divine angst

I have been pretty busy the last few weeks so haven’t been keeping up with Joss Whedon’s new show, Dollhouse.

This morning I am watching the backlog of episodes, starting with the seventh, I guess. That’s one after the show stopped being boring and started having an arc and some actual good dialog (aka, witty banter).

OMG. This show is funny and Jossy and I. Love. It. Super excited for this one now. I was so disappointed for those first five dull episodes, and now I know it was just a ruse to trick Fox into thinking it was just another Friday night dud.

It’s nice when things come around. I’m working on a case right now that involves a law in my state that was the basis for my 1L legal writing memo. Even better, the client is extremely cost-sensitive, making me the absolute perfect person to be working on this case, since I’ve already done the research. (I may even have my list of precedent including the cases I didn’t cite in the memo.)

So, yay for me knowing some relevant law!

When it rains, it pours.

And I really mean it. Two weeks ago, I got staffed on something that I was told would be blowing up in our faces over the following six weeks. Immediately after that, a long-term matter I’m on also went into overdrive, headed for a filing deadline in, yes, about six weeks. A third project has a looming deadline that is—surprise!—right around the same time as the deadlines in both other matters. A fourth matter has a series of deadlines cluttered over the same time period.

None of this freaked me out. I told all of my supervisors about the unfortunate and concurrent deadlines, set about doing my work, and felt pretty energized. For a while. But then some unfortunate family news was delivered, which shook me up a bit; then one of my supervisors tried to give me constructive feedback which wasn’t actually very constructive at all, and my confidence wavered. Meanwhile the family situation is still unfolding and I very much want to devote a lot of my energy to dealing with it; I also very much want to avoid, at all costs, the confidence-shaking project—and, really, a lot of my other work.

So I’m a bit blue and struggling just to get things done. It’s not the working that’s the problem; it’s doing it for more than 45 minutes at a stretch. Oh, and the getting started. Funny how hard it is to get things done when you can’t actually start them, and then can’t work on them for more than three quarters of an hour. I don’t think I need a break—I’ve been taking breaks, you know, every 45 minutes. Or maybe I do need a break, but in a different sense—we speak of artists and performers waiting for their “big break” and I think I need a break like that. I need something to happen that just completely changes everything, that shifts the mental block and turns me into a drafting machine who can turn the emotional worries off and turn the legal analysis on, and in the next second switch the taps.

The worst part is that I don’t see an end in sight. I mean, I do see something of an end, down the road several weeks from now when all the various work deadlines have passed and things aren’t quite so pressured. But that’s not really an end. It’s just a marker, off in the distance. There’s no way to predict the timing of the family situation, either; it’s just something to be borne until . . . well, until it’s done.

During Lent, many preachers speak of being in the desert—being in the midst of darkness and discomfort—and embracing the lessons to be learned there. And I’ve always thought that was a beautiful concept, and I’ve experienced it a little. But my experiences with the desert have always been of the sit-back-and-wait variety—and those experiences have been challenging for me because I do not easily just sit back and wait, but they’ve also been sort of enjoyable because sitting back and waiting has a sort of nobility about it, a kind of romance. It’s a lot easier to learn something from a challenging experience when you feel noble and romantic going through it.

Now, though, I think I’m in a different desert, one where I can’t sit back and wait, where I have no time to meditate on the lessons to be learned. I have to Do Things, despite my overwhelming desire to Not Do Things. I do not, I think, like this desert very much. There is nothing noble or romantic about it; in fact, I have to completely put aside all of my touchy-feely “let’s hold hands and sing dirges in the desert” instincts and instead just work. I don’t even feel like I’m working through anything, either; I’m just working, making my way through what feels like a neverending pile of stuff that is constantly replenished from the bottom. (Doesn’t this sound like a Greek myth?)

So I’m sitting in the desert trying to Do Things. Wish me luck.

In a final, desperate attempt to lose that summer associate weight (god, almost two years later), I caved and did something I have never, ever done.

I bought an exercise video.

Namely, the 30-Day Shred.

I thought I was in decent shape, even if a little flabby and a few pounds too heavy.

Um.

I am apparently not in any kind of shape at all. I did about 12 minutes of the 20-minute workout, approximately one and a half circuits, six total minutes of strength training, two total minutes of cardio, and one minute of abs, and I Cannot. Raise. My. Arms.

My legs are OK. For now. I think the pain is yet to come in my lower body. Frankly, the pain is yet to come in my upper body; I don’t think uncontrollable trembling counts as pain, even though it is uncomfortable.

Mr. Angst says I need to do it again tomorrow, so that I get in the habit of it, so that I stick with it. I told him I’ll do it, half-assed if necessary, if I am actually physically CAPABLE of raising my arms.

Ten bucks says I won’t be able to raise my arms.

I think God has a finely tuned sense of humor. Or at least, he enjoys irony.

Yesterday, our landlord emailed us asking if we thought we’d be renewing our lease. We spent some time crafting a response to her, opening up a negotiation. We’d like our rent to go back to the original rate, the one we agreed to pay in 2007, and in return we’ll agree to extend our lease a few months so as to give her a little extra time with a guaranteed (good) tenant. Theoretically that also allows her a little more time to not have to try and rent the place in a dismal economy. As it is, the original rate is still high for the current market. It was probably average in 2007, but no more. But we like the place and are willing to pay a little more than we probably should, mostly just to avoid having to move. I hate moving.

Eight hours after replying to our landlord’s email–in which we repeatedly insisted that we do love the place and would love to stay if the conditions are right–around 4:00 this morning, we were awoken by a voice, booming over the emergency speaker system. It was the fire department, informing us that there was a fire in the elevator shaft–the one 20 feet from our door, no less–but that we were in no danger, and that we should stay in our homes. This message was repeated, in various permutations and sometimes unintelligibly, several more times over the next hour. And then our apartment started to smell like burning rubber.

I just love being woken up in the middle of the night before the work week starts; I particularly love it when it happens right after I’ve lost an hour of sleep thanks to Daylight Savings. I also love that my sweater today has a sort of chemical scent–that burning rubber smell really got into everything. And I really, really love it when I drag myself out of bed to get ready for work, only to discover that the fire department has turned off the hot water as a result of the fire. Yay!!

But we love living here, yes indeedy.

[Just in case anyone is still reading and was wondering, life is otherwise OK. I am still employed and am even relatively busy, for this economy. Mr. Angst is also still employed. Himself is also doing just fine. We constantly remind ourselves that we are very blessed and lucky to be in good shape right now.]

My best friend’s mom (and my best friend, for that matter) make this excellent dip called prairie fire, and I gave it a whirl tonight for the Super Bowl.

Their recipe calls for using New Orleans style red beans, because they’re from Louisiana. I, however, am from Texas, so I used refried pinto beans. Their recipe also called for provolone, but I thought cheddar would go better with my beans, so I used cheddar.

This is basically homemade bean dip with better flavor and texture. It’s addictive.

Also, this recipe is enough for two people. For a crowd, double or quadruple it. (In fact, I quartered my best friend’s recipe. This isn’t the kind of recipe that you can really screw up by being off a little bit on the measurements.)

1 cup refried beans from a can
1/2 stick butter
about 2 tablespoons sliced jalapeños from a jar
about 2 teaspoons jalapeño juice from the jar
about 1 tablespoon very finely minced onion
1 glove of garlic, pressed
about 1/2 cup shredded cheddar, or more to taste

There are two ways to do this. The first way is to toss everything in the food processor or blender first, and then heat it to melt the butter and cheese. I think there’s an easier way, but it requires a handheld or stick blender, which I have. Throw everything in a medium saucepan and cook over low heat till everything is melted. Then take your stick blender to it to break up the jalapeños (and onions, though they should be minced fine enough that the blending won’t do a lot). You could probably not blend it at all, but it’s better if every bite has a little bit of pepper instead of some bites having huge chunks of pepper. But it’s really all about preference.

Prairie fire is great served hot, but it’s pretty darn good when it’s cooled off a bit, too. I served this with another handful of shredded cheddar on top of it, and we liked that, too, since we got a little bit of cheese with every bite.

The only thing left in the fridge tonight was pork chops. Good ones, from Whole Foods, but still, pork chops. I was a little later getting home tonight, so I didn’t have a ton of time to cook anything, and with pork chops, there’s always a big risk of a fast cooking method causing them to dry out.

When I’m worried about dried out pork chops, I usually brine them. But my usual brine takes an hour at least, which I did not have time for. So I threw caution to the wind and tried a super-concentrated brine, soaked the chops for only 25 minutes, and then baked them for 22 minutes. A quick pan-sear when they came out finished them off. Yummy.

So, I used a quarter-cup of kosher salt, a quarter-cup of brown sugar (not packed), a half-cup of cider vinegar, and about a quart of water. Stirred till the salt and sugar were completely dissolved, put the chops and the brine in a gallon zip-top bag, and let them sit for 25 minutes. I patted them dry when they came out, sprinkled them with salt, fresh ground black pepper, and a light dusting of garlic powder. I wanted a little bit of moisture on them for the baking, but usually I use worcestershire and that didn’t seem right. So I mixed one part raspberry chipotle salsa and one part soy sauce, spooned it over the chops on both sides, then baked them for 22 minutes at 350.

When they came out, they weren’t quite done, so I seared them in a pan, about 1-1/2 minutes on each side, over high heat. They got a nice caramelized crust in the searing; the acid in the vinegar helped tenderize the chops—which, I’m sure also helped the brine penetrate them—as well as gave them a very nice flavor.

Vinegar in brine is probably not a good idea for a longer brine, since the acid will cure the meat (think ceviche), but for flash-brining? Perfect.

I made braised short ribs again tonight. This time, I used boneless short ribs, substituted cremini mushrooms for the carrots, and used fresh rosemary instead of dried thyme. It turned out nicely, but not as flavorful as the last batch. Thankfully, short ribs are cheap, so I can keep trying this!

I also took pictures this time.

Here are the short ribs, browning in the pot.

Out with the ribs, and in with the onions.

And some tomato paste…

And then the wine, reducing down.

Now for the mushrooms and rosemary…

And finally, back in with the meat, right before the lid went on and the whole thing went into the oven for two hours.

Delicious!

I suppose there is no chance that they won’t completely screw this up.

I haven’t sewn anything in a while—I’m waiting on a new order of fabric to finally make myself a rockin’ tote bag—so I don’t have any new crafty things to post about.

But I do have food to post about.

I decided to branch out from my usual weeknight cooking this week, and bought some beef short ribs. Why? Well, they’re pretty cheap, but they have lots of nice marbling and generally look like they’d be yummy. So I bought some, looked up some recipes, and gave it a whirl. Verdict: Not Fail. In fact, Mr. Angst said that they were the kind of thing he’d expect to eat in a fancy restaurant—and they were so easy to make!

First, you can either do bone-in or boneless short ribs. If you do bone in, be forewarned that you’ll want to cut the bone off about halfway through cooking lest your braising liquid get unbelievably fatty and greasy. Cooks’ Illustrated says to go boneless and use a little gelatin to give the final sauce the right mouthfeel; I say, cutting the bone off halfway through was not that big a deal, so I’d probably just keep doing that. Either way, you need something—either the bones for part of the cooking, or the gelatin—to give the final sauce that finish. (It’s basically the same stuff, since gelatin is generally made from animal collagen. If that grosses you out, sorry. I think it’s important to know where and what your food comes from.)

So, OK. Procure a bottle of robust wine. I used a relatively inexpensive cabernet (not too inexpensive, though!) and I’d recommend something similar. Don’t use a pinot or a really delicate shiraz; you want something with some body and flavor.

Now, take your short ribs—about 3 lbs. if bone-in, and 2 lbs. if boneless—and brown them really well over medium-high heat, in an ovenproof pan/pot for at least 5 minutes on each side. They need to be really browned up. I used my Le Creuset dutch oven, and I think that’s a good pot to use. Nothing too shallow, and it needs a tight-fitting lid.

Once the ribs are well-browned, remove them to a bowl. Add one onion, cut pole-to-pole and then thinly sliced, to the pot and cook, stirring regularly to keep them from burning. You want them to get very soft and just browned. If they are browning too quickly, you can add a couple tablespoons of water. Once the onions are soft, add a tablespoon of tomato paste and cook, stirring constantly (or it’ll burn) until the paste has started to brown on the sides and bottom of the pot. Add three peeled cloves of garlic and cook till aromatic (about 30 seconds), and then pour in a cup of your red wine. (Drink a glass while you cook—then you’ll know if it’s worth cooking with.) Cook the mix until the wine has reduced by about half. Then add a half-cup-to-a-cup of beef broth, a bay leaf, and whatever herbs you love—I used some dried thyme, but I wish I’d added the fresh rosemary I had instead. Also add some carrots if you want, cut into 2-inch pieces. Next time I make this, I’ll try sauteing some mushrooms in with the onions—think creatively like that. Yummy flavors that have some umami to them will be good in this.

Bring the liquids up to a simmer, add the ribs back to the pot, cover and place in a 300° oven for 2 to 2-1/2 hours. At the one hour mark, turn the ribs. If your ribs are bone-in, cut the bone off at this point. Turn the ribs one more time before the end of cooking. When you can slip a fork easily into the meat, it’s done. When it’s done, pull the meat and carrots out of the pot and place them on a serving platter; tent with foil to keep warm. Strain the cooking liquid through a sieve or strainer into a fat separator (or a bowl if you don’t have one), pressing on the solids. If you used boneless ribs, sprinkle 1/2 a teaspoon of unflavored gelatin over 1/4 cup water and let stand at least 5 minutes, while letting the cooking liquid stand so the fat will rise to the top.

Pour the strained liquid back into the pot and cook until reduced by about half, or until it has a nice, thick texture. Add the gelatin mixture at this point if you’re using it. Season as needed and then pour over the ribs.

I served this over mashed potatoes, and it was SUPERB. Highly recommend. I will make this again and again, and I will experiment with various alterations, because this is pretty much how I like my braised meat—very tender, very flavorful, and with a very rich saucy sauce.

Every year, Mr. Angst and I have a special New Year’s brunch at home—eggs benedict, mimosas, and cafe au lait.^[1] We have our own special way of making the eggs benedict, though. A now-closed restaurant in our old hometown used to make what they called eggs commodore: poached egg and hollandaise, yes, but breakfast sausage instead of canadian bacon, and perched on puff pastry instead of an english muffin. Mr. Angst LOVED that restaurant, and he doesn’t really care for canadian bacon, so when we make eggs benedict, we make it with breakfast sausage and puff pastry.

The only real problem is that I don’t really like sausage all that much. Oh, I’ll eat it, but I burn out on it pretty quickly. (I’m the same way about bacon. One or two strips and that’s it for me.) And my low tolerance for sausage is made even lower when it’s covered with a poached egg and hollandaise, and set atop a buttery puff pastry. This means that I can usually only finish half of my New Year’s brunch, which is very sad. New Year’s Day is one of the few days out of the year when I will willingly consume that many calories!

This year, I decided, therefore, I needed to try something different for brunch. Another restaurant, not defunct, in our old hometown, and known as sort of the successor to the closed restaurant, has a variety of benedicts on the menu and I noticed the last time we were there that they have a florentine benedict—poached eggs nestled in wilted spinach. Hmmm, I thought yesterday. Maybe I could wilt some spinach in lemon and olive oil and use that instead of sausage for my benedicts… And so I did. And folks, it was DELISH. So good, in fact, that I didn’t bother to take any pictures before I devoured it all. EVERY LAST BITE. The spinach, wilted in a little lemon juice, white balsamic vinegar, and olive oil, cut the richness of the egg and hollandaise while also bringing out the lemony goodness of the hollandaise.

With no further ado, then, here’s how I make it all.

I use, and have used for six years now, Emeril’s recipe for hollandaise sauce. One of the reasons I like this recipe is that it uses melted or clarified butter, which is so much easier to manage than trying to emulsify cold butter into just-barely-warm eggs.

3 large egg yolks (save the whites for an omelette or meringues)
2 teaspoons water
1/2 cup clarified butter or 1 stick of butter, melted
1-1/2 teaspoons lemon juice, or more to taste
1/4 teaspoon salt
1/8 teaspoon cayenne pepper

In a double boiler, or in a heatproof bowl over a pot of simmering water, whisk the egg yolks and water together until thick and pale yellow. Move the bowl off the pot as needed to prevent the eggs from overcooking. You do not want them to scramble!! Once the yolks are good and thick, pour the butter in gradually, whisking vigorously the whole time. Get a friend or spouse to help if you have trouble with this step. Continue whisking the egg-butter mix until thick and yummy. Whisk in the lemon juice and salt. Taste and adjust seasonings as needed. Add cayenne last, and DO NOT ADD TOO MUCH. Too much salt in hollandaise is not great but doesn’t ruin the sauce. Too much cayenne, however, will make it really inedible. I honestly usually use about a dash and a half—much more is just bad bad bad.

Since you probably won’t be able to serve the hollandaise immediately, cover the bowl and place in a warm location (you can leave it on top of the original pot if you want, as long as the heat is OFF). If the sauce gets too thick, you can thin it by whisking in a little hot water. I’d start with a teaspoon or so—too much water will also ruin the sauce.

Poach your eggs in about 2-1/2 inches of water, seasoned with about 3 tablespoons of vinegar. (I’ve used champagne vinegar when I wanted a little extra flavor in the eggs. Really, though, the vinegar just helps the eggs stay congealed. Without vinegar, the whites are likely to float off into the water, leaving you with a simmering yolk in what looks like egg-drop soup.) When the water is at a strong simmer—but not at a full boil!—slide the eggs in, one at a time. (I crack my eggs into small measuring cups, and then lower the edge of the measuring cup into the water before tipping the egg in slowly. This also helps the eggs from disintegrating.) You can use those nifty silicone egg poachers if you want. I don’t have any, though, so I do it the old fashioned way. Once all the eggs are in, turn the heat off and cover the pot, 4 minutes or slightly less for really runny yolks, 5 or so for medium, and 6 for hard. Don’t go over 6 or so minutes or the whites and yolks will overcook and you’ll have something resembling a hard-boiled egg without the shell. Remove the eggs carefully with a slotted spoon, turning slightly to allow any water to drain off. Egg water is yucky and makes everything soggy. Ideally, you’ll have everything laid out already so you can take the egg straight from the pot to the plate. If you can’t, though, just place them on a warm plate. Try not to leave the eggs sitting for too long, though, or they’ll get gummy.

Lay out your puff pastry (or english muffin, or other base), top with sausage, wilted spinach,^[2] or whatever else you want, then perch the egg on top of it all. Spoon the hollandaise over it all and dig in!

1. That is, every year that I didn’t stupidly take a swig from a bottle of Patrón at a NYE party, after swilling glass after glass of really cheap sparkling wine. That year, we had brunch on the 2nd, and I spent the 1st in bed, eating dry toast and sipping chicken broth. All my own fault. And the last time I willingly drank tequila straight. ↩
2. I wilt spinach by throwing the leaves into a small pot, adding a couple of teaspoons of lemon juice and a couple of teaspoons of white wine vinegar, a teaspoon or two of olive oil, and a healthy sprinkling of kosher salt. Turn the heat to low and turn the spinach constantly with tongs just until it turns bright green and starts to wilt. Turn the heat off immediately, and get the spinach out of the pot or you’ll have the nasty stuff we all avoided when we were kids. ↩

I made the last bag of 2008 tonight. Also, my mother opened her birthday present early—the penultimate bag of 2008, as it turns out—so I thought I’d go ahead and post pictures of them.

Mom’s bag is rather big, made of very similar fabric as the brown one I made for my sister-in-law. As stiff and heavy as that twill is, though, a bag this big needs some structure. I didn’t interface it, though, so it’s a little floppy.

Mom's bag, flat

It's really big.

But it has pockets! On both sides!

Yes, there is a zippered pocket in the bag. It was not as . . . neat as I hoped it would be. But you can’t really tell on the finished product, so.

The last bag of 2008 is, as Mr. Angst puts it, a little flashy. I thought this striped fabric was pretty, but it was too heavy for a lining, so it was going to be the outside of SOMETHING. Maybe it would have made a better pillow? Anyway, I got to play with some things, like pleats, a yoke, and a magnetic snap. Fun! I am pretty sure I will NEVER wear this bag, so this one may go in the pile with the other stripey bag—not quite well-done enough to attempt to sell, but too nice to just toss.

Flashy!

When will I ever wear this?

It has a very sad pocket.

I also made peanut butter bonbons tonight (some people will call them buckeyes, though mine are totally covered in chocolate), and they are yummy. Mr. Angst does not care for them, to which I say, good! More for me!

And with that, I am off to beautify myself for New Year’s Eve. Happy New Year, all!

Nephew’s hat was too small. Kid has a big head! Luckily, my mother-in-law has a sewing machine, so we stopped by a fabric store down the road, picked up a remnant of fleece pretty much the same color as the original hat, and I made a new one. And then I made two hats for the Angst-in-laws. Fleece, though, is hard to work with—both adult hats are sort of loose and floppy looking. (Frankly, so is the kid one, but he’ll grow into it in about two weeks, given that he’s 6 months old.)

Bad weather is never a good thing, but it’s even worse when it coincides with the holidays. Mr. Angst and I are anxiously watching the radar in advance of our drive to the Angst-in-laws’; I have friends currently stuck in a variety of airports, wondering if they’ll be spending Christmas alone instead of with their families.

The best indication of how badly our air system needs a major overhaul is this: in Chicago, 500 flights have been cancelled out of O’Hare, and those flights still running are delayed by hours. But at Midway? No delays, no cancellations. That says its not Chicago’s weather that’s causing the problems; it’s the weather elsewhere. That says the problem isn’t weather at all, but the way flights are routed. Specifically, when the weather in places where flights must go through Chicago is bad, those flights get delayed, then the flights out of Chicago get delayed because there are no airplanes in Chicago, and then flights in other hubs get delayed. It’s a chain reaction. If, instead, one could fly from one coast to the other—or from secondary market directly to secondary market—without having to go through the intermediate step of changing planes in Chicago, things might be different. Hub-and-spoke air travel, in other words, sucks.

To all my friends currently stuck, I’m sending all the good karma I have your way, so that you can spend the holiday with your families. But if you can’t make it home, make the best of it where you are, and get home when you can. Christmas Day may be December 25, but the Christmas season is much longer^[1]. And Christmas can be whenever and whereever you are with your family, friends, or loved ones. So have Christmas when you can.

1. It lasts till Epiphany, actually—twelve whole days! ↩

I promised pictures!

Here, first, is the froggie. There’s nothing posed with them to indicate size, but the body (sans legs) is about 5 inches long.

Froggie!

More froggie!

Even more froggie!

Second, this is the bag with the lining that I LOVE.

Cute bag with excellent lining

See how cute that lining is?

Channel-stitched strap

Here is the adorable hat I made for my nephew.

Fleece hat

I don't have a hat mold, so I posed this on our cocktail shaker

Finally, this is a bag I made this evening. I’m not sure who is getting this; I had some scrap fabric I wanted to play with, and this seemed fun and cute. I sort of made up this pattern all on my own, and I originally intended it to have a button clasp, among other things. I got a little wigged out, though, when I discovered I had not measured things properly and thought I might have completely screwed things up. I managed to pull it off, though. Yay!

Small, pleated bag

This one has a fancy outside and a basic inside

I guess I should find other things to pose my crafts with other than alcohol? This is to show the scale.

As much as I complain about my Saturdays being taken up with stuff, I would rather be busy than sitting on the couch trying to figure out what TV to watch. To wit, today I got up, went to yoga, made lunch (migas! yum!), dashed out to Target (in the snow, no less), and spent about 4 hours at the sewing machine. While at the sewing machine I made a bag for my sister-in-law, and I love love love the lining, so much so that I might have to buy more of it (sadly, it only appears to be available in combinations of red, white, and black). I also made one of my nephews an adorable little fleece hat (with homemade pompom), and another of my nephews a scarf. Oh, and I finished the second froggie. I have a few more gifts to make, but since I’m getting so much better at the sewing thing, I don’t think they’ll take very long.

What will I occupy my time with when Christmas is over and I don’t have any more gifts to make? I think garments are out of reach for now, and Mr. Angst doesn’t really share my love of decorative pillows. I may have to open an etsy shop.

I am pulling within shooting distance of being done with Christmas gift-making. I finished the first of the nephew-bound stuffed animals—a cute little froggie, of which I will post pictures sometime. In order to finish it, I had to take a quick after-work trip to the craft store, though, and left with twelve other items I did not necessarily need. Two of them were in the check-out aisle. Oops.

Anyway, I’m getting there, slowly but surely. And mostly, I’m enjoying it. I’ve never been one much for making gifts—I’ve never been very crafty. But apparently, I’m decent at this, and that makes the process so much more fun. Next year, I may actually try to make the majority of my gifts, rather than just a handful.

I made a bag today. I’m pretty proud of it. Despite a few mishaps (like the lining not lining up with the outer bag at the corners, and completely missing the lining while doing my topstitch), it turned out pretty nicely. Of course, it’s also about 65% of the size I thought it would be, from the pictures that accompanied the pattern. But it’s OK—the bag is still super cute, just a little . . . less useful than I thought it would be, given it’s smallness.

The point, however, is not that the bag is small, or even that it’s useful or not useful. The point is that I MADE A BAG. And it looks like it’s supposed to, unlike the two very ugly skirts I attempted last month. I think I’m doing bags and pillows only from now on.

The only problem with hemming your own pants is how damn painstaking it is. I have a machine that will do a blind hem stitch, but it’s damn hard to do that on a heavy pant, like a denim trouser. Frankly, it’s hard to do on a pant hem generally, nevermind the fabric, just because the opening is so narrow. So I’m sitting in front of the TV, watching Life, and whipstitching the hem of a new pair of denim trousers.

Maybe I should invest in some better hand-sewing needles. And a thimble. Because I get the feeling I’ll be doing more of this.

Last month, I bought a cute, short-sleeved cardigan on sale. It didn’t fit all that well—like a lot of ready-to-wear clothes, it was too baggy in the waist for my body, adding 10 pounds to my frame. But it was $10, so I bought it anyway, thinking it might be OK as a layering piece. But I could not figure out how to make it work, so it sat in the bag, in the closet, tags still attached.

Last weekend, my in-laws were visiting, and my mother-in-law brought me her old sewing machine. I decided to take up sewing recently, but I haven’t done much except make a pillow in a class. And I did that without the benefit of my own machine.

So there I was, staring at this new-to-me sewing machine—with all of its stitches and fancy features—wondering what to do as a first project. Everyone said, make something simple, like an apron! Or a tote bag! But I don’t wear the aprons I have, so making an apron seemed pointless, and I have several tote bags that are perfectly serviceable. I know, I know—the point of making stuff isn’t necessarily because you need it. But I really want the sewing machine to be useful, enabling me to make things that I would otherwise buy.

Now, the obvious point of this post is that I used the sewing machine to take in the cardigan. I’m just going to get that out of the way right now—the setup here is just too apparent. This post, therefore, is not about, I don’t know, what I did with it, or even how I took the cardigan in. This post is about the bigger implications of that.

Folks, I altered my own clothing. I have, for years, spent large amounts of money having my clothes taken in, up, out, or otherwise made different from how they were originally made. But today, I managed to accomplish that task on my own. And it actually looks good! Sure, given that the garment is a cardigan—in other words, a sweater—it may ravel, though I did overlock the edges, hoping to stave that off for as long as possible. But hey, it was $10 off the rack, the alterations took me all of about 45 minutes, and now I have a new top. If it lasts all of 10 wearings, it was probably worth it.

Flush with this success, tomorrow, after choir, I plan to go to the local fabric shop (which, handily, has a location five blocks south of my apartment) and do some browsing. I think I’d like to make a skirt! And then maybe some stuffed animals for my nephews.

I haven’t updated in a while. So here’s what’s going on.

First, I started work this week. That entailed lots of orientation sessions involving things like benefits, computer systems, and cost-effective online research, getting my office set up, and jumping into a kick-ass first assignment that I LOVE LOVE LOVE but that will probably have me in the office tomorrow.

Second, I passed the bar! Yes, this is exciting. But I got that awesome assignment basically twelve hours after finding out I passed the bar, so I just switched gears into being excited about my assignment instead of passing the bar. Also, once you pass the bar, I think it just becomes this thing you’ve done, and then don’t really want to think about anymore!

So things are good! I really like my job, and I’m really excited about that. I’ve always been a little ambivalent (and admittedly, cynical) about the big firm thing, and I am really pleased to see that I am enjoying law firm life—and that I am really enjoying the work. Of course, I’m a little astonished that I’m already anticipating going into the office on the weekend, but the situation is a bit special and I don’t think it’ll be the norm. I hope it won’t be the norm. I do kind of feel like I’m getting a crash-course in work-life balance, and I think that’s good. I want to figure out now how to prioritize and how to maximize the time I have where I am, whether that’s office time or family time. That way, in six months, when I’m even busier with multiple matters and my time is even tighter, I will know what works and what doesn’t, what creates problems and what doesn’t.

So that’s what’s going on with me. How about you?

I didn’t feel like doing the grocery shopping after choir yesterday (and I had plans to eat with friends, so I didn’t want to be late), so I shopped today after work instead. Since I was running short on time to make dinner when I got home, I threw something together on a whim. These whim recipes usually turn out pretty good. Here’s what I did:

Brown thin-cut chicken breasts (sometimes labeled as milanese) over medium-high heat in a little olive oil after seasoning liberally with salt and pepper. Turn quickly or they’ll get overcooked; if some are thicker than others and don’t cook all the way through right now, don’t worry—they’re going back in the pan in a bit.

Remove the browned chicken from the pan. Toss in a handful of sliced mushrooms (I used about three), a handful of finely sliced scallions (about 1 scallion), and sauté until soft. Deglaze pan with the juice of one lime and about 1/2 cup of sake and turn heat to high to reduce a bit. When the sake and lime juice have reduced by about half, add about half a cup of chicken broth, maybe a bit more. Let the flavors come together by simmering for a minute or so more, then add the chicken back to the pan.

Reduce heat to medium and simmer for about 5 minutes, turning the chicken once. Remove the chicken again, turn the heat back to high and reduce down just a little more. Turn heat off, swirl in about a tablespoon and a half of good-quality butter (we’re working our way through a 2 pound block of butter from the farmer’s market, yum). At this point you can toss some cooked pasta in the sauce, or you can just pour it over the pasta and chicken. If you choose to toss the pasta in the sauce, reserve a bit to pour over the chicken to finish it off.

The flavor is reminiscent of miso soup, which is really interesting. I think this would probably work better with smaller pieces of chicken rather than with the cutlets, but the cutlets were what I had on hand. I’m definitely going to play with this some.^[1]

1. A lot of people will cook this kind of recipe by first dredging the chicken in flour, which aids in browning and in thickening of the sauce. I’ve done that a lot in the past but I can never manage to get a sauce that doesn’t have a raw flour taste. That’s why I generally choose to use a wine of some kind and reduce it a bit to get a little thick; the butter also gives the sauce a little more tooth. It’s not a thick sauce, though, so if you like a thicker sauce, consider dredging in flour—or make a slurry of cornstarch and warm chicken broth and add it to the sauce while it’s simmering. ↩

My solitaire game has suddenly started giving me two sixes of diamonds, and no nine of diamonds. I do not understand it but the problem has persisted through a couple of reboots. I don’t play enough solitaire to make it worth any more dramatic troubleshooting measures, but I’ll admit that I’m a bit curious as to what caused the problem.

Update: Clearly I have forgotten the first rule of Mac ownership—when you experience a problem, trash the preferences. I have all my cards back. I chose to take steps when I lost another card, the eight of spades, in favor of a second jack of hearts.

If anyone has insight…

How does one go about doing extensive research for an academic-style paper without unlimited and free Westlaw and Lexis access? (I’m not looking for someone to say, “Go to the books!” One, I have no time for that and two, my topic isn’t caselaw based.) Obviously Google, FindLaw, Hein (which I still have access to), and other free resources are useful, but they all have their limitations. How do future academics do this?

Update: Um, not sure why comments were off. They’re on now.

After some helpful advice (thank you, ^k^, I don’t know why I didn’t ask The Boy first), and some close rereading of emails, I chose the offer I wanted to accept, and did. Now all I have to do is sign and send back the publication agreement.

I’ve been musing on how different it is to be on the author side of this journal thing. I’ve had many, many dealings with authors as a journal editor, and I know what sorts of authors make editors’ lives hell. I want to avoid being that kind of author. At the same time, the article in question is now my work, so I have some newfound sympathy for authors who reject student edits. I’d like to try to strike a good balance between being an author who refuses to accept any edit without a fight, and an author who lets student editors have their way with her work without question. My topic is a bit arcane and I would be shocked if the students editing it had any expertise with the issues discussed, so I want to make sure their edits don’t change the substance of my argument, but I also don’t want to reject edits that might make my arcane subject a little more accessible.

The entire process of submiting—and getting so many offers—was such a confidence booster for me. That’s why it’s surprising to me that law journals have a large gender disparity in authorship. I’ve seen some commentary recently about the dearth of female authors. Orin Kerr believes (and I tend to agree) that this is the result of fewer submissions rather than of some bias by articles editors; the question then becomes, why do fewer women submit? I think attributing the submission disparity to a fear of rejection is simplistic, but perhaps it plays a bigger role than we might hope. I hear this argument made about law students in general—students at top law schools are generally unused to rejection, having been at the top of their undergraduate classes, high scorers on the LSAT; they tend to have good relationships with professors, they tend to experience less rejection in the job search (whether from law firms or from judges). I think there may be gender differences with respect to sensitivity to rejection (I don’t have any data on this, and I don’t know that anyone has really tried to make this argument). But even if there are, I don’t think fear of rejection can fully explain the gender disparity in submissions. I knew I’d get rejected from many journals—and, indeed, I did.^[1] But I accepted rejection as a fact (as I did when I applied to law school, applied to law firms, and when I applied for clerkships. Rejection is not fun in any of those contexts).

I find more resonance in what one author calls a lack of “chutzpah“: “[P]ofessional women do less than men to draw attention to their accomplishments.”^[2] I find networking to be one of the most difficult things I am expected to do. I find it extremely difficult to toot my own horn, as it were. I hate to feel as though I am bragging. Yet what I consider bragging is exactly what I have to do—as a lawyer, an author, and a potential academic—if I want to be successful. I do think there are some women—and men, to be honest—who don’t need to advertise themselves in this way; their accomplishments and talents are so evident that success finds them despite themselves. But the rest of us? We mere mortals? We have to market ourselves. And I think women are not as good at marketing ourselves as men are.^[3]

But I said I found the gender disparity surprising. And I do. Consider: On a scale of 1 to 10 (with 1 being least and 10 being most difficult), I think the difficulty of submitting this paper registers about a 3. It took some time, some research into which journals I wanted to submit to, a little bit of money, and I won’t deny that I experienced some angst while comparing offers, but it wasn’t hard. The hard part came first—writing and editing the damn thing. And I suspect the next few months will be hard, as I revisit my writing during the editing phases. But that several journals thought my paper was worthy of publication? There’s nothing tough about that. I was left feeling really good about myself after the whole process, full of confidence in myself and my talents, and eager to try it again.^[4]

So. I’m on the road to publication. It’s exciting!

1. In fact, the expedite process seemed to bring on more outright and less politely worded rejections than my original submission probably would have. Note to journal editors: Don’t make the subject line of your rejection email “We cannot publish “Title.” It’s just rude. ↩
2. This latter observation is actually attributed to an international study of professional women. ↩
3. I’ll note that I hate these sorts of blanket statements. Obviously some women are exceptional at self-marketing and I am sure we can all think of more than a few off the tops of our heads. But I don’t think it’s unfair to say that as a whole, women generally are not good at marketing themselves. ↩
4. Indeed, I’ve already got a new idea percolating. The muse, she strikes! ↩