish regression to asexual man-child who found himself constantly surrounded by criticism, controversy, and legal battles? I recognize, appreciate, even celebrate what he has done for music and culture, and he will no doubt be remembered for generations to come. But what he became was far from a role model worthy of our praises. Watching his downward spiral was both comedy gold and tragedy, woven together into an unfortunate string of bad luck, bad decisions, and bad jokes. The hard part is figuring out whether to be sad for him or relieved that he doesn't have to live in a world that hasn't accepted him since the early 90's. I don't think I care as much as I should, but I just thought I'd write something down about it. It's always a good way to figure out how you feel about something. Share your thoughts on here if you have any. I'm curious to hear how other people feel.

USA
One more quick shout to USA soccer, who stunned the world the other day in upsetting #1 Spain in the semi-finals of the Confederations Cup. Our goals may have been lucky, and the win may be written off as a fluke, but you don't shut out one of the best offensive teams to play the sport in a long time with luck alone. Spain's 35-game unbeaten streak in international play came to a crushing end with the loss.

Virginia Tech Remembrance Week

I debated posting something on this today versus Wednesday. I figure I can start to get my thoughts out now, and say more on the 16th as things come to me.

I still remember vividly the morning of April 16th last year. I got a text from Jay to see if I was watching the news, which at the time I wasn't. I was still in bed, but I flipped on CNN (please excuse my choice of news networks, for those of you who are sensitive about biased reporting...I don't follow politics enough to know right from wrong in this department). At the time I turned on the television, there was no massacre. There were only the reports of a gunman on campus, and two people dead in a dorm.

However, there was a campus-wide manhunt, so I remained glued to the television. I only got up briefly to shower at about noon so that I could go in to work at the newspaper. Aaron (former boss there) had a TV on in the newsroom for me when I got there, so I could keep up with what was happening while I worked. As I did my work, I kept a couple news websites open as well, to monitor from as many different perspectives as I could. As the day went on, the death tally rose and rose. It was mortifying. I was shocked. Couldn't focus on what I was doing. My hands were shaking. I had that sick feeling deep down in the pit of my stomach, the kind of feeling you get when you feel betrayed by the person closest to you. That's the only way I can think to describe it.

Everyone reading this knows what happened that day. Everyone in the nation should know. And here we are, almost one year later. It's a hard thing to go back and relive. There are a plethora of Facebook groups commemorating this student, that professor, this memorial event, etc. While I'm sure everyone has the best intentions, it sort of belittles the effect of a remembrance when everyone is trying to do their own thing. But that's neither here nor there. It's nice that everyone is trying to do their part to do whatever they think creating a Facebook group does.

The Annapolis Hokie alumni chapter is having an event as well, but I didn't reserve a spot.

So, my point--and my previous rambling has nothing to do with making a point--is this: how do you pay tribute to such a horrible event? Donating money is an easy way out. Is it enough to just spend the day thinking about the victims? Should I be somber and morose all day? Maybe set aside a block of time where I just shut myself off and be nostalgic? What's appropriate for something like this? I will obviously wear orange and maroon. Maybe that's enough. Show people I'm a part of what happened, although distantly. I wasn't there the day everything went down, but Blacksburg will always be a second home to me. I have close friends who were directly affected by the day's events. So I feel like I was--and am--a part of it. I drove down the following evening and spent the week with my friends who still live there.

For now, I think I'll see what feels right come Wednesday. I'll probably be a little somber. There will likely be stories all over the place talking about what happened, reminders everywhere.

This is the end of my rant. Suggestions and comments are encouraged, for this post more than others.

Funeral Service

We had a relatively informal funeral service today for Kirby. Zach, the handy man that he is, built a pretty nice little wooden coffin for the pup and he and Liz threw in some of Kirby's favorite toys and bedding. My brother drove in from DC, and all of the Renauts met at Zach's Mom's house on the Severn River to have the ceremony. Zach's whole family showed up, as well as Liz's friend, Emily, and her dog Tucker, who was Kirby's best friend.

Kirby and Kaili actually had the exact same favorite toy (they each had their own). Since I never got to bury her (she was cremated), I threw her favorite toy in to the grave with Kirby. I have mixed feelings about the afterlife, but I am hoping Kirby can get it to her somehow.

It was a strangely powerful ceremony. I guess people who have never owned a dog wouldn't understand. Of the 13 people there, Zach was the only one with dry eyes, somehow. I got a little closure with Kaili, using this as an almost symbolic funeral ceremony for her, which I never really had the presence of mind to do before.

Definitely not a fun day, but it was nice. We all sat around chatting afterwards. The Stauffers are very welcoming and were happy to host us. The conversations floated around to all sorts of topics, occasionally going back to fun memories of Kirby. Only thing left to do now is to move on, but always remember him.

Words Can't Express...

...how hard it is to lose a loved one. My sister's pug, Kirby, died very unexpectedly this morning. He had been sick, so she and Zach (fiance) took him to the vet to get him checked out. The vet gave him a sedative and put him under so that they could do an oral exam. Initially, he didn't come back from the coma as quickly as he should have. The vet told them to monitor him, I think gave some directions and maybe a pill to give him, and they went home a little worried. He slept in their bed with them last night, and this morning when they woke up, he wasn't breathing. They rushed to the pet hospital, but it was too late.



When I lost my puppy last year (it will be a year on March 31st), I was devastated. She was only six months old. For the first few days, all I wanted to do was sit and be miserable. It's painfully clear that moping is self-destructive, but depression is a powerful thing. It makes you believe you want to be depressed. Eventually, with a ton of support from a ton of people, I started to turn around a little. I began to look at all the good, instead of all the bad. Remember the things I did to improve Kaili's life. She wasn't meant to live past a few weeks, so the six months I was able to give her were a miracle. She was spoiled rotten for her entire life. She died in a complete state of bliss (chasing a car). I will never get over the fact that I wasn't there when it happened. I don't know if I could have done anything, and it hurts not to know that answer.

Kirby lived much longer than my Kaili did. And he was far more spoiled. Kirby was treated like a human child. Liz gave him the perfect life. It couldn't be more obvious that telling her that won't make the hurting stop, but it's the best thing I can say to help the process. You gave him the best life he could have hoped for. He touched a lot of people's lives. Kirby was the perfect companion, and everyone who met him couldn't help but love him.

So instead of mourning, take pride in what you gave to him, and in turn gave to everyone who met him.

In Memoriam
10/13/2006 – 3/31/2007

Luxurious lived, with homes away from home.
Almost snuffed out in youth, sickly and abused
By unloving, unknowing whelps.

Swept up in nurturing, nursing embrace.
Phoenix raised from near ashes to being:
Existing, loved; living, restored.

Introduced to a new house to call home,
Timidly explored by curious digging:
Comfort gained; familiar, grown.

Quickly learned, blossomed with personality,
Energy aplenty for toys and games:
Rampant running, elated acrobatics.

With strong penchant for playful antics,
A carefree courage roamed wild at heart:
Venturous soul, spirit contained.

The body demised in a state of bliss,
A legacy shortened by faultless fate:
Happy pursuit, cruel design.

Body returned, once more put to ash,
Joined with countless companions:
Final breath, eternal flame.

Spread in memory to reciprocate the nurture,
Raise the oldest fruit from seed, sapling to towering:
Memorial orchard; garden resting.

Words can't describe tragedies like these

Northern Illinois shooting leaves 7 dead, several more wounded.

What in the hell is wrong with the people that do these things? I know the shooting at Virginia Tech wasn't the first of its kind, but by sheer numbers it was the worst in history. One of the biggest fears around the nation was that it would 'inspire' other people to follow suit. It looks like it has. There have been several more shootings around the nation since April. Most recently, a woman opened fire at Louisiana Tech last week, and now this one at Northern Illinois.

It's mind blowing that human beings are capable of something like this. Murders for vengeance, retribution, self-defense, those are things I can recognize as human (not acceptable, but human). But mass shootings of complete strangers? What motivates someone to do that? Things like this make me hope there is a hell, despite my own beliefs. Otherwise, suicide is just an easy way out. Not just easy, but overwhelmingly selfish.

The worst part about it is that, as it says in the article, there's really no way to stop something like this. You can implement whatever kind of warning and crisis systems that you want, but those only kick in after the fact. No one can foresee such a random act of nonsensical violence no matter how efficient their police force is.

This kind of thing hits close to home for me mostly because of what happened at Virginia Tech. I've been to Northern Illinois and made friends while I was there. They all left when Coach Novak retired, as they were all assistant football coaches under him, but that doesn't stop this from feeling a little more personal.

These are the things that make you appreciate the friends you have around you. Especially on a day like Valentine's Day, where everyone is supposed to show some love wherever they go. Even those (sometimes bitter) single folk who have no one specific to share the day with. As I've said before, it's sad that it takes something like this to make you realize how important your daily life is, how much you take it for granted.

Go give someone a hug.