Groan. As if I didn't feel bad enough already, I managed to start off the new year by poisoning myself with my cooking. I'm reasonably sure that the culprit was the catfish I made last night – it was still good, on paper at least, and I bought local stuff – although it's a toss-up whether the larger issue was the freshness of the fish or the dreadfulness of my cookery. I tried my hand, on a whim, at dredging it in flour and preparing it in something like Southern style. It all went so badly, though: the butter burned in the pan, the seasoned flour I prepared had no flavor to speak of, even though I added enough cayenne to make me choke on the fumes, and the thicker parts of the filets didn't even cook through by the time the ends were burning and filling my kitchen with noxious smoke. (On a side note: if that mess didn't set off my smoke detector, then it may be non-operative. Hmm.)
My guts have been causing me to whine out loud all day long, even though I live alone and there is no one to hear me bitching. Remind me never to let fish sit in the fridge overnight before cooking it — at least, not while I'm living in Ghosttown, which seems incapable of getting truly fresh seafood in the supermarkets. Ow.
On the plus side, I've just cooked up a beautiful pot of Indian-style lentils with spinach, which is already making me feel (a tiny bit) better. Now that my grumpy belly is newly filled with lentil soup and red wine, I have several multimedia observations to make.
First, meaning no offense either to singer or to fan, I'm having trouble getting into Florence and the Machine. Leaving aside the lyrics (hit or miss, with me) and her voice (undoubtably strong and beautiful, but disturbingly close to Celine Dion), I find myself unsettled by Florence Welch's gestures. The things she does with her arms when she's not even singing, you know? Tragically, she keeps reminding me of this bit of Cold Comfort Farm:
Sorta takes the wind out of Flo's sails, doesn't it?
Meanwhile, if you want a groovy live performance with great vocals, how about this?
My guts have been causing me to whine out loud all day long, even though I live alone and there is no one to hear me bitching. Remind me never to let fish sit in the fridge overnight before cooking it — at least, not while I'm living in Ghosttown, which seems incapable of getting truly fresh seafood in the supermarkets. Ow.
On the plus side, I've just cooked up a beautiful pot of Indian-style lentils with spinach, which is already making me feel (a tiny bit) better. Now that my grumpy belly is newly filled with lentil soup and red wine, I have several multimedia observations to make.
First, meaning no offense either to singer or to fan, I'm having trouble getting into Florence and the Machine. Leaving aside the lyrics (hit or miss, with me) and her voice (undoubtably strong and beautiful, but disturbingly close to Celine Dion), I find myself unsettled by Florence Welch's gestures. The things she does with her arms when she's not even singing, you know? Tragically, she keeps reminding me of this bit of Cold Comfort Farm:
Sorta takes the wind out of Flo's sails, doesn't it?
Meanwhile, if you want a groovy live performance with great vocals, how about this?
I know nothing about the ins and outs of cooking fish, but I hope you get better. Or at least go outside into the backyard and yell obscenities, cause that would make me happy.
ReplyDeleteThe thing that put me off Florence and the Machine is how processed and echo-y everything is on the album, like it's a Peter Gabriel CD for Saving Africa from the 80s. I dunno why that layered choral voices thing says 80s to me, but it does.
I don't know anyone else who references Cold Comfort Farm. Nicely done. (That's one of those movies that, when it appears on tv, I must watch until the end).
ReplyDeleteHope you feel better soon!
Where have you been, K? The catfish did you in? Avoid scavengers, I say!
ReplyDelete