the good samaritan lives here

When people ask me what living in Iowa was like, this is one of the stories I will tell.

One night, in very early February, a blustery, freezing cold blizzard tore through Iowa City, grabbing up great handfuls of falling snow and flinging them into feet-high drifts, pushing through door screens and clogging tree branches. It was the most snow we’d ever had. The next morning, Boyfriend put a coat over his fleece and a hat over his earmuffs and went out to clear the long driveway. It was supposed to drop into the negative teens that night, and he worried about the snow freezing solid. He worked and worked, drilling down through the waist-high snow drift and tunneling ten feet towards the street. But after all this, not even half the driveway was clear. So he went back inside for a break.

While we were frying some bacon, we heard a great roar outside our kitchen window and rushed to investigate. Our next door neighbor, whom we have never met, had trundled his snow blower to our garage was steadily pacing up and down our driveway, clearing a path. Unasked and unannounced. We were amazed and so, so relieved! And delighted! Once he finished our side, he cleared the duplex neighbors’ half of the driveway . . . and then continued, house to house, clearing the entire cul-de-sac’s driveways, and some of the street to boot. Conclusion: I usually try to avoid blanketing entire geographical regions with a single personality trait. But in this case I’m allowing an exception. It’s true, I do not know where else this would have happened, and I say, Oh, Iowa!

groundhog blizzard

If I talked to you in the last two days, chances are I used the phrase “not that bad” regarding the snow. I was skeptical and unimpressed. The snow was falling fast, but the flakes were so tiny, and since the wind didn’t start until last night I honestly did not believe the hype.

I would like to take it all back.

To say that we are snowed in would be a gross undersell. We are “snowed in,” if that means that the wind has compacted snow into the door screens, so they now weigh twice as much as usual. We are “snowed in,” in that the snow is a foot high against our wooden doors and they only open with a colossal heave-ho.

Here, what used to be our front porch steps.

Here, the inner back door, somehow also studded with snowflakes.

Luckily, we still have heat, electricity, hot water, and a full fridge. (We also have a broken snow shovel. But it’s okay, we’ll just pop over to Lowes for a new one! Perhaps we should have checked that earlier.) So, you know, if anyone feels like snow-shoeing over for cocoa, come on down, we’ll be here a while!

For more news, see the Press Citizen.

and so it begins

CNN has been alternating between coverage of the Egyptian protests and dire Midwestern weather forecasts all day. Hmm . . . a Middle Eastern revolution on the one hand, and meteorology on the other? I guess this is a big storm, a literal storm, indeed a snow storm I would surmise!, we’re talking about. One of the two news stories begins, “Tens of millions of people are bracing for a major system poised to sweep through the [region].” Mass political demonstrations or blizzard? Who can tell? This hysterical news coverage has been the clearest indication that I should get thee to a grocery store and stock up — eggs! butter! swiss cheese and every citrus fruit imaginable! This is my take on storm preparedness — for this may be The One, The Big One, The One We’ve All Been Waiting For.

As for right now? Well it’s not really snowing. It was, and almost heavily, about an hour ago but now twilight has cast its blue sheen over the (slowly, yet increasingly) white city and the flakes have stopped. I’m feeling a bit skeptical.

And then I read the Blizzard Warning on weather.com, remember that the warning doesn’t start until midday tomorrow, and feel very thankful for a full fridge.

the dilema of our times

Temperatures aren’t supposed to break out of the negatives today . . .

Unless it starts to snow. Which’ll warm it up.

And I’d say, “Thank goodness for my chai lattes” . . .

But I already drank it all.

And I need more star anise and cardamom pods to make more.

To leave the house, or not to leave?

what i would not call yesterday’s snow

A blizzard

A snowpocalypse

A snownami

A fluridemic

At all comparable to what Minneapolis got

What I would call yesterday’ snow

A wee wonderland

Very bitterly cold

An argument for pre-salting the driveway and stocking up on groceries

As good a reason as any to make sour cream pancakes with sauteed cinnamon-sugar apples

it’s actually snowing: musings and fixings

1. I thought I was hallucinating Saturday morning when I heard the word “Cedar Rapids” drop from the lips of a CNN anchor. Granted, an anchor over at the meteorology desk. But still! She was telling us all about the cold front moving east through Omaha and right into our little college town. And presumably, on to New York and DC, which is why they care. Blizzard warnings on Saturday night, though it rained all morning and I didn’t really believe them. Until, right around one o’clock in the afternoon, the sheets of rain abruptly turned — transformed, really, in an instant — into white flurries. It’s like in Disney’s “Sleeping Beauty,” in the final battle scene when the good fairies wave their wands and Maleficent’s flying arrows become feathers. That quick. That’s how it started.

2. On reason I didn’t believe them: temperatures on Friday rose within spitting distance of 40 degrees. Forty degrees! This was huge. This was positively balmy. December in Iowa, and here I was forgoing gloves, scarf, hat, and even a coat. (Not a jacket, mind you; but a coat, yes.) Observation: I hope that when I move to New York, Massachusetts, or [fill-in-the-blank] next year, this sense of cold vs. warm sticks with me. I can go a long way if forty degrees stays my new sixty.

3. The “about” section up top mentions my search for “a butcher who who carves prosciutto.” I haven’t found that, but I did find, around this time last fall, La Quercia‘s packaged smoked meats. It’s made just down the road (…ish) in Norwalk, Iowa from pork sourced and slaughtered less than 200 miles away. And this little piggie that could has made its way to the big city. Jeffrey Steingarten, professional curmudgeon and the man who ate everything calls it “the best prosciutto, domestic or imported, you can get in America.” Mark Bittman calls it “a joy to taste.” I buy it at our hippie co-op, and in fact when I first asked the butcher for a recommendation, he pointed to La Quercia with the comment, “It’s been written up in the New York Times…” Do I walk around with a sign on my forehead? But no matter, this is great stuff.

4. Is it weird to have an opinion about flour? I know I have four in my cabinet — all purpose, whole wheat, bread, and rye, and the only reason I don’t have cake flour, too, is that you can make it at home! — but listen. When we were out of all purpose the other week, I picked up a bag at the hippie co-op. Because it is a hippie co-op, they only have organic kind: unbleached, unprocessed, all sorts of un’s. Frankly, I don’t totally understand the real world effect of these abundant un’s, but I love this flour. I makes my pizza crusts wonderfully light, even pillowy, and for some reason incorporates the wine and water so much more smoothly and softly than your typical Pilsbury. I mention dough, not cakes and cookies, because I actually notice a difference while I’m kneading. (And I don’t knead cake batter, sorry kids.) What is unbromated? I don’t know, but it’s what I’m buying from now on*.

5. I got a manicure two weeks ago. This is how it looked on Friday, that’s thirteen days after the salon visit.

Leaving aside my creepy spider hands, how amazing is that? This is the first time ever that I have taken off a nail polish because I got sick of the color, not because of ugly chipping — and this two weeks after! The color is “Big Apple Red,” and the long-wear is courtesy of OPI’s new line of gels, Axxium. The polish comes in a little pot, and the manicurist actually paints it on a with a little paintbrush. Once it’s dry, it’s immediately hardened, and you can actually root around in your purse for car keys, peel stickers off CDs, and do all the things that normal manicures wimp out on. I am big fan. I am spreading the gospel.

Enjoy your lazy, and perhaps snowy Sunday.

—-

*I did some research. Gold star, please? Further reading here and here. The gist is: Bromates are artificial aging agents, blah blah blah, oh and potentially carcinogenic. So, um, steer clear of bromated flours, I suppose.

oh but it’s cold outside

I am sure none of you will be terribly surprised that we had another snow on Sunday. I’m told this was more of a “March snow,” though — wet and quick to melt — which is a “good sign.” Me, I’m still trying to get over the realization that we’ll get snow in March. But it’s a comfort to know that I am not the only one sick of this season of single-digit precipitation known as winter. I’d been chalking it up to Mid-Atlantic Wussiness, but no, it now seems like everyone’s waiting for spring.

Thankfully, we’ve found a recipe to bring all the heat you could want into your kitchen and stomach, via Mexico. (In a wonderful twist of fate, did you know yesterday was National Margarita Day? It seems last night’s dinner was divinely ordained.) I can’t wait until it’s warm enough to slap these [cocktail marinated] babies on the grill and actually eat them outside. Noshing on chips and salsa while they cook. And finishing with key lime pie.

Not that I have a party menu all planned or anything . . .

Tequila-Lime Chicken

(From the Barefoot Contessa, with not a thing changed)

Ingredients

• 1/2 cup gold tequila
• 1/2 cup of lime juice (about six limes)
• 1/2 cup freshly squeezed orange juice (about two oranges)
• 1 Tbsp chili powder
• 1 jalapeno, seeded and finely chopped
• 3 cloves of garlic, minced
• 2 tsp kosher salt
• 1 tsp pepper
• 3 whole boneless chicken breasts, skin on (we used thighs, to no ill effect)

Directions

How easy is this: Put everything but the chicken in a baking dish/bowl/whatever will accommodate the chicken and fit in your fridge. Stir. Add the chicken. Cover and refrigerate overnight.

In an ideal world, fire up your charcoal grill. Remove the chicken from marinade and season with salt and pepper. Grill, skin-side down, for five minutes. Turn and cook for another ten, or until cooked through. Remove from heat, cover with foil, and let sit for five minutes. (In this world, we cooked them on the stovetop, and each side took about ten minutes over a medium flame.)

Green Onion Slaw

(From Bobby Flay, with notes on proportions)

Ingredients

• 1 cup green onions, coarsely chopped
• 1/4 cup red wine vinegar
• 2 serrano chiles (don’t wimp out!)
• 2 Tbsp mayonnaise
• salt and papper
• 1/2 cup good olive oil
• 1 head purple cabbage, finely shredded
• 1 small red onion, thinly sliced and cut into inch-long pieces
• 1/4 cup cilantro leaves

Directions

Again, I say, how easy is this! Load everything but the cabbage, onion, and cilantro in a blender and blend until emulsified. Put shredded cabbage, sliced onion, and cilantro in a bowl. Does this seem like a lot of slaw? (It did to us.) Stash half in the fridge, and toss the rest with as much dressing as you like.

cracking open julia; or, dinner for the dreary

For those of you who’ve picked up that the blog has been less Iowa City discovery manual, more Don’t go outside! entreaties, in the form of either travel reports or hibernation fare, I confess. I have been slacking on the pioneer mission. But listen, you try going out in this weather. You try confronting zebra-striped highways and then we’ll talk. (Oh, you don’t know about zebra-striped highways? It’s what happens before the snow plows pass through, and only car tires have marked the roads. So you get foot-wide swaths of pavement / snow / pavement / snow / pavement / snow. Oh yes.)

Not to complain, but it’s gotten a lot colder in the two days, too. So I’m sticking with stick-to-your-ribs food. Recipes from the snowy frontier. It’s a good twenty to thirty degrees warmer up and down the East Coast — practically apricot weather — but we’re hunkering down here with potatoes and stew and, you know, butter.

And so last night I turned to Julia Child, who showed remarkable restraint with this recipe for classic potato gratin. Only a quarter cup of butter for two pounds of potatoes, and not a drop of cream in sight. I’d call that virtuous, despite the hibernation sticker, but who knows what all that cheese has done to it . . .

Julia Child’s Potato Gratin

(Adapted ever so reverently from Mastering the Art of French Cooking)

Ingredients

• 2 lbs potatoes (Yukon Gold or another, similarly waxy type)
• 1 tbsp garlic
• 4 tbsp butter
• salt and pepper to taste
• 1 cup grated swiss cheese
• 1 cup boiling milk

Directions

Preheat the oven to 425 degrees.

Peel the potatoes and leave them in water until you’re ready to use them. When you are, dry them and slice to 1/8 inch thickness (a food processor works well here).

Butter a fireproof baking dish with one tablespoon of butter. Arrange about one third of the potatoes in one layer. Mash the garlic into the butter, and dot one tablespoon over the potatoes. Salt and pepper liberally, and sprinkle on 1/3 cup of cheese. Lay down another third of the potatoes, dot with butter, salt and pepper, and add cheese. Repeat this a third time.

Pour boiling milk over the potatoes. It should come up to the bottom of the top layer. Add a little more if this was not enough.

Place the dish over a medium flame. When the milk starts to simmer, put it in the oven. Cook 20-25 minutes.

oh, come ON!

Just look at this!

No sooner do I blog the teeniest complaint about dirty snow piles does a winter wonderland blow straight into Washington and slap it across the face. I know what you’re thinking. Haven’t we seen this warning before? Yes, this storm is a total copycat. We got that foot-and-change of accumulation, 50 mph gusts of wind, whiteout conditions, and snowfall at a rate of two inches per hour —  last week. And the second thing you’re thinking — I thought it too! Surely, not a foot and a half of snow. Maybe it just looks that way to you DC/MD/VA-ers, who are truly, notoriously awful at coping with winter weather and once closed the federal government (The. Federal. Government!)  over two inches. Well . . .

Then my mom sent me these. This looks real to me, folks. The flight that was meant to put me in DC two hours ago (ha!) has been grounded until tomorrow. Which is just as well since it’s not like anything is working there. Honestly, I will count myself extraordinarily lucky to arrive tomorrow at all, let alone without delays.

Fortunately, here in Iowa City, Santa’s like the postman and never misses his appointed rounds. Billy and I celebrated an early Christmas last night, and I’ve been playing with this outrageously generous present since I woke up for the second time this morning. (The first was at 4am to drive B. to the airport. He’s basking in 80 degree temperatures right now, by the way.)

WOWEE. It’s so shiny! And then I might, just might, have done this for second breakfast.

Other distinct possibilities: That is a chocolate croissant. That is a homemade chocolate croissant. There’s a pair of very good friends coming over to eat them in an hour. Being stuck here isn’t actually that bad.

dirty snow and the art of/in next year

Well the blizzarding had to stop eventually, and eventually it did. We’ve been flurry-free for almost a whole week, and good thing too, for an important week it’s been: a final exam, my last French class with les petits, and early Santa visits to name a few. Of course, we’ve also entered that season of muddy snow mountains, which in my experience often outlasts proper wintertime. Our street looks like an unpaved road (having been skipped over in the initial plowing frenzy and now, I suppose, given up as a lost cause), between the initial flake cover, freeze, car tracks, melt, freeze, etc.

The main roads are totally, paved, though, and I made my paved-highway, ice-free way up to Cedar Rapids yesterday morning to see about a museum internship. And how, oh how shall I fill my days next semester? Perfecting a recipe for ricotta chocolate mousse that tastes more like . . . chocolate mousse? (Sadly, the devil in tonight’s dinner. I swear, I didn’t know it was diet food!) Actually finishing the stack of books on my bedside table that, despite SIX MONTHS of purely voluntary activities I have STILL not managed to polish off? Convincing Billy that fostering a kitten from the local animal shelter is one hundred per cent essential to our happiness? (IS. IT. EVER!)

Hopefully, all of the above. And for those keeping track at home, this too:

— Art museum internship, at last! I’m to settle into the education department, and next year may find me designing materials for blind and visually impaired visitors.

— Conquering the GRE. I took a practice test in May, failed half the math, and was so embarrassed that I promptly shut the books away for, er, the rest of the year. So in lieu of an academic class at the university, I will be my own task master. Just me, Kaplan, and the Princeton Review. Let us never again forget how to find the area of a triangle.

— Tut -or / -ee, in Italian, French, and German — the latter, in particular, until my translations of Winckelmann are so graceful that Columbia’s graduate program will be falling over itself to admit me.

— Testing whether all CraigsList job offers are, indeed, scams. If not: liaising between French customers and American customer service reps for an education software company . . . !? I have no idea if this is real, either.

And you, friends-who-are-readers: you’re part of the project, too. I’m going to get someone to come visit.