Whenever I cook with anything spicy I am typically very careful. I am diligent to not add too much hot anything because let's face it, I am a white girl who was raised by two mid-westerns. I don't really DO spicy. I fake it here and there and while many of my cohorts are squirting half a bottle of Sriracha or as we loving call it cock sauce, all over their eggs I am content with about three to six dots.
The other aspect you must be careful about when cooking with hot things, like Serrano peppers, is to ensure that you wash your hands thoroughly after cutting or even better cut them wearing latex gloves. How many of us actually keep latex gloves in our home kitchens? Yeah, that is what I thought.
One evening I was making chicken tortilla soup and I was cutting Serranos sans gloves. Living on the edge here. I cut one or two peppers off, rinsed my hands at the sink and then went on my merry way chopping and cooking.
All of sudden, my nose began to burn as I was chopping and stirring and cooking. Burn like I have never felt before. Uncomfortable. So I went into the freezer and grabbed an ice cube and iced my nose a little. Temporary relief took hold, but oh so temporary it was. The burn returned with a vengeance. I rinsed my nose in the sink, no relief. Went the refrigerator, thinking there has to be an answer. Ahhh Aloe lotion with lydocane, yes that has to work. HAS TO! Uh... no... no relief.
Suddenly and image of Mr. Umholtz came to mind, my freshman high school lab physical science teacher who first taught me about acid and base levels. mmmm How do we counteract an acid? DUH, with a base. Base, base what is a base in this refrigerator... my eyes locked on the mayonnaise. Mayo... mayo... MAYO!!! I grabbed the squeeze bottle Best Foods, put some on my finger and shoved it up my nose. Oh yeah, this is happening. Ahhh relief, instant and as it turns out, long-lasting relief.
Oh Mayo - your not only delicious, but a life saver as well.
Tuesday, March 27, 2012
Notes from de Nort - Part 1 "One Lone Wolf"
I have officially spent four full days in Alaska as a committed resident and I think it might quite easily be the best decision I ever made. Staring at the mountain rising up out the sea, I am pretty sure, will never get old.
Friday night Sage and I went to the opening party for Speedway Cycles. An awesome band played with a solid female vocalist and Alex the Lion, AKA the one and only Alex Ede closed the night up with some amazing jams. Techno junkies, store that name away. He is sure to make a name for himself. Highlights were talking to a brewer from Midnight Sun and debating whether their IPA should be listed with higher IBUs. Listed at a 70, my mouth is still puckering thinking about it. Inversion is no where near as bitter and is listed at an 80. He seemed to think it was too high... mmm maybe these Alaskans like it bitter... bitter cold, bitter beer. Another highlight was helping the team get the kegerator back up and working. Messing with CO2 again, one more valuable skill I picked up while working at Deschutes.
Saturday was spent nursing my poor back from the notorious scorpion fall the Friday before at Bachy (heavy snows kills and should be outlawed) and followed up with drinks and delicious apps with the ladies at Spenard Roadhouse. We wrapped it up with a house party, Susan's first I might add in Alaska (Bendites she misses house and dinner parties), and some plans to head to Girdwood in the morning.
At the crack of noon Susan and I met up and headed down to Girdwood. We met Girdwood junkie and back country guide book built into a man, Eph at his place and headed out for a good skin up Max's. Located due south of Alyeska (God, I hope I got that direction right, my directional awareness is a little wacked with the sun so south in the sky), we headed up not sure what to expect in terms of people. Once we skinned through the trees, we were greeted to a fresh bowl of pow. NO ONE had skied it all day! No one but the wolf I spotted with my eagle eye traversing from north to south. He was far enough away that I asked Eph if there were Marmots here. He quickly pulled out his binoculars, yes this guy is for real, and said, "Well, no we don't, but we do have wolves." He handed me the binoculars and set my sights on my first wolf in the wild. He was dark and very curious about us. As the wind blew gently at our backs, he would stop often to stare at us and get a whiff. About 20 minutes later when we crossed his tracks, we noticed his paw prints were about the same size as the powder baskets on my ski poles. That my friends, is one big wolf. And apparently seeing a wolf is a rare treat. My roommate Emma, who has lived in Alaska her whole life, has never seen one.
We finished out the skin with bright blue skies which gave us a panoramic view of the peaks and valleys around us... the north-facing Orca bowls, west over the Turnagain Arm, still packed full of icebergs, set to melt now that it is officially "break up," the Alaskan word for spring; and northwest to the many peaks up Crow Creek road. We were treated to fresh tracks down the south facing bowl and some bush wacking to round out the day.
Monday morning, we took off from Eph's Snow Sugar Shack at the daunting hour of noon and headed to luckily find the sunshine up Crow Creek road. The day before we had taken in the south facing aspect of Ragged Peak and Eph assured Susan and me that the North Bowl was a treat. Indeed! We skinned up through the trees with a Crow Creek resident dog escort. Apparently those dogs really love to ski and will pretty much go with anyone. We finally shook him when we hit the tree line since we weren't really sure if we wanted to be responsible for someone else's dog on potential avi terrain. The skin was a tough one for me and really taught me to dig in those heels and lean back (counter-intuition kicks in again) up some pretty steep skin tracks.
We were again treated to fresh tracks down the bowl and skied directly back to the car. Ahhhh, ski in, ski out. No condo required.
I drove back up the Seward Highway to Anchorage, or as Susan affectionately calls is Ancoraugua with a lot of good thoughts running through my mind and a Cheshire grin across my face. I start my new job tomorrow and while I know I'll have some challenging times ahead of me, I know that is why I came to Alaska- To challenge myself, to try new things. I feel like I am off to a pretty good start.
Pictures to come peeps... Gotta get my zzzzzz's.
Friday night Sage and I went to the opening party for Speedway Cycles. An awesome band played with a solid female vocalist and Alex the Lion, AKA the one and only Alex Ede closed the night up with some amazing jams. Techno junkies, store that name away. He is sure to make a name for himself. Highlights were talking to a brewer from Midnight Sun and debating whether their IPA should be listed with higher IBUs. Listed at a 70, my mouth is still puckering thinking about it. Inversion is no where near as bitter and is listed at an 80. He seemed to think it was too high... mmm maybe these Alaskans like it bitter... bitter cold, bitter beer. Another highlight was helping the team get the kegerator back up and working. Messing with CO2 again, one more valuable skill I picked up while working at Deschutes.
Saturday was spent nursing my poor back from the notorious scorpion fall the Friday before at Bachy (heavy snows kills and should be outlawed) and followed up with drinks and delicious apps with the ladies at Spenard Roadhouse. We wrapped it up with a house party, Susan's first I might add in Alaska (Bendites she misses house and dinner parties), and some plans to head to Girdwood in the morning.
At the crack of noon Susan and I met up and headed down to Girdwood. We met Girdwood junkie and back country guide book built into a man, Eph at his place and headed out for a good skin up Max's. Located due south of Alyeska (God, I hope I got that direction right, my directional awareness is a little wacked with the sun so south in the sky), we headed up not sure what to expect in terms of people. Once we skinned through the trees, we were greeted to a fresh bowl of pow. NO ONE had skied it all day! No one but the wolf I spotted with my eagle eye traversing from north to south. He was far enough away that I asked Eph if there were Marmots here. He quickly pulled out his binoculars, yes this guy is for real, and said, "Well, no we don't, but we do have wolves." He handed me the binoculars and set my sights on my first wolf in the wild. He was dark and very curious about us. As the wind blew gently at our backs, he would stop often to stare at us and get a whiff. About 20 minutes later when we crossed his tracks, we noticed his paw prints were about the same size as the powder baskets on my ski poles. That my friends, is one big wolf. And apparently seeing a wolf is a rare treat. My roommate Emma, who has lived in Alaska her whole life, has never seen one.
We finished out the skin with bright blue skies which gave us a panoramic view of the peaks and valleys around us... the north-facing Orca bowls, west over the Turnagain Arm, still packed full of icebergs, set to melt now that it is officially "break up," the Alaskan word for spring; and northwest to the many peaks up Crow Creek road. We were treated to fresh tracks down the south facing bowl and some bush wacking to round out the day.
Monday morning, we took off from Eph's Snow Sugar Shack at the daunting hour of noon and headed to luckily find the sunshine up Crow Creek road. The day before we had taken in the south facing aspect of Ragged Peak and Eph assured Susan and me that the North Bowl was a treat. Indeed! We skinned up through the trees with a Crow Creek resident dog escort. Apparently those dogs really love to ski and will pretty much go with anyone. We finally shook him when we hit the tree line since we weren't really sure if we wanted to be responsible for someone else's dog on potential avi terrain. The skin was a tough one for me and really taught me to dig in those heels and lean back (counter-intuition kicks in again) up some pretty steep skin tracks.
We were again treated to fresh tracks down the bowl and skied directly back to the car. Ahhhh, ski in, ski out. No condo required.
I drove back up the Seward Highway to Anchorage, or as Susan affectionately calls is Ancoraugua with a lot of good thoughts running through my mind and a Cheshire grin across my face. I start my new job tomorrow and while I know I'll have some challenging times ahead of me, I know that is why I came to Alaska- To challenge myself, to try new things. I feel like I am off to a pretty good start.
Pictures to come peeps... Gotta get my zzzzzz's.
Monday, February 20, 2012
Jumping into the manure pile
I grew up on a small, and when I say small I mean tiny, farm in Southern California. Yes, this is where all the contradictions begin. A farm in Southern California -doesn't really strike up idyllic scenes of open fields in the Wisconsin countryside, but nonetheless, it was a wonderful childhood experience.
Pine Oaks Acres, as my parents aptly named the farm due to the large number of pine and oak trees on the premises, was just three and 1/4 acres. We had Suffolk sheep, up to 100 head at one point; a few Jersey cows, La Mancha goats, Canadian geese, chickens and horses. Oh and let's not forget the dogs and cats -Poodles, Persians and even a Mastiff. And there was a manure pile, well two to be exact. One perfectly located behind the little red barn where the Jersey cow was milked and consequently where my mother went into labor with me on a chilly December day while milking our old cow Princess.
I love to tell the stories from growing up on our little farm and see the expressions I get when I tell people about the neighborhood kids and me hurling ourselves off the roof of the red barn into the manure pile. This pile was mostly compiled of straw, but there was of course plenty of cow pies, as we fondly called them, mixed in. It was a feeling of absolute weightlessness as we soared through the air into well, a pile of shit. As I thought about this activity this morning, the metaphor wasn't totally clear for me, but I knew there was something there. And right then I decided, I need to start writing a blog. So there you have it, I am jumping into the manure pile, feet first and the free fall feels amazing. Let's hope the landing is mostly straw.
Pine Oaks Acres, as my parents aptly named the farm due to the large number of pine and oak trees on the premises, was just three and 1/4 acres. We had Suffolk sheep, up to 100 head at one point; a few Jersey cows, La Mancha goats, Canadian geese, chickens and horses. Oh and let's not forget the dogs and cats -Poodles, Persians and even a Mastiff. And there was a manure pile, well two to be exact. One perfectly located behind the little red barn where the Jersey cow was milked and consequently where my mother went into labor with me on a chilly December day while milking our old cow Princess.
I love to tell the stories from growing up on our little farm and see the expressions I get when I tell people about the neighborhood kids and me hurling ourselves off the roof of the red barn into the manure pile. This pile was mostly compiled of straw, but there was of course plenty of cow pies, as we fondly called them, mixed in. It was a feeling of absolute weightlessness as we soared through the air into well, a pile of shit. As I thought about this activity this morning, the metaphor wasn't totally clear for me, but I knew there was something there. And right then I decided, I need to start writing a blog. So there you have it, I am jumping into the manure pile, feet first and the free fall feels amazing. Let's hope the landing is mostly straw.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)