November 15, 2014

Why lads (and lasses) don’t cook

(Oh dear, an explanatory listicle. I’m sorry for the cliche.)

I’ve written about cooking on here before. It’s something I do about 1/7 days of the week, but on that one day, I find cooking easy, welcoming, and insignificant. When talking to friends, however, I’ve noticed that some of them find cooking to be difficult, intimidating, or heroic, and this causes them to not cook.

Before I discuss why I think people find cooking to be those things, I want to say that there is absolutely nothing wrong about not cooking. I don’t cook, 6/7 days. I’m not making this a class, race, gender, … issue: my one person cooks on Sunday and might not approach the stove the other six. Small kitchen, neighbors who don’t like the smell, too many restaurants to try; these are all valid reasons. My personal one is that I have a small apartment, and in my failure of adulthood, have bought only two chairs: I can serve a sit-down meal to one other person, and this, to me, is a fairly intimate act (FEWER THAN SIX SERVED [in my apartment][including minimal breakfasts for friends who crash on the couch]).

So this analysis is really of people who don’t prepare meals for themselves very often, wished they could do so more, and don’t understand why. As with everything I write, it may be nonsense; you are welcome to let me know in the comments.

1. Treating it like surgery

My god, no one is going to die. This is what I tell myself when I write something and the tests tell me I’ve introduced a regression — it’s just bits of 0’s and 1’s and of carrots and onions: no one is going to die if you let the soup simmer for 22 minutes and not 20, if it’s a dice and not a chop, if you don’t actually own tarragon.

Following recipes and having mise en place is nice, but at some point, I really think it becomes a hindrance to knowing the food. It’s a bit like having a routine, vs. social dancing: a routine looks great and can be flashier than something you improvise since you’ve planned it ahead of time, but you have to practice it with a specific partner. You’ll know it so well that you don’t even need her, yet you won’t be able to use the routine with anyone BUT her. Social dancing, on the other hand, can be satisfying to watch as well with spontaneous flair, and is a conversation of lead and follow with your partner. Since it’s built on common principles, you can dance with any other dancer.

In this case, the partner is the ingredients. Do the tomatoes suck more than usual this week? Better caramelize some sugar to give them a boost. Is this onion really big? Maybe use half instead of the “one onion” that the recipe originally stated. Instead of blindly cooking the fish for 3 minutes on each side, maybe just watch for the proteins to denature and for the surface to release off the pan.

2. Not using the key ingredient

Salt, sugar, and fat — I guess this is the trinity of taste, whereas salt, heat, and water are the trinity of cooking. Notice that salt is in both. Salt is like the first viola in Mozart’s viola quintets! It simultaneously leads two trios and is a rockstar. Restaurants use a lot of salt (and fat). I think you can skip the fat, but you need to add the salt.

This brings us to…

3. Not tasting

If you’re undergoing invisalgn, ugh, god bless, and don’t bother. Not tasting while cooking is like painting blindfolded. Some people can do it, and maybe you can paint a wall beige perfectly well, but why wouldn’t you take charge of your meal’s destiny while you still have the chance? Once the pan is off the flame, you’re done, because you no longer have heat.

Should I use a software analogy? It’s like writing your entire application, deploying it, and having its first run be in production. Like, maybe if you’re Steve Reiss, or making white rice; otherwise, for mortals and food with any complexity, cook, season, and taste incrementally.

4. Not understanding the art of not really cooking

You could make chicken and waffles by acquiring chicken thighs, trimming the skin, dredging in a well-seasoned mix of flour and cornmeal, heat some crisco in a cast iron skillet, fry the coated chicken, drain and cool on a rack WHILE interleaving this with mixing flour, water, baking powder, egg, butter, heating the waffle iron, cooking the waffle; you now have a messy hand, one contaminated plate, one dish of contaminated flour, a dirty battery bowl, a skillet, whisk, tongs, measuring tools to clean, and a waffle that might not even come off the iron. Your apartment smells like chicken and it’s 9 o’clock. You probably didn’t actually interleave it well, so the waffle or the chicken is cold. God, cooking is such a pain.

OR…

you can heat a frozen chicken patty, pop a frozen waffle in the toaster, drench in maple syrup (this is the most important component), and call it a day. #lazykitchen

I don’t know. “Having standards” is a blessing and a curse. Maybe my standards for food are blessedly low.

(Less extreme of an example is how my parents split dinner duties: on weekends, my mother would cook meat; on weekdays, my father would use the meat as quick flavor components in the primarily-vegetable dishes we ate.)

Ok I have to go but — for an actionable starting point — take salt and heat and one other thing. Really taste the one other thing. Then add salt so you can taste that other thing better. Use heat so that the one other thing has a pleasing texture and aroma. Add more things. combinatorial explosion, taste explosion, cliches, …

November 9, 2014

sunday morning cooking thoughts

How do you reduce the roundness of a bell pepper to square slices without experiencing its futile defensive spray of hard, scattering seed?

By remembering that it, too, was once a flower, to be disassembled petal by petal with softly murmured uncertainties — he loves me, he loves me not.

[All metaphor aside, it seems that slicing a pepper by its lobes does help minimize spatter.]

chopped bell peppers

————

Do kitchen apprentices have to wash their hands in salt water? Disinfectant, and as reminder to nick themselves less next time.

Similar: http://luzeng.wordpress.com/2011/07/01/in-the-mind-of-god/

November 6, 2014

women in

One of my friends from high school posted this on Facebook:

http://www.thefader.com/2014/10/30/why-arent-more-women-becoming-music-producers

It sought to answer, “why aren’t there more women in music production?” And a lot of the answers were like, “people at the top tend to boost others like themselves; it’d be nice if we could get out of the loop of the same 10 (men) and let some new talent rise to the top” “I think our culture has systematically engrained this idea that technology is more of a man’s thing. Men were ones that fixed the VCR, women were the ones that watched the VHS of Titanic on the VCR” “Getting more girls exposed to introductory production workshops at a young age before they get into that teenage headspace of learning that they can’t.”

Gosh, doesn’t this sound familiar?

Yeah, in the discussions of why there aren’t more women in STEM / computer science, I’m always the one harping on about how it’s not maximally productive to ask people who have made it through, and are in STEM / CS — you should ask the people who were on the fence and decided to go for some other field, and ask why they chose that other field!

So here’s an opportunity: I can ask myself why I didn’t go into music production. It’s not an especially fruitful path because music production and computer science are not the same, with respect to my family’s socioeconomic status, but the comparison still reveals some insight.

I was taught about Phil Spector, the Beatles, the “wall of sound,” the recording of a piano and then recording it backwards to create that pseudo-harpsichord sound in “In My Life”, in 8th grade. Before that course, I’d never listened to the Beatles, and I was annoyed that that music appreciation class didn’t cover the classical composers that I already knew very well, but instead forced me to listen to Jelly Roll Morton, hot jazz, cool jazz, prog rock, ska, grunge, … All I wanted was some Scarlatti and Clementi and the smug feeling of ‘already knowing’ that I had in my other high school classes.

But no, listening to all this new music was very good.

And then in high school, I was in language classes where we’d have to submit recordings of our pronunciations and spontaneous speech; I was in orchestra and had to submit excerpts of our parts; in all of these, I was better at Audacity than I was at language or music, and, eh, did a lot of strategic editing. I’m sure it fooled no one.

My viola teacher told me that he wanted to write an audio processor that would give his recordings the same golden, warm sheen that old recordings had. In senior year, I got really pretentious and did an entire “linguistics” project on how people pronounced “cone”, cepstra and lifters and all — I didn’t really know what I was talking about and don’t even remember my conclusion from that project, except that I downloaded something to Audacity to help me get the spectrograms.

By all accounts, I had plenty of exposure to audio. Similarly, young women probably have plenty of exposure to technology. However, I had no idea that there was a job in editing audio, and maybe young women have no idea that they could be the creators as well as the users of their daily utilities / distractions. On the other hand, neither of my parents were computer people in China, but in order to secure a middle-class upbringing for me, they got the credentials to be computer people in the USA, so I always latently knew about computers as a profession.

Ultimately, I think the kicker was that being a music producer is more risky: if you’re a middling music producer, you’re waiting tables. (actually I don’t know, but I assume Hollywood is very competitive, like any of the arts.) Whereas if you’re a middling econ student, you’ll get a middling banking / consulting job, and if you’re a middling developer, you’ll still make enough to be free of student loans in 10 years.

Class trumped gender in my “decision” not to go into music production (or maybe more accurately, my decision to go into something that wasn’t music production). Making class irrelevant, it seems that we need to make it known (to girls) that computers / music production is an actual career.

October 31, 2014

A reintroduction

Wow, this blog is 9.5 years old. That’s 2/5 my time on Earth. There’s more before this at xanga and livejournal too.

I’m certainly not going to go back and read all my old posts, but if you do, keep in mind that some of them are very old.

October 31, 2014

finally tried bikeshare, WA edition

If you recall, I used Hubway, the bikesharing system in Boston, with great glee and trepidation with Ellen when visiting this summer — it was useful, the drivers of Camberville were very forgiving, and I did not become the first bikeshare casualty who would forever live (die) in ignominy.

So I tried it today in Seattle. For background, I have WAY too many ways to get to work, from Bellevue and Olive to Bellevue-the-city:

1a. go downhill, take 550 (seattle -> bellevue direct, goes through tunnel, which is odious in the summer because there is no sun, the air is bad, there is no internet in the tunnel; the lake it crosses has less pretty views. It’s less odious in the winter because there’s no sun anyway and fog looks the same from any bridge. It’s still odious in the winter because I have to go down hill and then down stairs for it.)

1b. take one of the four buses that go downhill, take 550. Still have to go down stairs.

2. cross the street, take the 545, get off at Montlake, and furiously check on phone to see which stop — upstairs (271) or downstairs (555) is better. “Better” is not straightforward because downstairs is faster.

I think I’ve discovered a way to hedge: walk upstairs, gaze eastward; if the 555 is coming, carefully scramble down. This will work only on days with good visibility and when I can be bothered.

This is by far the preferred method, and I think it has made me allergic to longer bus rides where I don’t get a break / lake every 15 minutes.

3. take a connector (lumpy, slow, have to reserve a seat, too early in the morning, still manages to be late and there’s no real time notification, feel like a target, drops me off at same place as (1), which is farther than (2)) The connector wasn’t intended to stop on my block; it’s supposed to hit right in the middle of Broadway, to save those people a walk downhill, but got moved to my block because of construction.

4. Vanpool. Our driver had a back injury a while ago, though, and while I hope he’s back in commission, I haven’t checked.

I now also have a bikeshare pen across the street.

I was wearing spandex anyway and woke up late. I didn’t want to risk a bridge closure (/opening, for boats), so I decided to do option 1 but go downhill on a bike.

Getting the bike was pretty easy — I enjoyed the experience of receiving the laffy taffy-like keyfob; kudos to the designers. I mostly figured out how to use the bike (all except shifting — I was going downhill on the lowest gear; woe betide). Didn’t die or drop my bag (tantamount to death); caught my bus. This was like, 10:30; I would still be unsure how to go down Pine safely and without annoying the real cyclists [TM] during rush hour.

On the way home, I emerged from the tunnel and got a bike; I was headed to meet up with friend Andrey at Genki Sushi on lower Broadway.

This was the most woeful use of the bike today: I didn’t figure out how to gear until I was already at Pine and Bellevue, at which point the hill increases so that lowest gear is appropriate. There was no awful clanging sound when I changed gears! My old bike always had that problem.

At Broadway, I realized that I hadn’t decided on a dock when I began the trip, so was confusedly batting at my phone-browser-map on the sidewalk. Someone might have yelled at me at this point, or maybe it was at a car.

The map showed that there was a nearer one at SCCC, but once resolving that I had no chance of finding the SCCC dock in the dark, I decided I would be better off going to the one on the other side of Cal Anderson. This was when I learned that people parallel parking occupy the same part of the lane as you. Docked the bike, ran off to sushi.

It’s ok. The error is entirely between the saddle and the handlebars, and for a second use (uphill, in the rain), perfectly acceptable.

I walked Andrey home and hopped on another bike. This was mostly cruising down Olive. Is it ok to do that? I know I caught a light really well so that I had the road to myself for much of it, but I know it to be a pretty busy street. I took it because it’s shorter (diagonals!) and with fewer intersections — if I’d gone down Broadway, I’d also have to figure out how to get into the bikeway.

I’m not so sure about biking as a mode. Uphill biking takes a long time! I can’t read when doing it, or do anything except pay attention. My usual approach to endurance activities is to go slowly, muse happily to myself, and look at pretty things that pass by.

There’s also some guilt — I mean, day pass + fob = many people’s weekly food budget, on a whim? I needed another way to get places I could already get to? It’s another green-colored thing that yuppies ride?

[god on Thursday I had to get to LQA at 6 so I took the connector to its Belltown terminus; we blocked the bike lane crossing 4th? ave on Stewart and there was so_much_hate. Then we illegally used the bus lane and I continued to feel bad, even though there was an amusing giant backpack in the jansport shop window. Clearly I had left enough buffer in my schedule that day or I’d been cheering that we’d used the bus lane.]

That (aside) aside, I think it’ll show its worth for when it’s: 4:30 am Sunday morning and inexplicably I have to get from Belltown to Capitol Hill, any weekends when there are no buses downhill and I don’t want to walk, evenings when I want something from Trader Joes and a workout.

I’m not sure if it will help the U-District seem less far away, since the ride back is no picnic, and if it’s going to take half an hour, I would rather be twaddling at the phone or eavesdropping on strangers rather than continuing my quest to not be bikeshare’s first casualty.

bonus: Microsoft Commute has also changed its stance from “No we have no plans to subsidize such a silly thing that could be part of your commute but never your primary mode” to “Oh, right, we’re subsidizing car2go which is exceedingly similar to bikeshare, so, uh, we’re looking into it.”

July 15, 2013

crash dump summary (yes, something is wrong with Sum Ting Wong)

Stack top:

Surely you’ve seen the Asiana fake pilot names thing by now.

It’s hilarious! And problematic. It is possible for something to be both, for sure, but when I encounter something horrible and hilarious, I try to be precise about why the thing is horrible, then laugh. The problem in the Asiana pilots case is that I haven’t seen much acknowledgement that there is anything amiss with these made up names.

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March 17, 2013

Not just in software

You know that image with the client’s spec on the swing set, and what they actually needed was a tire swing? I just did that to my esthetician. 

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December 29, 2012

movies about creating worlds

  1. Being John Malkovich
  2. Shutter Island
  3. Inception
  4. Argo (+ the transcendent power of storytelling, yes yes)
  5. The Truman Show (added 7/21/13)
September 4, 2012

the thoughts that go through your mind

Parking lot -> Bandera Mountain -> summit of Bandera mountain -> back down -> for (int i = 1; i <= 8; i++) lake -> Denny River -> Parking lot

Justifications: “mike’s cool; these guys are probably going to be cool” (certainly); “it’s only twice the distance from U-district to Golden Gardens” (note: but markedly less flat, and no Starbucks at the 3/4 mark); “Jens did a half marathon — I should too”; “might as well get some use out of the hiking boots” (oh boy they proved their worth today); “soak up the outside while it is not misting” (get dust-colored tan);

Ways that hiking is like China (c. 2009? when I last remember it)

  • bathrooms where you have to bring your own toilet paper
  • dust in everything
  • about 13 miles /hours — except no one brings you beverages or foily meals.

Morbid thoughts that go through my mind, miles 1-15

  1. scamper scamper; guys, stop being tall
  2. What would this march feel like on reduced calories? Rephrase: what does a death march feel like?
  3. hips: <climb>; ribs: we want to go this way!; brain: no, ribcage, that direction is off the mountain. we should not go there.; abs: <whistle, for we do not exist>; arms: flail, throw onto nearest forward rock
  4. If something should happen — not that I think it would, but if something should ever happen — what are the chances that I could trek to somewhere with cell reception and describe my location with precision? Is there some experienced hiker who sits in the command center and tries to figure out what the confused and startled hikelet means? I mean, I thought we were between exits 42 and 45, and we were actually between 45 and 47; oops.
  5. Total elevation gain is a LIE because we are going up and down and up and down and; hey, intermediate value theorem / displacement / velocity / bloop bloop bloop
  6. “wish I were the prom queen, fightin’ for the title / ‘stead of being 16 and burning up a bible / feeling super super super! suicidal” (official hike soundtrack)
  7. Feel that soreness in your hips? That is roughly what period cramps feel like.
  8. This is a three apple, one clif bar, one shot block, one one thousand year old egg on wheat sandwich kind of hike. Why are there no apple trees around here?
  9. We’re going over there? Ok.
  10. That part of the hike where panting turns into sobbing because blood sugar has pulled a c. 2000 NASDAQ
  11. rock rock rock ok, this is just a dorm room where someone has left tons of stuff on the floor; you can get through it
  12. more rock??
  13. pain(waxing) <<<<<< pain(this hike)
  14. motivation: commune with nature, escape civilization, feel the grandness of scale, get to the damn car
  15. body: FUUUUUUUUUUUU ok but we’re almost there, almost there, almost there; man, it’s cold.

I am not climbing a single stair for the next month.

August 10, 2012

unlikely stories of children and their names

Inspired by a sign, “Stone Way” (?) — but also related to “the Los Angeles Angels” and “the La Brea tarpits.”

Wei Wei Stone lived among kids who loved language but not him, not his two, which became one, then three, then one again. Or they did like him but they liked language more and so they toyed with him with language.

“Hey Wei Wei, how much you weigh weigh?”

“A stone!”

“Look out, it’s a two-Wei street!”

His name promised greatness but his mother gave the reduplicated diminutive form. In high school Wei Wei was William but his signature was W^{2}_S. He liked thinking that his Latin name was Vevilius so he could be addressed as Vevili, like a reduplicated perfect.

In college Willam studied geophysics. He now works for Shell Oil and lives in the outskirts of Houston with his wife and two kids.

Carroty and Broccoli Friend

Carroty’s name is Carroty Friend, but only Broccoli is afflicted with being called by his full name. Broccoli Friend sheds a lot. They live on my couch.

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