Rococoa Miss

Speedy-ish Chicken Pot Pie with a side of apartment

2010-11-14T18:36:00.000-05:00

So kids, after 3 moves in a single year I've taken the leap and moved into my own place. Hallelujah!

It's been 4 weeks but still no sofa/tables/chairs/decent lighting to speak of. So I've had to improvise. You'd be surprised just how many things a stack of cookbooks can double as...

And I bought a rotary phone. It has that old-fashioned ring and everything! But I have to sit on the floor to use it... Also those shoes were too small on me, bt too gorgeous to give up so I thought I'd just display them randomly.

That folded up newspaper thingy is actually a folded-up cutout of my sofa that I made out of junk mail and pamphlets. This is what happens when you have no plans and no furniture on a weekend in Toronto. You make cut outs of would-be furniture and give them names, a la Tom Hanks.

Hurry up EQ3 dammit.
But before I get too far along this apartment tangent, back to the chicken pot pie! I bought some ready-made, ready-rolled puff pastry (perfect), and a carton of eggs, a bag of shredded cheddar cheese and threw in whatever I had in my veggie shelf. To be specific:

4 eggs
Glug of cream
2 cups/1 bag shredded cheese
1 tbsp mustard
Thyme/rosemary/oregano
1 tbsp garlic
Diced veggies: celery, carrot, leeks, potato, all cut to the same size
Cooked shredded chicken (or leftover rice/risotto/chicken pieces)
salt/pepper to taste

Lazily stretch the ready-rolled pastry over a greased pie dish. Saute the veggies over high heat (they won't have time to cook fully in the oven otherwise), and let them cool. Whisk eggs, cream seasonings, cheese then add everything else. Plop the whole mix into the ready-rolled pastry that you've previously slaved over, cover with the other half, poke with a fork and bake in the over for 45 mins at 375F until golden. Presto! Speedy-ish Chicken Pot Pie. (The -ish being for the ridiculous veggie chopping required).

In retrospect, a better version would have been with mascarpone and fewer eggs, which would eliminate that eggy/poultry-ish aftertaste that comes with using too many eggs no matter how fresh. But I had just come back from the supermarket for the third time this week and there was no way I was going back again for a tub of cheese! So all-eggs it was.

By the way, does anyone know what I mean by that eggy taste? In arabic we call it zankha, but none of my non-arabic friends have ever heard of it. Some googling is needed.

Ahh this post has gone on forever! Ok cue Cribs-style ending where I shoo you away from the front porch of the house while you cut to bloopers of the "this-is-where-the-magic-happens" scene...

Sunken Chocolate Cake & Trashy Paperbacks

2010-07-24T15:47:00.002-04:00

A rain-drenched Saturday back home... chocolate cake definitely needed. I had the most ingenious idea of baking it in a pie mold and halving the baking time. The result: sunken, fudgey heaven.

I spent the rest of the day with my latest find: a trashy '50s paperback from The Monkey's Paw The man who sold it to me had the most fabulous moustache-beard combo. He was the splitting image of the last Csar.

The book is a hazy mishmash of cultural stereotypes, train action sequences, a diamond heist sub-plot and the token icy blond. Mildly entertaining at best, but I do love its old-book smell.

Also, I can't help imagining Lawrence G. Blochman as one of the those young corporate types from the '50s. You know the ones who drank highballs at lunch, then went home to a cramped New York apartment and hammered out short stories on a rusted typewriter, all about dashing young men (based on himself naturally) in exotic locales. Eventually he'd make it into Reader's Digest, and then promptly circulate the issue among the secretaries at work. If you know our friend Larry please feel free to correct me. Or send me some of his other stuff- Wives To Burn is apparently another of his hits.

And yes that is my parking ticket as a bookmark.

March Madness on a Monday Morning ( I lie, it's 9PM)

2010-03-01T21:47:00.001-05:00

Shake shake shake senora, shake your body line!

I've been doing the calypso! All day dammit, and at work too no less!

That's what you get when you spend your snowed-in saturday night watching Beteljeuse in your flannel pyjamas and matching heels...

I remember watching this film when I was 8 (ish? someone do the math and tell me). But now that I've seen it all grown-up-ish... did anyone else think it was a little anticlimactic? As in, he spends the whole damn movie trying to escape the lego limbo, only to be end up being sent back in one single 10-minute scene. Plus, were those some crappy effects or were those some crappy effects??

Ah well, I'm going back to the calypso... you, lower the limbo stick. thank you. now jump in the line.

(hiya March!)

Her CL Life, or A (Very Late) February Linkfest!

2010-02-27T11:45:00.001-05:00

My name is RocM and I am a CL junkie.

I would add 'sadly' to that declaration except that my CL adventures have kept me oh-so-very amused this month. Curry-Guitar swaps? Fake aliases? Library blind dates? Eccentric email exchanges? Is there any other way to brighten up a misreable V-day-ridden February?? Me thinks not.

But alas, I think it's time to move on (already). I think it was my last email from a handyman with two first names that did it. Anywho, my closure comes in the form of a list of some of the greatest CL gems I've found recently. I'd post screenshots, but somehow I think it's very befitting that I post the 30-day links instead. So very CL: fleeting and eccentric. Like smoke signals from random-land, just follow the trail. (and freak out when you get a glimpse of whoever's on the other end!)

this m4w is a classic. he has the makings of either a comedic genius or a total psycho (er I mean, catch). but remember girls, if you're thinking of applying, let's not get too crazy with the curves now, he's not looking for a fatty. just a DD.

this other m4w is so incredibley depressing, I didn't know whether to snigger or sob.

a brand new kitchenaid standmixer for $3?? shut. up. In yellow too no less.

F-L-A-G. that's right, I'm the one flagging you every week. Never liked that song anyway.

this is why you keep it somewhere handy, like say your finger. (I do hope you find it though)

and lastly, the best of-the-best.

wait! I take that back, this one is the best-of-the-best!

Ciao Craig.

RocM admits: I may be off CL for now (I've given myself a 2 month restraint period) but I'll be back trolling around there soon no doubt. no doubt.

The library is a sacred place...

2010-02-22T22:45:00.001-05:00

... no heart-breaking allowed.

This weekend I was stood up at the public library. It was in front of the Merriam Webster shelf on the 2nd floor. So after waiting for a good 15 minutes, I sat down and pulled a copy of "I Love it When You Talk Retro!" and read a few chapters. Then I went home and baked myself a gorgeous red velvet cake.

This recipe is courtesy of the Magnolia Bakery cookbook, that I bought from said bakery in Greenwich Village last Christmas. It's a tiny tiny place with tiers and tiers of red velvet cupcakes (heaven!). And behind the counter are another bunch of stacked pans of frosted cupcakes all ready for restocking. Every once in a while somone screws up and slides a shelf in at the wrong angle and the whole thing comes crashing down in one fell swoop. I'm still not sure what they do with the smashed but still perfectly-delicious cupcakes that they then take mysteriously back to the kitchen...

Esstentially the recipe is exactly like this one from Smitten Kitchen (*heart*) except with butter instead of canola oil (which is reserved only for low-fat taste-free bran carrot muffins and the like, sorry SK).

But the real secret lies in the fluffy frosting... I've never tasted anything like it, flavour or texture-wise. It's very sweet, buttery, fluffy but not as solid as buttercream, but denser than whipped cream... very unusual. Then I discovered it was a boiled-milk frosting that I've never heard of. Luckily for you lovely people someone else has published it (just double the quatity and don't stop whisking the milk or else it'll go lumpy).

8 Signs that your semi-blind date will not be followed by another

2010-02-01T13:59:00.000-05:00

(Purely hypothetical of course)

1. You start the night off on the line "I think I'll just have a drink instead."

2. The waiter looks at you, then looks at him then seems to think "how the hell did this happen?" You might be delusional and/or projecting, but either way you find yourself wondering the same thing.

3. You position your purse between the two of you on the sofa, and move it further away from you during the course of the night. One hour later it's 1.5 meters away, pressed right up against him as he's sitting there squished in the corner.

4. You use conversation topics as deterrents of physical contact of any kind. Some ideas include: the heavy perogy dinner you had an hour ago, your father (watch him jump), assorted emotional baggage.

5. You have more chemistry with the waiter than you do with your date. This is confirmed every time he stops by your table to fill your glass.

6. In an effort to avoid talking about yourself (too misleading), you ramble on and on about nothing. You end a 10 minute nonsense monologue with a quizzical expression and wonder what the hell just came out of your mouth. Then it's back to silent sipping.

7. You spend the many awkward silences plotting how you will casually inform your date that he's been downgraded to the friend zone. That or what's on tv later tonight.

8.You spend the car ride home telling yourself NO. MORE. CRAIGSLIST. (seriously Self, for good this time, ok?)

Ahhh... "For what do we live, but to make sport for our neighbours, and laugh at them in our turn?" Thank you Ms. Austen.

Now entering a blogging-free zone

2010-01-18T02:44:00.000-05:00

Watch your step (mind the gap).

So how exactly did I get here? Well let's see... it was sometime back in December when I started off at major work drama central, right next door to the local idea pool (running dry), took a right at holiday party excess, past the interesction of January funk and horrendous VISA bill and now... here I am. Blocked and my feet hurt.

But I can't help but feel it's a little bit bigger than just writer's block, almost like a larger existential blogging crisis if you will. What am I doing here? Why am I writing this? And who do I want to read it? (or not as the case may be)

Like when I talk about what I'm doing, what I'm feeling, taking pictures (ok that's a lie I never post my own), what's private and what's public anymore? The line gets a bit blurred.

I mean just like other bloggers I'm sure, I will admit there is a teensy thrilling freedom in putting your life on display on the blogosphere to total strangers. But the thing is, most of my readers know me. They're my friends. I know it's late at night but humour me: it's almost like this verbal exhibitionism has turned on its head into some sort of voyeurism, and I'm the one being watched. Question is, what do I want to show?

Case in point: Last Sunday I joined a global improv stunt called No Pants Subway Ride. The premise as you can tell is both stupid and simple: get together in a mass rally and ride the subway pantless. Is this for any noble cause you ask? Nope. Charity of some kind? Guess again. Sheer stupid fun? Third time's a charm!

Anyway, I had a post written up about it and everything (side note: I boarded the wrong train and ended up as the only pantless person on there. Hilarity ensued), but then on impulse I erased the whole thing.

Well, I've thought long and hard about this whole situation, and I've come to this great conclusion: I'll tell you about my ride, but I ain't gonna show you my behind. Catch my drift? I think it's fair.

Now exiting the blogging-free zone.

And on that note, welcome back RocM. I've missed you.

Merry Christmas!

2009-12-24T18:11:00.002-05:00

(via we .heart.it)

2009 in 9 songs

2009-12-24T17:43:00.000-05:00

These probably won't mean anything to anyone but me, but at least the songs are great!

Winter

Spring

Summer

Autumn

2009 here's looking at you, kid.

Happy New Year folks!

Confession Thursday No. 2

2009-12-16T13:10:00.001-05:00

Confession: I have the biggest girl-crush on Joan Holloway.

Why? Because of...

How she always knows exactly what to do with Roger.

How she re-wrote Peggy's hopeless ad.

How she completely understands Don but has never slept with him.

Her red hair and gold pen necklace (made a replica for myself!)

Joan I know you've left the office, but if you ever leave the show I'm not watching! (Don you know I love you, but you ain't the star.)

Three limericks & a haiku (cookies on the side)

2009-12-14T23:05:00.001-05:00

There once was a girl on e.blogger
who had words and baked goods to offer
she whipped up a storm
with her pen and her forn(o)
and mailed them all to another

That's right, I've joined a blogger cookie swap! My partner was Ms. Batter-Splattered herself, the lovely Molly from Arkansas. We were asked to send cookies (of any kind) and a haiku. The Rococoa Miss sent a dozen chocolate-covered linzer cookies (recipe dusted off of this corner of my bookshelf), and this...

Cookies and haiku
I offer you in lieu of
Happy Christmas!

And since I was on a (syncopated) roll I sent Molly a limerick for good measure...

There once was a man from Linzer
whose wife was too big for his pincer
try as he may
at the end of the day
only his cookies could please her

He he he. Since good taste was already out the window I figured I'd try my hand at a raunchier one. Enter the man from Nantucket (snigger)...

There once was a man from Nantuckt
away he never could tuck it
always he screwed
anything that moved
if it had a pulse, then be sure he would f*** it

Ha! Shameless RocM! Shameless!

It's not really my fault though, those poor Nantuckters have a name that just screams raunchy limerick. I sure hope Molly reads her note before the cookies, I don't want her choking from teeny pincers and randy Nantuckters.

Have a lovely Christmas Ms. Batter-Splattered!

(photo via Electric Blue Baking-- I promise to upload mine as soon as I stop eating the cookies!)

RocM notes: All nasty limericks, haikus, poetry of any description mentioned here are RocM's own. Copy at your own risk.

A quick breath and a moment of zen

2009-12-13T22:11:00.002-05:00

Ah, one last moment of zen before the holiday chaos that is next week. Quick round-up: 6 holiday parties, 2 girls' nights out, 3 cakes, 1 cookie swap, and... am I missing anything else? Oh yeah, one ugly sweater party!

I try so hard not to make my posts too girly, but sometimes I fail so misreably... :) This is totally and unabashedly pink and pretty all over.

(photos via we.heart.it)

And now for a quick Christmas commercial break...

2009-12-10T21:01:00.002-05:00

Before we all collectively overdose on candy canes and radio Christmas carols, let's take a quick break shall we? For the sake of our own sanity. So, let me tell you a little something I recently learnt about the inner workings of the Mind of a Man from the great Steve Harvey (and his awesome book). Now I used to think I was some postmodern feminist that didn't see differences between men and women, only between people, but that's a little naiive. Call it nature, call it nuture, call it evolution, whichever way you slice it, we're different. So let you tell you a little bit about what I've learnt. My two cents on Men. Call it my Christmas Commerical. My Relationship PSA, if you will.

Now please take this with a dash of salt, it's inspired by a mash-up of Steve's chapters, evolutionary theory, pseudo-psychology, episodes of Oprah, and my own meagre, awkward experience. Ok here it is...
(eye candy generously supplied by The Sartorialist, it is Christmas after all).

1. He. Wants. To. Sleep. With. You.
That's right. He wants to get into your pants. Now I know you're a bit skeptical, after all some days you can barely fit into them yourself let alone with a second person (bikini season is long gone). But it's the truth. It's why he's stretching behind you at the gym, or why he corners you in the hallway to drill you, interrogation-style, to come see him play at Lee's Palace (say: maybe, mean: never in hell). It's not because they're scumbags, or perverts or-that great buzzword!-sex-addicts. They don't mean anything by it, they don't mean to hurt/objectify/play you (mostly), it's just who they are. It's in their nature. Sex is spelled SEX, big bold caps. It can mean absolutely everything or absolutely nothing. They need it to unwind, 'tighten up', reconnect, share, everything.

Men are physical communicators, and sex can do a lot of the talking. It can say I love you, I'm lonely, I want you, I've had a stressful day, or nice dress. Who he's with, how conservative he is, whether or not he'll act on impulse, or how you respond is all irrelevant. What he's thinking deep, deep (and some guys even deeper) down is you and him. together.

2. He's doing some quick thinking/calculating on the go.
To figure out what it'll take for that to happen, he's looking for clues: any small sign that will tell him what it'll take. It's not about reputation (that goes without saying for most us lovely, well-behaved ladies), it's finer than that. It's about what we're unconciously projecting about how we expect to be treated, and what we want to see in a man. I used to not know what I want, but that was basically coming across as "I'm open to whatever you want" and no, I am not.

3. He needs to define himself- externally.
Women define themselves by their likes/dislikes, what they feel and think, it's all internal. Men are the opposite; they're all about the external (go figure), they define themselves in terms of their title, their profession/what they do, and how much they make.

4. If he's not looking for you then he's not going to find you, whether you're right there in front of him or not.
In other words, you can't change him. Really girls, you. can't. change. him. If you're not on the same page, want the same things, you're not going to convince him otherwise, he ain't gonna change to accomodate you. So you have two options here: either stick with it, just to drag it out, or drop him and move on. We have this idea drilled into our heads of The One, that we should cling to whoever we're with against all common sense just beacuse-you never know!- he might be The One. But if he doesn't want what you want then you don't want him. That makes him not-The-One.

I know it's not easy to move on. Trust me, I'm the worst. I'm still hung up on the same guy since September. A Jewish rapper. Totally smitten. But we weren't on the same page. And no amount of charm was going to change that. There. I said it. It wasn't like he was going to read my blog or anything (he didn't know my last name let alone my url). So girls cut your losses, count your chips and move on. You'll save yourself time, time, time... and charm to use on the next one. Cue this song.

So that's my two cents. There's more to it, but I can feel your eyes glazing over, and they've cued the music already. So fellas, can I say we understand each other a little better now?

RocM notes: To all my gorgeous gay friends, I hope this post didn't make you feel left out-- I promise to tackle you too soon! (In a totally platonic, nonsuggestive way.)

Confession Thursday No.1

2009-12-10T20:09:00.002-05:00

I shamelessly stole this post idea from a blog I came across yesterday (I totally forgot where-- if this is you, please let me know!)

Confession: When I was 12, I stole a seashell from Art Class. It wasn't particularly special, but I think of it as my cat mask...

Of ornament swaps and naked gingerbread men...

2009-12-07T22:57:00.002-05:00

Last week I joined a blogger ornament swap organized by the fabulous Micaela of Dolce Vita (Hi Micaela!). My partner was the lovely Jessica C. all the way from Kentucky (Hi Jessica!). I own a a jewelry store (Brass Pearl Caravan*) so I made the ornaments by hand using three brass pendants from a vintage necklace I took apart. The third one turned out a bit wonky so I suggested she hide it somewhere at the back of the tree. I also suck in some holiday essentials, namely chocolate, chocolate and Tide-To-Go (post-choc cleanup).

We were also asked to share our favourite Christmas memory... so here's mine:

It was first year of college (about 6 years ago) and my first year of making 'edible' food. So I decided to invite my cousins (all 15 of 'em) for a holiday turkey dinner. The turkey was in the oven roasting happily, the veggies chopped up ready to go, and the tart ready for baking at the end. Unfortunately the gas oven I was using only had enough gas for 4 straight hours of cooking, which was just barely enough for the turkey, let alone anything else...

So after a whole morning + afternoon of cooking and stressing, we sat down for a feast of perfectly-roasted turkey, half-boiled potato cubes, raw carrot slaw, and the worst apple tart you've ever had in your life (jiggly = not good) ! Luckily I was way too exhasuted to eat anything, but I was told it was all edible. Woop woop :)

Speaking of things that jiggle, I spent my weekend making chocolate covered cara-mallows and gingerbread men (which would have been barely decent sans leaf) for my girlfriends.

It was based on a marshmallow recipe from David Lebovitz (Hi Dave!) with a layer of chewy caramel on the bottom, and a few teaspoons of ginger/cloves/cinnamon mixed into the sugar syrup.

Girls, whaddya think??

*silence*

(my girlfriends don't read my blog... so just take my word on it, they were goo-ood!)

Now if you'll excuse me, I think I'll head back to the kitchen-- I'm lined up for a Batter Splattered hai-cookie swap...

*Shameless plugs are forgiven at Christmas, right?

LINKFEST!: Christmas wishlist (translated)

2009-12-03T23:07:00.005-05:00

Last week someone at work asked me what I would like for Christmas. Problem: 1) I don't really officially celebrate Christmas (no problem if it weren't for #2), 2) I don't really like this person, and 3) the last thing I need is to buy them something. But maybe what I should have asked for is a Kitchen Aid Stand Mixer. In Red. (Festive colours are on sale this time of year).

But really, when I come to think about it, I have a lot of stuff. More than I can fit into my room. More than I can fit into my house.

So what do I really want for Christmas*? Well let's say I win the lottery this week, and instead of buying of a new house to fit all my new stuff into, I decide to spend the money on something else... this is what my wishlist would look like (pre- and post- my less-stuff-resolution):

Anthropologie Automaton Robot Necklace: $398 = 4 Nights at Hotel de Nesle in Paris: $ 392

Deena & Ozzy Oxford Wedge: $58 = 3 Weeks of Lindy Hop Classes: $42.5

ReclaimTheThrone Pouf Footstool: $200 = Tasting Menu for one at The Fat Duck: $230

yellowfield7 French Cloche: $240 = 5-Day Unlimited Japan Rail Pass : $230

luckymebeads Cameo Necklace: $60 = Guggenheim Membership (NYC/Venice): $75

now I have no idea what I would do with many of these things, but here's one useful last one...

(and this one's for you RocM)

One KitchenAid Stand Mixer (in Red): $545 = 15 x Oxfam's Teach A Teacher: $42

*Seeing that I "don't really officially" celebrate, this list is purely theoretical. Unless some of yous have money to burn and feel a sudden surge of affection for yours truly...

HEADLINE: RocM Buried Under Book Avalanche! (Pultizer Awarded Posthumously!)

2009-11-17T20:29:00.001-05:00

If you've read any of my posts you've probably started to catch on that I'm a bit of a book freak. I read ten at once, with another 15 or so that are on the up-next waiting list. Don't believe me? Cue evidence!

Sometimes I think if my reading slows down, I might start buying books faster than I can finish them, and eventually my book pile will get so high it'll topple on me like an avalanche. They'll find me days later buried under a pile of the latest nonfiction. (I could think of worse ways to go really. Like under a pile of trashy paperbacks maybe.)

On my way to work I used to pass by Random House. It was the best part of my day to be honest (ex-boss was a total psycho, but that's another story). I'd try to imagine what it must be like in there at 8:15AM (I was always late)-- who's reading manuscripts, who's publishing, who's being turned away. And now I'm writing a novel.

Yesterday night they had a re-run of the Scotiabank Giller Prize Awards (Canadian equivalent of the Pultizer) on CBC. And this man won.

And when he made his speech I teared up. Not because it was particularly good or anything (wasn't listening), or because of his novel (hadn't read it), but because I suddenly realized just how badly I want to be where he's standing.

I just spent the past 8 years, two degrees and several thousand dollars on an eco career that honestly doesn't mean much to me. And now I have tiny pieces of a draft manuscript saved on my desktop that could mean so so much more if only I work on it hard enough. I want in on the book business. Now if only I can find the guts to make that happen.

I don't know why I'm writing this. I don't even think I should publish it. But if I don't, it's going to sit on my blogger draft list indefinitely, and everytime I scroll pass it it'll look straight at me and remind me just how much of a coward I am for not publishing it, or for not walking into Random House.

So here. Here's to the book business. And the Pulitzer.

I think it's Social Experiment Monday!

2009-11-16T21:57:00.001-05:00

Nothing like curious social experiments to make the rest of your week go peachy...

(no? just mine then? ok.)

These two I heard about over the radio and through a chain email (first one I open without immediately deleting in years-- and only because it was sent by my mom and I know she'll probably quiz me on it later).

First: Classical Commotion on the Commute

Exactly this time last year, some university somewhere (useless facts that have no impact on the rest of this story trust me) asked someone to play a violin for 45 minutes at the entrance to one of the metro stations in Washington, DC, during the morning rush hour. Here's what it looked like:

What do you think? Worth a few bucks or a couple of minutes of your time?

Let me tell you, in those 45 mins., 2000+ people passed by this man. Hardly any stopped. And he only collected $32 (is that a lot for a busker, I don't know?).

Well folks turns out, these are the facts:

The man playing is Joshua Bell
He is a renowned violin superstar
Two weeks before this, he played a sold out concert in Boston with tickets at $100 and over
The violin he played on is a 1713 Stradivarius, worth $3.5 million (Joshua's own)
The piece he played is the most complex musical work ever to be composed & played on a violin.

Huh.

Either the people in Boston have been seriously ripped off. Or the people in DC are seriously lucky.

Second: Stockholm Serenaded by the Subway Staircase

Volkswagon makes cars. That much is true. People buy them, get inside, drive around, and eventually forget to walk. Then they get fat.

This had the VW people deeply troubled. So they put their lovely Swedish heads together and decided that they will create an ingenius device that fight obesity and encourage people to walk! Enter the singing piano staircase.

Apparently this is a classic example of the application of 'fun theory'. Hold up: Fun has been theorized? And applied rigorously? Somehow that seems a little counter-intuitive, no?

Anway, the Swedes- they dug it. In one day the musical staircase changed the minds of 66% of the people who normally would have taken the escalators. (Das Auto!)

So, the next time you're bitching and complaining on the subway, take your earphones out of your ears and follow the music. You could be part of a social experiment. (Or not, in which case put them back on and watch your step.)

RocM's Book of Curious Lists

2009-11-13T21:26:00.001-05:00

If I could make a list about how much I love lists I would list it here. Except it wouldn't make for very exciting reading. Plus I wouldn't be able to work in any pictures (and we all know posts without pictures just don't work). So look what I have instead...

My Book of Curious Lists!

I bought it on sunday from this tiny corner store on Queen West that I've always passed by and never noticed. I've started filling some pages out...

Disadvantages of Great Wealth

Snow Cone Flavours (left)

Undesirable Traits in a Pet (right)

Major Developments in the Field of Home Recording (bottom)

Bowling Alley Concession Stand Offerings (top)

Cures for a stubbed Toe (bottom)

So if you ever see one of these lying around, you know who it belongs to...

Section One: D-O-N-E!

2009-11-08T12:06:00.002-05:00

Four more to go! Word update: 3,443... 46,557 to go! Chin up, kiddo.

If you're interested, the first section of my yet-untitled novel (3 chapters long) is posted on Scribd here and can be read for free. It was inspired by this gorgeous song by Lila Downs, off of the Frida soundtrack (love it!). Lila I stole your song title for my chapter but I named her mother after you!

The next section is set in Paris five years later. It's the story of the violet flowers in the vat of olive oil.

So stay tuned! (same bat channel etc. etc.)

LINKFEST! Screw technology, pass me some paper

2009-11-06T22:34:00.001-05:00

Ok. True story: this past April, every single one of the 467 people living in the tiny Irish village of Cushendall got a personalized handwritten postcard from a pair of artists called Lenka + Michael. They'd never met them in their life. And they'd never been to Cushendall (probably never heard of it either before this). But just like that, out of the blue, they decided to send a handwritten hello to a random village across the world, just to spread some love.

(Thanks L+M)

See me, I never ever answer my phone. But I'll always answer an email. There's something special about knowing that the person on the other end of the screen sat down for a few minutes and typed something out just for you. But still there's something lost on screen, something missing when you don't write the words out by hand. That's probably why we have to use *shudder* smiley faces (:S), just to make it all a little more personal.

Apparently there's a whole bunch of people out there who think so too...
Jill draws a postcard a day and sends it to someone she knows across the world.
Samara loves letters and isn't afraid to admit it.
FreshRibbon collects vintage typewriters for a personal touch for a printed page.

Thanks to my new clique I've started investing in some seriously awesome stationary (none of that monogrammed crap thank you). These are my new favourites. But this set has me scratching my head trying to figure out how to use it. See, you can't really flirt by mail, practically speaking I mean. You just need way too much more info than say, texting. Like what am I supposed to say to someone I just met- what's your address so I can send you a letter? (stalker alert anyone?)

But just because I'm such a sucker for all this love letter business, I've bought tickets to see Parfumerie at the Young Center of Performig Arts. Sigh...

Going to him! Happy letter! Tell him–

Tell him just how the fingers hurried
Then how they waded, slow, slow, slow-
And then you wished you had eyes in your pages,
So you could see what moved them so.

—Emily Dickinson

RocM notes: Lenka + Michael are getting ready to do this all over again with another village (still a secret), if you'd like to help out check out their site. If you donate $2000+ you can pick the next town! Hell, if you have $2000+ to spare, give it here and I'll send you thousands of letters!

Chpt. 1: In Which It Begins (& Ends)

2009-11-01T15:08:00.001-05:00

Yes folks. Today is the day. November 1st: NaNoWriMo begins. And in perfect dramatic timing I've finished my first chapter,"In Which It Begins (& Ends)". Actually it's the first section, which is a couple of chapters long, but either way, it's done. So let's do some quick tallying: 2,053 words down, 47,947 to go!

Anyway here's a short piece of it, if you're wondering what my voice sounds like as a novelist...

[Aragon, Spain, 1921]

Absent Confession

     He sits in his seat in the confessional box, weighed down by his robes and thoughts. He taps the dark oak panelling on his bench quietly, out of habit, and the wood gives off a beautiful clear echo. The air is heavy with the golden scent of incense, smoking candle wicks, and the grave holy silence that feels as though God were here, deep in thought.

     Across the wire screen—all intricate lace and coppery patina—she sits head bowed (low enough for reverence, but with her chin angled defiantly towards the door). She fidgets impatiently with the fringe on her shawl, but moves nothing else.

As always, he is the first to break the silence.

“My child, hasn’t it been long enough?” Not yet.

He drops his voice, almost embarrassingly. “Is he still waiting outside?” he murmurs. She crosses and uncrosses her feet but again gives no reply.

Finally she speaks. Her words are clipped and hurried, her tone stiff and recital-like.

“Bless me Father for I have sinned, it has been three weeks since my last confession.”

He answers slowly and patiently, as though they have not been through this at least a hundred times before.

“It is not a confession my child, if you say nothing.”

     Every third Tuesday of every month, she is here in her corner of the confessional box, mute and defiant. She may be forced to walk through that door and sit in that corner, but her private penance she guards furiously. That, she reveals to no one.

     In the first few months, he would press her on with polite questions, carefully trying to lull out a confession—something, anything to unburden her and give her some semblance of peace. But she could never be persuaded. Now, they are both simply content to sit here quietly, each in their own way stealing a few precious minutes of refuge in this tiny world, bordered within these dark walls and velvet curtains.

More silence. Ten minutes more.

     Then with the self-assurance of someone who has given their dues, she gets up to leave, picks up her shawl and looks him straight in the eye, right through the mesh screen. They share a brief moment of total sincerity, rare between these walls. She smiles quietly and sadly.

     He opens his mouth to speak, but catches her eye. Her look stops him and he says nothing. What he would have said might have been “God give you the patience to remain sane in that house” or perhaps “May you be rid of him soon” or simply, “I am sorry”.

But he is not brave enough for any of them. Instead, he sighs heavily, signs the cross as she stands up to leave and recites solemnly:

“Ego te absolvo a peccatis tuis in nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti. Amen.”

She throws back the thick velvet curtain, clicks open the thick oak door and marches out.

Purple heels on the polished marble floor, all along the aisle, and out the door.

So, what do you think?

RocM notes: I know this goes without saying, but please use this for inspiration and not imitation. Why? Because I spend a big chunk of my measely salary in a bookstore. And if you use this in your novel, chances are I will most probably buy it, and read it. Then I will hunt you down, and sue you (nicely and politely). Please & thank you.

Some (virtual) Halloween baking

2009-10-31T14:26:00.010-04:00

Since I need my good arm in one piece for tonight, I figured I'd do some virtual Halloween baking this year, and pass on the real-life stuff. So what's in my kitchen? Well I started off with a graveyard cake...

then I wracked my cupcake-y brain...

... to come up with Frankenstein brownies (they weren't very happy about being on display, and probably even less so about being eaten)...

... and then I had a few minutes to spare, so I whipped up a wild rumpus with a couple-dozen cookies ("we'll eat you up, we love you so!"), with a side of edible 30-Rock shenanigans...

And then, thanks to this baking workout I was ready to wiggle into my costume for the night. (And just because you asked: Dita von Teese... during her Manson phase).

Thank you to the blogging-banshees at blogto, various flickr-fantoms, and a macabre Martha for all the phantasmagoric photos... Happy Halloween!

WANTED: 50,000+ Words by Nov. 30

2009-10-29T17:51:00.001-04:00

Posted on craigslist by yours truly in the middle of a totally futile late-night brainstorming session (not a euphemism for anything):

Now that I think about it, what I should have said is "WANTED: 50,001 words by Nov. 30. The best 50,000 will make it into my novel."

After all, I am going for quality here. I'm not going to put any old trash in my novel.

Again with The-Clicking-&-The-No-Thinking thing!

2009-10-23T19:38:00.003-04:00

I have this terrible terrible habit. (Well, it's one among many, like say denting my car door, or taking ridiculously long showers, or leaving the cereal bag open in the box... but I digress.)

My collage of bad habits (thank you flickr-folk)

It's this completley-irrational impulsive thing I have where I commit to doing things before I even know what I'm committing to. It's not that I don't read the fine print, it's that I don't read anything at all. Like, "Hey RocM, do you want come with me to this incredibly vague & sketchy inner-city launch party?" Of course I do! "How about a seniors' knit-off?" Hells yeah! "Soup kichen meetup?" Where do I sign up!

Yup. I'm really not above RSVPing 'Yes' to an invite then calling my friends from my car, twenty minutes before meeting, to ask for directions while I circle the block aimlessly, wondering what it is I'm going to exactly.

So what did I get myself into this time? How about "30 days & nights of literary abandon"- otherwise known as the 50,000-word-novel-in-a-single month event. Yes folks, looks like I'll be spending this November writing my first novel. Ever.

And how am I feeling?? Excited as all heck. And, scared ~~s**less~~. In a good way (is there any other, I ask?). Anyway, I thought I'd post this bit of news on here to keep myself from backing out in Week 3, or something.

Now I have exactly two weeks to think of plot. And characters. And sentences (50,000-words worth). So far though, am feeling...Barcelona maybe... late 1920's?...

Hallelujah, I have a (Google) Follower!

2009-10-22T10:10:00.001-04:00

(Shhh... don't want to scare them away or anything).

Ah RocM, you're moving up in life. Today a Google Follower, tomorrow a movie deal & a Times bestseller.

Oh, no, wait a minute... oops, I've lost them. Back down to zero. Can you hear that wooshing noise? It's the sound of my dreams deflating...

Ah well, I'm bound to snare other one soon!

From AvaG to RocM in 6 easy steps!

2009-10-20T21:46:00.003-04:00

I've just rescued another biography from the discount bin. Yay for me! This one was all about the late great Ava Gardner, actress & retro-siren extraordinaire.

And who is Ava Gardner? Well, she was a 1940's Hollywood icon who drove Frank Sinatra to near suicide, married three of her leading men, brought millionaire Howard Hughes (almost-husband # 4) out of retirement, and socked him in the face. In that order.

And hey, guess what...we're connected! How? Well, let me trace the six (ok five!) small degrees of separation...

1. Ava Gardner & Frank Sinatra:

Now, Frank (no last name needed- we're chumy like that) met Ava in the late 40's while he was still married to wife # 1 (Nancy). And they had this crazy torrid affair that drove Frank crazy. Then out of the blue she cut him off- she wouldn't return his calls, or answer his emails. Turns out Ava had become pregnant and had an abortion without him knowing. When the poor guy found out he was so distraught, legend has it he almost committed suicide.
They eventually got married, but not for long. I like to think she inspired his song "Can't Take That Away From Me" (my fav), but turns out it was written a full decade before they met. Whatever, details, shmetails- who cares about a small thing like chronological accuracy.

2. Frank Sinatra & Esther Williams:

Now before things got messy for Frank (and by messy I mean wife #s 2-4, the Rat Pack, and the Vegas-induced haze that were his later years), he got a break with a 'small' movie called "Take Me Out to the Ballgame" alongside the red-headed, gal-next-door Esther Williams. She got her movie contract when MGM studio scouts spotted her doing laps at the local pool.

Turns out she was practising for the 1940 Olympics. But that got cancelled because of the start of WWII. So Esther quit the local pool and headed straight for Hollywood (& Frank & Co.).

3. Esther Williams & Marilyn, the Cherry-Print One-Piece:

Seeing that she could no longer be an Olympic swimmer, good ol' Esther did the next best thing: she started her own line of retro swimsuits (the ones with the halter top and shorty-things at the bottom). One of them (Marilyn-comes in a variety of colours including cherry-print) even had a cameo in the Sex & the City movie on Cynthia Nixon in the poolside 'she-jungle' scene in Mexico. (If you've never seen the movie, that must've definitely caught your attention).

Incidentally, Esther also sells pools too. Olympic-sized. Bearing her autograph. Should you ever need one, here knock yourselves out.

4. Marilyn, the Cherry-Print One-Piece & RocM:

Now RocM, the dazzlingly witty gadabout-town who moonlights as a blooger (and blogs by moonlight), has a fetish for all things retro. Especially cherry-print 50's swimsuits. And one day while googling her favourite actress (she has a lot free time like that) she comes across the perfect one! Now, several weeks and $100 (US!) later, she is the proud owner of a cherry-print retro swimsuit. She's only worn it once (small from the top, big from the bottom*), but it is now her sole exclusive link to none other tha the LATE GREAT AVA GARDNER! Tar-aa!

See, told ya. AvaG to RocM in six (ok five!) easy steps. Now, I'll think I'll go dust off that damn swimsuit and wear it to work tomorrow.

*Actually it's the other way around, but just humour me.

A lazy end to an even lazier weekend

2009-10-18T14:29:00.004-04:00

I've just spent all morning (and the better part of the afternoon) watching Heston Blumenthal make a risotto in at least 25 different stages. And I actually considered making it myself.

See, that's what happens when you're marooned at home all weekend (need I say why?). Wait, I take that back- oreo chocolate chip pancakes are what actually happens.

I've had half a box of oreo cookie crumbs left over from Thanksgiving*, and since I've already made two oreo-crusted pies this past month alone, I thought I'd try to find a more creative way of getting rid of them. Since I was making pancakes for breakfast on sunday I figured, why not throw some into the batter?

I just used a standard buttermilk pancake recipe, and substituted 1/4 c. of flour with 1/2 c. oreo crumbs, and added some chocolate chips at the end. I don't know why I never thought of this earlier, it's the perfect chocolate-yness in the morning, not too sweet, works well with the buttermilk, and still makes for a great pancake consistency. When you fry them you can actually smell the oreo- it's what I imagine an oreo factory must smell like...

Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to get back to doing very important things, and reading very important articles online (isn't the Ming Vase one beautiful?).

*Am I already linking up to myself?

Three cheers for my right arm

2009-10-13T22:54:00.003-04:00

Can I please get three cheers for my right arm? I mean, when I think of all the downright crappy things I've been asking of it (no, demanding!) the past week, I feel I've totally taken it for granted before. Here's just a handful of my favourites: typing (pages & pages worth), driving, pie-making, ponytail-tying (near-freaking impossible), and- it's greatest feat yet!- bra-unhooking from under a sweater (even Joey couldn't pull that one off- How you doin'?).

I think when this is all over and done with, and I'm back in one piece, telling funny stories about that time I fractured my shoulder in paintball ("in the first five minutes dammit! Never fired one goddam shot!"), I think I'll take my right arm on vacation. We'll go to Club Med somewhere, get nice and toasty, and take pictures to post online. We can get ol' lefty to hold the camera.

'Till then kiddo looks like I'm stuck with you doing all the work around here. Now watch the typos... can't be slackin' off!

This year I'm thankful for Tylenol 3 & my Blue Jean Baby

2009-10-12T17:30:00.004-04:00

You know how they say bad things happen in threes? Well on thursday I caught the flu, friday I lost my car, and saturday I fractured my shoulder. Did I mention monday is Thanksgiving?

Does she not know her arm's broken? Maybe she took one-too-many pills and forgot...

So in the three hours I spent in the ER I got to re-thinking my Thanksgiving menu to make it more one-arm-friendly, except I couldn't find a solution for the turkey (I can't pick that thing up with one arm, let alone cook it). Needless to say tears were shed and f-bombs were dropped.

Enter my Blue Jean Baby (Seamstress for the Band). Otherwise known as RocM's twin.

Now, BJB is an adventurous cook recently converted to the foodie cause, but she's never made a turkey before. So when she first volunteered to do the turkey I was worried she didn't know exactly what she was getting herself into. But nope, she buttered that thing like a pro...

BJB buttering like a pro

So I skipped my Tylenol 3 the night before (don't try this at home kids) and got to work prepping the cornbread stuffing (all from scratch!), peeling the yams for the marshmallow yams, chopping the veggies, and- whaddya know- I even made a pie! (I'm that dedicated). Well the pie was almost as important as the turkey since I've been planning it for weeks.

See, I think I'm a pretty decent cook, but I've only ever come across two things I can't make: macaroons and pumpkin pie. And that second one has really tarnished my kitchen reputation (no further details needed). Suffice to say I've never made an edible one yet.

So I started thinking about this a few weeks ago- I find that with all pumpkin pies, the filling is just too dense and bland, and the pastry just too boring. It needs more texture, something crunchy, more layers, and more visual appeal. Same thing goes for the other two holiday pie staples, pecan and sweet potato. So that got me thinking, why not combine the best of all three into one super-pie?! So I finally came up with the perfect three-layer holiday pie...

RocM's Worth-A-Shoulder-Injury 3-Layer Pumpkin Pie

Base:

1 1/2 boxes graham cracker/oreo crumbs (combination or either one)

1 1/2 sticks butter softened

1/2 tsp salt

Pecan layer:
1/2 c. heavy cream
1/2 c. brown sugar
1 c. whole pecans

Pumpkin layer:
2 eggs
1 c. brown sugar
1 1/4 c. pumpkin puree
1 c. cream (half and half or heavier)
1 tsp. vanilla
1/2 tsp salt
1/2 tsp each of cinnamon, nutmeg, ginger, chilli powder

Marshmallow meringue for the topping (you can buy the jarred one or make it from scratch like me using this recipe)

One bionic arm (other arm optional but not necessary)

Preheat the oven to 350 F.

Melt the butter for the base, add salt and crumbs and press into a buttered 9" pie dish. Heat sugar and cream for pecan layer over medium heat, add pecans and cook until bubbly and thickened (almost caramel-y). Pour into base. Mix pumpkin layer ingredients and layer on top of caramel pecans and bake at 350 F for 30-45 mins until set (will seem a bit soft). Cool overnight or for 2 hrs minimum. Top with marshmallow meringue & cool before serving.

Happy Thanksgiving y'all.

BJB this is for you.

LINKFEST!: Smell this

2009-10-06T21:04:00.004-04:00

It's a running joke in the blogsphere that if you've no longer got anything funny to say, you just link up to something funny someone else has said and you're all set... for another post at least. Well being the forward-thinking girl that I am, I've decided to cover all my bases (censorspeak for covering my ass) and make this a monthly feature. So welcome to Linkfest!, where I chatter on about my latest obsession and related links.

This month is all about perfume- the famous ones, the homemade ones, the historic ones, the celebrity ones, and the ones that just plain reek (I'm talking about you Chanel No. 5).

Sometimes I think if I only managed to pass Organic Chemistry* I would have been a perfumer. There's something so real about someone's scent, like they're not fully there until you smell them. I'm fully aware of just how weird that sounds but it's true- it's as if people are two-dimensional if they don't smell of anything, like cardboard cutouts. Scent is that third dimension, it says I'm here, I'm human and this is who I am- sour, soft, floral, spicy, intense, or just plain sweaty and rugged (yum).

That's why I find perfumers just so fascinating- how they bottle up all these synthetic copy-cat chemical smells, fitting in top notes, base notes, all flowing one after the other like music. Pure genius. I read somewhere about a famous Parisian perfumer called Jean-Claude Ellena who is now the in-house perfumer for Hermes. He has a son and a daughter, and when they were younger he would ask them to think of things they want to create into a perfume. His son asked for snow and his daughter asked for clouds. The first was apparently easy; all he had to do was use some ketone to invoke clean, cold, light (of course he did!). The second was much harder, but his daughter was so impressed she decided to become a perfumer herself.

But he's not the only one to bottle abstract. Kate Moss wears a perfume that smells of rain. I read about it online and figured it would just smell fresh, creamy and flowery. But I was so surprised. It actually smells like wet earth, almost bitter, no sweetness at all. So interesting- it was almost like seeing her picture in a magazine, then meeting her personally, in a sense (no pun intended) and finding out your first impression was completley wrong. A few years ago, when I was still that nerdy kid with a National Geographic subscription (now I just do it in secret), I managed to get my hands on their only (ever) scratch-n-sniff issue that had samples of the actual perfumes of Napoleon and Cleopatra, re-created especially for the Society. If you live within mailing distance I can lend you my copy (for the record Napoleon is very regal citrusy and piney, Cleopatra is like yellow-y incense).

So what do I smell like? This. It's smoky, spicy, not too sweet and a touch sour. But for days when I want to be a little more intimidating (like when I'm invited to a work lunch with the all-boys club...dread...) I wear this one. It smells of leather and tobacco, with a just enough rose to stop it from smelling like a gentleman's club. It's like subliminal messaging through your nose :)

So if all this has tempted you to start sniffing, walk to your nearest cosmetics counter at lunch tomorrow, or if you can't, try this site- you can order tiny 1ml perfume samples online. Remember to keep a jar of coffee beans on hand to help with the inevitable nausea.

*No thanks to the horrible witch of a professor I had. Her face was very badly scarred, apparently the result of having failed one deranged student so many times he could no longer graduate.

Sparing a few minutes to raise my falling IQ level

2009-10-04T18:03:00.003-04:00

Reading my last few posts has me a bit troubled. Either I'm getting dumber or people around me are getting more intellectual. It's not that there's anything vacuous or wrong about being in love, or being in a relationship, or having your heart broken (all beautiful things, except that last one), it's just that all this boy-craziness I've been going through for the past month is starting to feel a bit shallow. It's like with every minute I spend obsessing over a man, doing that stupid lovey-dovey giggly thing I do (annoying even to myself), I can almost feel my IQ dropping by a few points.

So I figured it's high time I dedicate some of my lines, and some of your time to a greater purpose- something a little bit bigger than me, my love troubles and small weekend distractions. So let me tell you a little bit about some very modern women who epitomize brave self-expression. These are just some of the beautiful ladies I admire and aspire to be like, whether I'm crying into the deep-fat fryer or swinging from a trapeze.

Are you ready to meet them? Ok, allow me to introduce you to...

Naomi Klein is one of the bravest women I know of (wish I could've just said know but sadly I don't know her). Her books are investigative journalism at its most thorough, honest, raw and urgent. It's taken me 5 months to read The Shock Doctrine and I'm only one-third of the way through- not because I read slowly but because I have to put it down every few pages to fully grasp the magnitude of what she's saying/uncovering. She came to lecture at my grad school when I first moved to Toronto in 2007 and not knowing who she was or what she fought for, I completely missed it. Now I know better. Naomi, the rest of your 14 chapters await.

Tina Fey needs no introduction [insert snappy witty comment here]. If you own a TV set you've heard of her. And if you don't (you know who you are you three), well go out and buy one, turn it on at 9PM thursdays and see for yourselves. Comedy tends to be a male-dominated sport (as Chris Hitchens stupidly tried to argue), but this lady has fought for a place in it with zingers that are equal parts snarky and earnest. Tina, I like to think we have share a teensy bit similar sense of humour but I flatter myself.

Lucinda Holdforth has only written one book four years ago, and you'll probably find it in the discount non-fiction. It's a memoir of famous Parisian women and of french salon culture in the 19th century- which happens to be a subject she is so passionate about she actually quit her comfortable job in the Australian government, moved all the way to Paris on a whim, and wrote about in a very personal way. Now your own personal feelings on french salon culture aside, for someone to give up so much- risk so much- just to follow something so abstract simply because it makes them feel more fulfilled, is incredibly gutsy. Lucinda, I envy your streetwise Parisian ways and how you refer to Chanel on a first-name basis (no it ain't Coco). Nothing short of brave and inspired.

Nigella Lawson keeps popping up on my blog. I just realized four out of my eight posts have her name mentioned somewhere, and for good reason. To her, food is purely sensual- none of that uptight, aseptic, old-fashioned ingredients-in-neat-bowls nonsense. Eggs are made to be separated through the fingers and chocolate cake to be licked off the back of a spoon, preferably in the middle of the night. I have in fact actually met her. And yes she is just as sexy in person (minus the greasy hair, but that's probably thanks to an 8-hour transatlantic flight). Nigella, your recipes are great, but your cooking is even better.

Thank you ladies. What you say and who you are inspires me.

RocM notes: I could say that there are of course many many other women- and men for that matter- who also inspire me, but seeing that it's my blog and that I can say what I want on it, I won't.

That shoe ain't never gonna fit

2009-10-02T19:10:00.003-04:00

I bought a pair of shoes last year- a gorgeous black suede pump with a retro heel, pointy toe and oversized bow. Very Italian.

They were exactly what I was looking for, and on sale for $40 (that was a 60% markdown let me add), except they were a half size too small. And no matter what I did (freezer, shoe horns etc.) I could never get them to stretch, and it was absolutely impossible to last more than an half hour in them.

Eight months later I bought another pair of purple suede pumps with a ridiculously high 5" stilletto heel and retro peep-toe. They make me feel incredibly sexy, and hey, they fit just right.

They may not have been what I was looking for eight months ago (would've caught my eye but probably never have picked them up), but for right now, they're absolutely perfect.

So folks, I guess what I'm trying to say is that it's not easy to let go of something that doesn't fit right and assume that something better will come along somewhere down the line, because who can honestly know that for sure? But the thing is, if you don't let go and move on, well... you'll never find out. And that shoe ain't never gonna fit. Not now, not ever.

(But for the record I still have the shoe horns in them. But that's just me, part hapless optimism, part full-on delusion.)

Bought myself some flours

2009-09-30T19:31:00.005-04:00

The most romantic thing I've ever seen has to be that one scene in Stranger Than Fiction (most. favourite. movie. ever. Tortured writer? Anarchist baker? Dustin Hoffman? Love it!). Will Ferrell, the mousy tax man, is in love with the aforementioned anarchist baker Maggie Gylenhall, and tries to win her over by running after her with a box of 'flours'. Not convinced? See it for yourself here.

So seeing as I'm still getting over things (see previous post non-regular readers) I figured I'd buy myself some flours for the time being and make some sinfully good chocolate chip cookies. All-purpose and pastry flours were all I could get but whatever, it's not like Miss Pascall was going to whip up delicious treats with spelt.

Couldn't resist tasting some... (ok I lie, I devoured spoonfulls)

Pre-baking goodness

Mmmmm...

Now what did I do with four dozen chocolate chip cookies you ask? Well I would've eaten them all myself but luckily for me I promised to take them to a friend's wine tasting party saturday night. Whaddya know, chocolate chip cookies go really well paired with a '97 Shiraz (mmm... tobacco-y).

Well kids, this is the recipe, may it bring you love and flours of your own...

Come-Hither Chocolate Chip Cookies
(Adapted from Dorie Greenspan's Baking)

2 cups all-purpose flour
1 tsp salt
3/4 tsp baking soda
2 sticks butter, room temperatre (very important! anything harder/softer and they won't hold their shape when baking)
1 cup sugar
2/3 cup brown sugar
1 tsp vanilla extract
2 eggs (large)
1 bag of chocolate chips (dark chocolate is delicious if you can find them, milk chocolate ends up being a bit too sweet)
(Feeling creative? Mini marshmallows, walnut/pecan pieces, chopped caramels, peanuts, chopped mint chocolate pieces... knock yourselves out)

Pre-heat the oven to 375 F.

Cream the softend butter (you could microwave it but if it melts completely the cookies will spread like crazy) and sugars for 2 mins. Mix in the eggs one at a time, add vanilla, salt, soda, then flour. Add chips at the end. Pile teaspoonfulls of dough (makes a good sized cookie 1-2" wide) on baking sheets lined with wax paper and bake in the middle of the oven, one sheet at a time for 10-12 mins. At the 5 min. mark flip the sheet around half a turn (by this time they'll still look raw) and keep them in there for the next 5 mins. until the edges start turning golden and the middle is still pale white (this keeps them chewy). If you like them crispy you can keep them in for another 2 mins. until they are golden all over. Let them cool in the sheet for a min. or two then move the cookies + wax paper onto cooling rack and let the metal baking sheet cool for a few mins. before you bake the next batch on it. I usually juggle between 3 baking sheet/pans- makes it easier, but the cleanup sucks.

Makes 4 dozen cookies, enough for 4 people or one misreable, heartbroken soul.

Forgot to mention, this is my next favourite scene.

My broken heart deep fried

2009-09-20T13:32:00.005-04:00

Yes it's happened again. The only way to get over this one is with some seriously greasy trashy food. Incidentally I've just finished watching Nigella deep-fry some battered Bounty bars... just what the doctor ordered...

I stole this picture. Was feeling too down to bother setting up any pretty food shots...

Well, that and a new pair of shoes. This one was a special one so he got the most expensive pair yet...

My new Stuart Weitzman's (in purple). I've been wearing them while I vaccuum

Bye A** .

Adrien Brody you're on my List (Or 'RocM Does the Film Fest, Part I')

2009-09-16T20:28:00.003-04:00

For those of you visiting this page through Facebook (status update: "------- ------ interviews Ed Norton on her blog!"), I'm sorry. I've lured you here under false pretenses. I do not in fact have an interview with Ed Norton. But I do have some excellent shots of him at the TIFF afterparty last night. And since you are already here, stick/click around!

(Shameless self-promotion RocM, shameless!)

As I was saying, the TIFF afterparty last night. Yes kids, looks like I can schmooze with the best of them. Evidence please!

Left: Ed Norton (trust me, it's him), Right: other assorted famous asses (I think I heard Keri Russel and Danny DeVito, not pictured)

So one overloaded, underpaid day at the office last week, I get an email invite from my friend to a TIFF afterparty hosted by none other than Ed Norton and K-OS!

Now for the record, I am a big TIFF junkie, every single year I try to volunteer and every single year I miss the application deadline (how many times can a girl make the same mistake I don't know). Failing that, I still dress up in my artsy-est outfit and show up to the premiere of some obscure foreign language film (no subtitles? extra points!). Then I head to Yorkville (ritzy neighbourhood and star haunt) for the sole sake of stalking stars, but do the Toronto local thing when they do show up-- that is, act irritated and pretend to ignore them (celeb-spotting is for tourists).

This is probably a good time to confess that I am in fact really bad around famous people; it's a weird combination of extreme embarrassment and pure fascination. Not surprisingly this tends to come across as a little bit freaky (cringe). So for the sake of my lovely friends I was on my best non-freaky behaviour last night. At least I tried. But all things considered maybe I didn't have to bother...

So after the bouncers refuse to let the rest of our crew in, we ended up waiting over two hours for our 'hosts' to show up. And they walked in from the back exit where they had us lined up ready with cameras, and headed stright up to the VIP floor (yes an entire floor), never to return. Whatever, how many people can say they partied it up with celebrities at the start of the work week?

Since the celebrities didn't come down we took pictures of our shoes...

And as I said, Adrien Brody is on my list. If spotted around the city, please alert me ASAP.

Ran away to the circus for an hour or two

2009-09-13T20:55:00.014-04:00

I ran away to the circus last saturday night for a drop-in class on aerial acrobactics. I came back bruised, aching, ecstatic... and a little more trapeze-y!

Tust me it's all harder than it looks, but so so fun!

I've always wanted to learn how to do the silks (the long fabric you climb up and do the acrobatics on), so I signed up for a class at the wonderfully-named Wonderful School of Circus in a sketchy corner of Markham. They even had dove cages outside the door! They had the flying trapeze bar, the aerial hoop, the rope and the trampoline.

Apparently I have zero upper body strength. It took all of two people to push me up a rope (that's one per butt cheek).

RocM two seconds before letting go and flipping backwards... (face censored for anonymity)

Anyway, I'm hitting the weight circuits at the gym and definitely coming back for the silks... you just wait Tanya!

Tanya the tiny & adorable silks expert. AMAZING!

Want to give it a go? Check out...

Wonderful World of Circus, 2600 John St., Markham

Toronto School of Circus Arts, 75 Carl Hall Rd., Toronto

Why RocM you say?

2009-09-01T20:53:00.003-04:00

I know. It's confusing. And probably a bit bizarre. But here was the exact train of thought that lead to Rococoa Miss:

I love all things Rococo (think: Marie Antoinette, fluffy, frilly, gold, pistachio macaroons) and I love all things food. So I thought why not Rococoa, which lead me to Rococoa Miss, like Swiss Miss! Tar-aa!

Ok in the interest of full disclosure... the fist part was totally ripped off of one of Nigella Lawson's chocolate cake names (see: 'Rococoa Cake', Feast, pp. 291), otherwise known as her Venetian Chocolate Cake (even better). So in honor of her... I dedicate my first official entry to making her fabulous fabulous cake! Nigella please don't sue me.

Now since I can't publish the full recipe, I can at least walk you through it, at least until someone comments that I legally can't do that either. Basically it is a chocolate-coffee sponge cake, sliced up and layered with a rich egg-mascarpone cream ('zabaglione' to us foodies), then topped off with a chocolate-espresso glaze. So we're talking about three steps here: 1. make chocolate cake, 2. make cream, and 3. slice, layer, chill and glaze (yes that's one step kiddo). But the best part comes at the end when you decorate with sliced pistachios and gold dragees. On top of the dark chocolate, they look gorgeous! And the messier it is the better, more 'rustic' looking it comes out :) Actually it just occured to me, it's exactly like tiramisu except with cake layers instead of lady fingers, which makes it richer and denser.

Ok again full disclosure I have to tell you: I used a cake mix.

WAIT before you round yourselves up into an angry mob (of 3) and send me mass hate mail, please remember I have a day job and an online store, a pile of laundry, a gym membership, and required tv watching time (because I am a lazy bum). So all that added up equals to quick-fix cake-mix. But for the record, let it be known I made the zabaglione from scratch (thank you very much).

So one day and a stack of washing-up later, the fruit of my labour...

By the way, if you ever do come across Nigella's Feast, flip right to the end, there's a part where she talks about final meals- I have no idea how she comes across this, but she looks up a prison's website where they have the inmates' final meal requests listed (again no idea). It's macabre but actually quite fascinating. Some people chose something sentimental, some just went for full-on indulgent feast. Me, I think I would probably ask for macaroni & cheese, the way I used to have it as a kid. Not that it's my favourite, I actually make it quite often now, but just for the sake of it. And maybe a pistachio macaroon on the side. I hardly ever read anything in cookbooks besides the recipes (I don't care how many times you've made this one, or if I can substitute the almonds), but Nigella's books are interesting, she really is a food writer. (Like I said, please don't sue me).

Well folks, this brings us to the end of this post. Nigella, I believe I have paid my dues. Much appreciated, thank you.

Ps. As you can see, I'm having way too much fun with the text formatting. Bear with me :)

Can I get a WOOP WOOP? (please)

2009-08-30T20:07:00.012-04:00

World meet RocM. RocM meet the World. Hello World :)

So if Blogger is to be believed (and I have no reason to doubt it) I started this blog two years ago. Actually, it's probably more like 3 years, it just took me one whole year to get a blogger account, then another year to design my header (which with absolutely no design background I still managed to make do with an online photo editor... I love you picnik.com). Add another few months to get the nerve to finally post something, and here we are :)

So welcome welcome! I know this sounds self-indulgent, but this blog will really just be all about me, RocM, and all my ridiculous (mis)adventures, which - being a foodie- will inevitably include food. I can't promise life-changing or generally useful information, but I'm told I'm good with them words, so I do hope you will at least get a crack out of my antics.

In the meantime, want to read more about me? Check out my profile on the top left (next to the squished cupcake). Want to read even more about me? Well then, basically... that makes you a stalker. (No judgement, just do it in secret like me.)

Now I will click publish and send my first post off into the void...

*click*

(woop woop)