6.19.2009

librarian dreams.

If my house caught on fire, I’d save my books first. I know I should answer the age-old “if you could only save one thing” question with, say, my dog or my roommate, but...let’s be honest, my books are way more flammable. And if we want to get specific, I’d snatch my Harry Potter set first—I interned at Bloomsbury Publishing in London and sort of snuck them home with me. I say “sort of” because I was allowed to take books, but I’m guessing that didn’t translate to, “Why sure, we’d be more than happy to donate a hardback set worth £115.00! Whatever suits your fancy, love!” Nonetheless, the books are mine, and I adore them.

I’ve always been obsessed with reading. As a kid, I would make my mom read to me in Dad’s comfy recliner way past my bedtime. Every summer, I participated in the library’s Summer Reading Club. In junior high, I won Outside Reading awards. In high school, I actually read a lot of the assigned books (which is saying something...kids these days). In college, I majored in English and minored in British Lit. Therefore, it should not surprise anyone that I spent the last half hour reorganizing a bookshelf.

When I pulled Under the Tuscan Sun—only two quarters, courtesy of the Friends of the Library program—from my bag this afternoon, I realized that I could justifiably revamp my Contemporary bookshelf. (I also have a Classics bookshelf and a Leftovers bookshelf, where I stash the unlikable school texts and those with ugly bindings.) Before shuffling books around, I started the Coldplay CD my roommate recently burned for me and decided that, gee, the scrumptious scent of a crème brûlée candle sure would be nice. I stood before the shelf, pulling books, replacing and moving them based on aestheticism. Can’t have white next to grey—insert color here. Hey this can be a need-to-read shelf! Hmm, short books together, or intermixed? I like it, I like it. I sat down on the couch, admiring my work. I leapt to the fireplace, to marvel from a different angle. I pushed and tugged books less than half a centimeter, convinced that such “vast changes” made all the difference.

As I sit here now, I can honestly say that my Contemporary bookshelf looks fabulous. Eclectic. Sophisticated and scholastic. In fact, I can’t stop looking at it. I highly doubt anyone will ever notice a difference, but, I know. And I know it looks good.

6.13.2009

go, go, gourmet.

I recently copied down a recipe for Summer Garden Pasta from the Barefoot Contessa’s cookbook. The dish required me to julienne basil leaves and mince garlic, which seemed mighty upscale compared to my normal noodles, veggies, and sauce-from-the-jar pastas. But, I needed to venture beyond those humdrum basics. I purchased grape tomatoes, fresh basil leaves, kosher salt, and angel hair noodles at Central Market, as Central Market automatically instills sophistication and the illusion of a gourmet future in the average grocery shopper.

For the accidentally forgotten garlic and parmesan cheese, I stopped by Target after work the next day—the day I would master Summer Garden Pasta. I wandered between the two kitchenware aisles, fascinated by nifty apple slicers and wary of potato peelers. To my great dismay, no housewifely women were in sight to answer my amateur questions. What exactly is a paring knife? Why are there so many variations of cheese graters? How are you supposed to use this garlic press? Do I even need a garlic press?

Twenty minutes later, with a not-so-ominous pink chopping knife in my cart, I arrived at the garlic bins. And I panicked. I needed six cloves. What are cloves? The entire thing? That would be, like, a pound of garlic! What kind of recipe is this? Not trusting my own judgment—a wise decision—I asked a friendly-looking young woman to enlighten me. She smiled one of those “oh you’re so adorably clueless” smiles and informed me that cloves are the small sections, not the entire thing. With a quick “okay thanks bye,” I rushed to check out, go home, and test my cooking skills.

I poured olive oil into my new glass bowl and added the red pepper flakes and other seasonings. I halved the tomatoes, julienned the basil, and minced the garlic with my “it’s a girl” pink knife. I was getting pretty impressed with myself—I felt so Rachael Ray. Four hours later, after the mix had soaked and been stirred around the angel hair, a friend and I ooh-ed and ahh-ed over the finished pasta. We sprinkled on extra parmesan and basil—an extra touch of class—and photographed the masterpiece. I felt ecstatic, almost giddy. I hadn’t botched the recipe! Rather, my Summer Garden Pasta was good. Seriously good. And my next gourmet meal will be even better...so I hope.