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About Ramblings of a Hopeless Khowaga

Welcome to my Web site. My name is Chris, and I’ll be your host. I\'m an opinionated, snarky, gay academic with a predilection for the history, the Arab world, languages, photography, food, and music. I live in Austin, Texas. You can read more about me, learn 100 random things about me, and if you’re wondering what the heck a khowaga is, click here. Feel free to browse, read, and leave comments!

Tag: ‘love’



Lazy Sunday Chicken ‘n Dumplings

Sunday, November 8th, 2009

It’s a lazy Sunday here in the ATX, and I wanted to try out the recipe for slow cooker chicken and dumplings that my coworker Selina gave me a while back.

Wait, first … I have to finish the pickled jalapenos I started yesterday.  I strained them out, put the jalapenos (trying to pick out the gloves of garlic, bay leaves, and keep the mustard seeds to a happy minimum) in a mason jar, and then filled it up with the liquid I used to pickle them.  They’re nice and mellow, just a touch of sweet … and a bit of a burn afterwards.  Poifect!

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INGREDIENTS
4 large skinless, boneless chicken breasts
1 cream of chicken soup (I use the reduced sodium 98% fat free)
1 cream of celery soup (ditto)
1 onion, finely diced
chicken stock
1 packet onion soup mixture
spices (I used celery salt, black pepper, sage, and a little bit of Aleppo Red Pepper)
1 bag frozen peas and carrots
1 tube reduced fat refrigerated biscuit dough, torn into small pieces
cornstarch

DIRECTIONS

We begin by dicing an onion.

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Then I cut the chicken breasts into bite sized pieces.

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The onion went into the crock pot first, then the chicken, which I sprinkled with the spices.

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Then the ever-useful packet of onion soup:

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A can of cream of chicken soup:

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And a can of cream of celery soup:

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Then we mix it all together:

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And then we add chicken broth until the mixture is covered with liquid:

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Cover, and cook for about 8 hours on low or 5 hours on high.

About 1.5-2 hours before serving, place peas and carrots in the slow cooker and stir. Then place the torn biscuit dough in the slow cooker. In this case, there was a little extra in the can, so I laid it on top.

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Now, this next step is very important: At this point while the mixture cooks, you have to console your dog who is moping about because it’s raining and she can’t go for a walk.

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And, finally!  Time to eat :)

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Pickling Jalapenos

Saturday, November 7th, 2009

Taking a break from seriousness today — cos I needed it.  My brother called from an airport in Thailand last night at around 11.  The problem is that my back had been hurting all day so I took a muscle relaxer before I went to bed, and it wasn’t until I woke up this morning and saw my cell phone on the nightstand that I was sure he’d actually called.

I may have told him that mom has Dutch Elm disease.  I really don’t remember much about the conversation.

Anyway.  My afternoon project was to do something with the jalapenos growing in the garden.  I’ve pickled them before, but I didn’t care for the recipe much, so I decided to try a different one.

Pickled jalapenos are milder and just a touch sweeter than the fresh ones.  Also, this time I decided to slice them beforehand, so what I’m essentially making is nacho slices like the ones you get in jars at the grocery.

So, we start with mustard seeds, allspice, cloves, garlic, peppercorns, kosher salt, bay leaves, and brown sugar.  We add apple cider vinegar and bring it to a boil.

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While that’s working, I wash and slice the jalapenos.

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Then I slice them.

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And once the vinegar mixture is boiling, we pour it over the jalapenos.

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Into the fridge for 24 hours, then we strain them and pack them away with some of the reserved picking liquid for the cold winter months … er, weeks.  Or possibly days.  It’s hard to tell down here in Texas.

Hope your Saturday was calm :)

Outrage

Wednesday, November 4th, 2009

I’ll admit it: I didn’t vote yesterday.  It’s an off-year, and down here in Texas we only had 11 constitutional amendments to approve.  Not surprisingly, they were all approved.  That’s what always happens when the only thing on the ballot is a series of issues or amendments.  Apparently it’s now harder for the state to claim eminent domain, which, if I remember from my US Government class, is why Alexander Hamilton got into a duel with Martin Luther King, Jr., over box seats at the Houston Astrodome.

I’ll also admit that I was listening to the Glee soundtrack in the car this morning, so I didn’t find out about Maine until I got to work. At first, I just registered disappointment.  I mean, there was Prop 8 last year, and don’t let’s forget that Texas has banned marriage for the gays twice now.  (The first time, they forgot to make it clear that not only was gay marriage illegal here, but that we don’t recognize it if you get married somewhere that it is legal, so they up and did it again.)

I saw a lot of annoyed people on Facebook today complaining about Maine.  None of them are Mainers.  I don’t know anyone from Maine.  It has the dubious distinction of being one of the five states I’ve never been to (for the record: Vermont, New Hampshire, Minnesota, and North Dakota).  And, in all honesty, even though everyone says they’re disappointed in Maine or angry about Maine, they’re really only talking about that 53% “clear majority” of voters that pushed through the repeal.

So, I went on with my day, which consisted of being a ball of stress (as has every other day this week).  And I put Maine right out of my mind.

And then I saw this:

bangor

This would be a photo from the Bangor newspaper of people celebrating their victory last night. And I gotta tell you something–I’ve seen things that are offensive.  But this?  Man, this … just pissed me right the fuck off.

Let’s do an image analysis activity, here, shall we?

There are at least two people in this photo who aren’t old enough to vote.

Everyone in the photograph is white.

Several of them are overweight.  You know perfectly well that the nice lady hasn’t clapped this hard since Jimmy Joe’s fried chicken won the contest down to the state fair in Augusta.  (No, that’s not nice.  Remember what she’s spent the past several months saying about me and my ilk, please, and then shut up.)

And then we’re drawn to the lady kneeling.  She’s either overcome with emotion, or she’s praying, or both.

And I just have to ask: why?

What the hell is so wrong with us that she lost the ability to stand and has to grasp someone else’s hand for support?

And aren’t all of these people supposed to be leaving on the Rapture bus soon?  Why do they even care about the laws on this planet Earth??

Several Internet and blogger pals have decried the institutional failure here: whenever minority rights get put up to a vote by the majority, the minority loses.  The issue, of course, is that the majority refuses to recognize that gays and lesbians ARE a minority.  We’re just wrong.

I want someone to go to Congress and make these people put their money where their mouths are.  If marriage is so important, and must be protected, let’s protect it.  We need to ban divorce in these United States of America.

Furthermore, if it’s so true that children need both a mother and a father, we need to pass a bill in the Congress that will call for the removal of children from any household in which a mother and father (married, of course) are not present.  Daddy just died in the war?  Tough!  Mommy’s got a week to find a new husband or the kids go to foster care.

I know it sounds like I’m being flippant, but I’m being quite serious.  If we’re going to have all these moral values out there, someone needs to push to take them to their logical end.  If people can get divorced, and children live in homes with one parent, and none of these bleeding hearts out to “protect the family” will do anything about it … well, then what’s to stop me from marrying a hamster?

Time to take the gloves off.  And if that doesn’t work, we’re cancelling both Glee and Project Runway.  You just wait and see if we don’t.

It’s not paranoia if the universe really is conspiring against you.

Friday, October 23rd, 2009

It all began with the shortribs.

A few days ago, I was cruising through the grocery store and saw beef shortribs on sale, and I was reminded of a recipe for curried short ribs that I’d seen in a recent issue of Cooking Light, the only cooking magazine that I actually subscribe to.  In addition to liking spicy food, I remembered the recipe because it involved a crock pot, and I also enjoy the concept of having dinner waiting when I get home.

I bought some of the shortribs and, Wednesday night, I diligently went through the steps to get them ready so that when Ray left the next morning, all he’d need to do is take the crock pot insert out of the fridge and push “start.”

I remembered thinking when I put everything together that it didn’t seem like there was that much liquid in the basin, but … well, the people that do these things have to know what they’re talking about, right? After all, one of the final steps in the process involved creating a serving sauce out of the cooking liquid.  I assumed/hoped that the remaining liquid was supposed to come out of the meat itself and took that leap of faith.

This was my first mistake.

I came home yesterday hoping to smell the pleasant odor of succulent shortribs that had been slow cooking all day.  Instead, I smelled charred meat.  I casually went through the motions of taking off my jacket, putting my phone on to charge, and emptying out my backpack before venturing over to the crockpot — after all, if the meat really was charred, another minute wasn’t going to make a difference after six hours in the crockpot, now, was it?

I was half right: the sauce had congealed and was now a black, crusty, burned mess all over the base of the crock pot.  The meat, however, past a crunchy outer shell was still pretty tender and moist.  This isn’t to say that I didn’t have a moment where I considered tossing the whole thing out and texting Ray to pick up something from Taco Bueno on the way home from class.

However, I perservered, shredding the beef and cobbling together a red curry and vegetable sauce to go with it.  Fortunately, Ray actually enjoys cremated beef, and I’m not enough of a connoisseur to know the difference (I’ve only recently, tentatively, re-introduced dead cow into my diet after years of avoiding it).

The crock pot, by the by, is still soaking in the sink — I haven’t managed to get all of the black stuff off yet.

So I came into work this morning and realized that my desk was beyond messy and that it was finally time for me to do something about it.  While in the midst of clearing off paperwork dating to the late Neolithic period from my desk, I heard a thunk behind me.  I turned around to discover that my bookcase, which I wasn’t working with … or touching … had chosen that exact moment to collapse downward: the textbook-laden top shelf had given way downward, thus causing the shelf below to collapse onto the shelf below it, and so on.  Given that the whole thing looked like it was about to pitch forward, I immediately turned my attention to that situation immediately, discovering after repeated trial and error that the force of the downward pressure was pushing the sides of the bookcase out, meaning that the shelves weren’t reaching their mounts.

At one point, there were papers strewn all over the desk and chair, books on the floor and loveseat, and me looking like I wanted to cry in the middle.  When I vented about this to Ray later, he asked, “Did you take a photo?  Sounds like good blog material.”

Which it was, but let me assure you, dear readers, that the presence of mind I would have needed to think of that at the time was far, far away.

When I finally managed to get it all cleaned up–and I did manage to get it all cleaned up, I sat down at my desk, whereupon the speakers that I have mounted to the underside of the hutch that runs over my computer speakers promptly fell off with a loud clatter.

And so, speakers remounted, bookcase put back together, desk now clean and presentable, I am doing the only thing that I can think to do next: whine about it to as many people as possible.

Don’tcha feel lucky?

It’s Not that I Don’t Love You …

Wednesday, October 7th, 2009

… it’s just that I am up to my eyeteeth in work, and the idea of “relaxing” in front of my computer just isn’t clicking for me right now.

Watch this space.  I shall return.  Honest.

In the meantime, here’s the song that’s going through my head: “Rosas,” by La Oreja de Van Gogh.

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