Getting Back on the Horse

A few of months ago, I woke up early on a Friday morning. I packed my lunch. I ran to catch the train. I got busy reading some spreads, because I was worried about turning them around to one of my managing editors.

Two hours later, I packed up my desk and went home.

When you work in publishing, everybody tells you that there will come a point in your career when you will get laid off. You read that books are a "dying" industry. You hear that editors and designers here and there have lost their jobs. And when your own company starts to struggle, it's in the air all the time--in looks, in side conversations, in tense meetings.

It's still really shocking when it actually happens to you.

After that horrible day in January, I had a rough couple of months. I ate a lot of brownies. I wrote a lot of cover letters, and stressed out over a lot of interview outfits. Mostly, I really missed packing my lunch every morning, getting on the train like everybody else, and going into the office to read, and write, and make cookbooks.

I finally have a new job. I'm going to be working on some new projects, in totally different subject areas: film, music, photography, children's. And the best part is, I still get to be an editor, and do work that I find intrinsically interesting and deeply satisfying. In short, I'm excited again. And you know what? I would rather have had a job that I LOVED for three years, and lost, than be bored.

And now, just because I'm an English major and we can get away with this sort of thing, I'll leave you with a cowboy quote:

"Courage is being scared to death, but saddling up anyway." --John Wayne

Explaining an Astrophysics PhD to a Seven-Year-Old

I do a bit of babysitting. This involves larges batches of chocolate chip cookies and regular dramatic readings of children's stories. It's a pretty good deal for all involved.

The kids I sit for have discovered that I have a boyfriend--gasp!--and that my boyfriend is a scientist. A number of questions have arisen.

"What is on the inside of your umbrella?"

A map of the Cosmic Microwave Background.

"Is the sun really just a medium-sized star?"

My expert says it's certainly not one of the biggest.

"Are you just like Penny on The Big Bang Theory?"

Kind of? But smarter.

And now I give to you a conversation between myself and a seven-year-old. I was unpacking a set of birthday cupcakes. Having run out of containers, I resorted to a certain lunch box.

"Whose Star Trek lunch box is that?"

"Stephen's."

"Why does Stephen have a lunch box?"

"Because he packs his lunch every day."

"Why does he need to pack his lunch?"

"So he can take it to school."

"Stephen goes to school?"

"Yes."

"How old is Stephen?"

"28."

Long pause. "You can go to school when you're 28?!"

"You can if you're a PhD."

I think I blew his mind. It was like watching a supernova. Actually, I don't really know what a supernova is. I just asked Stephen for an example of an astrophysical explosion, because I felt I needed a metaphor. I'm an English major, and we can get away with that sort of thing.

The Challenge: Tartine

This is Tartine.

It's only 8 o'clock in the morning, so that's why there's no line out the door yet.

This is a morning bun from Tartine.

You cannot order more than six of these, or the baker-hipsters will get grumpy. Take my word for it. They might still give them to you, but they'll be grumpy about it. Just wanted to give you fair warning.

This is a loaf of bread from Tartine.

You cannot get these at the same time of day as the morning buns. These come out of the oven at 5 o'clock each afternoon, and require a separate visit. Yes, it's worth it.

Together, both of these are why Tartine is one of the few establishments in San Francisco to get not one, but two mentions on 7x7's 100 Things to Try Before You Die list.

This is the Tartine cookbook.

My friend Malavika gave me this cookbook for my birthday. Moments like this make it clear to me why I am friends with Malavika (along with similar sentiments towards ponies, milk tea, and reading in cafés). Tartine's piece de resistance, the morning bun, is NOT included in the cookbook. Which is actually okay, because it means you can have more early morning Tartine dates with your friend Malavika.

This is my favorite bakery in San Francisco.

This is why I go to spin class three days a week (and yet somehow never emerge looking quite like Kate Bosworth).

Tartine. Je t'adore.

Conversations Overheard at Work

And once again, we bring you, Conversations Overheard at Work! For those just tuning in, this is a segment in which I collect snippets heard around the office at my book publisher. This time, in addition to eavesdropping on the editors and designers who work on cookbooks, I've included a couple of gems from our lifestyles department. See if you can guess who is who!

"I feel like I want some more croutons. Yes. Definitely more croutons."

"I would totally pepper that."

"She eats snails from her own garden? Sounds . . . earthy."

"Yes, we definitely have soup. I think they might owe us chicken. They gave us soup, they owe us chicken. No, I know. I'll be really upset if they still owe us chicken."

"What sounds more salad-y? Duck Breast with Winter Greens, or Winter Greens with Duck Breast? I mean, I realize this is a bit nebulous."

"Braised leeks, absolutely not. A leek gratin? Yes. That's totally different."

"Does wheatgrass-carrot elixir need to be hyphenated?"

"Roger, how was the sex party?"

"Well, what does 'newlywed' mean? A heterosexual couple standing side by side rolling out dough together?"

"Baklava?! See, this is just completely arbitrary."

"Well, I suggested a watermelon, feta, and mint salad, but I know, watermelon salads are so overdone."

"Schnitzel is kind of hot right now. Wait, do I mean schnitzel? Oh right. Spaetzle. Spaetzle is super hot right now."

"The author is this big Christmas expert, so it would be great if we put him in touch with marketing."

"She's also concerned about the starchy gratins. Well, no. She's concerned about all of the gratins."

"Let's beef it up. Literally."

Editor: "Legos are so hot right now, it's ridiculous."

Marketing: "A lot of those pieces are from the Harry Potter set. [Long pause.] Don't ask me how I know that."

The Challenge: Sandwiches for Saturdays

You know what's really good? Like, really, really good? A sandwich from Lucca delicatessen.

What's that you say? You're trying to eat more grains and veggies in the new year? Don't be an epic idiot. It's nearly 70 degrees outside, and it's Saturday. Go get yourself a salami (or mortadella! or prosciutto!) sandwich and go the park.

You're welcome.

The Challenge, of course, is what brings me to Lucca. I had never been before, and was a wee bit confused. You grab a number, easy enough. But then . . . no sandwich menu to be seen. You start to panic, due to overexposure to exciting cured meats, cheeses, and Italian pantry goods. "You pick one meat, and one cheese," the man explains. "No veggies. Mayo and mustard on the side." I went with salami and provolone, on tomato focaccia. The focaccia was a terrifically good call.

Nap to follow. Over and out.

How a $7 Turkey Can Feed You for 3 Weeks

So my boyfriend is British. Have I not mentioned that? Really? I tend to mention that.

And because he is British, he a.) loves roast dinners, but b.) is skeptical of the validity of Thanksgiving as a holiday. In the absence of Thanksgiving feasting, his family across the pond takes the opportunity to roast a turkey on New Year's day. It's only their second big roast of the year, you see, and they're entitled as much as the rest of us. So now Stephen and I have gotten into the habit of roasting our own New Year's turkey.

I know what you're thinking: three massive roast dinners in one holiday season passed decadent a long while ago on the road to gluttony. But the thing is, when Stephen and I were shopping one fateful New Year's eve, we discovered something magical. Turkeys go on sale after Christmas! They do! They're really cheap! It's almost like people get sick of them after eating them twice within a month! And we gleefully went home with a 14-pound turkey in our arms, only seven dollars (seven dollars!) poorer, laughing at all of the people who foolishly cooked new things to ring in the new year.

We called around a bit to see if any friends wanted to come over for our last-minute feast, but everyone was predictably busy with their own New Year's plans. The following year, we dispensed with such excuses. Let's be honest--we didn't want to share the bacon-wrapped sausages anyways, and as it turns out, having a massive amount of leftover turkey is kind of awesome.

And now, we present you with a menu plan for enjoying a seven-dollar turkey* throughout the month of January:

January 1: Roast turkey dinner, with stuffing, potatoes, gravy, Brussels sprouts, bacon-wrapped sausages, what have you.

January 2: Leftover roast dinner (don't mess with a good thing).

January 3: Back-to-work turkey and stuffing sandwiches.

January 4: Take a few days off. Strip the carcass, and freeze servings of white meat and dark meat. Simmer the bones to make stock. Eat some salads/smoothies/sushi. Go on some guilt-ridden jogs. Curse the day you ever met a bacon-wrapped sausage.

January 8: Turkey soup with wild rice and ginger.

January 11: Turkey-walnut salad wraps. (I'm partial to alfalfa sprouts, here.)

January 15: Turkey and wild mushroom pot pie with puff pastry crust.

January 22: Shrimp, andouille, and turkey jambalaya.

January 29: Madras turkey curry. ("Turkey curry buffet!" Just imagine Mark Darcy wearing a terrible Christmas sweater.)

And this is just the beginning! There are so many things you can do with turkey!

*In the interest of full disclosure, I grudgingly admit that this year's turkey did not cost seven dollars. He came from Whole Foods, and so far as I can tell, Whole Foods is allergic to sales, turkey or otherwise. But the original New Year's turkey of yore really did cost seven dollars! And I'm not going to let scruples about accuracy stand between me and a good theme. I'm an English major, and we can get away with this sort of thing.

A Passion for List Writing

Things to Love about Making Lists:

1.) Starting off with a frivolous entry, just because you can! Topping my Christmas list every year since I was literate: a pony.

2.) Practicing parallel construction! Because you just took a copyediting course, and you're an epic nerd.

3.) Scribbling (if working on paper).

4.) Color coding (if working on Word or Excel).

5.) Thinking about what my brothers and sister want for Christmas.

6.) Thinking about what Stevie wants for Christmas.

7.) Thinking about what I want for Christmas.

8.) Singing to self, "All I Want for Christmas Is You," the Mariah Carey version. There is no other version. Don't start.

9.) Checking things off, with big, swishy, inky check marks. I swoon for inky pens.

10.) Striking things through. I don't know which I like better between checking and striking. They're both so good. It really depends on the list.

11.) Feeling a sense of accomplishment! To quote my materfamilias: "I love writing lists. It's like getting things done."

12.) Perusing old lists of yore. For example, the Christmas list in which my brother Bruce, six years old at the time of writing, requested "gold," "silver," a "hullmeat" (sic), and other brilliantly spelled viking accessories.

13.) Bringing back the phrase, "Number one with a bullet!" Not only is it pithy, it's true. Things really do sound more important when they're in list, numbered, bulleted, or otherwise.

14.) Sleeping soundly at night. You don't have to worry about it! It's on the list!

Happy list writing! Happy shopping! Happy checking, striking, and scribbling! And most importantly, happy Christmas!!