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The End of The Group Stage

At the end of two weeks of mad play, the end of the group stage is here and now for a quick rest before the first of the knockout games begin. And they’re not beginning in a timid way at all. It’s USA v. Ghana in a rematch of four years ago. Hopefully, the result will be different this time. Here is a list of the good, the bad, and the indifferent so far:

  • Univision mops the floor with ESPN’s coverage. MART-in-ez? Really?
  • Will everyone please shut up about Africa’s “disappointing performance”? Who in their right mind would think that their teams, in their infancy, would suddenly be controlling the tournament? Just because it’s in Africa this time? Please.
  • South America is 5-5. Talk about that instead. And they didn’t need American handouts or pity or benefit concerts or anything to do it.
  • The horns are ridiculous. Football isn’t the same without the chants and songs. FIFA should have grown a pair and banned them.
  • To the bored, this game requires intelligence and patience. If you don’t have those qualities, go eat something fried and watch a reality show but leave the rest of us alone.
  • French wine and cheese is the best on Earth. Their football team’s behavior was the worst example of unsportsmanlike conduct I have ever seen. This includes my time in the junior leagues. Someone get Madame Guillotine back in service.
  • Italy’s out. Shit. How do we turn this somehow into another excuse to party?
  • In my dream life, Fabio Cannavaro is still my husband.
  • Belated HAPPY BIRTHDAY wishes to La Pulga. Never has such an annoying insect been so honored.
  • How ridiculously attractive is the Spanish team?!
  • Ronaldo, pass the ball!

And now, to get ready for tomorrow. Isn’t it nice to have a team on the world stage who far from being an embarrassment of cocky, entitled attitudes is actually embodying the best of the sport? Isn’t it? Now that’s something I can believe in. Watch them tomorrow. They’re making us proud.

Things That Make Me Happy To Be Here

I originally saw this story on ESPN.com but a recent Google search found this link instead. It doesn’t matter. What matters is the following quote regarding the World Cup:

“We don’t want our people to be preoccupied with seminude, crazy men jumping up and down who are chasing an inflated object,” said Sheik Mohamed Osman Arus, head of operations for the Hizbul Islam insurgent group.

Makes you appreciate our civilization, doesn’t it? I thought so.

Doug From Louisiana Gets It Right

I found this is the comment section of an OpEd piece in the New York Times:

There are three reasons soccer isn’t as popular as football, basketball or baseball in the States: First, it’s not an originally American game; it was invented in Europe. Secondly, it’s not a good T.V. sport. Even with pregame, a soccer game on TV lasts two, maybe two and a half hours. It consists of two uninterrupted, 45-minute halves with no time outs- not great for bathroom/beer breaks and leaves little air time for commercials, so there is less money to be made. Third, the United States is not the best at soccer. Americans, in our glorious arrogance, deny a certain amount of legitimacy to a game we’ve not yet become the best at. These three reasons are self-perpetuating as well. Soccer may never be embraced in the U.S. as it is in Europe, but that makes me like it all the more. Being a soccer fan in the U.S. is kind of like being a liberal in small town Louisiana. People resent you, but deep down, they know you’re right. ha ha!

It was written by one Doug from Louisiana and it is exactly right on. I love World Cup football because of the tragedy of the game, it’s non-obsession with fairness or an everyone-wins mentality. It’s tragic, it’s real, it’s a bit like life. I could never watch Premiere league football, though, since I hate pro sports for so many, many reasons, but World Cup football, even if played by pros, is the best sport on Earth. I hope “soccer” never catches on in the US in a big way because we’d ruin it, as we ruin and cheapen so many, many things. Its subtlety and tragedy and pathos would be gone.

I cheered the US team today on their last-minute win. That’s what you have to do, guys. It was a bit of an education. The only thing that matters at the end is the number of goals scored and the refs and the other players and the missed chances count for nothing when that last whistle blows.

Take It On The Chin

By now, I’m sure everyone everywhere who has been following the World Cup has heard about the Call Made Yet Not at the end of the USA vs. Slovenia match. While commentators seem to universally agree it was a botched refereeing job and fans are howling at the moon with rage and feeling robbed, I hope that’s as far as the whole thing goes. Sure, I hope FIFA sends that ref home so he can’t botch another match. Sure, while watching the game I had no idea what he was calling and on whom and worse, neither did the commentators, meaning the ref hadn’t explained his call. That’s a cop out and only ads fuel to the fire. Sure, I was incensed that goal hadn’t counted. How can someone wave off a hard-fought goal for something other than swordplay? I can’t blame the players for mouthing off. I would have. In the distant past, I once did. I’ve hated my share of refs, convenient whipping posts in times of emotional travail at the end of a close must-win game. I hope, though, that US Soccer and the national team let it lie, that the words spoken and anger shown belonged to that night and that night alone.

A formal petition or whatever the sport equivalent of a lawsuit should never see the light of day. The players should put it behind them and go on. The world feels some sympathy for the US. That’s a sentiment that shouldn’t be squandered by coming off as a sore loser, which is what will happen if the incident isn’t allowed to die a natural death and fade away. Focus on the next game. Win it. Don’t get behind early. Unfortunately, things like that happen. A lot of things, far more important than a football match, get botched by the incompetence of others. That, is Life. Rise above it and go on. In sport-speak, the great teams win in spite of things like that. The US team needs to stop getting behind and show the world they’re a better team, if that’s indeed true. Get the defensive stops, get goals.

The great John Stockton once said something like not letting it bother you and play your own game. It was the aftermath of some horrid game in which the officiating seemed to have been bought and people all over the Valley were calling for the refs’ heads. He never did get his championship but he remains one of the sports figures I will always admire the most.

US soccer fans and the team, let it die and look on to the next match. It won’t get any easier.

Messi-ah

The Past and the Present

I watched a game today of which I already knew the result. It was the first time I have ever done that.

Here Comes the Summer

Good-bye, world. Good-bye, neighborhood cafes and boutiques and citywide events. Good-bye, friends.

In mere days, the critters will be out of school and all of us will be there as days turn into nights and then back into days, putting all the little broken Humpty-Dumptys back together again. The one upside? free AC as the city suffocates beneath the blanket of humid heat from now until September.

P.S. I finished reading The Big Short last night. I’m disgusted. I didn’t understand it all, all the machinations to make debt out of nothing, but then I think the point of the book is not many people did. They will never be punished for what they did.

P.S.S. I made vegetarian paella yesterday and actually managed to get the rice crispy on the bottom this time. Yay. The only unfortunate thing is I didn’t have a bottle of red Spanish wine to drink with it.

The first paella of the season.

Let’s Play | Jugemos | Giochiamo

US ties it up

It started yesterday with host South Africa scoring the first goal against Mexico. The second game was The Team I Hate The Most vs. Uruguay with no one scoring. It’s the World Cup. The entire world is watching… except for the fat spoiled Americans who need instant gratification. I had a conversation with a coworker in the lounge yesterday. He doesn’t get why football (aka soccer) gets everyone all psychotic. It’s not a sport the American temperament can handle. It requires patience. Plays open up slowly over the huge expanse of the pitch. Shots are more blocked than they are allowed to pay off. The rules haven’t changed to make it easier to score. Americans don’t get games with low scores. They don’t have patience. They can’t appreciate the rare flashes of light through a long game. They don’t understand how a final score of 0-0 can be an acceptable result. They want flash and a payoff and a winner. Soccer thwarts that. It’s the world’s game.

My coworker wanted to know why. I don’t know why, but I can imagine it’s because, at least partly, in that it’s the world’s most democratic game. You only need a ball to play. You don’t need a court or a pitch or pavement. You don’t even need shoes. You don’t need to know a lot of rules. You just need a will. That starts the love for the great game, a love that lives in every town in every country in the world except for this one. The best talent gets picked up and coached and watched and paid and emulated and funneled into the club leagues. But even then, as these highly paid athletes don their national jerseys to play as one, it’s still a democratic game. Some of the best players have come out of the worst poverty in the world’s cities. And these favelas in Rio make American inner cities look like wealthy, if violent, enclaves. Height doesn’t help you in this game (see last year’s semi match between Germany and Italy). Lifting weights will only get you so far. Shin guards help against the worst of the other players’ shoes but they won’t help you when you take a face full of grass on the pitch. The only thing that gets you is age, and its reversal is the only thing money can’t buy.

I believe the English invented the modern game. It figures, what with idiosyncratic rules like stoppage time. Today I watched England slump off the field looking embarrassed when the USA team managed to tie them on a missed save by their goalie. Thanks to Univision, I was able to watch the game live through my computer. It was better anyway. The ESPN broadcasters they’re using are British since I guess they couldn’t find enough Americans to do the job. Brits keep their heads in tense situations, most famously in scenarios like Dunkirk. But passion is adverse to their nature. The Mexican commentators were over their heads with excitement over a game that cannot possibly affect Mexico at this early stage of the tournament.

Tomorrow’s a bit of a rest with two games with people who won’t win anything and the headliner being Germany and Australia. I can hardly wait to see my winner pick of Spain and the ridiculously gorgeous Italian team and top-ranked Brazil. Any one can beat anyone else at any time. This is the only international sporting contest where countries can field teams on the fairest ground. True, cold countries may have once been at a disadvantage, but with modern indoor stadia and temperature control, that’s a thing of the past (see the competent Dutch team and 2006 third-place Germany). Teams are meeting on the most equal ground available. It doesn’t matter if you have sandy beaches or craggy cliffs or are land-locked or live half your life in the sea. It doesn’t matter much if you’re rich or not. Brazil’s players come from the favelas and they’re ranked #1. The well-funded USA team has to enter as just another humble participant.

I love this game. Let’s play.

Photo: As appeared in the NY Times. Darren Staples/ Reuters

The London Interlude

This is so hard, so so so hard. But I made the vow yesterday and now I have to keep it. Maybe I should visit London again just to do some research to make sure everything is realistic.

That’s all. I just wanted to whine in near-public. I have so may things to do and just no time to do it.

  • Finish reading The Brothers Karamazov.
  • Finish reading The Big Short.
  • Study up on flash photography.
  • Make the monthly Daring Bakers challenge recipe.
  • Write the London Interlude
  • Finish writing the outline for the Sequel.
  • Read the book for the book club.

I need another vacation.

Postprandial and Useless

I hate myself when I haven’t had coffee. I went to me monthly writer’s club today and could only stay for the first hour and half. There wasn’t anywhere in the entire place (we meet at a mall’s cafeteria) where I could get an iced coffee so I took off. Not only had I not read the submissions for the month, I could barely keep my eyes open. It should be by best ON time. I should be hammering away on all eight. It’s a writers’ meeting for godsake! But there I was, useless, listless and half-asleep with the brie and turkey sandwich still kicking around somewhere in my upper GI tract. I shouldn’t have gotten any food, just a huge vat of iced coffee. Who needs food? It makes you stupid.

In the first hour of the meetings, we engage in “writers’ speak”, a round table of sorts which is the best part of these meetings. One of the subjects of the day was the summer’s writing goal. Well, it’s official. I spoke about it in the hearing of a dozen witnesses. That horrid rewrite I’ve been dreading but know more each day that it needs to get done. London. I will rewrite the entire London scene and with its completion, doom will be writ for a large part of the Beginning. It’s too long and boring. I have to find a way to cut it and that cut will be the expansion of the London interlude. Everyone knows about it now.

The Joys of Homeownership

The neighbor's AC leaking

When I heard the sound of water dripping, I thought it was the sink. My kitchen faucet is old and disgusting and it drips a drop here and there. It’s audible when I’ve been too lazy to wash the dishes from dinner that night. That’s what I thought it was. But then I looked up from the manuscript I was thoroughly enjoying and was horrified to see the shimmer of water dripping from above onto the wall above my bedroom door. Water. AGAIN? Are you frickin’ kidding me?

I went upstairs and banged on the door but it was late and though I heard someone moving around inside, no one answered. I get it. I wouldn’t want to answer the door if I was just out of the shower and some strange person was banging on my door at nearly midnight. I wrote the person a letter, crammed it between the door and lintel and waited out a sleepless night.

Early this morning she called. Deeply apologetic and so sincere I couldn’t be mad anymore. Her mom was here to meet the plumber when he came. I called the property manager and asked the building maintenance man to be here when that plumber came to in a way represent my interests and have someone impartial assess the damage and give their opinion. The leak was hopefully fixed, her floor was spared, and my wall has begun to dry. We’ll wait and see.

She thanked me for being understanding, but really, what can you do? It’s not cancer.

The Madness Over Tipping

If I had the original link, I would post it but this is a blog I’ve been reading lately so I’ll be lazy and post the repost.

The beginning of the article seems obvious but then gets more ridiculous as it gets closer to the end. While I’m not an undertipper at restaurants and salons and spas, when I read a diatribe about it, something feels off to me. As I read more of it, I can’t help feeling more and more resentful of the numerous outstretched hands who “deserve” these tips so they earn a living wage. Most service in this city is utter crap and I hate when people in the service industry or their apologists wax long-winded and moral about the issue. Suddenly, I feel like there’s a target painted more and more brightly on my forehead. “Tip us or we’ll poison you, even if we’re mean jerks who act like we own the place even if we can’t afford to eat here.”

Hey, your profession is your choice. It’s not my fault you’re underpaid. Hell, I’m underpaid and my job is harder, riskier, and exponentially more dangerous than you can imagine. I don’t get tips, nor would I ever accept one. An old lady once tried. She was sweet but part of me couldn’t help smarting a little at the gesture. What did she think I was, a fucking waitress?!?!

Tipping in a restaurant is one thing but expecting people to tip their building super is quite another. Sanity, please.

Daring Baker’s Challenge: May

The May 2010 Daring Bakers’ challenge was hosted by Cat of Little Miss Cupcake. Cat challenged everyone to make a piece montée, or croquembouche, based on recipes from Peter Kump’s Baking School in Manhattan and Nick Malgieri.

Daring Bakers May Challenge

I’d seen this thing before, never in real life but in passing on the Food Network or something. I never imagined I’d make one. And then this was May’s challenge. We were required to make the pate choux puffs, creme patissiere, and the caramel or chocolate topping or “glue”. The weekend after I got back from San Diego was my last chance to do it and since it was cloudy and I didn’t feel like doing anything else, it was perfect.

Since the creme needed to be chilled and could be made ahead, that was the natural place to start. It came together easily. I’ve never had a problem with creams or custards and this one came together easily. The directions stated we could make whatever flavor of cream we wanted, but I stuck with the tried and true vanilla partly because I didn’t want to leave my neighborhood and could only shop for things at the corner mart and partly because I knew the caramel part would be the hardest. I was kind of stressing out over it. The only change I made to the recipe was I used 2% milk rather than whole since that’s what I had. The corner mart’s milk all had expiry dates within the next week and I didn’t want to purchase more just to have it go bad. I also only made half the recipe. This didn’t look like a dessert that would keep nor did it look easy to transfer to work. Here’s the creme recipe. I made half this so-called “half” batch.

For the Vanilla Crème Patissiere (Half Batch)
1 cup (225 ml.) whole milk
2 Tbsp. cornstarch
6 Tbsp. (100 g.) sugar
1 large egg
2 large egg yolks
2 Tbsp. (30 g.) unsalted butter
1 Tsp. Vanilla

Dissolve cornstarch in ¼ cup of milk. Combine the remaining milk with the sugar in a saucepan; bring to boil; remove from heat.

Beat the whole egg, then the yolks into the cornstarch mixture. Pour 1/3 of boiling milk into the egg mixture, whisking constantly so that the eggs do not begin to cook.

Return the remaining milk to boil. Pour in the hot egg mixture in a stream, continuing whisking.

Continue whisking (this is important – you do not want the eggs to solidify/cook) until the cream thickens and comes to a boil. Remove from heat and beat in the butter and vanilla.

Pour cream into a stainless steel/ceramic bowl. Press plastic wrap firmly against the surface. Chill immediately and until ready to use.

Now for the pate choux puffs. I’d made gougeres before which are based on the same recipe. I think the recipe I used for those, though, called for only yolks. This one required the whole egg. Once again, I only made half of the stated amounts. It’s hard to divide 3/4 of a cup in half, but I guess and figured I could just cook it off for longer if I added too much. Stirring the eggs in took a good amount of energetic mixing with a wooden spoon but eventually they incorporated as stated. The recipe made about 20 small ones and I poured them out with my piping bag. I’m terribly uncoordinated but they turned out more or less the same size. I just patted down the more enthusiastic peaks before baking them. One thing I didn’t do was paint them with an egg wash. I hate egg wash, it’s such a waste of a perfectly good egg. Since this wasn’t for a special occasion, I left them as is. They baked up perfectly and I put them in a plastic container overnight.

Pate a Choux (Yield: About 28)
¾ cup (175 ml.) water
6 Tbsp. (85 g.) unsalted butter
¼ Tsp. salt
1 Tbsp. sugar
1 cup (125 g.) all-purpose flour
4 large eggs

For Egg Wash: 1 egg and pinch of salt

Pre-heat oven to 425◦F/220◦C degrees. Line two baking sheets with parchment paper.

Preparing batter:
Combine water, butter, salt and sugar in a saucepan over medium heat. Bring to a boil and stir occasionally. At boil, remove from heat and sift in the flour, stirring to combine completely.

Return to heat and cook, stirring constantly until the batter dries slightly and begins to pull away from the sides of the pan.

Transfer to a bowl and stir with a wooden spoon 1 minute to cool slightly.

Add 1 egg. The batter will appear loose and shiny.

As you stir, the batter will become dry-looking like lightly buttered mashed potatoes.

It is at this point that you will add in the next egg. Repeat until you have incorporated all the eggs.

Piping:
Transfer batter to a pastry bag fitted with a large open tip (I piped directly from the bag opening without a tip). Pipe choux about 1 inch-part in the baking sheets. Choux should be about 1 inch high about 1 inch wide.

Using a clean finger dipped in hot water, gently press down on any tips that have formed on the top of choux when piping. You want them to retain their ball shape, but be smoothly curved on top.

Brush tops with egg wash (1 egg lightly beaten with pinch of salt).

Baking:
Bake the choux at 425◦F/220◦C degrees until well-puffed and turning lightly golden in color, about 10 minutes.

Lower the temperature to 350◦F/180◦C degrees and continue baking until well-colored and dry, about 20 minutes more. Remove to a rack and cool.

The next day after the gym, I made some coffee and organized all my stuff for putting this all together. I had a few tiny Ritters from my Economy Candy raid two weeks ago and so I melted down two of those alongside the sugar and lime juice for the caramel. I had never made or attempted to make spun sugar before. I’d once seen Sherry Yard create ridiculous clouds of spun sugar on Iron Chef before but I never thought I’d be called to try to do the same thing. Clearly, attempting to do anything like Sherry Yard is like asking Michelangelo to teach you to paint, but an attempt was made. I used two forks to create some rudimentary strings and spun them around the little tower of puffs as much as I could. They didn’t all cooperate and there were numerous spots where the caramel was so think that it proved to be a hazard to teeth and fillings everywhere. If I make this again, I think I’ll make a softer caramel with some cream just to keep it more edible.

I used a plastic bag to fill the puffs with the cream and a knife to make a small indentation in the puffs. I only have two nozzles for the pastry bag and both would be too big to fill the puffs that were only about an inch in diameter. I dipped the filled puffs in the caramel and made a little pyramid out of them. I bound them together with the attempted spun sugar and then topped the whole thing with strands of the melted bittersweet chocolate.

It’s delicious, probably the most taste-friendly thing I’ve yet made with the Daring Bakers. There’s nothing like a French classic. It was fun and it’s good to be reminded that choux pastry is really that easy to make. I’ll probably never make a croquembouche again, but I’ll revisit the choux again, that’s for damn sure.

P.S. I find the name “croquembouche” comical because this dessert is such a filling hazard. It may be all nice for Frenchmen with their nationalized health care, but for Americans on their own to foot those bills, it’s downright frightening. I’m an anti-dentite anyway. I’m proceeding with care.

P.P.S. Oh, yeah, I took that first picture using my hot shoe flash unit. I’d never used it before. The creme picture was taken with my phone.

Someone’s Already Said All the Good Stuff

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