Gatsby & OkCupid

Don't you just love the title of this post? It's like a Lewis Carroll riddle! How is a raven like a writing desk? What do Gatsby and an internet-dating site have in common?

Read and learn.

About six months ago, Stephen and I went out to grab dinner. We sat down at a neighborhood Thai joint and started sipping iced tea. I think Stephen was talking about the upcoming Star Trek film. I logically chimed in with, "Ooh, did you see the announcement of the new Baz Luhrmann version of Great Gatsby?" To which Stephen responded:

"Wait, which one was The Great Gatsby? I don't think I liked that one."

This was followed by an hour of heated argument where I eloquently expressed the merits of F. Scott Fitzgerald and 20th century American literature, and Stephen said he thought Nick was kind of a lame narrator and he didn't understand why this was such a big deal. Slamming down a spring roll, I hurled:

"Sometimes I don't understand how we're dating!"

Hyperbole? Maybe. But I'm an English major, and we can get away with this sort of thing.

Apparently you can date a person for more than five years without realizing that they "didn't really like" one of your favorite novels. I own three copies of The Great Gatsby--the one I read in high school, with my sixteen-year-old's notes, the one I read in college, with my twenty-year-old's notes, and a third that just came to me. (Sometimes paperbacks just materialize out of the universe, right?) Also, I'd like to point out that we have a print of the cover of Gatsby hanging in our apartment. Writing this now, it occurs to me that Stephen probably has no idea what that is.

And therein the riddle lies: If I was on OkCupid, there is no way I would let this kind of thing slide.

Having dated someone for more than five years, I'm of course not on OkCupid. I'd like to take this opportunity to disclaim that I'm about to give an opinion on something I have zero firsthand experience with. But that said, a lot of my friends are on it, and I find it . . . fascinating. It's up there with Uber--yeah, okay, cool idea, but I'm still not going to try it.

I have one friend who met an actual boyfriend on OkCupid. I have another friend who met the guy in real life, but then they reconnected and started dating after finding each other through the site. I have a few friends who have been on some mediocre dates. And then, I have whole lot of friends who never go on any dates at all. I feel like they might do some messaging? I don't really know. I think they mostly just click around. But really, it's this part, the screening process, that interests me most.

I was at a party recently where some OkCupid-ers were rehashing an argument that they'd all had on a recent camping trip. Someone had admitted to screening potential dates by their ability with grammar (or lack thereof). Apparently everyone ganged up on the grammarian and he was deemed snobbish and elitist, and he spent a good part of the rest of the weekend sulking in the wilderness. I was shocked. "But of course you'd judge someone based on their ability to communicate!" I exclaimed.

"Well, you're an editor," one girl shrugged. "I feel like that's different."

What? But then again, it's not like my boyfriend writes gorgeous and on-point emails. Don't get me wrong, he's the cleverest kid I know, but writing is not his forte.

My friend Karen is one of my favorite OkCupid enigmas. First of all, she outrageously under-mentions her interest in internet cat videos. Then, she holds men to mythologically high standards. Karen, if you're reading this, I'm actually really glad you're on OkCupid. I find it highly amusing.

Dating someone the old-fashioned way, you inevitably discover that you have different interests. You learn from each other. You also get into admittedly stupid arguments over Thai food. But you experience new things that you wouldn't unless you had that person in your life.

It's also weird what you can have in common with someone, without even realizing it. Stephen and I were attracted to each other before we realized that we both came from large families, had black-and-white tuxedo cats growing up, sucked our thumbs to a borderline embarrassing age, are both the rarest Myers-Briggs personality type (INTP), love PG Wodehouse and hilariously idiotic narrators in general, and harbor a healthy skepticism for anyone who believes too blindly and whole-heartedly in anything (that includes God and political parties and sports teams). It's entirely possible that the selection of young men that OkCupid would sort for me might have as much in common. But I don't know. I kind of like to think that Stevie and I were MFEO.

My theory is that OkCupid is supposed to pre-match good contenders for you, but it inevitably fails, because people don't actually know what they want. Please note, that's not the same as the old adage, "never dating someone who's good for you," which is a variation on the theme of "she always chooses terrible men." I'm not going to get into the psychoanalysis of who's good for your mental and emotional well-being. All I'm arguing is that you don't actually know what you want. No one can anticipate the many ways that a partner who is different from you is going to enrich your life and make you happy.

So, as a non-expert bystander, I say go au naturel! Hook up with more guys at bars. Or better yet, try to choreograph some meet-cutes. That's a better idea. An Italian tourist tried to hit on me at the Academy of Sciences last week. If you're single and unemployed, that could be a great way to go!

Also, does anybody want to go see Gatsby next month? Because apparently I don't have a date.

The Challenge: Big Eat 2013

San Francisco foodies got a critical email blast at the end of January. The next round of 7x7's 100 Things to Eat in SF Before You Die is out.

They blew it wide open this year, with 80 new entries. I'm simultaneously annoyed to have lost all of that progress from last year, but delighted to have so many delicious new things to try!

In 2012 I clocked out at 38 out of 100. Pretty good, but I was really hoping to hit the halfway point. Highlights include:

 

Cellophane Noodles with Crab at The Slanted Door. Indelibly slender noodles dressed in something tangy with a tantalizing hit of sesame. Shreds of Dungeness crab throughout. Exquisite. Extraordinary.

Custard French Toast at Nopa. A thick slab of coarse bread soaked in rich egg custard and seared until caramelized at the edges. Fabulous fresh cocktails. Well worth the wait.

Hamburger at 4505 Meats. A 7-dollar burger from a farmers' market stand. It tastes even better if you eat it in the sunshine outside the Ferry Building, while giving sea gulls dirty looks.

 

Clam Chowder at Anchor Oyster Bar. I really need to step up my game with the oysters in town--I still haven't made it to Swan Oyster Depot or Hog Island, which is disgraceful. But Stevie and I love this neighborhood joint in the Castro. The waiter who has served us a couple of times at the bar is so nice. This one time, the kitchen was running behind, and he kept plastering us with free oysters and chowder while we waited. Like, that nice.

Time to get serious.

Amachee's Chicken Curry

Dating a British person gives you a whole new perspective on curry. For a long time, I thought I was "not that into" Indian food. Now, I happily eat my words on a regular basis. Chicken curry is downright easy, comforting, and delicious. It cooks in one pot, it tastes awesome the next day, and the day after that, and it just so happens that it reminds me a whole lot of this super cute astrophysicist who I happen to live with.

Curry has been a slow but rewarding discovery for me. I grew up in Portland, Oregon--before Portlandia, before the food trucks. Okay, there was maybe a bento guy. Actually there were like three bento guys. But what I'm saying is, my mom is a WASP. In the best possible way. In the chicken-and-broccoli-casserole, homemade-triple-layer-chocolate-cake, let's-put-butter-on-everything kind of way.

Anyway, dating a British guy was step one. Doing a lot of online ordering of Patak's curry paste was step two. Figuring out that curry paste is kind of cheating was step three. Stocking up on spices and a Madhur Jaffrey cookbook was step four. At that point, you're ready for action.

I've gone through a lot of chicken curry recipes, and I have to say, I don't have one magnificent chicken curry to end all chicken curries. It really depends on your mood. Do you want something bright yellow and gingery? Go for an anglo recipe. Do you want something packed with fiery spices and tomato? Madras. Creamy and comforting? Korma. There are so many variations. But the beautiful thing is, once you actually start combining your own spices, you figure out what you like. For instance, cumin seeds. My ancestors came to America onboard the Mayflower, and I stinking love cumin seeds.

Okay, maybe I'm not the first colonist to fall in love with curry. Let's focus on what's important here. Namely, the curry.

One of my favorite families in Palo Alto was kind enough to share this recipe with me. Amachee means grandmother, and this is in fact their grandmother's recipe. I've made a few tweaks to it, in that I personally prefer thighs to a whole cut-up chicken, and I feel strongly that curry should cook in one pot. Apparently Amachee likes to sauté her onions separately. Is there a special layer of hell for people who mess with other people's grandmother's recipes? I hope not. Because I seriously love this chicken curry.

Amachee’s Chicken Curry

Serve with steamed basmati rice, a dollop of yogurt, and peas. I physically cannot eat a chicken curry without peas alongside. They're made for each other. 

Canola oil

1 onion, chopped 

2 teaspoons minced fresh ginger

2 teaspoons minced garlic

2½ teaspoons coriander

1 teaspoon cumin

½ teaspoon cayenne

½ teaspoon turmeric

½ teaspoon garam masala

1 tablespoon fenugreek seeds

¼ teaspoon fennel seeds

2 lbs boneless, skinless chicken thighs (6–8 thighs), cut into bite-size pieces

2 teaspoons white vinegar or lemon juice

2 tablespoons tomato paste or ketchup

1 teaspoon salt

1 teaspoon jam (optional)

In a Dutch oven over medium heat, warm 1 tablespoon of the oil. Add the onion and sauté until it starts to soften. Add the ginger, garlic, and all of the spices, and sauté for a minute or two longer. 

Add the chicken pieces, and turn to coat with the spice mixture. Sprinkle with the salt. Let the chicken brown on one side, stir once, and let it brown again. 

Pour in the vinegar, tomato paste, jam (if using), and ¼ cup water and stir to combine. Using a wooden spoon, scrape gently to dislodge any brown bits sticking to the bottom of the pan.

Bring to a simmer. Cover the pot and continue to simmer until the chicken is cooked through and tender and the liquid is slightly reduced, about 20 minutes. Serve warm. 

Revised Title

Hey readers! If you came here expecting Adventures of an English Major in the Real World, don't worry. It's still me.

I'm coming up on five years since I was actually lurking in libraries and taking lit classes, and I just felt like it was time for an update.

I'll still be focusing on the things I love best: reading and eating. My ideal Saturday morning involves a coffee, a croissant, and a good book, which is where my new title takes inspiration. And it's true. I have been known to get crumbs in the pages, and lemon curd on my keyboard.

Also, I just love revising things. After all--I'm an English major, and we can get away with that sort of thing.

The Post-Christmas Stack

Today, I took down the Christmas decorations. I set our little tree out at curbside. I shed a quiet tear. He looked so small and sad out there. 

In other news, Stephen thinks I'm mildly insane. 

But I cheered up a bit when I stacked up my new reading list. Pretty good haul this year! 

Happy 2013, readers!! I hope you have something exciting on your bedside table.

The Horrible Year

Have you ever read the book Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day? I think I'm having that . . . but not a day. More like a year. If you want a pop culture citation, allow me to refer you to the theme song of Friends.

The facts:

I got laid off from the loveliest job.

I spent all my savings on a really old car.

I crashed the car. This was really expensive.

I crashed the car again. This was moderately expensive.

I found out that the car doesn't like to start when it's hot outside.

I got a flat tire.

I got a lot of parking tickets. Car ownership is a blast!

Our apartment got fleas. I'm not sure you realize the injustice of this one until you appreciate that a.) I'm a little bit of a compulsive cleaner, b.) I LOVE dogs, but c.) we are not allowed to have dogs. Or cats. Our landlord upstairs has cats. He didn't get any flea bites. We got flea bites. He recommended that we vacuum every day. I recommended that he call in a professional exterminator. I did win on that last point, but I also vacuumed a lot and spent a lot of quality time at the laundromat. And I still subscribe to the gross injustice of not being allowed to have pets and getting fleas. FLEAS. Eew! Ick! Life is mean.

I took my first vacation day in six months (at the new job), and my flight got cancelled. I mean, this is SFO, and no one's surprised, but I still missed a day up in Oregon with my family.

I took out an audiobook from the library last month, listened to eleven disks of it in raptures, and then the twelfth disk was scratched beyond repair. I will never know if Lirael vanquished the necromancer and his minions and sent them back into death or, like, got a boyfriend. Not cool. Not fair.

I gained five pounds.

Final tally:

The horrible year: 11
Becky: 0

I'm telling you what I told my boyfriend. I'm writing off 2012. We'll try to do better next year.

Luckily, I'm an English major, and we have resources to draw upon in this sort of situation. I give you Bridget Jones's Diary:

"On way home in end-of-Christmas denial I bought a packet of cut-price chocolate tree decorations and a £3.69 bottle of sparkling wine from Norway, Pakistan or similar. I guzzled them by the light of the Christmas tree, together with a couple of mince pies, the last of the Christmas cake and some Stilton, while watching Eastenders, imagining it was a Christmas special.
    Now, though, I feel ashamed and repulsive. I can actually feel the fat splurging from my body. Never mind. Sometimes you have to sink to a nadir of toxic fat envelopment in order to emerge, phoenix-like, from the chemical wasteland as a purged and beautiful Michelle Pfeiffer figure. Tomorrow new Spartan health and beauty regime will begin."

Or if you prefer, High Fidelity:

"Go and put some old sad bastard music on, see if I care."

Conversations Overheard at Work

So I have a new job! Sadly, no more cookbooks for the time being, but I'm turning the page and getting into some cool photography, film, television, and children's titles. Shall we usher in the new era with another round of Conversations Overheard at Work? I thought you'd never ask.

"You've probably been asked this five times already, but are you a big Twilight fan?"

"I'm sure everyone's been asking you this, but are you a Twilight fan?"

"Hey, are you a Twilight fan?"

Project manager: "Wait, which one is Rosalie again?"

Designer: "Rosalie is the really grumpy vampire. The one who hates Bella."

"What's the plural of Volturi?"

"What's happening with that woman in Oregon who takes pictures of dogs? You really should have brought that to the meeting."

"No, Amy's got the Ninja Turtles."

"Do you guys have a Batmobile over there?"

"Ooh the Monster Book of Monsters! It's like Christmas."

"Look, guys. I know how this works. I've been to five Comic-Cons."

"I am a bit worried about SpongeBob."

"Ooh! I like 'blustery breeze.' That's cute."

" 'Avast' is a little obscure, but 'ahoy' is a greeting, and 'halt' just isn't that pirate-y. You see what we're struggling with here?"

Art director reviewing Angry Birds cover: "I was really hoping this could be a little bit more . . . "

Editor: "Explosive?"