July 11, 2010
Dip for the Stars
Filed under: The Black Arts
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I've been doing too much, which wouldn't be so much of a problem if "doing too much" was more of a chronic issue (thereby raising the personal bar making me a resilient, unstoppable demigod). When I find a workable rhythm I work that reservoir until it runs dry, and it's only when the last trickle of energy and dedication finally evaporates do I realize my recurring mistake - I never fucking pace myself. And - AND! - I inevitably forget that despite feeling one million percent better (from two or three years ago), I still have to contend and work with a broken body.
(For those of you who don't know: in addition to a bust stomach valve I also suffer from a hiatal hernia, GERD, acid reflux and weak stomach muscles. Life was virtually unlivable a few years back - I was burping uncontrollably which caused breathing attacks (and when I mean burping, I mean more than 100 times in an hour), I couldn't keep any food down (everything was either thrown up or regurgitated), I couldn't exert myself physically (exercising, cleaning and even sex was impossible), I couldn't consume a huge variety of food and liquids and I was so fucking physically weak from the constant burping/vomiting that I spent a year bedridden, wondering if death was really as bad as I had initially feared. (Man, you know shit is bad when your paralyzing fear of mortality vaporizes leaving you with romantic notions of nothingness.) I've since spent the better part of 2-3 years relearning how to live - how to breathe, how to eat, how drink, how to fuck, how to exercise, how to sleep - in this downgraded body of mine.)
Ever since Mr. Awesome, my father-in-law, left for the States in mid-June I've been running at full capacity to get as much done as I could while he wasn't here to complicate things. And it's been terrific, great and amazingly awesome - I SO get off on the completion of personal projects and goals - but I kind've sort've forgot to take breaks, and after an entire month of GO, GO, GO! I officially ran out of steam about a week ago and I've been all moody, blue and down since.
This is the first fucking morning I've woken up with anything closely resembling "resolve" and I totally want to capitalize on the feeling before it disappears. (I mean, I have managed several fantastic feats in the past few days - gutting out the bathroom cabinet, sorting through out-of-date products and disinfecting the unit, emptying the backroom of junk, newspapers and boxes - but all of that was born out of desperation. This feeling? A mood high of epic proportions.)
My thoughts, Internet, continue to wander back to dusting - super heavy serious dusting, like, LET'S PULL ALL OF THE COMPUTER CABLES OUT AND PULL THE CABINETS AND COMPUTER DESKS OUT AND WIPE //EVERYTHING// DOWN UNTIL IT FUCKING ~GLEAMS~ - so any attempt to ignore the autistic call for cleaning would be utterly futile. (GIVE THE BEAST WHAT IT WANTS - THE ANTI-STATIC, EXTENDABLE, MULTI-COLORED DUSTER.)
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Instead of the evisceration of roadkill, heretical Choose Your Own Adventure-styled spiritual advice (like I'm some sort of motherfucking agony aunt, right?) and obsessively detailed explanations behind otherwise mundane seeming items and/or actions you guys get something even MORE satanic and black magic-tastic: the recipe for our 4th of July dip.
I'm deliberately canning most of my 4th stories for another entry, so you'll have to wait to hear all my ancestor anecdotes. (Long short? Ancestors wanted a summer gathering, we had some gluten-free hot dog bugs - and hot dogs! - so, for the first time in over a decade, we celebrated Independence Day. In, uh, Scotland. At 1:30 AM. Watching Side Out. Yeah, Italics' parents aren't the only ones that have to put up with our bizarre shit - even our ancestors (including the ones we've never fucking met) are along for the ride.)
Dana Cole: "A delectable layered dip for any special occasion made with feta and cream cheese, pesto, pine nuts and sun-dried tomatoes. Vodka or gin may be substituted for the vermouth. Looks beautiful on the table, tastes heavenly on your tongue!"
INGREDIENTS:
* 1 cup unsalted butter
* 3/4 pound feta cheese, crumbled
* 1 (8 ounce) package cream cheese, softened
* 2 cloves garlic, minced
* 1 shallot, minced
* 3 tablespoons dry vermouth
* ground white pepper, to taste
* 1/2 cup pine nuts, toasted
* 1 cup chopped sun-dried tomatoes
* 3/4 cup pesto sauce
METHOD:
01.) In a food processor, combine the butter, feta cheese, cream cheese, garlic, shallot, vermouth, and white pepper. Process until smooth.
02.) Oil a medium bowl, or gelatin mold, and line with plastic wrap for easy removal. Layer the dip into the mold as follows: Sun-dried tomatoes, pine nuts, pesto, cheese mixture. Repeat. Pat down into the mold, and refrigerate for at least one hour.
03.) Turn the dip out onto a serving plate, and remove plastic wrap. Serve with crackers.
The cheese mixture was sort've lacking in taste, so I filled the blank space with some homegrown dill. We didn't have any dry vermouth, but we DID have a bottle of gin. (Fuck, I haven't even told you guys about our bottle of beech gin, have I? The one we made using graveyard beech leaves that were gathered on the day Wuzza unexpectedly died? I'll rectify that. Soon.)
The recipe wasn't specific about what kind of sun-dried tomatoes to use (i.e., dehydrated or preserved in oil); I used the dry variety - I mean, I soaked them first, obviously - without a problem. I suspect leftovers of this dip will taste absolutely fucking amazing stuffed in chicken breasts, or gently melted into a sauce for fresh pasta.
