(no subject)

So it's just past 1:30 AM. I had fallen asleep early tonight, after a really long day full of ashes and staircases and painful decisions, then I got a brief late-night phone call and couldn't get back to sleep.

The contents of the fridge were a little smokey, but still mostly OK. The orange juice has a bit of an unusual tang to it and I'll have to make sure to wash any produce off especially carefully, but overall it's not so bad. Roommate and I transferred the contents of the fridge from our old place to our respective hotel room fridges -- we've got separate rooms now, each with a kitchenette and a lounge area, like a very large, very pleasantly appointed studio apartment. well, the kitchenette only has two electric coil burners and no stove, but it will have to do and is a damn sight better than nothing.

I'm seized with the ridiculous urge to cook at 1:30 AM. I don't have much, but I could whip together some butternut squash soup (I salvaged my blender, which needs a good wash but seems otherwise intact. The kitchen is at the rear of the apt and was the least damaged of any room -- were the blender in the office, it would have been a total write-off), or some orange-and-ginger-glazed carrots and asparagus, or some rice noodles in a chorizo and spinach cream sauce, or some sour turnip cakes with a french-fried onion crust, or a gluten-free pasta salad with hearts of palm and artichoke and a balsamic mustard vinaigrette, or southern-fried pork chops with an acorn squash and apple salad, or a steak with rosemary-mushroom pilaf -- wait, no, I had to throw out all the rice. Well, maybe a cold mushroom salad and a peach glaze for the steak, or turnip-and-pea mash with parmesan cheese? I dunno. I seem to be developing a gut lately and eating this late probably isn't helping, and though I've been trying to watch what I eat, that's pretty much gone out the window this last week.

And yet. My mind is whirring and I really want to cook. Psychologically, that's very interesting.

Also, goddamn I'm hungry now. In part I blame skzbrust. I've been rereading his Vlad Taltos novels these last few days (I am very wicked, because I've been reading PDF versions of his books that I acquired from the interwebs, though I feel like I should take pains to point out that I own dead-tree versions of all of them as well, which are currently outside of my reach through no choice of my own and I'm much rather be reading them but, you know, big ol' fire, and if you're reading this skzbrust I really enjoyed Cowboy Feng's quite a bit) and he uses delicious-sounding food in those books so very often that they keep me in a state more or less constant ravenousness. Is ravenousness a word? I don't know.

This stream of consciousness brain vomit brought to you by stress, exhaustion, and (just now) coffee dosed with honey, cinammon, allspice and nutmeg.

(no subject)

Instead of cooking and possibly disturbing my neighbors, I ended up putting together a small snack plate built around a tour of the Continent: From France, a pair of French cheeses (a nice crumbly Roquefort and an inoffensive Tomme de Savoie, which was harmless and serviceable but which just couldn't hold up against the rest of the strong flavours on the plate, and was probably a mistake -- I should have gone for the feta or the chevre) and some thick slices of a juicy red pear. From Spain, some membrillo (a quince paste, in this case with a delicious honey finish), half a link of chorizo sausage and a half-dozen boquerones (a kind of lightly pickled, herb-marinated anchovy filet). From Italy, two kinds of capers -- salt-packed and oil-packed, and from Portugal a small glass of ruby port. Oh, and some hearts of palm from Costa Rica, which didn't fit with the Continental theme but I really wanted some for the texture and palate-cleansing mouthfeel.

I also ate a clove of garlic, because I don't have anyone to care about my breath.

Now I shall finish reading this novel, then take a sleeping pill and drug myself into what is hopefully a dreamless sleep. I do not like the dreams I've been having lately.

(no subject)

Mmmm. Spinach and chorizo alfredo sauce over some corn fusili. Pasta wasn't very good, but the sauce I made was brilliant. Couldn't eat but two servings of it because of how rich it was, but leftovers will undoubtedly be delicious as well.

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(no subject)

So there's this new action/adventure TV show, Human Target, starring Mark Valley and based on a comic book. The show itself is pretty damn cheesy and the writing is clumsy as well, but there are a couple of things that stand out. One is the investigator sidekick character, Guerrero, who is an entertainingly awful human being ("If you attack, me, I'll fight back... OK, that's an exaggeration. I'll take the beating, then in a few nights I'll come to your house and kill you and your whole family in your sleep."). The other is the fight choreography, at least in the premiere episode. It's reasonably original, and really quite well done. I mean it's by no stretch realistic, but it's much better than the standard lazy 3/2/3 or 2/1/2 pattern crap you normally see.

Also, so nice to see so many Battlestar Galactica alums getting regular work.