Time to list down my accomplishment while holed up at home this Lebaran:
Movies:
> Aruitemo, aruitemo
> Adventureland
> The Boat that Rocked
> Rachel Getting Married
> Zodiac
Comedy:
> George Carlin - Back In Town
> George Carlin - Complaints and Grievances
> George Carlin - Life Is Worth Losing
> George Carlin - It's Bad For Ya
Books:
> The Shock Doctrine: The Rise of Disaster Capitalism (Naomi Klein)
> The Periodic Table (Primo Levi)
> Housekeeping: A Novel (Marilynne Robinson)
Music:
> The Kinks, The Kinks, The Kinks!!!
Icy & Warm Treats:
> Chocolate Ovaltine Sherbet
> Orange & Passion Fruit Sorbet
> Glazed Lemon Bread
I want my break back!
The Chronicle of Peyo's Pineapple Upside Down Cake
Tuesday, September 8, 2009
First of all, let me clarify that although the title of this post indicate a unique chronicle of this thing called Pineapple Upside Down Cake, in truth, the subject can really be replaced with an X variable, where X is any baking goodies that I have put into existence in this world. (*)
Having clarified that, let me begin the tale. It begins with a moment of boredom at work, followed by the act of browsing the army of sites and blogs that I have kept handy for this very reason. Since I was feeling hungry and trying to refuse the impulse of junk food consumption (always a losing war), I tried to suppress the hunger pangs by looking around some food blogs (now you see why). My favorite food blog has always been simplyrecipes, and while I was there, I found the recipe for this Pineapple Upside Down Cake. There were many comments on it which registered to mind as a worthy recipe to try.
On the weekly grocery to Bonnet (the bestest grocery store ever), self would usually boldly march ahead and buy the ingredients for the cake using only her memory as guidance. Self ended up buying a Pineapple.
Next would be the brewing step. During this step I would brew enough will and motivation to actually move self's behind from the comfort of bed and bake the cake. This step varies in length and duration, sometimes it would take weeks or months or years, but for this particular instance, the process was accelerated to only a mere week, all thanks to the help of dearest mother and her progressively vile questioning as to why there is a pineapple inside her fridge and would someone please do anything with it before it gets rotten?!?
It was Saturday evening, the weather seemed permissible for baking, I checked the recipe again and realized that I was still lacking few necessary ingredients. Another drive to Bonnet was a must. The trip left me tired and in need of rest. I spent the night watching movie with friends and decided to hit the bed early to prepare for the long day ahead.
Sunday morning, skipping church, I felt happy and energized. I went down to the kitchen, played Lou Reed and started preparing all of the ingredients. This is probably my most favorite part of the process, I love listening to the music while doing busywork. My mind would drift back and forth between the music, the lyrics, and how many mL 3/4 cup is. This works best in the kitchen and doesn't work at all at work, what's with the yelling from the next desk asking me to turn down the crappy music.
Once I get to the part of cutting the pineapple, I realized that the fellow has decided to give up waiting on me and move on with its decomposition process. Need to hide evidence from mother!!, was all I could think of. And thus, self again bought a pineapple at Bonnet. Returning home, mother was already back from church. I tip toed my way to place the pineapple in the fridge and was thankfully not caught in the act. Success!!
Not long after, mother ordered me to drive her around to do some errands. That's mother, never knowing the definition of rest, her joy comes when she can cross an item from her never ending to do list.
After errands, lunch, a nap and a movie, I finally ready to make the cake. It's Grace Potter and the Nocturnals time now, what a great voice. The caramel making process was fun and bubbly and after few whisk, mix and blend, I dumped everything in the pan, shoved it in the oven, and squatted in front of the oven, eagerly try to notice every tiny bit details of the cake's progress to bloom and its color transformation to the beautiful golden brown.
About 15 minutes later, realizing that my static squatting position didn't exactly look elegant nor lady like (instead, chimpanze like), I dragged a chair, sat next to the oven, and tried my best to glue my inquisitive staring to what looks like a jumble of letters in my book. During this time is when I noticed how gigantic the cake is and how it doesn't bode well with the fact that our household occupants are not particularly fond of dessert. I hope the cake turns out good, cause I sure need to give this thing to other people, I prayed. Yes, I pray a sincere prayer too sometimes.
As I placed the pineapple upside down cake to the plate and observed the gloriously amber colored caramel topping, I felt horrified knowing that this is going to be one obscenely sweet cake. I sliced a small slice and gave father and mother a test.
Me: Is it good, papa?
Father: Good! *with the nod of approval that I love*
Me: Mother?
Mother: Uhm, how exactly does this cake suppose to taste like?
Me: Well mother, my assumption is ... exactly as you taste it.
Mother: It's ... good. Very moist ... and sweet. Like the cakes at the hotel.
Me: You mean the ones that you dislike because you can smell and taste the milk? The ones that you are afraid to eat because of the huge sugar, butter, and dairy content in it? (**)
Mother: Yeah *grin*
Me: Right, I tried to tone down the sweetness, but it's also still way too sweet for me to.
Total household consumption roughly amounted to 2 small slices and a bite. We ended up distributed the rest to my 2 aunts, a friend, and Bik Yah and the gang.
Bik Yah then said, Goodness, why did you bake the cake if you're not going to eat it. You might as well had a nap. An astute point as always. Who knows? It's possibly just to witness those magical moment when the ugly dough turns into a beautiful cake. Or, it's just an excuse so I can hum a few songs in the kitchen.
(*): The formula in the beginning isn't complete. There is an exception to the rule when X = Y, where Y is my Achilles heels, my Kryptonite, also called the sinfully awesomelicious chocolate chip cookies.
(**): Mother may claim that she doesn't like dessert or any dairy products, but she sure can chug down ice cream or any chocolate dessert.
Having clarified that, let me begin the tale. It begins with a moment of boredom at work, followed by the act of browsing the army of sites and blogs that I have kept handy for this very reason. Since I was feeling hungry and trying to refuse the impulse of junk food consumption (always a losing war), I tried to suppress the hunger pangs by looking around some food blogs (now you see why). My favorite food blog has always been simplyrecipes, and while I was there, I found the recipe for this Pineapple Upside Down Cake. There were many comments on it which registered to mind as a worthy recipe to try.
On the weekly grocery to Bonnet (the bestest grocery store ever), self would usually boldly march ahead and buy the ingredients for the cake using only her memory as guidance. Self ended up buying a Pineapple.
Next would be the brewing step. During this step I would brew enough will and motivation to actually move self's behind from the comfort of bed and bake the cake. This step varies in length and duration, sometimes it would take weeks or months or years, but for this particular instance, the process was accelerated to only a mere week, all thanks to the help of dearest mother and her progressively vile questioning as to why there is a pineapple inside her fridge and would someone please do anything with it before it gets rotten?!?
It was Saturday evening, the weather seemed permissible for baking, I checked the recipe again and realized that I was still lacking few necessary ingredients. Another drive to Bonnet was a must. The trip left me tired and in need of rest. I spent the night watching movie with friends and decided to hit the bed early to prepare for the long day ahead.
Sunday morning, skipping church, I felt happy and energized. I went down to the kitchen, played Lou Reed and started preparing all of the ingredients. This is probably my most favorite part of the process, I love listening to the music while doing busywork. My mind would drift back and forth between the music, the lyrics, and how many mL 3/4 cup is. This works best in the kitchen and doesn't work at all at work, what's with the yelling from the next desk asking me to turn down the crappy music.
Once I get to the part of cutting the pineapple, I realized that the fellow has decided to give up waiting on me and move on with its decomposition process. Need to hide evidence from mother!!, was all I could think of. And thus, self again bought a pineapple at Bonnet. Returning home, mother was already back from church. I tip toed my way to place the pineapple in the fridge and was thankfully not caught in the act. Success!!
Not long after, mother ordered me to drive her around to do some errands. That's mother, never knowing the definition of rest, her joy comes when she can cross an item from her never ending to do list.
After errands, lunch, a nap and a movie, I finally ready to make the cake. It's Grace Potter and the Nocturnals time now, what a great voice. The caramel making process was fun and bubbly and after few whisk, mix and blend, I dumped everything in the pan, shoved it in the oven, and squatted in front of the oven, eagerly try to notice every tiny bit details of the cake's progress to bloom and its color transformation to the beautiful golden brown.
About 15 minutes later, realizing that my static squatting position didn't exactly look elegant nor lady like (instead, chimpanze like), I dragged a chair, sat next to the oven, and tried my best to glue my inquisitive staring to what looks like a jumble of letters in my book. During this time is when I noticed how gigantic the cake is and how it doesn't bode well with the fact that our household occupants are not particularly fond of dessert. I hope the cake turns out good, cause I sure need to give this thing to other people, I prayed. Yes, I pray a sincere prayer too sometimes.
As I placed the pineapple upside down cake to the plate and observed the gloriously amber colored caramel topping, I felt horrified knowing that this is going to be one obscenely sweet cake. I sliced a small slice and gave father and mother a test.
Me: Is it good, papa?
Father: Good! *with the nod of approval that I love*
Me: Mother?
Mother: Uhm, how exactly does this cake suppose to taste like?
Me: Well mother, my assumption is ... exactly as you taste it.
Mother: It's ... good. Very moist ... and sweet. Like the cakes at the hotel.
Me: You mean the ones that you dislike because you can smell and taste the milk? The ones that you are afraid to eat because of the huge sugar, butter, and dairy content in it? (**)
Mother: Yeah *grin*
Me: Right, I tried to tone down the sweetness, but it's also still way too sweet for me to.
Total household consumption roughly amounted to 2 small slices and a bite. We ended up distributed the rest to my 2 aunts, a friend, and Bik Yah and the gang.
Bik Yah then said, Goodness, why did you bake the cake if you're not going to eat it. You might as well had a nap. An astute point as always. Who knows? It's possibly just to witness those magical moment when the ugly dough turns into a beautiful cake. Or, it's just an excuse so I can hum a few songs in the kitchen.
(*): The formula in the beginning isn't complete. There is an exception to the rule when X = Y, where Y is my Achilles heels, my Kryptonite, also called the sinfully awesomelicious chocolate chip cookies.
(**): Mother may claim that she doesn't like dessert or any dairy products, but she sure can chug down ice cream or any chocolate dessert.
Brought to you by Telkom Vision Internet
Monday, July 13, 2009
Thank you dear Telkom Vision Internet for your quirky internet connection. Your funky modem hasn't stopped blinking accompanying my lonely night. Lonely because your internet has decided to take some rest tonight, just like in the past week or two. What was I thinking really. Such fool I was to even think that your main job is to provide me, your paying customer, with a stable and - if it's not too much to ask - a somewhat fast connection.
But hey, at the very least, sometimes, when you're in the right mood, you would bless me with a burst of connection to the whole wide world.
"Oh, thank you Telkom Vision Internet!".
"Indeed, you should be really grateful, human. But three minutes is enough! Now back to your job of admiring the interpretive dance of my modem light."
Negotiation would not do. I tried to bargain a connection on the evening while he could rest during morning, afternoon, and night, but I guess it just doesn't fit his sleeping schedule. I was so desperate, I even tried to scare him with a possible destruction of his property. I looked sternly at his modem while transmitting strong signals of desire to crash and burn the damn thing. He called my bluff and also reprimanded me for calling his modem 'a damn thing'.
Having watched Oprah, I know that in this stressful situation, I should take deep long breaths. So I did. Deep long inhale, deep long exhale. After a couple deep breathings, it seemed that my little Zen time has shown its result. An enlightenment. Yes people, I'm that good. It is very obvious now that it is just tough love afterall. This wise and knowing Telkom Vision Internet has decided that I have wasted too much of my precious time in this world doing useless activities and he actually cares enough to put a stop to this. Graciously, he cut me off from my means to slack off, all for the better good of yours truly.
And so here I am now being productive. Only because of him that I am now writing a thoughtful post to my bare blog. Such rarity. And after this, I would spend the night by learning some life lessons from the movie(s), and I think I shall help the income of that little pastry shop by consuming its calorie laden pastry. And maybe, I would for once put more attention to my health and bid goodnight a little bit earlier. So there you have it, thanks to Telkom Vision Internet, instead of spending the night away checking my facebook and various useless blogs, I will create a piece of literature, dwell in the philosophy of life, give the much needed boost to the economy, and take better care of my health.
(Uhm, something doesn't feel quite right, but I don't know what that is. Maybe I should spend more time to meditate on this, but my movie is waiting, so maybe next time ... and oh, the internet is up anyway.)
But hey, at the very least, sometimes, when you're in the right mood, you would bless me with a burst of connection to the whole wide world.
"Oh, thank you Telkom Vision Internet!".
"Indeed, you should be really grateful, human. But three minutes is enough! Now back to your job of admiring the interpretive dance of my modem light."
Negotiation would not do. I tried to bargain a connection on the evening while he could rest during morning, afternoon, and night, but I guess it just doesn't fit his sleeping schedule. I was so desperate, I even tried to scare him with a possible destruction of his property. I looked sternly at his modem while transmitting strong signals of desire to crash and burn the damn thing. He called my bluff and also reprimanded me for calling his modem 'a damn thing'.
Having watched Oprah, I know that in this stressful situation, I should take deep long breaths. So I did. Deep long inhale, deep long exhale. After a couple deep breathings, it seemed that my little Zen time has shown its result. An enlightenment. Yes people, I'm that good. It is very obvious now that it is just tough love afterall. This wise and knowing Telkom Vision Internet has decided that I have wasted too much of my precious time in this world doing useless activities and he actually cares enough to put a stop to this. Graciously, he cut me off from my means to slack off, all for the better good of yours truly.
And so here I am now being productive. Only because of him that I am now writing a thoughtful post to my bare blog. Such rarity. And after this, I would spend the night by learning some life lessons from the movie(s), and I think I shall help the income of that little pastry shop by consuming its calorie laden pastry. And maybe, I would for once put more attention to my health and bid goodnight a little bit earlier. So there you have it, thanks to Telkom Vision Internet, instead of spending the night away checking my facebook and various useless blogs, I will create a piece of literature, dwell in the philosophy of life, give the much needed boost to the economy, and take better care of my health.
(Uhm, something doesn't feel quite right, but I don't know what that is. Maybe I should spend more time to meditate on this, but my movie is waiting, so maybe next time ... and oh, the internet is up anyway.)
Pak San
Monday, July 6, 2009
'Pak San doesn't walk. He runs.', my aunt observed.
And all of us nodded in unison.
Pak San was 59 years of age, but he didn't look any older than 45. Inhabitating a small figure and possessing a super human agility, Pak San did everything fast and efficient and still managed to give running commentaries to whatever conversation we had. Sometimes he even did it in Chinese. This, of course, annoyed my late grandma terribly. Here were her grandchildren, all clueless in their own grandmother tongue, and yet this driver could speak it oh so effortlessly.
Pak San had worked for my aunt for 18 years. He was my aunt's Bik Yah. Someone who had worked too long and known us too well, that he had grown to care about us, and us about him. Care enough that we would accommodate his all-knowing attitude and his quirky acts. In short, he was part of our extended family.
It was tragic and suddened. Two motorcycle riders did thoughtless acts. Double-lane crossing on his part, a fast and careless riding on another. They performed brain operation twice on him to reduce the blood cloth, but it was too late and too little. My aunt couldn't hold the tears, her eyes were swollen for days.
We all visited him at the hospital. He was already in a deep comma. They placed him in a ward of people who were just waiting for their time to exit the stage. 'At this point, there is nothing else that we can do. We hope you, family members and friends, can accompany the patient in his last moment', the doctor said. There were some painful moaning in the room, some crying, but mainly just blank hopeless stares. At one moment, there was quietness in the room before it was broken with the laughs of the young staff interns. Apparently someone just delivered one funny joke. I felt suffocated. I hate hospital.
After 5 days of comma, Pak San left all of us. 'At least he didn't feel any pain', we tried to cheer each other up. He was buried the next day, and life goes on for the rest of us.
I received an SMS a few days after, 'Thanks for the mangoes. They are very sweet. I'm eating them now while sobbing a bit remembering Pak San, hiks ...'.
My aunt is quite the jokester, and the visual of my aunt crying while eating mangoes made my mother and I smiled and saddened both at the same time.
Rest in peace, Pak San, and thank you for everything.
And all of us nodded in unison.
Pak San was 59 years of age, but he didn't look any older than 45. Inhabitating a small figure and possessing a super human agility, Pak San did everything fast and efficient and still managed to give running commentaries to whatever conversation we had. Sometimes he even did it in Chinese. This, of course, annoyed my late grandma terribly. Here were her grandchildren, all clueless in their own grandmother tongue, and yet this driver could speak it oh so effortlessly.
Pak San had worked for my aunt for 18 years. He was my aunt's Bik Yah. Someone who had worked too long and known us too well, that he had grown to care about us, and us about him. Care enough that we would accommodate his all-knowing attitude and his quirky acts. In short, he was part of our extended family.
It was tragic and suddened. Two motorcycle riders did thoughtless acts. Double-lane crossing on his part, a fast and careless riding on another. They performed brain operation twice on him to reduce the blood cloth, but it was too late and too little. My aunt couldn't hold the tears, her eyes were swollen for days.
We all visited him at the hospital. He was already in a deep comma. They placed him in a ward of people who were just waiting for their time to exit the stage. 'At this point, there is nothing else that we can do. We hope you, family members and friends, can accompany the patient in his last moment', the doctor said. There were some painful moaning in the room, some crying, but mainly just blank hopeless stares. At one moment, there was quietness in the room before it was broken with the laughs of the young staff interns. Apparently someone just delivered one funny joke. I felt suffocated. I hate hospital.
After 5 days of comma, Pak San left all of us. 'At least he didn't feel any pain', we tried to cheer each other up. He was buried the next day, and life goes on for the rest of us.
I received an SMS a few days after, 'Thanks for the mangoes. They are very sweet. I'm eating them now while sobbing a bit remembering Pak San, hiks ...'.
My aunt is quite the jokester, and the visual of my aunt crying while eating mangoes made my mother and I smiled and saddened both at the same time.
Rest in peace, Pak San, and thank you for everything.
Foundation
Friday, June 12, 2009
Me: Wow, JK and Wiranto don't look good in this poster. They look abnormally dark.
Mom: Yeah, you're right. Most probably color profiling problem during the printing process.
Me: And not to mention a bad Photoshop work.
Mom: They seem to have some sort of brick-ish red blush applied to them.
Me: I can't believe they approved to have these posters planted across the city, and worse, the whole nation!
Mom: Compare it with the SBY and Boediono poster over there.
Me: Great smiles with pleasing light brown skin color.
Mom: I think they applied some foundation before they have their photos taken.
Me: Maybe that's the key to win the election.
Mom: What?
Me: Foundation.
Mom: I hope so.
My mom rocks!
Mom: Yeah, you're right. Most probably color profiling problem during the printing process.
Me: And not to mention a bad Photoshop work.
Mom: They seem to have some sort of brick-ish red blush applied to them.
Me: I can't believe they approved to have these posters planted across the city, and worse, the whole nation!
Mom: Compare it with the SBY and Boediono poster over there.
Me: Great smiles with pleasing light brown skin color.
Mom: I think they applied some foundation before they have their photos taken.
Me: Maybe that's the key to win the election.
Mom: What?
Me: Foundation.
Mom: I hope so.
My mom rocks!
E!
Thursday, June 11, 2009
Mom: So, are you sure we're going to make it?
Me: Mother, we're 3 minutes away from the gas station. I'm 100% sure we'll make it.
Mom: I've never been in this situation before. The needle is pointing at E! You know what it means? The gas tank is empty!
Me: Relax mother, the red warning light hasn't blinked at all. I've been in a situation where the red light blinked probably 3 or more times before I managed to fill the gas.
Mom: What? You waited until the red light blinked 3 times? Wouldn't the car just die after 3 blinks? I really can't understand you and your sisters. Always wait to do stuff until the last minute!
Me: Mother, you should be happy that I've been in this kind of situation. You know, it is often in this kind of situation that I remember God and regain my faith.
Mom: Haha, very funny. Seriously though, I never could do stuff at the last minute, I will be too worried about it, it will consume all my thoughts, and I will end up doing it at once so I could move on to do better things.
Me: But mother, don't you see, it's all your fault.
Mom: What? How could it be my fault?
Me: You know the saying ... the fruits don't fall far from the tree. And with the 100% rate of this laziness trait appearing at your daughters, it is obvious that the root of the problem is in the parents.
Mom: But, I'm exactly the opposite of you and your sisters!
Me: Well, it's father's fault then. And assuming that it's not genetic, you two were the one who raised us up during our formative years. So, genetically or environmentally, the blame is still on you, my dear mother.
Mom: Sigh ...
And here's one reason why I don't think I'm ready for motherhood, ... the fruits don't fall far from the tree!
Me: Mother, we're 3 minutes away from the gas station. I'm 100% sure we'll make it.
Mom: I've never been in this situation before. The needle is pointing at E! You know what it means? The gas tank is empty!
Me: Relax mother, the red warning light hasn't blinked at all. I've been in a situation where the red light blinked probably 3 or more times before I managed to fill the gas.
Mom: What? You waited until the red light blinked 3 times? Wouldn't the car just die after 3 blinks? I really can't understand you and your sisters. Always wait to do stuff until the last minute!
Me: Mother, you should be happy that I've been in this kind of situation. You know, it is often in this kind of situation that I remember God and regain my faith.
Mom: Haha, very funny. Seriously though, I never could do stuff at the last minute, I will be too worried about it, it will consume all my thoughts, and I will end up doing it at once so I could move on to do better things.
Me: But mother, don't you see, it's all your fault.
Mom: What? How could it be my fault?
Me: You know the saying ... the fruits don't fall far from the tree. And with the 100% rate of this laziness trait appearing at your daughters, it is obvious that the root of the problem is in the parents.
Mom: But, I'm exactly the opposite of you and your sisters!
Me: Well, it's father's fault then. And assuming that it's not genetic, you two were the one who raised us up during our formative years. So, genetically or environmentally, the blame is still on you, my dear mother.
Mom: Sigh ...
And here's one reason why I don't think I'm ready for motherhood, ... the fruits don't fall far from the tree!
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