tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-84197938413860555102023-11-16T02:38:54.113-08:00Dorm Room DilettanteA college girl's guide to cuisine.meghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14602753423254322547noreply@blogger.comBlogger14125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8419793841386055510.post-72332839293421322752011-08-29T15:02:00.000-07:002011-08-29T15:07:12.731-07:00The no good very bad fat dayI am home from Europe. And I am not happy to be here.<br />
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I'm being a grump today.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGnjXyxc7sAYObonV3ZJWXSlu08iHLTEKn-c5NtvAi6BmCGTE_D0pbfyaQW6bTi8qpUfI6QZb9LgKlaCkKqM6_YRVVK6ZLCEYYPb71iFQkqRXpbRxY5-rtcefATFux8d513kMFR0oGrGA/s1600/a%252Breal%252Bgrumpi.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGnjXyxc7sAYObonV3ZJWXSlu08iHLTEKn-c5NtvAi6BmCGTE_D0pbfyaQW6bTi8qpUfI6QZb9LgKlaCkKqM6_YRVVK6ZLCEYYPb71iFQkqRXpbRxY5-rtcefATFux8d513kMFR0oGrGA/s1600/a%252Breal%252Bgrumpi.jpg" /></a></div><br />
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I woke up this morning, reached for my laptop from my desk, and I dropped it. I DROPPED IT. And the screen cracked. And since it will cost my <b>first born+an arm+a leg+my sanity</b> to replace it, this is just a little something I'll have to live with for now.<br />
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It looks like lightning struck my desktop. <br />
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People keep asking me, "how was Europe?" and this makes me almost burst into tears because I just want to run to the airport and hop on the next plane back and re-live my summer over and over again. It was magical. I learned more about myself than I thought I could. I met amazing friends. I saw the most beautiful places. For two gorgeous months, the continent was my playground. Museums, sights, rich history, delicious food...it was all at my finger tips. I just <i>lived. </i>I didn't need to worry about exams or graduating or the lab or anything because it was all so far away.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuHzF3onuDEgfdd2CwhzhBEnmc-2heMu43uelwP0J58iKJ3kthUNV6HjS2cUQ79XOLSB7-YhXLm2nzZuWyzsGCVM55ipdkEI5D-HvbDoc9D_0bQxEL_qpVb2-8yVi9edMdPQGpZ8CYli8/s1600/meghabw.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuHzF3onuDEgfdd2CwhzhBEnmc-2heMu43uelwP0J58iKJ3kthUNV6HjS2cUQ79XOLSB7-YhXLm2nzZuWyzsGCVM55ipdkEI5D-HvbDoc9D_0bQxEL_qpVb2-8yVi9edMdPQGpZ8CYli8/s320/meghabw.jpg" width="280" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"> <span style="font-size: x-small;">Pondering the meaning of life in a coffee shop in Prague.</span></div><br />
Le sigh. All good things must come to an end. It was time to be responsible and come back home.<br />
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To make matters worse, I'm having a fat day. Well, more like a fat <i>week. </i>Along with the extraordinary photographs and memories I brought home from Europe came some vacation weight. My clothes aren't fitting quite right.<br />
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And all I want right now is something sweet.<br />
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Oh the tough moments. The hard decisions that really define us, build character, and all that nonsense. Should I run to the mini mart across the street for some ice cream? Should I go to sleep with my aching, unsatisfied sweet tooth? It's so blistering hot outside that I almost stopped breathing while taking out the trash. Ice Cream sounds good. Cool, refreshing ice cream.<br />
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Cool, refreshing, <b>toomanycalories</b> ice cream.<br />
<br />
Luckily my best friend gave me a recipe for days like this--for those no-good-very-bad-fat-days when the Texas heat is really kicking your butt.<br />
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As I stirred the ingredients together, I already started feeling a <b>just a little bit </b><b>better</b>. It's nice to have something sweet to look forward to, isn't it? And it's even better when that something sweet is only about 200 calories:)<br />
<br />
<u><b>Frrrrozen Lemonade Pie</b></u><br />
1 can fat-free condensed milk<br />
1 package of crystal light lemonade mix (not the individual packet, but the kind that makes a 2 quart pitcher-full)<br />
1 container thawed cool whip<br />
1 graham cracker crust<br />
<br />
Mix the lemonade powder and condensed milk until the crystals have dissolved, then fold this into the cool whip.<br />
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When all the ingredients are incorporated, spread the mixture into the crust.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitKuUW-npPFPtjEVLRHQ3lsgyw0zEAkVN9FAO5pRfT1QCb2d9PYwTLURGMlHWo9Z0yHbxM3YibmTGfct7EWUNFo9vfXrpPNYwjMPuISWUhBfi-fvcwJZI391x0P2XsZ6JSOlY4_efqpCU/s1600/DSC03325.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitKuUW-npPFPtjEVLRHQ3lsgyw0zEAkVN9FAO5pRfT1QCb2d9PYwTLURGMlHWo9Z0yHbxM3YibmTGfct7EWUNFo9vfXrpPNYwjMPuISWUhBfi-fvcwJZI391x0P2XsZ6JSOlY4_efqpCU/s400/DSC03325.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
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If you want a more pudding consistency, pop it into the fridge in the morning and it will be good to go by the end of the day. You can also freeze it for a few hours for a slightly harder texture. It all depends on how you like your pudding-pie! I happen to be in the mood for a frozen treat, so this bad boy is coming out of the freezer after dinner.<br />
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Enjoy! meghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14602753423254322547noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8419793841386055510.post-36365389401014822382011-08-08T04:21:00.000-07:002011-08-08T08:14:15.849-07:00Deep Fried and DeliciousA few friends and I decided to spend our last glorious weekend abroad in Dublin, Ireland. We made the most of our two days with a walking tour of the city, a pub crawl, an afternoon trip to the seaside village of Malahide, and of course, some yummy eats.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOBk_EpoMC3OhIhSvKMQ8vtrs-AWwIBGxHPp6So-OIeS0exujxxfrCboxH1R62i6M_1GwuAumnPaWZ9DthK2VLUXqVKxlcrV6Uwvwis3g95r4aLsfHYTxt0c_ZPw3rY-W3QF3U07Ldky4/s1600/283001_1944991714978_1548060235_31783185_5366549_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOBk_EpoMC3OhIhSvKMQ8vtrs-AWwIBGxHPp6So-OIeS0exujxxfrCboxH1R62i6M_1GwuAumnPaWZ9DthK2VLUXqVKxlcrV6Uwvwis3g95r4aLsfHYTxt0c_ZPw3rY-W3QF3U07Ldky4/s320/283001_1944991714978_1548060235_31783185_5366549_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"> <span style="font-size: x-small;">The beach at Malahide Village</span></div><br />
Dave, our hilarious, obnoxious, English-bashing tour guide took us to a pub that served an amazing stew in Dublin's notorious Temple Bar area. It was a fun experience, but the following day we decided to hit up a pub in a slightly less touristy area north of the River Liffey. We were served massive pots of delicious Irish stew with tender meat and vegetables. And for dessert? A deep fried mars bar.<br />
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If you've been to the Texas State Fair, you're more than familiar with all sorts of deep fried things from bacon to butter (what?!).<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjolg-twzySx5YcB8Yw7L1dfMJ9BlFoWZpTn0ZXUpxLLXpNJgajLuXcRktL3Wz_SAKPcpiUoxWlzvysyYK4Z6TCec6Camh53TmntLNVmyMmfpqcz-ZZIQlhBxH729zjhSz7gFfkd6nq8Rg/s1600/texas-state-fair-300x257.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="274" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjolg-twzySx5YcB8Yw7L1dfMJ9BlFoWZpTn0ZXUpxLLXpNJgajLuXcRktL3Wz_SAKPcpiUoxWlzvysyYK4Z6TCec6Camh53TmntLNVmyMmfpqcz-ZZIQlhBxH729zjhSz7gFfkd6nq8Rg/s320/texas-state-fair-300x257.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Deep fried latte? What the what?!</span></div><br />
Actually this dish is *GASP* not Irish! It originated in chip shops in Scotland in the 90's and its popularity has spread ever since. It combines a gooey, marshmallowy (new word?) chocolate bar with a crunchy sweet batter, and don't worry, it's an excellent source of sugar, fat, and calories.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAYXd7b8sdcaPkQu8vTlxLaQ0sSRwh9nYeUPBX6Z8Pw_D0WSvT594TQhBD4ybWAQrRxy8fbifQmlE3KWitHHRckJ_7hA0jh9JRnFw0i1SLIfTN30A9yN9MfpsUlm63-mYxxS8sDAi39Fw/s1600/285485_10150336255381514_663661513_9671504_3616225_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAYXd7b8sdcaPkQu8vTlxLaQ0sSRwh9nYeUPBX6Z8Pw_D0WSvT594TQhBD4ybWAQrRxy8fbifQmlE3KWitHHRckJ_7hA0jh9JRnFw0i1SLIfTN30A9yN9MfpsUlm63-mYxxS8sDAi39Fw/s320/285485_10150336255381514_663661513_9671504_3616225_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Yummeh.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div>This brought back a fond, sugar rush of memories from my childhood...and from about four months ago. When I was eleven, a friend and I approached my mom with a handful of snickers and milky way bars, begging her to fry them for us because we had seen someone do it on TV. That woman is always looking for crazy kitchen experiments, so of course, she agreed. Half an hour later we were buzzing around the house and jumping on the couches with chocolate smeared all over our lips. About ten minutes after that, we were passed out on the living room floor in a food coma.<br />
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Now we fast forward to college, where few things have changed. My friends and I experiment in our apartment kitchen, which has led to some epic disasters (jack daniels shots with bacon?), but our latest experiment was a beautiful success--oreos fried in a pancake-like batter. I dare you to try it.<br />
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<b>Fried Oreos Recipe</b><br />
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1 package of Oreos<br />
2 cups of Bisquick<br />
2 eggs<br />
1 1/2 cups of milk<br />
vegetable oil for frying<br />
Powdered sugar (optional)<br />
Ice Cream (optional)<br />
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Preheat the oil in a deep pan until it reaches about 350 degrees. Be careful.<br />
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Seriously, be careful.<br />
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Place some paper towels on a plate. The cookies will go straight from the fryer to this plate to drain. <br />
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Blend the bisquick, eggs, and milk until smooth.<br />
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Dip the oreos in the mix and gently place in the hot oil. Hey, don't drop them! The oil will splatter and you'll be in pain and this wont be fun anymore.<br />
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Keep checking and turning the cookies, they will turn a lovely golden brown color and they'll fluff up nicely.<br />
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Remove them and let them drain on the paper towels before serving them to your hungry friends. Enjoy!<br />
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meghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14602753423254322547noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8419793841386055510.post-47821209591862075832011-08-04T03:14:00.000-07:002011-08-04T03:14:06.226-07:00Teatime TherapyIf you have never experienced a traditional afternoon tea, GO DO IT NOW.<br />
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It's the civilized thing to do.<br />
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I, like my mother, am more than content with my daily cup (or three) of microwave-made tea. However, sometimes it's nice to break out those linen napkins and be a little fancy shmancy. Sipping on tea with some buttered scones and tiny finger sandwiches is relaxing, and turns something mundane and simple into an elegant ritual. My favorite aspect of English culture is that people make time to enjoy these little luxuries.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj30thBHTqZzO2vyC9FPgNsg0qfy7_FBdshXh8gQowoWyUEXAzqyHp443LpXDsv3SVyavURdPH-sFf6QqbL6dJwb_YCB6PDtp-UuAhRCLgjWyHlosYRu9uILLI23P4fK74gJ7Aan7rrmWQ/s1600/DSC03166.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj30thBHTqZzO2vyC9FPgNsg0qfy7_FBdshXh8gQowoWyUEXAzqyHp443LpXDsv3SVyavURdPH-sFf6QqbL6dJwb_YCB6PDtp-UuAhRCLgjWyHlosYRu9uILLI23P4fK74gJ7Aan7rrmWQ/s400/DSC03166.JPG" width="400" /> </a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Teatime at Brown's Cafe, Woodstock Road, Oxford</span> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div>Check out this spread of scones with butter and jam, salmon and cucumber finger sandwiches, a sampling of cakes, and a pot of earl gray tea. My favorite part, of course, was the bowl of sugar cubes!meghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14602753423254322547noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8419793841386055510.post-13530449523132973392011-07-31T23:53:00.000-07:002011-08-01T17:19:20.736-07:00Hidden Gems- London<style>
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<div class="MsoNormal">I’ve been in England for about a month now and I’m pretty sick of British food.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Say what you want. Tell me that I haven’t been ordering the right stuff or eating at the right places. But let’s be honest here, is it really known for being the most amazing cuisine in the world? Now, I would never <i>totally</i> hate on British food because that would mean hating on comfort food. What’s not to like about meat and potatoes? At the end of the day, British food is honest, unfussy, and simple... </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">...and heavy and, well, unimaginative. Look, I need some complex flavors. And where’s the pizazz in fish and chips or steak and ale pie? However, I must admit that there is ONE traditional dish that I can’t seem to get enough of, and surprise, it's a dessert.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I know. I’m a glutton for sweets. I believe in pre-dinner desserts and midnight sweet snacks. Every day. These ladies had the right idea. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5TqRkpMpLcGyJ_5VdhmUz978BnrdCpzu3QqKnTGMha8vascAHpg52NJWxdxTBdKHSreFQqOY6c7wMbt8gMApI6IYxUd9A0bRUehECOprDaNQAWtaqsipl-WdsS-k08oejmz8BsDMH5AM/s1600/ggs.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5TqRkpMpLcGyJ_5VdhmUz978BnrdCpzu3QqKnTGMha8vascAHpg52NJWxdxTBdKHSreFQqOY6c7wMbt8gMApI6IYxUd9A0bRUehECOprDaNQAWtaqsipl-WdsS-k08oejmz8BsDMH5AM/s400/ggs.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Midnight cheesecake solves everything. You go girls.</span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">If you haven’t had this delicious dessert before, here’s the run down. <b>Sticky toffee pudding</b> is a moist, steamed sponge cake made with chopped dates and topped with a velvety toffee sauce. Many enjoy it with vanilla custard, but I like mine a la mode. This dish is a heart-warming, soul-satisfying sweet treat.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
We wandered around the affluent, elegant Notting Hill area of London, looking for a place that was still open, and more importantly, serving sticky toffee pudding. We hopped from pub to pub with no luck. It was ridiculous, really. I mean, an hour to find a place serving sticky toffee pudding in <i>London</i><span style="font-style: normal;">? </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Just when we were about to throw our hands in the air and give up, we found Ffiona's. </div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">It was a busy night, so we were lucky to be seated after a group failed to make their reservation time. After a month of eating in chippy's and pubs, I had no idea what to expect, but Ffiona's turned out to be one of the coziest little bistros I have ever been to. It was romantic and glowing with candlelight. It was so intimate that I felt like I was eating in someone's home. Ffiona herself bustled around the restaurant, serving, cleaning, and taking orders. She was a little overworked, a bit eccentric, and maybe even bossy, but she was amazingly quick and attentive. She had a sort of don’t-mess-with-me attitude, and I could tell that she had a following because she was on a first name basis with some of her customers. It was charming. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">It is a bit on the pricey upmarket side, so I would save it for a farewell to London dinner, or just stop by for coffee and dessert. But if you're looking for an "off the beaten path" restaurant in London, I would highly recommend <a href="http://www.ffionas.com/">Ffiona's</a>.</div>meghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14602753423254322547noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8419793841386055510.post-45498538728982725242011-07-25T02:30:00.000-07:002011-07-27T02:19:49.847-07:00Best Day Ever: Tuscany<style>
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<div class="MsoNormal">My friends (strange, nocturnal creatures who sometimes sleep until well into the afternoon) constantly make fun of me because I typically fall asleep just when the party is getting started, and wake up bright and early the next morning when everyone is usually going off to bed. I prefer to have classes in the morning. And the last time I consistently slept in, I think I was in 8<sup>th</sup> grade.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">There were so many days during the trip when I tried to force myself to remember that this was a vacation—that I didn’t need to plan every moment or wake up at the crack of dawn every morning. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">But what’s better than waking up early when everything is quiet and peaceful? I feel like I don’t have to rush, I can just take my time to ease into the day brimming with possibilities ahead of me. And isn’t that what this trip is all about? Having days full of beautiful experiences?</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Since a friend told me that I absolutely had to go to the Mercato Centrale, and only before the afternoon tourist rush, I took advantage of the early morning quiet in Florence and made my way to the famous covered marketplace. I sipped on a cappuccino at a café while nearby shopkeepers chatted with me in broken English. They slowly enjoyed their coffees while flipping through newspapers, and then they hurried back to their stalls to set up their cases of meats, fruits, breads, and vegetables for the day. I bought a few apples from a friendly woman who proudly told me about her son who moved to America. Everyone was helpful and kind. I walked around, tempted to buy some fresh pasta or cured meats, but I left before my hungry eyes could get the better of me.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2DywmXMJFdCEFXPpJQ2ssKTD-PvnNKv0hQ8R675ZcraEwmwhrEwP9yo4bpdb-AUrN23044bq6ezCNwEbuXIWIoVIZBFlUzyYMwZwSS3DI78U7BDa757fhgvMwmhmM3qNObU-NRGOHGu4/s1600/DSC02926.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2DywmXMJFdCEFXPpJQ2ssKTD-PvnNKv0hQ8R675ZcraEwmwhrEwP9yo4bpdb-AUrN23044bq6ezCNwEbuXIWIoVIZBFlUzyYMwZwSS3DI78U7BDa757fhgvMwmhmM3qNObU-NRGOHGu4/s320/DSC02926.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal">As I mentioned before, our hostel in Florence set up all sorts of fun and relatively inexpensive excursions and tours. You could go on a nighttime bike ride around the city, take a cooking class, or even go horseback riding through Tuscany. We opted for a wine- tasting tour cleverly called “chiantipsy”.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Our first stop was Greve, a town located in the Chianti Classico region of Tuscany. This area is known for having mineral-rich soil, and locals have been producing wine here since, well, practically forever. We learned that the mark of a true Chianti Classico wine is a black rooster label on the bottle. Here’s the story behind it.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibMMIRvx9EmBXOhj4yHO1-LOdoZ9Qa70l3lAYM9QnGycAhYv8y3cdxNpg9hwVJzwGl59uk36sswSHB8RGqed0yiMus1FzQm9hAIXXSMIl8k7Iyks4qlMYqIz208KR74Ylh0AwMeARfCH8/s1600/DSC02929.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibMMIRvx9EmBXOhj4yHO1-LOdoZ9Qa70l3lAYM9QnGycAhYv8y3cdxNpg9hwVJzwGl59uk36sswSHB8RGqed0yiMus1FzQm9hAIXXSMIl8k7Iyks4qlMYqIz208KR74Ylh0AwMeARfCH8/s320/DSC02929.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">The basement of a cheese and meat store in Greve. Heaven.</div><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal">The legend of the black rooster goes back to the time of city-states in Italy, when Florence and Siena fought to claim the Chianti Classico region as their own. The fighting was getting pretty ridiculous, so the leaders decided to settle this dispute with a competition. A horseman from each city was to set out at the crow of a rooster, and the border would be established wherever the horsemen met. Fair enough. The Sienese chose a happy, well-fed white rooster while the Florentines starved a black rooster. Animal cruelty much? But wait! He soon became the star of the city because he was so hungry that he woke up early in the morning and crowed, allowing the rider to get a head start on his journey.<br />
<br />
The black rooster is a symbol of authenticity, and he has been since 1398. Our next stop was a nearby vineyard for a light lunch and chianti tasting. Our guide told us that Lorenzo, a close friend of his, is a twelfth generation wine-maker. His ancestry dates back to the time of the Medici family. Yes, I’m talking about the same Medici family who essentially financed the early Renaissance. Lorenzo’s family was extremely wealthy, but they were reduced to farming-class status after a number of disputes with the Medici’s, who clearly weren’t the kind of people you wanted to piss off. So ever since then, Lorenzo’s family has been farming in Tuscany. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbpq4am6W_4FFlmhzmQd9SDUqj04KB6i0wMMH8eTlF5dgoG11kElFC9tV0S9939UYtMOXIddgbP1dD_eq4zjdBg1w-LXRpL6O1MVnsHE0cdN3P6KExJLpELO8sjNX076AK6K61k8b9D4c/s1600/DSC02930.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbpq4am6W_4FFlmhzmQd9SDUqj04KB6i0wMMH8eTlF5dgoG11kElFC9tV0S9939UYtMOXIddgbP1dD_eq4zjdBg1w-LXRpL6O1MVnsHE0cdN3P6KExJLpELO8sjNX076AK6K61k8b9D4c/s400/DSC02930.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbpq4am6W_4FFlmhzmQd9SDUqj04KB6i0wMMH8eTlF5dgoG11kElFC9tV0S9939UYtMOXIddgbP1dD_eq4zjdBg1w-LXRpL6O1MVnsHE0cdN3P6KExJLpELO8sjNX076AK6K61k8b9D4c/s1600/DSC02930.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br />
</a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I’m not sure what I expected, perhaps a man dressed like a count or a lord or something like that, but Lorenzo was far from this. He wore jeans and a casual cotton shirt. His curly black hair was pulled back in a ponytail. He was smiling, down-to-earth, and shy. As he led us through the garden to his grand house, he lovingly checked on his olive trees and grapevines, delicately brushing the leaves with the tips of his fingers. He spoke about his estate in Italian while our guide translated. He spoke of his family’s wine with pride, and warmly invited us to explore his home.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">We walked into a great room with tables set up for lunch. The meal was simple, yet delicious. We ate slices of bread with prosciutto and salami, and sipped on two kinds of red wine. Lorenzo served us olive oil produced on his estate, generously drizzling it onto our plates. And if it had been socially acceptable for me to lick my plate, I would have. Finally, we were served a delicious penne pasta with tomato sauce. It felt like something out of a movie. I was eating a beautiful meal with wonderful people, looking out the window onto softly rolling hills covered in grape vines and olive trees.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwuBBEg9tFoR3T4IID-n2VJpqNmWLsDrgImjxRlX-nNH81Mc7GTYcDLUNSRkw89nePX34dGU_rPR-xLbposkwnAYFxq-Dh3ImMfIZK3WFgEqHVVDEHBH1b8rXALz0Foct_a60EqtW_khk/s1600/DSC02933.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwuBBEg9tFoR3T4IID-n2VJpqNmWLsDrgImjxRlX-nNH81Mc7GTYcDLUNSRkw89nePX34dGU_rPR-xLbposkwnAYFxq-Dh3ImMfIZK3WFgEqHVVDEHBH1b8rXALz0Foct_a60EqtW_khk/s320/DSC02933.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I don’t know much about wine, but I could definitely tell a difference between the Chianti and the basic red wine we were served. The first wine was light and fruity, while the chianti had a deeper, richer taste.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfbKwSiFIoypBOtQkWMMSuD0HK1IBpijWI4riPcygS_EGJY1AGslSZ5mm3_wzW_kPb_HUoVfOcMY5GBWGkzTBGKwYPjcVs1Fvfys-Tb67aoaXvmRATXur3rHYZQrymE-FE0mmMRWto0t0/s1600/265021_1866600435245_1548060245_31685038_4120681_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfbKwSiFIoypBOtQkWMMSuD0HK1IBpijWI4riPcygS_EGJY1AGslSZ5mm3_wzW_kPb_HUoVfOcMY5GBWGkzTBGKwYPjcVs1Fvfys-Tb67aoaXvmRATXur3rHYZQrymE-FE0mmMRWto0t0/s400/265021_1866600435245_1548060245_31685038_4120681_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"> </div><div class="MsoNormal">We ended our trip at a grappa factory. I had never heard of grappa before this tour, so I was fascinated by it. Originally made to avoid waste, grappa is a byproduct of fermented grape skins, so all the left-overs after winemaking. At the factory, a portion of the grappa is stored in great barrels, giving it an amber color as well as a unique, aged flavor.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Many people use it as a ‘digestivo’, or an after-dinner drink to aid in digestion. Some even drink a little with espresso to create ‘caffe corretto’. First you enjoy the espresso, and follow it with a few ounces of grappa. Delicioso! </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I enjoyed the smell of it more than the taste. I can only describe it as similar to vodka, but with a sweet flavor. Overall, not bad, but I don’t think I can handle it straight!</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">As if that wasn’t awesome enough, we were served fruit skewers drizzled with creamy balsamic vinegar, which reminded me of a recipe I recently came upon.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
<br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b>Macerated Berries with Balsamic Vinegar</b></div><div class="MsoNormal">1 quart of strawberries, washed and sliced</div><div class="MsoNormal">1/3 cup of balsamic vinegar</div><div class="MsoNormal">1 tbsp honey</div><div class="MsoNormal">chopped mint or basil</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Simmer vinegar over medium-low heat until reduced by half. At this point it should be thickened a bit and a little sticky. Remove from heat and stir in honey. Pour over berries and let sit for approximately 10 minutes. Stir in herbs and serve atop vanilla ice cream.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
(sorry, I had to!)</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I am so absolutely in love with Italy.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div>meghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14602753423254322547noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8419793841386055510.post-91070325124508803572011-07-17T05:47:00.000-07:002011-07-17T12:09:47.481-07:00Madrid in a day.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>A somewhat last minute trip to Madrid? Well, why not. <br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal">I would be lying if I said that the main purpose of this trip was not to eat Spanish food. You’re probably asking, Megha, you seriously went all the way to Spain just for food? And the answer is yes, yes I did! You see, I have always been in love with <i>the idea</i><span style="font-style: normal;"> of eating little tapas and sipping on sangria, but I have never really experienced authentic Spanish cuisine. I wasn’t sure if it really was as amazing as I wanted it to be or if I just romanticized the whole thing in my head. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">One thing I learned is that in Spain, eating is much more than just a meal. It is an experience. It’s sitting at your favorite restaurant with your friends, sipping on wine and chatting late into the night. You take your time. You allow your taste buds to savor and appreciate every tangy, salty, and sweet flavor in your mouth. You observe the way the flavors mingle and complement one another. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">My favorite place by far was Mercado San Miguel. It might not be as large or grand as some of the other markets I visited in Europe, but this is definitely a case of quality over quantity. If you want a true tapas experience, then this is the place to visit. Locals stand at the counters, drinking sangria while they snack on all the delicacies this place has to offer. So of course, we did the same.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGVTnQSSKyfV8hJlpfGWQ0tCUTKDUlTp-2omUqA0mhka4o8QDany5WfF4R45w-vPbSRRLJr5_gY5JsDs1sn6ExXV6SYBFuiJVm3tN8y9z1DzpcDHgtPTHS-Q41qQ3ee59RPISQrs9BTvE/s1600/269408_10150375195314619_583754618_10281641_521794_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGVTnQSSKyfV8hJlpfGWQ0tCUTKDUlTp-2omUqA0mhka4o8QDany5WfF4R45w-vPbSRRLJr5_gY5JsDs1sn6ExXV6SYBFuiJVm3tN8y9z1DzpcDHgtPTHS-Q41qQ3ee59RPISQrs9BTvE/s320/269408_10150375195314619_583754618_10281641_521794_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"> </div><div class="MsoNormal">First, we ate little foi gras sandwiches. A warm little patty of foi gras topped with caramelized onions and placed on a soft bun…what could be better? </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgE1KKeOQCfdJBc1Kf2cUq_-IivZY9R6S17QnUxWW1jOKXVt9hi8SrL3hYUF1wDEhQ-au9MmEziGBLa7is9eiHon9hA5fnLGbglkPU96BqJpFGRiIHdF2q8WtmLkVU9Kac-Tuusn-6mIgA/s1600/269047_10150375195374619_583754618_10281642_2615461_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgE1KKeOQCfdJBc1Kf2cUq_-IivZY9R6S17QnUxWW1jOKXVt9hi8SrL3hYUF1wDEhQ-au9MmEziGBLa7is9eiHon9hA5fnLGbglkPU96BqJpFGRiIHdF2q8WtmLkVU9Kac-Tuusn-6mIgA/s320/269047_10150375195374619_583754618_10281642_2615461_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Next on the to-do list: fish. One slice of soft bread topped with salmon, tomato, cheese, chives, and drizzled with olive oil. The other with a garlicy jam, marinated pieces of squid, and herbs.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0xfRiYr3dsGhmhMvD8Aw9NmQOPYCeOai8on8D-Cwuxq-pzJ3x0pj26UZY2XlpZ70jj2SYyEIQN3zzLAfFQ3h3Y9_JzYqQ_JfSYovwmibbx0euRBfXgmlcx6SR_IRHK0W1dfAXJkZ-uZY/s1600/284303_10150375195474619_583754618_10281645_5566422_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0xfRiYr3dsGhmhMvD8Aw9NmQOPYCeOai8on8D-Cwuxq-pzJ3x0pj26UZY2XlpZ70jj2SYyEIQN3zzLAfFQ3h3Y9_JzYqQ_JfSYovwmibbx0euRBfXgmlcx6SR_IRHK0W1dfAXJkZ-uZY/s320/284303_10150375195474619_583754618_10281645_5566422_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">And finally, to wash it all down, sangria. Surprisingly inexpensive and served with a little bowl of delicious green olives. Yum!</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjy6DnFPYszny1Ph_dURZEHtuhVNpb54z4lhB0UepUO3oPZiW96v-6Y2pi23Q3oN56ZM5fTV06d-KBDRMb6rBJhsf0h2uQJvJhKMOO8ZJV8lY0QtrLi6UEeqOGYhMupPWZLxycQPyXn4hU/s1600/270558_10150375195429619_583754618_10281643_4537675_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjy6DnFPYszny1Ph_dURZEHtuhVNpb54z4lhB0UepUO3oPZiW96v-6Y2pi23Q3oN56ZM5fTV06d-KBDRMb6rBJhsf0h2uQJvJhKMOO8ZJV8lY0QtrLi6UEeqOGYhMupPWZLxycQPyXn4hU/s320/270558_10150375195429619_583754618_10281643_4537675_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I could go on an on about the different foods I experienced like croquettas (little creamy fried balls of deliciousness filled with spinach, fish, jamon, or anything really), paella, and tortilla. But I should really stop myself before I just go on and on forever. Why don’t I just move on to dessert?</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitV6xSBJLHwNZavs17rQQnA_uckYyii2xmMcg6QK5DpPq5CoG-XgOinVCzj4Rz842dZDsyWIMw2puDD_dF3shwLOTo4TcvcbnU6QNoDHyEXc_WHrZHQ5AHXxoblvoUOr-1iT0s1rfYxXc/s1600/5932_102151586325_527216325_2588991_6519460_n.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br />
</a></div><div class="MsoNormal">We know churros as fried sticks of dough topped with cinnamon and sugar. We eat them at baseball games (what, we only do that in Texas?!) and all we really want in life are Ryan Reynolds and a lifetime supply of them.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHzkXBTihrpWnujBQPKtlfka8LMMgxy0PtyvqEEiw60qrrNYpyQxy2M96nGFl31DUy8NDrumh7sOFD1xBYZpYw-DFlimNb_6CFMXZ7MOg74N1Ajc8C9bfvvyEpDJ5In8nb6Rrgx4fo6Xw/s1600/Ryan_Reynolds_786.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHzkXBTihrpWnujBQPKtlfka8LMMgxy0PtyvqEEiw60qrrNYpyQxy2M96nGFl31DUy8NDrumh7sOFD1xBYZpYw-DFlimNb_6CFMXZ7MOg74N1Ajc8C9bfvvyEpDJ5In8nb6Rrgx4fo6Xw/s320/Ryan_Reynolds_786.jpg" width="256" /> </a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>+ </b></span></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitV6xSBJLHwNZavs17rQQnA_uckYyii2xmMcg6QK5DpPq5CoG-XgOinVCzj4Rz842dZDsyWIMw2puDD_dF3shwLOTo4TcvcbnU6QNoDHyEXc_WHrZHQ5AHXxoblvoUOr-1iT0s1rfYxXc/s1600/5932_102151586325_527216325_2588991_6519460_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitV6xSBJLHwNZavs17rQQnA_uckYyii2xmMcg6QK5DpPq5CoG-XgOinVCzj4Rz842dZDsyWIMw2puDD_dF3shwLOTo4TcvcbnU6QNoDHyEXc_WHrZHQ5AHXxoblvoUOr-1iT0s1rfYxXc/s320/5932_102151586325_527216325_2588991_6519460_n.jpg" width="272" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: x-large;">=</span></b></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqvFDjjXXAWDyK-vZKaJNMIrByjJWpD6SWEpwrNCGDgzvP3fKsey1LbdWRDlD9C0Gda3xLi0sJL-NCHsbuZzjMcYqbpljEbU3q5u-Zck-FYRFlhbW9iZ3PRDNjmIjqob-esRmKSx99Y7c/s1600/love_hearts-1479.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="173" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqvFDjjXXAWDyK-vZKaJNMIrByjJWpD6SWEpwrNCGDgzvP3fKsey1LbdWRDlD9C0Gda3xLi0sJL-NCHsbuZzjMcYqbpljEbU3q5u-Zck-FYRFlhbW9iZ3PRDNjmIjqob-esRmKSx99Y7c/s200/love_hearts-1479.png" width="200" /></a></div><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal">Now, imagine them without all that cinnamon sugar nonsense and instead served with a cup of piping hot, melted dark chocolate. Yes, google images tells me that this is common knowledge to the rest of the world, but this was totally new to me. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The chocolate isn’t as overwhelmingly sweet as one would imagine. It’s creamy with a slightly bitter edge. The churros are crispy on the outside and soft on the inside. We also ordered porras, which are the thick and soft pillowy version of churros. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYG_Bq41otw-6YLk5AIosfvKjhWRSi9AQ6Aj8Qpj2BzBWbWQdtcM7JjfXp4PwgKEYqEd5pqiNTOPpydkwsmGgnusDoGU-zyTyAEs0Ukx9RkGGv9JuSoz-L8dA2s4a1nyXnkXWhUD5jXG4/s1600/DSC03050.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYG_Bq41otw-6YLk5AIosfvKjhWRSi9AQ6Aj8Qpj2BzBWbWQdtcM7JjfXp4PwgKEYqEd5pqiNTOPpydkwsmGgnusDoGU-zyTyAEs0Ukx9RkGGv9JuSoz-L8dA2s4a1nyXnkXWhUD5jXG4/s320/DSC03050.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal">The verdict? Spanish food was even better than I imagined. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I was sad to leave sunny Madrid. Yes, I ate and ate and ate. BUT I was also able to experience some of the other beautiful things the city has to offer like the incredible and historic Plaza Mayor. I even rowed a boat for the first time in my life in Madrid’s beautiful central park, Retiro. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgT9rXiQDNZKdq7rQbszNi6rgtTEgURkJr0FWwToLWv5Moy48NMVNrYvfoI9g8T_DVQo5P_fRR56ELuwsRwaxKWxko3544ZKkEBwvoUPB9oukgvKSg-ooRvUSTOMk0xJRw6nSeSnV-QCL0/s1600/284510_10150375235524619_583754618_10281672_6019844_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgT9rXiQDNZKdq7rQbszNi6rgtTEgURkJr0FWwToLWv5Moy48NMVNrYvfoI9g8T_DVQo5P_fRR56ELuwsRwaxKWxko3544ZKkEBwvoUPB9oukgvKSg-ooRvUSTOMk0xJRw6nSeSnV-QCL0/s320/284510_10150375235524619_583754618_10281672_6019844_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFKqPYwJyU3TYIKxdgD8ahogPiVK_vELobvaFW63Tr7qGSr-952xU1fmALb3zbtA4GOE6NtV8FUMMVJz9lc_moeLZM92FJM4OUM7fwyNWflRJt2El4EITBGDOU3nLg4Tw60CefVxMEglo/s1600/285053_10150375242949619_583754618_10281682_2792837_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFKqPYwJyU3TYIKxdgD8ahogPiVK_vELobvaFW63Tr7qGSr-952xU1fmALb3zbtA4GOE6NtV8FUMMVJz9lc_moeLZM92FJM4OUM7fwyNWflRJt2El4EITBGDOU3nLg4Tw60CefVxMEglo/s320/285053_10150375242949619_583754618_10281682_2792837_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal">This was a whirlwind trip, and it definitely left me wanting more. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div>meghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14602753423254322547noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8419793841386055510.post-73265550980052968872011-07-12T04:28:00.000-07:002011-07-12T15:56:35.699-07:00White Night in TuscanyAfter a few days of sunny weather, the gloomy gray clouds and chilly air have returned. It was nice while it lasted, and believe me, I took advantage of it. I went to a beautiful park down the road and discovered the prettiest creek I think I have ever seen. I watched families picnicking (that sounds kind of creepy, doesn’t it?) and little baby ducks bouncing around on some lily pads in a pond. I even ate my lunch outside, and this time on a bench and not in the middle of the street! <br />
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Since I’m dreaming about beautiful weather, I think this would be the perfect time to tell you about my experience in Tuscany.<br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal">If you ever visit Florence, I highly recommend staying at Hostel Plus Florence. We walked there from the train station and were immediately greeted by friendly staff members who gave us tons of helpful resources and ideas! The hostel even has its own reasonably-priced café and bar, and the view from the roof is incredible!</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Our first night in Florence happened to fall on “white night”. We failed to ask what that actually means, but we discovered that on designated Saturdays all the markets stay open until very late and the streets are filled with vendors and live performances. Kelsey, Jenny, myself, and a kind of strange girl from Florida who happened to be sharing our room with us made our way across town to see what this “white night” business was all about.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The streets were full of tourists and locals. A group of people gathered to watch some old black and white film, which was being projected on the side of a building. Vendors were selling big cups of sweet, fruity sangria. An Italian hard rock band was screeching and head-banging in the street, drawing a large applauding, drunken crowd. Local artists were selling jewelry and little trinkets. A butcher was making made-to-order sandwiches with fresh ciabatta and thinly sliced pieces of meat, which he carved right before your eyes.<br />
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So I know this is a given, but kids, you really shouldn’t trust people you don’t know. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">You also shouldn’t trust people with skunk tail-looking highlights.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The strange girl from Florida with the weird name I can’t remember, who seemed to know where she was going but actually didn’t have a clue, was leading us further and further away from the markets. By the time we realized this, it was midnight and we were lost in a city that we had been in for about half a day. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I guess they say that getting lost in a city is the best way to truly discover it, right?</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">By the time we reached the hostel, it was well after 1am and we were cranky and achy, but the night had been so incredible that it didn’t matter. As I lay in bed, all I could think about was this: I had woken up in Venice and I was falling asleep in Florence. </div>meghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14602753423254322547noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8419793841386055510.post-57024627804121400202011-07-08T15:13:00.000-07:002011-07-09T00:16:26.139-07:00Oxford: Day One<style>
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</style>Hello! Did you miss me? I know I left you hanging with my, "I'm off to Europe!" followed by ZERO entries for three weeks. I truly wanted to write, and believe me, I meant to. However, it turns out it's quite hard to blog when you don't have a laptop. Obviously, I didn't think this plan through. <br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal">But, fear not! I'm back! It took a taxi, a bus, and one helluva walk to get me here but I have arrived in Oxford. I have stories to tell and even a few recipes to share if I can find the napkins and bits of paper I scribbled them on.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">So, let me begin by saying that I have learned a number of things on this trip. The most important is this: I really need to learn how to pack lighter. The second: I was stupid for thinking that summer in America is kind of like summer in England, because, well, it’s really not.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I took a taxi from my Aunt’s house in Uxbridge to the bus stop. The grumpy cab driver left me across the street from the actual stop, so I was forced to drag my giant backpack, my little backpack, my duffel bag, and the lunch sack my Aunt packed for me across the busy road. That was a battle in itself. Three cars plowed through a massive puddle, leaving me completely drenched by the time I even made it to the bus. And to make matters worse, it’s cold here.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Luckily, Thom, the friendly bus driver helped me with my bags. Thom is a jolly fellow who wears his hair in a ponytail and speaks in an accent I can barely understand. He is from a town that ends in “shire”, which really narrows things down in this place. He hates London and doesn't really care for fish and chips. He loves Oxford.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">“That’s Oxfords oldest buildin’.” Thom said as he pointed at an old tower on the high street. “Think it was built in 1000 or somethin'. Pretty cool eh?” (Please excuse my horrible and probably offensive effort to convey his accent.)</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">“Wow, that’s…older than America.” I said stupidly.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Thom didn’t respond.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">To be honest, I was totally in awe of the incredible architecture and history before me. Oxford is beautiful, and it’s actually not very big. In fact if I had blinked, I would have missed the city center. It’s a quaint little place filled with massive stone buildings. Parts of the shop-lined streets are cobblestone. It’s everything you can expect, and oh so much more. Many people don’t realize that the university itself is made up of nearly forty small colleges, and each college seems to have a personality of its own. The quads of Keble differ from the gardens of Trinity and the grassy grove of Magdalen. It's amazing.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I finally arrived at the bus stop. The weather had cleared up, and thinking I would save a few pounds on bus or taxi fare, I figured that I would walk to my dorm. It seemed like a great idea at the time...</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Lesson number three: It rains all the time in England.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I was a mere three blocks away from the station when it started to pour. I was tripping and slipping over cobblestones. My bags were falling down. I pulled my sweatshirt over my head only to end up looking like a giant gray pillow hobbling down the road. And after making every effort to avoid it, I fell on the street. My bags toppled over my legs, so I couldn’t really move. So there I was, pinned to the ground by my own luggage. The rain was pouring. And all I could think to do was eat my egg salad sandwich.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">People were staring at me, and an old man actually patted me on the head as he walked by. I didn’t care. I had finally made it to Oxford, England. After weeks of sleeping on trains and buses and creaky hostel beads, I was here. By the time I finished my delicious sandwich, the rain cleared up. I gathered my things and carried on to Parks Road.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">So yes, this was my first day at Oxford, England. Unpredictable Weather: 1 Megha: 0. But tomorrow I will buy an umbrella, find myself a map, and explore my new (temporary) home. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Don't worry, I wont forget to tell you about Europe! But I think a good nights sleep is definitely a must for me. Sweet dreams!</div>meghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14602753423254322547noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8419793841386055510.post-46765805204608236512011-06-13T11:41:00.000-07:002011-06-13T19:49:08.223-07:00Adios, Austin (part two)<style>
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So the GRE happened...<br />
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It wasn’t horrible, but it wasn’t great either. I keep trying to stay positive and focus on the fact that one test doesn’t define who I am as a person or determine the rest of my life. But when all you really think about is getting into graduate school, it’s kind of hard not to think that. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I started bawling hysterically when I left the testing center. It was pretty dramatic. I immediately called my advisor and made an appointment with her for the following morning. I rushed to her office and collapsed in the chair near her desk. I’ve done this a few times before, so she didn’t exactly look surprised. They know me so well in the advising office that they let me just go straight to her office instead of checking in at the front desk (you call it excessive, and I call it a toll tag). Anyways, I started blurting out a million questions. <i>Should I take it again? Was this competitive enough of a score? They’re changing the test in August so even if I want to take it, will I have time to prepare for the new one? What should I do? WHAT SHOULD I DO?</i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">She shrugged and smiled, “Well, I guess it’s up to you. I’m not really the person to talk to, honestly.”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I just blankly stared at her for a few moments. I felt like I had just been diagnosed with some horrible disease and I was asking my doctor for a recommendation, a suggestion, an idea, for the love of god, anything. And my doctor just shrugged and said, “Well, I guess it’s up to you. I’m not really the person to talk to, honestly.”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
How is this helpful at all? Aren’t you an<i> advisor</i><span style="font-style: normal;">? Isn’t your job to give people </span><i>advice</i><span style="font-style: normal;">?</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I left her office feeling even more lost. I had originally asked all of my friends to come over to help me say goodbye to Austin, but honestly, I wasn’t in the mood to see or talk to anyone. I wanted to cry in bed for the rest of the night, watch the Food Network, and come up with a new life plan that had absolutely nothing to do with graduate school. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">But I knew that if anyone could make me feel better about everything, it was my friends. So the night was still on, everyone came over, and together we drove to South Congress to hit up the food trailers.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">There is something pretty extraordinary about the food truck scene in Austin. Not only can you find your typical hot dogs and burgers, but you can also find some unique gourmet food. Our first stop was the Mighty Cone. The little trailer has become a pretty popular joint here, and they’ve even been featured on the Travel Channel and Food Network on numerous occasions. All of their snacks come in these little tortilla wraps, but in an easy-to-hold, drip-free paper cone. It’s pretty ingenious. I had the chicken-avocado cone, which had slices of chicken and avocado fried in a batter made from sesame seeds, corn flakes, crushed red pepper, and almonds, and topped with a light cole-slaw. Soul satisfying.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal">We spent some more time exploring the food trucks. John and I decided that if I never get into grad school and he never gets into med school, we’re just going to start a trailer that sells fried oreos and other artery clogging items. I don’t think the world is ready for this.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">We usually make plans for the rest of the night, but what consistently happens is this: we plop down somewhere in the living room, start discussing something ridiculous, and we don’t get up until one or two in the morning. We talk about everything and nothing. We laugh. We tell each other stories. It turns out that this was all that I really needed to say goodbye to Austin. I didn’t need to go food-trucking on South Congress or catch a movie at the Drafthouse. I didn’t need a drive to Mt. Bonnell or a late-night pancake run to Kerbey Lane. I needed to be around the people who love me, support me, and accept me no matter what.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I didn’t get a perfect GRE score. This is not my first disappointment, and it will not be my last. But I’m not going to allow this to make me take the important things for granted, including how lucky I am to be going on this trip abroad, and the amazing life that I have waiting for me at home. </div>meghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14602753423254322547noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8419793841386055510.post-78674543892611328802011-06-10T08:12:00.000-07:002011-06-11T13:58:14.821-07:00Morning Therapy- The Omelet<style>
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<div class="MsoNormal">I’ve never been a huge stickler for rules, but some things are just easier to do when you have a formula to follow. This is why cooking can be extremely frustrating at times. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">When I get a recipe from my mom or nani, it’s always “oh add a little of this and a little of that…” Um, what does that even mean? What if <i>your</i><span style="font-style: normal;"> little is a pinch, and </span><i>my</i><span style="font-style: normal;"> little is a palmful. And what the heck is a “dash” or a “bit”? </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">While baking requires exact measurements, cooking relies mostly on instinct. When cooking, you have to trust your taste buds and just go with what feels right to you. You have to accept the fact that the way your food turns out depends on the quality of the ingredients, the heat of the pan, the hot spots in your oven, the weather, your mood, and the list goes on.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">But isn’t it nice once in a while to know that if you just follow a few simple instructions, the dish is going to come out perfect every time? This may come as a surprise to you, but omelets are one of these dishes.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Their delicateness makes them a intimidating. I didn’t even attempt to make an omelet until a few weeks ago. I was fine sticking to scrambled eggs, the one dish that you can’t mess up because it’s supposed to look like you messed it up. But let’s face it, there is nothing more satisfying than a warm, soft, cheesy omelet for breakfast. They may seem difficult to master, but if you stick to these rules you’ll get great results each time.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Rules:</div><ol start="1" style="margin-top: 0in;" type="1"><li class="MsoNormal">Use a combination of butter and oil. The oil prevent the eggs from sticking to the pan, duh, and the butter adds flavor.</li>
<li class="MsoNormal">Maintain medium-heat. If the pan gets too hot it will cook the eggs too quickly!</li>
<li class="MsoNormal">Have ALL your ingredients prepared and ready to go. Don’t be choppin’ them onions while your eggs are in the pan!</li>
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</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b>Omelet (for one)</b></div><div class="MsoNormal">2 eggs</div><div class="MsoNormal">1/8 tsp pepper</div><div class="MsoNormal">1/8 tsp salt</div><div class="MsoNormal">1/4 cup of shredded cheese</div><div class="MsoNormal">any other filling ingredients like ham, onions, mushrooms, etc. (optional)</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Beat the eggs in a bowl with salt and pepper. They should become a pale yellow color. When the butter has melted and the pan is hot, pour the eggs into the skillet. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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</style> </div><div class="MsoNormal">Let them set around the edges for a few moments, then gently scramble them in the middle to allow more of the runny egg to set on the pan. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgi4dlEJ32o63CeKCVd64Xuw0oJt2aOn7xo3mf2reIQJcwqikU1nM8ZNBRcuxiXAtt3_D21GpPKw-BcAm-fpCvcczvNQ6ldkwrK4JFkLzrjJaWwz2MsJuCQ9TmTyudRedKpk5Qz0_qulCY/s1600/DSC02721.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgi4dlEJ32o63CeKCVd64Xuw0oJt2aOn7xo3mf2reIQJcwqikU1nM8ZNBRcuxiXAtt3_D21GpPKw-BcAm-fpCvcczvNQ6ldkwrK4JFkLzrjJaWwz2MsJuCQ9TmTyudRedKpk5Qz0_qulCY/s320/DSC02721.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6WVB3iU0eT_-YLg_2MB0v8KMik4OqY3XF5OLhtuRBdF8zAM1FYVUesDDcrmqZf9enPt8bhEgVEElYyM3SmO9PPKTs0x9bO5IgeSep0YaeWmywtbsF58FhBkJ4qxhwwr_oR5nj-BzgmSY/s1600/DSC02728.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br />
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</style> </div><div class="MsoNormal">The omelet should still be a little runny on top. Sprinkle your filling (cheese, vegetables, etc.) evenly down the middle of it.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdCsSMiEcqn5Rpp5B_okf1lFfzl6Tz5ZfnLHYWA0LQDf4c3ItOfrM7oAL_BaWaSeZbJR6_ZZ74QXzWf-hBOapo6VXsSBlhf30FJBjmcaXf44MRcO7xLKCBddskSHlLjQW0hvD4lCu0H8E/s1600/DSC02722.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdCsSMiEcqn5Rpp5B_okf1lFfzl6Tz5ZfnLHYWA0LQDf4c3ItOfrM7oAL_BaWaSeZbJR6_ZZ74QXzWf-hBOapo6VXsSBlhf30FJBjmcaXf44MRcO7xLKCBddskSHlLjQW0hvD4lCu0H8E/s320/DSC02722.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><style>
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</style> </div><div class="MsoNormal">Using the spatula, gently fold a third of the omelet over the filling, as if you’re folding a letter.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkDYgHoQfYdO2n_nyEgxdI8-ESnfx2N8bvChIUmkZUruvo5c4kiU7rJC8sDK_6efEryVzJu5grLq6zsaocPgikGJejmEXC2LBXzQYj8ViQUacFbw8h8FB8rFr-2mEYT6Kkr0rDX-fxMJc/s1600/DSC02724.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkDYgHoQfYdO2n_nyEgxdI8-ESnfx2N8bvChIUmkZUruvo5c4kiU7rJC8sDK_6efEryVzJu5grLq6zsaocPgikGJejmEXC2LBXzQYj8ViQUacFbw8h8FB8rFr-2mEYT6Kkr0rDX-fxMJc/s320/DSC02724.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"></div><div class="MsoNormal"><style>
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As you transfer the omelet onto a plate, fold the middle over the final third of the omelet. Voila! It’s easier than you thought, huh?</div><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6WVB3iU0eT_-YLg_2MB0v8KMik4OqY3XF5OLhtuRBdF8zAM1FYVUesDDcrmqZf9enPt8bhEgVEElYyM3SmO9PPKTs0x9bO5IgeSep0YaeWmywtbsF58FhBkJ4qxhwwr_oR5nj-BzgmSY/s1600/DSC02728.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6WVB3iU0eT_-YLg_2MB0v8KMik4OqY3XF5OLhtuRBdF8zAM1FYVUesDDcrmqZf9enPt8bhEgVEElYyM3SmO9PPKTs0x9bO5IgeSep0YaeWmywtbsF58FhBkJ4qxhwwr_oR5nj-BzgmSY/s400/DSC02728.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"></div>meghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14602753423254322547noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8419793841386055510.post-64498487404557789302011-06-08T14:56:00.000-07:002011-06-08T17:31:25.555-07:00Adios, Austin (part one)<style>
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<div class="MsoNormal">In less than a week, I will be on a plane to London. It just hit me.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I, along with my friends Jenny and Kelsey, will be spending three weeks backpacking around Europe. After we spend a few days getting over our jet lag in London, we'll start our travels with a bang. Yes, I'm talking about a weekend in Amsterdam (um to check out their windmills and tulips, <i>obviously</i><span style="font-style: normal;">). Then will make our way to Prague via overnight train. Now, no European vacation is complete without a stop in Italy, so we'll spend a few days visiting Venice and Florence. You can expect the cliché sunset-on-the-Rialto-Bridge photograph as well as an abundance of pictures of gelato. We will then head to southern France for a few days of cleansing and relaxing in Nice. Why? </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-style: normal;">Because we will definitely need it before my 21<sup>st</sup> birthday weekend in Paris!</span> Am I the luckiest girl, or what?</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I'm, trying not to get too enthusiastic just yet, because I still have to take my GRE on Thursday. I'm trying my best to stay calm and hope that my studying paid off. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Now, I know I shouldn’t be sad to leave considering all the amazing adventures I’m about to have, but there is a part of me that is feeling a little depressed about saying goodbye to Austin. I’m not trying to be melodramatic. I know I’m going to be back in a few months. It’s just that Austin is most vibrant at this time of the year! People are spending time at Barton Springs or checking out the latest produce at our local farmers market. The same people who were moody, stressed out, and just difficult to put up with during the school year are actually <i>happy</i><span style="font-style: normal;">. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">See, even if you are working or studying over the summer, it’s hard not to look around and just feel thrilled to live here. I have always enjoyed spending my summers here for this reason. The hustle and bustle of campus is replaced with a refreshing tranquility. Everyone is spending time outside with their friends. It’s absolutely peaceful.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">My farewell to Austin begins today. I got an email about a secret sale at STRUT, so I bought a new dress and a pair of sandals. I spent some time wandering through the aisles of Book People for no particular reason. And now I am sipping on an iced hazelnut latte at a coffee shop on Lamar Street after reviewing some vocabulary. Sure, I’m a little anxious and nervous. But it's just too lovely outside today to feel anything but happiness.</div>meghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14602753423254322547noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8419793841386055510.post-73955539389871546222011-06-07T14:01:00.000-07:002011-06-08T17:33:02.304-07:00Zucchini Pancakes<style>
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<div class="MsoNormal">I have been spending a lot of time working and studying lately, so I've been using my down time in the evenings as an opportunity to get creative. I figured that if can’t enjoy my summer outside, perhaps I can enjoy my summer in food.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Let me tell introduce to you two amazing words that will change the way you cook for as long as you’re in school, and possibly forever. <i>Roast Chicken</i><span style="font-style: normal;">. Yes, I am talking about one of those big birds you always pass by at the grocery store. They appear to be meant only for a hungry family of four, but did you know that if you take it home and immediately shred it off the bone, it can last for days in the fridge? I’m serious! Don’t let the bird intimidate you anymore! It’s a budget friendly move that can help you add a little protein and pizzazz to salads, pasta, and more. Stuff shells with it, use it in cheese quesadillas, make a chicken salad, and sure, go ahead and stir it into your easy mac. I promise I wont judge. In fact, I ate that yesterday for lunch. I love that I can buy a chicken on Sunday and use it a million different ways throughout the week.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Okay, I made it pretty clear that I hate boring food. However, I also hate <i>complicated </i><span style="font-style: normal;">food. Sometimes simplicity is key when making a tasty dish. Great food doesn’t need to be over the top or difficult to make. So if you can make pancakes, then you can easily make this tasty supper.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Sadly, I lost the picture I took of the final dish. But this is way too tasty for me to keep from you, so I promise I will make it up to you!</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b>Zucchini Pancakes </b></div><div class="MsoNormal">makes about 3 medium-sized pancakes</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">1 zucchini, grated</div><div class="MsoNormal">1 tbsp grated onion</div><div class="MsoNormal">1 large egg, beaten</div><div class="MsoNormal">¼ cup shredded cheese</div><div class="MsoNormal">3-4 tbsp all-purpose flour</div><div class="MsoNormal">salt</div><div class="MsoNormal">black pepper</div><div class="MsoNormal">crushed red pepper (the kind that came with your pizza last weekend)</div><div class="MsoNormal">vegetable oil</div><div class="MsoNormal">butter</div><div class="MsoNormal">shredded chicken</div><div class="MsoNormal">sour cream</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Wash, then grate your zucchini with the large side of a box grater. Then grate about a tablespoon of onion (or more if you would like). You can use red onion, yellow onion, or whatever you have at home. Combine in a bowl with the beaten egg, about three tablespoons of flour, salt, pepper, and the baking powder. If the batter is too thin, add a little more flour. Mix in the cheese, crushed red pepper, salt, pepper. Make sure to use a generous amount of salt and pepper because zucchini doesn’t have a lot of flavor on its own!</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Combine a little vegetable oil and butter in a large skillet over medium-high heat. When the oil is heated and the butter has melted, pour some of the batter onto the skillet. Just like regular pancakes, when you see some bubbles at the top, it’s probably ready to flip!</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Make the rest of your pancakes and keep them warm on a pan in a 300 degree oven.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Finally, top one or two of these pancakes with a generous handful of your shredded chicken. I like to heat mine up on the skillet really quickly. For the final touch, add dollop of sour cream and a sprinkle of pepper.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I usually only cook for myself, especially during the week, but this recipe can easily be doubled to make more. Also, if you’re going meatless, these pancakes are great on their own! Enjoy!</div>meghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14602753423254322547noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8419793841386055510.post-33261080798777901392011-06-05T14:25:00.000-07:002011-06-05T16:32:29.210-07:00dilettante, dabbler, novice, amateur, or whatever.<style>
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<div class="MsoNormal">My name is Megha. I go to school in Austin, Texas, which is one of the weirdest and greatest places on earth. I am a psychology major, a lover of food, and a dabbler in the art of cooking. You’re probably asking, “Don’t you have better things to do than start a blog, like say, trying to get into graduate school?” Okay, okay, I can’t argue with that. I do have a million and a half things on my plate from an on-campus job to an upcoming summer semester at Oxford University. However, nothing in this world breaks my heart more than horrible, bland, tasteless, college cafeteria food.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Freshman fifteen? I haven’t heard of that. Oh, you must be talking about the freshman THIRTY. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">During my freshman year of college I was completely clueless, to say the least. I was eating pints of chunky monkey for dinner (and hey now, it wasn’t <i>always</i> because I had been stood up and forced to spend another lonely night creeping on facebook). I felt too rushed, too exhausted, and too tired to bother with the daunting task of finding healthy food to eat. I scrounged around for a meal whenever I had a moment to breathe. I was depressed and feeling absolutely terrible about myself. And if there was good food out there, I certainly didn’t know how to find it or even what to do with it.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">So many students seem to think that just because we are poor, unfairly busy, and beyond stressed out, we can't eat healthy and delicious food. I am here to prove that you don’t need to be a chef to eat well and that you CAN make quick, simple, and healthy food without spending an arm and a leg or slaving away for hours in the kitchen.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The moment I moved into my apartment, I started cooking food. No. Actually, I started <i>falling in love</i> with food. I no longer needed a giant plate to satisfy my taste buds, because the big flavor was all in the few simple, quality ingredients I was using. I was shedding weight, spending less money, and learning more and more about the fine art of preparing food. I began to appreciate simply cooked asparagus with a drizzle of olive oil, a dash of cracked black pepper, and a sprinkling of salt more than a bowl of ramen noodles or easy mac.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Thankfully, I have an inspiring mother who taught me to use food as a therapeutic form of expression. She has shown me how relaxing, enjoyable, and utterly rewarding preparing your own food can be. She is the creative chef who inspires me to cook every day. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">"Cooking is an adventure, so have fun with it," my mother always tells me. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">So this, my friends, is my adventure.</div>meghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14602753423254322547noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8419793841386055510.post-53923887769732594042011-06-05T13:51:00.000-07:002011-06-05T16:37:25.109-07:00Sunday Morning Mango<style>
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<div class="MsoNormal">The best part about being Indian is that every time I come home, my mother gives me lots of yummy goodies to bring back with me to school. On my last trip home, I was given a box of delicious mangoes that I couldn’t wait to dig into. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Now, we Indians take our mangoes <i>very</i><span style="font-style: normal;"> seriously. My father, who spent much of his childhood plucking ripe fruit off the trees of his family’s southern Indian coffee plantation, will </span><i>obsess </i><span style="font-style: normal;">over each mango, checking it for smell, color, and texture. The result—the perfect mangoes to eat plain or dressed up.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">This morning, I was down to my last mango in the box. I hate to say it, (Shh! Don’t tell my father!) but after the 1236292th bowl of sliced mango I have had for breakfast over the last week, I am now totally sick of eating it plain. I stared at the mango. I rolled it around on the counter a bit, hoping that it would bounce to life and tell me what to do with it. And I was stumped. What to do? </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Aha! I recently saw a recipe for a mango parfait in Cooking Fresh magazine. Looks delicious! I’ll just grab a fancy parfait glass from my cabinet—oh wait.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">My roommate and I prefer the unbreakable plasticware that our grumpy, temperamental monstrosity of a dishwasher can toss around as much as it likes. Alright, so I don’t have a parfait glass, or really any <i>nice</i><span style="font-style: normal;"> glass. No big deal! I’m not going to let my hodgepodge collection of hand-me-down dishes and cookware stop me from eating like a queen, especially on this beautiful Sunday morning.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">After tweaking the recipe a bit to my liking, I came up with a tasty faux-parfait that any plastic bowl should be honored to contain.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Here is the secret- a drizzle of cinnamon and cardamom simple syrup!</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Don’t let that scare you! It's called simple syrup for a reason! In fact, it's so<span style="font-style: normal;"> simple that I was able to make it in a few minutes between studying GRE vocabulary flashcards. </span><i>calumny…loquacious…upbraid</i><span style="font-style: normal;">…oh look, I’m making fancy simple syrup…</span><i>acrimonious….compendium…</i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Seriously, it’s a piece of cake.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b>Cinnamon Cardamom Simple Syrup</b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">¼ cup of granulated sugar</div><div class="MsoNormal">¼ cup of water</div><div class="MsoNormal">a teaspoon of cardamom pods</div><div class="MsoNormal">a piece of cinnamon stick</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Combine sugar and water in a small saucepan over medium-high heat with the cardamom pods and cinnamon stick. Reduce the heat to maintain a simmer until it is thickened (about 8 minutes). Let it cool and remove the cinnamon and cardamom.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">You are now left with divine syrup that you can drizzle over fruit and vanilla ice cream or stir into a hot cup of chai.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b>Mango and Greek Yogurt Faux-fait</b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">1 mango- peeled, seeded, and chopped</div><div class="MsoNormal">1½ tsp of cardamom cinnamon sugar syrup</div><div class="MsoNormal">½ cup plain greek yogurt</div><div class="MsoNormal">a handful of chopped nuts (roasted almonds or pistachios are best)</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
So you're at standing in your grocery store dairy-section, reaching out for the plain greek yogurt, when you suddenly see an abundance of flavors from vanilla to honey. You're starting to change your mind. Whoaaaa! Back off and step away from the yogurt! <br />
<br />
Plain greek yogurt, which is regular yogurt that has been strained to achieve a thick consistency, is totally under-appreciated! It's tart and rich in flavor. It's great on its own, and the tangy taste of the yogurt goes perfectly with the sweetness of the syrup-infused mango. Lose the unnecessary calories and artificial flavoring and go for the good stuff! I promise you wont be sorry. And isn't it good for us to step out of our comfort zones once in a while?<br />
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ANYWAYS, enough of that, let's get back to the recipe.<br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal">Cut up a mango and drizzle it with the sugar syrup. Let it sit in the fridge for about 20 minutes to allow the juice of the mango to mingle with the flavors of the syrup. Do not let it sit for more than an hour or it will become mushy! Slather the mango with a generous amount of velvety yogurt. Sprinkle your creation with chopped roasted almonds, chopped pistachios, or whatever you happen to have on hand. Voila! What you are left with is a sweet, tart, and crunchy breakfast that will fill you up and keep you satisfied. <br />
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Goodness, could this be a multipurpose dish? I think so! For a delicious dessert, ditch the yogurt and replace it with a scoop of vanilla ice cream and a dollop of fresh whipped cream.<br />
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What a wonderful way to start (or end!) your day.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div>meghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14602753423254322547noreply@blogger.com0