This recipe comes from Farm Journal’s Complete Pie Cookbook, which I picked up for free outside Michael’s Books in Bellingham. It worked out pretty good, though I might do something slightly different next time. Instead of coconut flakes, I might use shredded coconut. Since coconut doesn’t soften too much during the cooking, it resulted in kind of a crunchy/fibrous texture. That was minor though. Turned out to be an excellent pie, and pretty easy to make.

As always, recipe is how I made it, not exactly how it appears in the cookbook.

• unbaked 9 inch pie shell
• 4 egg whites
• 1 teaspoon nutmeg
• 1/8 teaspoon salt
• 2 teaspoons vanilla extract
• 2 cups sifted confectioners sugar
• 1½ cups flaked coconut
• 2 cups milk
• 2 tablespoons butter

1. Combine 2 egg whites, nutmeg, salt, vanilla, sugar, coconut, milk, and butter.
2. Cook over hot (not boiling) water in a double boiler for 5 minutes or until mixture thickens slightly.
3. Let cool to room temperature.
4. Beat 2 egg whites just until stiff (but not too stiff). I’ve never been able to beat egg whites to stiffness anyway, so this wasn’t a problem.
5. Fold beaten egg whites into coconut mixture.
6. Pour into pie shell.
7. Bake at 450° for 30 to 40 minutes, or until filling is firm in the center.
8. Cool and let it set.
9. Put pie in refrigerator overnight and serve cold.

No pictures of my finished work this time.

Originally published at King Rat. You can comment here or there.

Tags: coconut, cooking, pie

Saturday was Pie Night. It also was my birthday, though I didn’t post that. I haven’t been particularly enamored of making a big deal of my birthday for a few years. I’m not a particularly holiday-ish kind of person, and I only like being the center of attention in special circumstances. I scheduled Pie Night for my birthday mostly because it was a convenient weekend; the 4th would have sucked to host Pie Night. A few people noted it was my birthday and brought gifts, which was very thoughtful of them.

Pies I made were a coconut pie, apple-cranberry pie, pear-ginger pie (with lots of fresh ginger), cherry pie, a pork-cranberry pie, and corn pie. All of them turned out to be tasty. I didn’t like the corn pie so much, but that was more that I like corn tasting somewhat different than it turned out.

Ellen brought a raspberry custard pie. Mike made a key lime pie. And Carrie brought a crab pie and another savory pie, which I forget the contents of. Very tasty all of them.

People who came by, that I remember: Erin, Walter, Ellen, Nisi, Jason, Kim, Mike, Allyson, Darren, Sara, Ron, Sara (a different Sara), Daidre, Keenan, Katie, Carrie, Amanda, Jeri, Gord, Chris, and Michael. Dawn and Manda didn’t make it but stopped by in the morning to hang out and help me clean up.

I’ll post a couple of the pie recipes later.

Originally published at King Rat. You can comment here or there.

Tags: events, pie, pie night

For those who are the type who need reminding, Pie Night is this Saturday at 5pm at my place, 2301 Fairview Ave E in Seattle. If you haven’t already committed to coming, now is the time. I do need to know an approximate head count so I can make enough pie.

If the weather is nice, Pie Night will be held in the pool area overlooking Lake Union. You are welcome to take a dip if you are so inclined.

If you are an alcohol imbibing type, bring something of that sort. Since I am a non-drinker, I hate to pick out the alcohol for the drinkers. Pie is welcome, but not required; I will make enough. Cake is not welcome.

Edited to add: Pies planned are: Pear-ginger, coconut, apple cranberry, pork cranberry, cherry pie, and a corn pie. Plus whatever guests bring.

Originally published at King Rat. You can comment here or there.

Tags: events, pie, pie night

Well, you might have gotten the hint that I was sort of messed up as a kid. I didn’t exactly turn out all right, and someone asked me what I am doing about that. The answer is, a lot of things, and not enough. Not yet.

Which brings me to the title. I wanted to be the kind of person who hosted parties. As a teen, I tried to throw a party when my parents were gone once. Complete failure. No one came besides Jason and a couple of people I can’t remember who. I can’t remember trying again until the first Pie Night in 2002.

It’s pretty simple. Pie Night was and is my attempt to be the cool popular kid in high school and college who threw a party and everyone wanted to go to his parties. Instead of playing not to lose, like I did for years, I made a stab at being popular.

I stacked the deck in my favor by having it be a little different. Other people threw parties with alcohol or art or music or whatever. No one else had pie. It would be different, and who doesn’t like pie? I’ve jokingly referred to Pie Night as buying friends but it’s not really a joke. I’m hoping people will like me because I’m doing something in which they like to participate.

Have I mentioned the first pie night was a failure in that regard? I was certainly popular with people Jason cajoled into coming. I wasn’t so successful at convincing them on my own. But I was new at it and I learned. If a person does anything long enough, they’ll get some notice for it. Pie Night is over 7 years old now.

That’s actually sort of important. Becoming a person different from who I was takes time and practice. Pie Night isn’t the only thing I do to change who I was. Some of them I stuck to. Some of them I gave up prematurely. Pie Night has been pretty successful.

Originally published at King Rat. You can comment here or there.

Tags: life, pie night, self-improvement

Yesterday was Hallmark Father’s Day. Nisi Shawl’s post about her father got me thinking. Crying actually. I cry easily at sad things. Losing mom last year exacerbated this tendency in me that seemed to be getting more pronounced as I got older.

I felt the need to write about my relationship with my father, but after writing the following, it’s inadequate. My memory is spotty and jumbled by years of emotional tumult. So take it as a confused mental image more than anything else.

I grew up without a father.

My dad died in December 1972 after what I understand to be an ugly battle with cancer. I was 2. My brother Dan entered the world the following month, January 1973.

I’ll never know what kind of father he would have turned out to be. Probably pretty good. But it’s a big what if.

In 1975, mom married my step-father Andy. He wasn’t and isn’t the father I wish I had. I call him dad, and father, and it’s somewhat more than convenience for me to do so. Where exactly he fits and what a good definition for my feelings for him are pretty hard to describe. Properly, it isn’t dad. But it isn’t not dad either. (Oh, how Zen of me!)

I never felt like dad treated me like one of his kids. I felt like he treated Elaine, Matt, and Joe as his favorites because they were his kids. They got to do things I didn’t. I got punished more severely and for stuff at a lesser threshold of badness. Worse, he was mildly physically abusive to me.

I remember him coming into my room once, very angry. He had his belt off, and he meant to give me a thrashing. The proper way for me to take a spanking was to submit meekly. I didn’t that time. I scrambled off the bed as he hit me with the belt to try to slide underneath the bed, or over my brother’s bed. I didn’t get away. He grabbed me and held me and hit me with the belt quite a few times. Maybe a dozen. I don’t remember exactly, as it was a long time ago. I think I was 12 or 13. He was very angry and taking it out on me.

One of his favorite punishments was to make me kneel bare-kneed on gravel or our asphalt driveway. It doesn’t start off as too painful, but after just a couple minutes it hurts quite a bit. After 30 minutes, it’s excruciating.

I didn’t get punished for no reason. He didn’t get drunk and start hitting, for instance. It’s just that I got punished hard.

I never received a word of encouragement from him. He made fun of me for chewing my nails. He made fun of my hair. I didn’t have to work on the farm, so I had it easy.

When I was 14, I lived with my paternal grandfather for a year on weekdays. Weekends I stayed with mom and dad. Friends and family were told it was because taking Metro to Seattle Prep was easier from where Grandpa Weiss lived in Broadview. I think I even pitched it that way to mom. But that wasn’t the real reason. The real reason was that as I hit adolescence I became both more angry at dad and more scared of him. It didn’t work out after that year though. When I moved back, things were different with dad. We still didn’t get along. But he never hit me after I started high school either.

To be clear, there are some people who suffer horrible abuse at the hands of their fathers or whatever substitute passes for father in their house. What my dad did to me was minor in comparison to the psychological and physical scars that I’ve seen on some kids. Nevertheless, what I experienced, no child should experience.

What do I wish I had for a father? I totally would have liked Ward Cleaver or Mike Brady. Sure it’s not realistic, but that’s about all I knew besides what I had. I didn’t have very much contact with other dads. Holidays with uncles. Getting the occasional ride home from someone’s dad in Cub Scouts.

That’s not completely true. I had one other model for what a father could be: John Sloane. He’s pretty awesome as Jason’s dad. John does everything a dad is supposed to do. He even did a few dad things for me. For instance, when I needed someone to help me learn how to drive, Mr. Sloane Senior took me out to practice driving. My dad refused to get in a car with me in the driver’s seat.

Anyhow, I really don’t have first hand experience for what a father is like, day in day out. Among other things, when I become a father, that could really bite me in the ass.

Years ago, he married a woman with two kids when he hadn’t even had a good role model for a father himself. A few months after that his first child was born and two more were born before he’d been married four years. Married four years and five kids in the family. More or less he was in over his head. He did what he knew.

My dad couldn’t read up on how to be a good father. His reading skills are elementary. He only got as far as the 8th grade. He’s not a person to ask advice. He couldn’t see how what he did would hurt me. He thought he was curbing my bad tendencies and setting me on the correct path.

Tomorrow I will drive to Lynden to bring a check to dad. I’ll also be signing some paperwork that puts me and my brother in control of dad’s house. Mom worried that someone would try to take advantage of dad. So rather than leave everything to him, Joe and I are trustees. It’s for his benefit.

A quarter century after I moved out of the house for a year because of this man, I am in charge of seeing that he is okay. And I am fine with that.

Andy has good intentions. He’ll help you out if you need help. His next door neighbor has multiple sclerosis and can’t drive long distance without pain, so dad drove him an hour each way for a doctor’s visit. He was mom’s primary caregiver, even when mom was not nice to him and criticized every little thing he did. He loved mom. He’s a doting grandfather as well.

Once I was an adult (i.e., mid 20s), our relationship changed for the better. I wasn’t an angry kid, and he didn’t feel like he was responsible for me. We don’t have a lot to talk about, but we don’t have anything to argue about either.

How he raised me is a thing of the past. It’s not that I’ve forgiven. I’m no longer actively angry, just sad about this hole in my life. It’s hard to describe how I think of him. He’s both the person who hurt me gravely years ago, and the man who loved mom and treated me well as an adult. Kind of a cognitive dissonance, and it actually helps.

He’s not my father, and yet he is my father.

Originally published at King Rat. You can comment here or there.

Tags: family, father, life

Pie lovers! Your time has arrived. Or will in a month, because the next Pie Night will be Saturday, July 11th, at 5 p.m. (2301 Fairview Ave E Apt 107, Seattle - Ring WEISS on the call board)

What is Pie Night? It’s pretty much what it sounds like: all pie, all night long. No cake. No cookies. Now, it’s not just dessert pies; we have a few savory pies as well in case your mother would get upset for skipping straight to dessert.

Up Close With a Lovely Lemon Pecan Pie

Is it required to bring a pie? No. If you’d like to bring pie, please do, but it’s not required. If you do decide to bring pie, please take the effort to make it yourself. No store bought pies. Buy the crust; buy the filling. But assemble and bake it yourself, please.

Are children welcome? Yes, if you don’t mind them hearing naughty words and discussions.

What can you bring besides pie? Ice cream. Beverages. Friends. I have a large supply of plates and utensils, so those are not needed.

Is an R.S.V.P. necessary? Please don’t be flaky. I need to know how many pies to make, so do please let me know if you’ll be attending. Commenting on this entry is sufficient, or add yourself to the Pie Night event on Facebook.

Image Up close with a lovely lemon pecan pie by kat selvocki used under a Creative Commons Attribution Non Commercial No Derivatives 2.0 license.

Originally published at King Rat. You can comment here or there.

Tags: events, pie, pie night

Why Wiscon?

I haven’t even left Madison. I intended to wait a few days after returning to Seattle to write about my Wiscon experience. I’m sitting in Michaelangelo’s coffee shop, where I intended to read some of the books I bought. I sat down, pulled Feeling Very Strange from my backpack, and then just looked at it. All I’ve got going through my head is my experience, and I don’t think I can read. So I write instead, though this won’t get published until I get home.

I decided to attend Wiscon after the kerfluffle last year over what I wrote about Joe Abercrombie’s Before They Are Hanged. Some commenters on Abercrombie’s blog accused me of … well, I’ll just quote one:

I thought this was quite amusing. I’ve never taken a feminist lit class. Ever. I’ve taken only the Intro to the Canon type of literature classes, and I don’t mean the feminist canon. I attended the University of Idaho. Idaho! In the center of the whitest Congressional district in the U.S. at the time. A state where the women’s groups that get any attention are headed by Phyllis Schlafly. This was after attending high school run by the Catholic church and only a decade away from being an all boys prep school. Don’t even get me started on my elementary and junior high education! There I was taught that dinosaur fossils were planted by the devil’s minions to trick us.

The point being, no one has ever indoctrinated me in proper or even improper feminist theory.

But afterward, I thought perhaps I should learn more. I subscribed to Feminist SF - The Blog!. My friend Kim planned on attending Wiscon last year and told me about it, encouraging me to go. Last year I had mom’s illness and impending death to deal with, so I didn’t. Kim attended and returned with awesome things to say about it. Earlier this year, I decided to go.

Introversion and Culture

I’m not the most extroverted of people. A fair number of people seem surprised that I am shy. I can fake outgoingness sometimes. The best comparison I have to the trepidation I felt about Wiscon is my experience going to India. I was stepping into a foreign culture. It had values about which I was not familiar. It had unwritten rules about which I was completely unaware. I went by myself, without a protective posse. I stood out as not being part of the locally dominant culture. All these things worked against me in India, and all of these elements were present to some degree with attending Wiscon.

I did two things (at least) though to make things easier on myself. My first tactic I chose consciously. I would not open my mouth to express any opinion in any panel programming. Questions were fine. Requesting clarification I thought was safe. But I decided against expressing any sort of opinion.

This goes back to something Nelson told me 15 years ago. Your job is just to listen right now. It was a different context, but the issue was the same as now. I am an opinionated guy, and I have an instinctive reaction to spout my opinion to any and all who come within earshot (or read my crap online). Regardless if I was asked for my opinion. Regardless if I have any background information. Regardless if I knew the reasons why other people had their opinions. I’m better than I was nearly half a lifetime ago, but I’m still pretty bad about it.

That’s the intellectual reason to keep my mouth shut. It’s valid, but the driving force was emotional. I fear being wrong. I fear being attacked. I fear getting jumped on. My fear is not rational. Others may have a perfectly rational fear of attack. I do not. I have lived and learned from every personal attack. I’ve thrived even. Yet every time I write something negative about a book or express an opinion online, the pit of my stomach drops before I press publish.

The second choice I made was not conscious. I didn’t shy away from controversial panel topics to attend, but I did avoid those with the most inflammatory descriptions. The first panel I attended tackled the topic of the portrayal of the working class in speculative fiction. I’m really no longer working class, but I still identify because I grew up in a working class family. I picked mostly literature related topics. I picked topics with panelists whose names I knew.

RaceFail floated as a prominent issue at Wiscon. The people who were the most involved in RaceFail discussions on blogs were either names I didn’t know well, or didn’t come to Wiscon. Writers of color (i.e., those with the most at stake immediately in RaceFail) that I’ve read and who were at Wiscon included Nnedi Okorafor and … Nnedi Okorafor. And although RaceFail directly concerns literature, discussion about RaceFail is one level removed from books. Keeping my panels directly related to literature kept me one level away from RaceFail discussions. I did attend one panel on multiculturalism and thought it was great discussion, but I doubt it would register much controversy compared to other rooms.

I don’t believe it was an accident that the things I consciously thought about when choosing panels led me away from scary stuff. If I go next year (and I’m leaning towards attending) I think I will examine the choices I’ve made to make sure I’m not avoiding difficult topics. Or at least if I am avoiding them it’s a considered choice.

I’m not sure whether my panel choices was a good thing or not. One one hand, I didn’t freak myself out about a topic that won’t be resolved for quite some time anyway. On the other hand, I learned about 5% of what I could have learned. Had I thought more I might have chose different.

Social interaction

People come back to Wiscon from all over the United States and the world year after year. It’s not just a place for discussion of feminist topics. It’s a place where people of like mind return for fellowship or sisterhood (to use both gender loaded terms). It’s an environment that can strengthen people’s resolve before returning home to fight battles alone or in smaller groups.

There’s a drawback to that though. For the non-outgoing, there isn’t a lot of support for integrating into the community particularly in the first day or so, at least as far as I could tell.

Returning attendees eagerly embrace their friends from previous years, rejoicing at the end of the interruption of their camaraderie. Groups of friends unload their belongings and decamp to food or other activities, leaving the less connected behind. I’m sure not everyone experiences this, but I know I did and several people I talked to related similar experiences for their first time attending.

Friday night I attended the First Wiscon Dinner which seemed to have no support other than a line in the program guide. Ostensibly an event where a few experienced hands would welcome first timers to acculturate us, instead 25 of us newbies stood around at the designated meeting point wondering what the plan was supposed to be. We eventually split into three groups because the word from the Madison local newbies was that close by restaurants wouldn’t be able to handle large groups. I quite enjoyed the small group I dined with, and chatted with a couple from my group throughout the convention.

I didn’t hide out in my hotel room. I purposefully planted myself in the hotel lobby during breaks and periodically introduced myself to people. None of those conversations lasted long nor did any of those folks return to conversation with me a second time during the first couple of days. I wasn’t dismissed, but I didn’t feel any real engagement either.

The first time someone initiated conversation with me was Sunday. M. Rickert engaged me in conversation Sunday morning, sensing I was bewildered and not pulled into the thick of things, sharing her first Wiscon experience from a few years ago. I don’t know the causes, whether our interaction was the key or something else was working, but I subsequently hooked into conversation with people better. Lunch with Liz Henry and C-ko (C-ko being the one person I knew) and a dessert table oddly magnetized to Seattleites for the guest of honor speeches. Maybe I just felt more comfortable by that point.

Authors

One big reason to go to Wiscon was to find more good literature that I didn’t know about. I bought books and I got to meet some authors.

Though probably working off bad assumptions, I didn’t chat too much with author panelists. I know they are real people. Most have day jobs. But I still have them on somewhat of a pedestal, and I didn’t want to turn into a fanboy in the hallways. And neither could my puny brain come up with reasons to chat with them or with other panelists. In retrospect, the panel topic would have been a great icebreaker for me to chat with any panelist. Though in most cases I couldn’t have chatted coherently on the panel topics immediately afterward anyway, even just to ask questions.

SignOut on Monday is kind of the designated fanboy event. A fair number of the authors in attendance set up at tables so folks can get their books signed. I bought a dozen or so books by authors who attended and got them signed at SignOut: Geoff Ryman, Ellen Klages, David Schwartz, M. Rickert, Nnedi Okorafor, John Joseph Adams, Carol Emshwiller, and Nisi Shawl. In most cases I chatted a bit with them as well. Other than guests of honor Ellen Klages and Geoff Ryman, most didn’t have lines of more than one or two. Of course, all were friendly. I knew this, but I still have a twinge of surprise. Cue Bart Simpson: I will not put authors on pedestals. I will not put authors on pedestals.

I made a point to pick up something by M. Rickert to thank her for chatting with me Sunday. That turned out to be Feeling Very Strange, an anthology of slipstream stories. I’ve never read much slipstream though. I chatted with David Schwartz and M. Rickert (sitting side by side) talked with me about the genre. I tend not to like literature I don’t understand. Slipstream is designed around cognitive dissonance; by definition it will be hard to understand. But I wanted to try it out because I hadn’t done so before, and M. Rickert writes slipstream. I may get something out of it, but I’m pretty sure the pieces that don’t work for me really aren’t going to work for me.

At the Sunday night Tiptree Award ceremonies, Nisi Shawl received, instead of the traditional Tiptree chocolate, a pie. I thought I recognized a kindred pie aficionado, so when I got her to sign Filter House, I asked her about the chocolate replacement thing. Turns out she gets migraines from chocolate, and thinks pie is the best thing ever. So I mentioned my own predilection for pie and how I made friends through Pie Night. Her response: Where? Can I come? I knew she lived in Seattle, and kind of hoped she’d want to come. Fanboy me emerges. To tell the truth, I haven’t yet read anything she’s written, but she seemed like one of the nicest and most thoughtful people on any of the panels I attended. So I wanted to get to know her. Hopefully she’ll actually be able to come to the next Pie Night.

Geoff Ryman also impressed me. I’ve only really read his story V.A.O. before. I’m fairly familiar with his Mundane Manifesto and the movement he’s trying to start. I appreciate the stance, but I enjoy non-Mundane SF too much to stick to stories that fit that mold only, as he has advocated at times. I attended one panel he was on, and had him sign a book at SignOut. Despite having only the limited interaction, when he ran into me on the streets of Madison this morning, he stopped to chat with me. Nothing substantive, but I was nevertheless impressed. There are a lot of people at Wiscon and not all of them can register on a person’s consciousness.

Wiscon Programming

I’m not normally one to gush about anything, but the panel topics were chock full of substantive discussion. Sure, a few of them were fluff, and I enjoyed those of that ilk that I attended as well. In most time slots I circled at least two or three possible panels. Each panel had enough content to generate at least one separate post. Some had enough for two or three.

Not being a con person, I don’t know how much Wiscon’s panel selection/assignment method differs from other SF conventions. Panels have a mix of professionals and fandom. Any attendee can put their name in the hat ahead of time to be on panels. I don’t know how the programming committee selects folks, but it seemed to work out well for the most part. In only one case did it seem like a panelist was outclassed by the material and the rest of the panel.

In a couple of cases, the moderator could have done a better job leading the panel. Some kind of just were there, and their panels tended to ramble more. A couple panels had members who just had to talk. The moderator for one of those never showed. In the other case, the moderator was the person who dominated the discussion. Neither person ruined the panel, but I would have liked to have heard more from some of the other panelists. Three moderators were outstanding: Fred Schepartz on the working class, L. Timmel Duchamp on book reviewing, and Jesse the K on feminist/leftist SF book groups.

Next year?

I can’t say I’ve found my tribe yet. I don’t bond deeply, quickly enough to make that assertion. I have found kindred spirits and content that serves my intellectual craving. I felt fulfilled like I haven’t in a long time. There’s something about engaging in deep discussion that I enjoy. About books no less. I read a lot. It’s hard to find people who read as much or as widely as I do. Wiscon is full of people who outclass me in that respect. Full of people who outclass me in a lot of respects. That’s stimulating.

Next year’s Wiscon guests of honor or Nnedi Okorafor and Mary Anne Mohanraj. I really liked Zahrah the Windseeker, Nnedi’s young adult novel. Her manner inclines me to turn into a fanboy. She’s nice, and incredibly positive. It took a couple minutes of cajoling to get her to say she didn’t like Twilight. To paraphrase her: I don’t like tearing down authors who are just doing their thing.

I haven’t read Mary Anne Moharaj’s fiction. Mary Anne wrote a couple of thoughtful pieces for John Scalzi’s blog that made clear to me some of the issues of RaceFail. I hadn’t mentally connected her to those pieces until this morning.

Both guest of honor selections make me want to go next year.

Photo Wiscon 32 by Liz Henry used under a Creative Commons By-Nd 2.0 license.

Originally published at King Rat. You can comment here or there.

Tags: convention, feminism, life, science fiction, wiscon

Amtrak train (by skyler miller)

I leave this evening for Madison, Wisconsin. I’ll be taking Amtrak’s Empire Builder train to Chicago, after which they’ll bus me to Madison. I have a flurry of last minute preparations to accomplish. I’m not freaking out over stuff to get done at the last minute, I’m just not the type who packs and gets everything ready a week in advance. Clean the cat box. Do a couple loads of laundry. Change my reservation to drop me at the right station in Madison (actually just finished that). Get some snacks. Pack.

The one thing I have done is pick out my reading material for the trip. My MP3 player is loaded up with audiobooks. I have four physical books I’m bringing with. I won’t read them all, but since my reading choices generally go with my mood I want options. However, I brought small paperbacks for space. Since I’m going to a literary convention, I suspect I’ll pick up a book or two while there.

The convention is Wiscon, a feminist science fiction convention. Although I’m a feminist, I don’t study feminism. I have no idea what kind of feminist I am, and I have no idea what kind of feminism predominates at the convention. (How very privileged of me to not have to declare!) So I’m keeping my fingers crossed that there’ll be enough that I find interesting.

I’m going because some of the most inventive science fiction and fantasy writers call themselves feminists, and I’m hoping to find undiscovered (by me) literature that doesn’t fit the mold. In particular, I’m looking forward to hearing Tiptree co-winner Nisi Shawl read.

Photo Amtrak train by skyler miller used under a Creative Commons By-Nc-Sa 2.0 license.

Originally published at King Rat. You can comment here or there.

Tags: life

A couple of months ago, I tried out a pastitsio recipe in the Better Homes & Gardens Biggest Book of Casseroles. Looking at the index, I realized the cookbook had a different recipe for pastitsio 60 pages earlier. That’s my one gripe about the cookbook; it doesn’t group similar recipes very well. There’s five or six mac and cheese recipes scattered throughout. Why not put them all together? Anyhow, the other pastitsio recipe had fewer pre-made ingredients, so I decided I would try it. It’s better.

The following is my attempt.

• 1 pound ground beef
• 1 large onion
• 8 ounce can tomato sauce
• ¼ cup sherry
• ¼ teaspoon cinnamon
• 8 ounces uncooked penne pasta
• 4 eggs
• 4 tablespoons butter
• 2 tablespoons flour
• ¼ teaspoon salt
• ¹/₈ teaspoon black pepper
• 1½ cups milk
• 1 cup shredded Romano cheese

1. Chop onion
2. Cook beef and onion until meat is browned and onion is tender
3. Drain
4. Add tomato sauce, sherry, and cinnamon to meat and onions
5. Heat until bubbling
6. Reduce heat, cover and simmer for 30 minutes
7. Cook penne pasta according to directions
8. Lightly beat 2 eggs
9. Toss cooked pasta with eggs and 2 tablespoons of butter
10. Melt 2 tablespoons of butter in a small saucepan over medium heat
11. Stir in flour, salt and pepper until smooth
12. Add milk (slowly)
13. Cook until mixture is thick
14. Lightly beat 2 eggs
15. Stir mixture into the eggs
16. (make sure meat, pasta, and sauce are all finished)
17. Preheat oven to 350°
18. Grease a 3 quart casserole dish
19. Spread half the pasta in dish
20. Spread half the meat sauce over the pasta
21. Spread ¹/₃ of the cheese over the pasta
22. Spread remaining pasta on top of cheese
23. Spread remaining meat sauce over the pasta
24. Spread ¹/₃ of the cheese over the pasta
25. Pour white sauce evenly over cheese
26. Spread remaining cheese on top
27. Cover and bake for 20 minutes
28. Remove cover and bake for additional 15 minutes
29. Let stand for 15 minutes to cool and set

Originally published at King Rat. You can comment here or there.

Tags: casserole, cooking, ground beef, meat, pasta

One of my long term goals is to get married. I quote that because I am not hooked to the idea of a legal marriage or the ceremony itself. What I’d like to do is be in my old age and have been with the same person for decades. I look at my grandparents and think I want that.

I signed up earlier this week for a personals web site. I’ve had accounts on these things in the past, but I’ve used the free versions. Never with good results. I sprung for a paid version this time. That was a tough mental bump to get over. The mental logic is: I should be able to meet people on my own god given personality and ability. Paying for a personals site is giving up. It’s moral failure. That’s my instant reaction anyway.

The thing is: the dating pool in my social group is pretty small. If you don’t believe me, I have a diagram I can show you. I need to expand my possibilities. New groups of people. New activities. New sources.

Anyway, I’ve decided that I shouldn’t close off possibilities. So I sucked it up and pulled the debit card out of the wallet. Maybe it works. Maybe something else I do works.

Originally published at King Rat. You can comment here or there.

Tags: life