Lilith Saintcrow

There’s nothing really wrong, just a sense of concrete-heavy ennui that’s making it hard for me to get out of bed in the morning, hard for me to do anything other than cook–anything else just takes EVERYTHING out of me, and I mean EVERY scrap of physical and mental energy–and hard for me to care about much more than just keeping my head above water. It’s been like that for the past few days, despite me getting an incredible amount of work done over the weekend.

Weasel Boy wasn’t that difficult a book. I shouldn’t be having this sort of draining rubber-band snapback after finishing just a sodding draft, for heaven’s sake. But I am. Go figure.

Yesterday was chili. I was agreeably surprised both by the beans (soaked the day before, cooked all night in molasses and garlic beef stock) and by the leftover barbecue ribs giving it a nice smoky flavor. Everyone ate except Sir Pewksalot, but that’s to be expected. I also experimented by not putting salt in with the beans, and they softened up much quicker and thickened the chili better. (So, thanks to whoever it was who told me about that.)

Today it’s pork tenderloin, and since I’m seriously dragging and have no braincycles for anything else, I’ll give the recipe. The kids really love this and it’s sooper-easy to prepare.

Pork In Yogurt Sauce

You’ll need:

• pork tenderloin
• half a large onion
• plain yogurt
• crushed garlic
• chicken stock/buoillon/base

Get out your crock pot. Put a tablespoon of water in (or enough to just lightly coat the bottom of the crock.) Dab a little buoillon or base in it and smear it around. OR, put enough chicken stock in to lightly coat the bottom of the crock. Turn the crock pot on low.

While it’s warming, saute the onion and crushed garlic in butter. I like crushed garlic in a jar, because it’s easy to work with, fresher, and packs more punch. Garlic powder lacks a certain something, but if you need to use it, dab a little of the chicken base etc. in the pan.

Dump half the garlic/onion saute into the crock to provide a nice little bed for the tenderloin. Nestle said tenderloin, ahem, tenderly on top. Spoon a light covering of yogurt over the meat and dump the rest of the saute over it.

Cut the potatoes into quarters (I usually do this while everything’s sauteeing). You can put them in a big bowl with the saute drippings, a little butter, and your favorite seasoning blend (I use Trader Joe’s 20 blend) and clap a plate over it, shake the little buggers. (I like disco music on while I do this.) Spoon the potatoes around the tenderloin. I like to use a wide long crock pot–the narrow ones do better for soups, in my humble opinion. But whatever you have will work.

Then leave it on low for ZOMG a long time. If I’m pressed for time, I usually turn the crock on high for a couple hours, then finish up with low heat. I like this dinner because I can walk away and forget it, and just start some steamed veggies twenty minutes before we eat. Easy-peasy.

The potatoes can be served as-is, or thrown in a mixer and mashed with a little milk. The yogurt and chicken stock will do wonders for them, and you get a very nice homestyle-potato mash if you leave the skins on, which I prefer. Sometimes there is a request for smoked Gouda in the potatoes, if I have done chili in the recent past and have some Gouda left over. Note: if you use bigger potatoes, cut them into smaller chunks so they cook thoroughly.

I’ve got some French bread rising on the stove too, which makes me feel good. No day is so bad that baking can’t make it better. Tomorrow I’ll probably go on about bread, if I’m still in this mood.

And now, dear Reader, adieu. The roast is starting to smell good and it will only get better all afternoon. Mmmmmmh.

Finishing a massive pile of revisions is like answering a knock at the door and having an underwear gnome hand you your own brain, wrapped in SaranWrap and pulsing slightly. You stand there, staring gape-jawed at the gnome. Who turns a backflip, winks, and scurries away, vanishing into the dawn mist. You’re left holding your own brain in both hands, cold because you answered the door in your sleeping-skivvies, and then the age-old thought occurs to you:

If this is my brain, what am I thinking with?

Yeah. It’s kind of like that.

So I finished the revisions on Redemption Alley and I’m in that strange in-between phase–where I’m gearing up for another Kismet book and the deep submerging in a world not my own it will entail. But it’s a nice sunny day and somehow I know I’m not ready to go down yet. I’ve got a chicken in the crock pot and two loaves of bread dough rising in the oven–more on that in a second–and I’m really not finding that internal tickle that tells me now’s the time to get a character in some more trouble.

So I suppose I’ll work on something else–Weasel Boy, perhaps, or tinker with something solely for my own pleasure today. Part of being a responsible creative is knowing when to break a rule or two. *grin*

About the bread: I like coffeemakers. No, these ARE statements that go together, I promise.

The best way I’ve ever found to proof bread is to run water through the drip-coffeemaker half of my espresso machine while I shape the loaves. I put the loaves in the oven and put an empty pan right below them. When the coffeemaker finishes burbling I pour a goodly amount of that water into the empty pan, close up the oven, and forget it for about an hour, at which time I usually have lovely proofed loaves.

Now, this doesn’t work so well with a banneton, since the wicker/basket material tends to soak up the steam and getting the loaf out, no matter how well you’ve dusted the whole thing with flour, gets problematic. But for loaves shaped in pans, it’s AWESOME. Perfect proofing, every time.

I also did a bigger, better ciabatta that actually turned out, with shiny strands of chewy goodness inside and a nutty, caramelized crust to die for. (The problem was, I didn’t keep the dough wet enough.) I tell you, Peter Reinhart is a GENIUS. His bread books–especially Crust & Crumb–are so, so easy to understand, with the reasons for why the dough behaves the way it does clearly set out and tons of tips and tricks. My baking, she has never been so happy.

I’m currently working on mastering a buttermilk-started sourdough. I’ll have results by the end of the day.

And that’s all. Enjoy your Thursday, everyone.

Last night’s dinner was a HUGE success. I slow-cooked some boneless pork ribs, baked and mashed some potatoes, and put together a Caprese salad. Everything came off more-or-less perfectly, and it was really, really easy to do. The trick is to put the potatoes in the oven (on metal shishkabob skewers, then wrapped in foil) two hours before you want to eat. Then, an hour before, put your Caprese together and cover it with plastic wrap, throw it on the table. You should end up with about half an hour to blaze through a bit of kitchen cleanup before you yank the spuds out, chop them up, throw them in a mixer with some butter, milk, salt, and garlic, and voila! Dinner, she is served.

I’m a big fan both of easy recipes and of cleaning while I cook. Since I end up doing most of the cleanup unless I twist someone’s arm, I tend to clean at the same time I cook, just to keep the kitchen from exploding under the weight of sheer chaos. YMMV.

All right, let’s get on to the salad–link salad, that is.

* From the Vintage Crime LJ community, here’s some rules about detective fiction: one set from S. S. Van Dine, the creator of Philo Vance; and one set from Msgr. Ronald Knox.

I find these interesting for two reasons. One, I like seeing genre rules laid out, and I like to see how successful authors talk about their audience. Two, I like seeing these sorts of rules because they are a direct invitation to understand them so one can effectively play with them and break them.

Breaking the rules being, you know, three-quarters of the fun.

* Speaking of breaking the rules, I noticed a theme between these two sets of rules–the absolute set-in-stone denial of any paranormal or supernatural event. Being who I am, I suppose that’s why I’m not writing crime fiction. Well, I am writing a SORT of crime fiction, but it is kind of like the redheaded stepchild of crime fiction.

* OH JOHN RINGO NO T-shirts! They’re for a good cause. Proceeds are donated to the Helen Bamber Foundation.

* And if you’re wondering what the cry “OH JOHN RINGO NO!” means, this blog entry might help. I will warn you, it is Not Safe For Work. It contains words and themes you might find objectionable. If you have problems with pulpy men’s adventure fiction or analysis of pulpy men’s adventure fiction, DO NOT CLICK. And don’t go over there, read half the entry, and fire off some halfass comment about how you’re offended. Just don’t, okay?

There’s a line between exploitative fiction and what I call “purple fiction”–that guilty pleasure reading we all indulge in. While purple fiction probably deals with morally reprehensible subject matter, I feel it is ethically sound in intent. Exploitative fiction is like a snuff film–you know it when you see it, and you’re sickened by the very idea, and it’s pretty obvious that the creator isn’t having tongue-in-cheek fun with themes or cultural notions of sexuality. Exploitative fic is just a joyless, offensive grind, on more than one level.

As with any definition I give here, YMMV. This subject really deserves its own blog post, but I am so not in the mood for that kind of critical analysis right now. I leave it to wiser heads than the one mine is turning out to be this morning.

* I am, instead, in the mood for Cheezburger.

more cat pictures

I should probably watch Labyrinth again. Sometimes a girl just needs a “David Bowie in tight pants” fix.

* Last but not least, I was laying in bed last night reading, and it struck me…goddamn, I’m weird. Because this is my bedtime reading, and I was enjoying the hell out of it. When did literary criticism become ENJOYABLE? How the hell did that happen?

I’m mystified, and I’m even more mystified by my urge, when reading these sorts of things, to get little plastic dinosaurs and act out the book’s assertions with them.

Yes, utterly mystified. But hey, if you can’t have fun with dinosaurs while reading theses, what would be the point of existence?

Over and out.

G’morning, all. Since I’m bleary-eyed and pre-caffeinated (you would not believe how long I had to sit here thinking about how many ‘f’s does caffeinated make) I’ll offer a few random bits and go on my stumbling, shambling way.

* My buddy Jeff Davis got a shout-out in the weekly supplement paper ’round these parts last week. Jeff is the author of several ghost guides to the Pacific Northwest and a trove of information on weirdness, both historical and paranormal, in the area as well. (His most recent book is about Portland’s ghosts.) Plus, I got to see a copy of the pretty, pretty Weird Washington, which Jeff co-wrote and provided almost all the pics for. It’s AWESOME. And picking Jeff’s brains about the weirdness contained in the books while sitting on the patio at McMenamin’s, watching the sailboats go by…priceless.

* Speaking of good food, another shout out goes to the folks at La Bottega, who feed me damn near every weekend. If you’re ever in the area, I highly recommend stopping by. They’re slow food, and more European than Americans might be used to; so it might be a bit of a shock to people used to fast-food and indifferent service. They’ll ask you how you like the food–and REALLY LISTEN when you tell them what you think. Which is just one of the many reasons I like them. Plus Peter and Lisa, the owners, are just awesome people to talk food with.

All this food talk is making me hungry. It’s ridiculous, how much I love fooooooood.

* If you like Indian food and are in my neck of the woods, I’ve gone back to Chutney’s three times now, and each time I was impressed. I keep thinking I should try some of their Indian wines, but the house Cabernet is so good I get seduced into a couple of glasses each time. The naan bread is awesome, and their butter chicken is fast becoming my favorite. The UnSullen One digs their Chicken Chettinad, and we’ve just recently sampled the Chicken Korma too and found it to be delicious.

* Speaking of food, the Red Velvet Cupcakes? I made a double batch on Friday. And ZOMG awesome were they good. Next time I WILL make sure the eggs are room temperature, because there was almost an Incident when I dumped the eggs in and the butter decided it wanted to get cold again. But it all worked out. I think I’m going to be using disposable pastry bags instead of ziploc baggies with the end snipped off. The ziploc method just didn’t do it for me, I think because the topography of the bag was improper for a beginner. Yes, I realize I only have myself to blame.

For some reason, I cannot find a real pastry bag to save my life in the greater Vancouver area, and I don’t really want to go into Portland to check Sur La Table. Because that is a hit my bank account just won’t live with, going in there.

Even looking at the website…ohGod…please…stop…

…time passes…

* Okay, I’m back now. The ciabatta bread I was attempting on Friday did not turn out. Oh, it’s bread, and it’s beautiful bread at that, but I didn’t keep the dough wet enough, so it’s more like a nice tough white bread suitable for toasting and chewing than a ciabatta. It took me a little thinking to figure out where I’d gone wrong. You have to work a dough like that really wet, because the signature texture of it comes from the gluten being in long shiny strands instead of a packed mass. So I know what I did wrong and shall remedy it, along with putting together a buttermilk sourdough starter.

On the good side, though, I am learning about working with a banneton, and created a ZOMG-awesome-looking loaf with it.

* Tonight’s dinner is slow-cooked boneless ribs in barbecue sauce, roast mashed potatoes, and probably a Caprese salad since I have fresh mozz and some heirloom tomatoes for slicin’. We’ll see. I also have some fresh basil left over, so that will go in. Ah, for an herb mincer…

…manfully restrains self from revisiting Sur La Table site…

* In between all this I have paperwork to do and a lot of revisions to get done. I have shelved Weasel Boy for the time being, since all that’s left on that is the showdown and the denouement. (My, the French have such lovely words for things. No wonder it was a diplomatic language for a long time.) And there’s some Latin I need to get back to; I have sorely neglected it of late. I wonder if Rosetta Stone has a classical Greek program?

Anyway, off I go. Enjoy the lovely weather, everyone. I’ll be stuck with my head in a story, as usual, taking no notice of the big bright yellow ball in the sky. *grin*

A few random things, since I have been buried under an avalanche of stuff lately, some personal, some home-related. I’ll content myself with saying that as long as my kids are happy and healthy I still consider myself lucky. And as long as I can still write, all is well.

* Congratulations to Carla Demich and Sherry Williams, winners of signed Night Shift ARCs! Carla wrote a beautiful short-fiction piece dealing with Dante and Doreen, and Sherry–your blandishments have proved too much for me. Weak is a writer. Congrats also to Sarah Shelton, the runner-up, who shows us just what happened while Dante was on her slicboard ride in WFTD. Sarah, one more ARC has freed up. Winners, send your snail mail addresses to contest (at) lilithsaintcrow (dot) com. Also, Carla and Sarah, please enclose your permission for me to make the stories available to fans in a PDF, if you don’t mind? I have many packages to mail this week–Elise, I am sorry the Chihuahua of Real Life has been humping my ankle something fierce lately. I’m on it, I swear.

* Next, a small aside. This makes me think of Babette’s Feast. It makes me want to write a book. Lit-fic, no less. I’m sure I can go hold my head underwater and the urge will fade. Until then, though, I’ll work on Weasel Boy.

Hey, I know my place. I’m a hack.

* Speaking of which, I’ve been informed my advice on writing is, to put it kindly, utter crap. Since I am, yanno, a hack. To which I say, aw, shucks. My little heart’s allllll broke to pieces.

Heh. Not.

Seriously. I’m doing the best I can and sharing things I’ve found that work. Part of me bothering to make the Friday posts is demystifying a process that can pull a creative down if it’s loaded with hoohaw and naysaying. This is work and it’s hard work. The best I can do is tell you the signposts I’ve hacked out of the internal wilderness. They may not be your signposts, but they may help you find your own trail. If you don’t like what I have to say about writing, for heaven’s sake go read something else. The world’s full of writing books, you can certainly find one to your taste. Better yet, write your own goddamn books. But don’t email me with scurrilous ranting and expect me to be impressed. Especially when you can’t goddamn punctuate.

So my work is genre. So what? I don’t mind writing it and a couple people like to read it. That’s good enough for me.

* This baking blog is utter, complete evil. Now I can’t WAIT to bake Red Velvet cupcakes. I only wish I lived closer to the lovely, marvelous person who sent me the link–so I could bombard her with brownies. And cupcakes. Oooh, and the sesame bagels I have to make next.

* I’m 45K into a 75K book. The threads are coming together, the hero is On A Mission, the heroine is tied up and about to be visited by some very nasty characters, including her ex-husband. There will be much suffering and a Big Showdown.

It just doesn’t get any better than this.

But what would I know, eh? I’m a hack.

*snicker*

*snort*