powered by SignMyGuestbook.com

rue-madame's Diaryland Diary

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Le Cancre... c'est toujours moi

I am not dead; I am buried underneath a pile of web navigation options, drop-down menus, asp, Javascript slideshows, templates and .php nonsense. If that sounds like Greek to you, I�m right there with you. Every time I have a conversation with the web/programming guru, I feel like a moron and am reminded of some lines from a Jacques Prevert poem:

Il dit non avec la t�te
Mais il dit oui avec le coeur
Il dit oui � ce qu'il aime
Il dit non au professeur

I am such a dunce! And the title of that poem translates to �The Dunce� in French! How a-propos.

I do not have issues with the actual designing, as information architecture and hierarchy are the same whether you�re designing a book or a brochure or a site. At least to me. What I have problems with is anticipating whether or not my concepts are html-friendly or will require Flashitude or extensive code writing. But this is why I�m collaborating with a web person, I guess. I just hate not knowing everything, but I have no one to blame but myself for my ignorance. I�ve never wanted to learn to use the tools.

There is good news, though! And it�s not work-related! TA and I are finally getting into a groove with our schedules. I know! Thrilling! With this new organization also comes a more methodical approach to cooking during the week. So I�ve been preparing things ahead of time so that lunches and dinners are no-brainers.

Example of my 1950s housewifery?
- I grilled a bunch of fresh tuna for dinner, then used the leftovers for my lunchtime salade ni�oises (yes, plural)
- I made mac n cheese with gruyere and aged provolone (good combo) and this we�ve been eating for dinner with salad or steamed broccoli
- I washed a huge bunch of basil and stored it in the fridge, wrapped in a paper towel and it�s still fresh every time I want to use it. Woohoo! Chiffonnades in everything!
- I made refrigerator cookie dough so whenever I need something sweet, I bake a tiny batch of cookies
- I made a fruit crumble/clafouti that is good hot or cold. I ate some for breakfast today

The fruit crumble/clafouti was a last minute thing. I bought some plums the other day, and they turned out to majorly suck. Unsweet with bad texture. Why do we accept this in this country? Don�t even get me started on the new concept of �crunchy� peaches. It makes me see red.

Anyway, the crumble/clafouti was a way to salvage inferior plums, and the recipe can be used with any stone fruit (peaches, nectarines, apricots) or pears. It�s a crumble because the top is crunchy, but it�s also a clafouti because there is a cake-like batter surrounding the fruit (but unlike a traditional clafouti, you remove the pits or stones before you bake.)

2 tbsp unsalted butter
6 tbsp sugar
1 egg
1/4 cup of flour
1/4 cup of milk
1/8 tsp salt
1/4 chopped almonds
4 to 5 crap plums (or whatever you�ve got)

Preheat oven to 425�

Liberally grease a 9� dish with all of the butter. It�s ok if it�s all chunky because you are too impatient to wait for the butter to warm up. Sprinkle butter with 2 tbsp of sugar.

Cut your fruit in half, remove the pits (or in the case of the pears, remove center part with seeds) and place them cut side down on the butter/sugar mixture. Arrange them in a way that is pretty.

Whisk egg, then add flour, milk and salt. Stir to combine. Pour this over the fruit. Ensure that batter sinks into every crack and crevice. You can swirl and tilt your dish.

Sprinkle the top with the remaining 4 tbsp of sugar and the chopped almonds. Yes, it�s a lot of sugar but remember: your fruit is crap.

Bake for 15-20 mn. Let it cool slightly before you eat it or you will burn the mother out of your mouth. Trust me, this is very unpleasant.

10:31 a.m. - 2006-09-21

|

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

previous - next

latest entry

about me

archives

notes

DiaryLand

contact

roll the dice

other diaries: