Emchap's Shit from the Internet 01/15/20 🍠
I spent most of today in downtown LA, which is an enjoyable thing to do when I want to pretend like I was successful at living in New York. It's a big city! There are skyscrapers! Women in real business clothing spend their mornings walking briskly down the sidewalk by the Whole Foods, and their ponytails are very sleek!
(Unlike New York, of course, those women were wearing puffer coats in the face of 45 degree weather this morning.)
I was downtown in order to attend a dentist appointment, as is very often my way. A friend asked, when told about my morning plans, hadn't I already been to the dentist recently. I had, of course—it's just that my attending the dentist is sort of a two-step process of discovery of how fucked my teeth are, and subsequent remediation. I floss and waterpik and have an electric toothbrush and still, every time, some molar has given up the ghost.
Even today, when the dentist assured me that I had only a little filling on a bottom molar to attend to, I mentioned in passing that I'd had pain on that side of my mouth since my last cleaning. I assumed it was the cavity we were planning to fill that day. It turned out, in fact, it was not—another filling I had on an adjacent tooth had cracked, and (it turned out) gotten its own hidden cavity. Last time, the little baby filling she assured me I would get turned out to be a narrow but very deep hole on the tooth requiring an extra half hour of work, because my teeth are nothing if not dramatic.
The teeth are—along with my very bad eyes—the main reason I have an FSA. (And of course I'm grateful for it, glad to have the dental insurance that funds my expensive "having teeth" habit, Medicare for all and include dental, etc. etc.)
But, numbed up and sent out into the world significantly poorer, I was left with the rest of the workday to fill. I'd originally planned to spend my lunch break commuting home, but decided to work through in the hopes of being able to leave without having to make up the time at the end of the day. (This was futile, as I got roped into a very intense conversation about SaaS billing strategies five minutes before the end of my day, but an attempt was made.)
I spent the morning in the same microchain coffee shop I always use when I'm in that part of town, but for the afternoon I decided to take advantage of the big city resources I'm theoretically funding with my taxes and wander on over to our Central Library. It's a beautiful art deco building, and houses a bunch of services (New Americans Center, a Maker Lab, various child and teen-specific floors) that make me feel vaguely fuzzy. The centerpiece of the second floor is a giant, ornate dome with beautiful murals on it, and the wifi is speedy enough to comfortably handle video calls (which, honestly, surprising, given my actual home wifi's handling of same).
It was a beautiful place to spend an afternoon, and it was comforting to see the building full of people all day. Though I do wish I'd been able to feel the right half of my face for more of it, I am pleased with the choice of afternoon venue.
Shit to read
Why we lose our shit over celeb mom cookbooks.
Aw, RIP cool Hot Topic.
As someone who drinks much less than I used to and who loves loves loves bars, I enjoyed this.
A lovely, sad piece about Elizabeth Wurtzel, who ran so that xoJane could do whatever it was doing.
Compelling dognapping content!
Last week's pizza recipe, now in real recipe form from its creator.
Shit to eat
Decide that you should probably eat an vegetable.
That vegetable should be a purple cabbage, because it's pretty.
(Forget, as you always do, that the reason you don't eat cabbage that often is because cabbages are huge, and you live alone, and you will be eating cabbage until you or it are dead.)
Shred half that cabbage (we won't speak as to the fate of the other half) and four carrots (shred them twice after creating unintentional carrot coins due to a foo processor Incident).
Fuck no we're not peeling the carrots.
Add some chopped up scallions and whatever languishing greens are in the crisper.
Roll everything around in a half cup of flour and add a truly alarming half-dozen eggs.
(It will somehow be not enough and too much, and the fritters will not quite adhere. Add more flour and hope that it helps.)
Heat a cast iron pan over medium high and fill it with oil.
Drop lumpy fritters on the pan and cook them three minutes to a side.
Keep making fritters. It will seem like a truly impossible number, and by this point your kitchen will be filthy and hot and you will be more than a little grumpy.
By the end you will have figured out if you really wring the fritters out, you have better luck. Not great luck, but better.
Once you're done, abandon the kitchen like the scene of a crime, and make it a problem for you-in-20-minutes, who will once again in her wretched life be forced to scrub carrot stains off a shredding disk.
Take with you a few of the fritters and some mayo and some ketchup. There's a real sauce you intended to make that you absolutely will not get around to. It's fine.
Eat the hard-earned fritters in front of the TV, watching some horrible people do horrible things on Bravo, and concede that they are (though ugly) pretty tasty fried salads.
(Based on this Smitten Kitchen adaptation of okonomiyaki. I think I had too much cabbage.)
Shit to watch
Please god someone talk to be about Vanderpump Rules. It's melting my brain. I hate that it makes me feel bad for James now, somehow.
Shit to buy
Not a goddamn cabbage.
Everyone says this Revlon dryer/brush is amazing. Someone I know please buy it and tell me.