No More Banana Bread, Please (or what to do with your uber-ripe bananas)...Banana Oatmeal Fritter

 So, in church this morning, I found myself pondering how exactly I was going to use the seriously over-ripe and darn-near-soupy bananas that I had cut up and frozen last week in order to stop their march toward sugary rot.

Yes, yes, I know, I should have been paying attention to the priest. I was, I promise! I was totally engrossed in the whole thing right up until the end, when three babies/toddlers around me started wailing and cooing and yelling and I couldn't hear a Pete's-blessed thing... so instead of fuming self-righteously about the lack of parental discipline in church these days, I decided to focus on my banana issues instead.

Banana bread is, of course, an old standby. But I really didn't want to make banana bread--or bananananana bread, as Dimetri Martin might say. I wanted something different.  A blog-friend of my sister's posted an awesome-looking recipe for banana hazelnut scones... but I had too many bananas, and they were way too ripe for individual, non-smooshed chunks in the scones. Plus, I didn't want to do a quadruple recipe and I had no hazelnuts... so that recipe is still on a back burner for now, until I can do it right.

Instead, I found myself pondering my grandma's donut recipe. I thought, "hey, I wonder if I could work bananas into Grandma's recipe?" And then I thought, "I don't want to roll and cut the donuts. It seems like bananas would work better in fritters. If my sister can do it with sweet potatoes, I can surely do it with bananas." And then I thought, "I wonder if I can work oat flour in." Then church was over and I had to wait for a few minutes before I was safely in the car on the way home and could ponder how best to accomplish this banana fritter business.

"I just need to change this, and this, and this," I thought to myself, tapping my hand restlessly on my knee and making my husband nervous. "And add this and this. Oh, and this. And it will be a wet dough, so it will need to chill before I fry it...."

And when I got home, the experimentation began.

I started by creating "oat flour" by pulsing old-fashioned rolled oats in my food processor until it resembled coarse flour--but I intentionally left some haphazard, almost-whole oat chunks in. I mixed the buttermilk in with the oats so that they could hydrate while I mooshed the bananas well with a fork and incorporated their freezer-thaw liquid. Then I added them to the buttermilk/oat flour mix and set it aside for the flavors to percolate.

I prepared the rest of the ingredients and then mixed and tasted, adjusted and added. Once I was satisfied, I put the batter in the fridge to chill for a little while to make it easier to work with when I was ready to fry.

And then came the sacred moment. I reverently broke out one of my most prized possessions-- a deep fryer my grandma had given to me for Christmas a few years before she passed away-- a deep fryer that my mom grew up frying donuts in every fall--a tradition that mom and Grandma kept up with us grandkids-- a deep fryer that we think came to my grandma as a wedding gift way back in 1945... and now, a fully-functioning antique.

When we moved the last time, I had it set aside on the kitchen counter. The movers were sweeping through the kitchen, wrapping up dishes and plates and china. When the packing-man laid his hands on the deep-fryer, I stopped him.

"Be careful with that," I told him. "Everything else you're packing is replaceable. That's not. It's a family heirloom."

He started to laugh, but then could tell from my face that I was serious.  He just nodded and quadruple wrapped it and packed it in a box of its own.

Anyway, it's a big deal to me when I bust out Grandma's fryer.

My first fritter was too big... it was tasty, but raw in the middle. So I sized it down to my smallest disher. I suppose it's probably between one and two tablespoons. I ran another test, cooked it to the far side of golden, and waited for it to cool before I tossed it in cinnamon and sugar. Perfect.

The way the fritters kept disappearing from the "finished" pile before I could count them, I know that Sean felt the same way.

And as an homage to my grandma, who left us just over a year ago, I have decided to actually post the recipe. I know. Incredible, huh?

Here you go... Banana Oatmeal Fritters--Grandma style.

2 cups oat flour
3 cups all purpose flour (plus or minus)
2 tsp baking powder
1/2 tsp soda
1/2 tsp salt
2 tablespoons freshly grated nutmeg
2 cups mashed bananas
1 cup buttermilk
3 eggs
1 cup sugar
1 tbs vanilla
2 tbs vegetable oil

Mix the oat flour, buttermilk, and bananas in small bowl, set aside to hydrate. Mix the rest of the dry ingredients together in another bowl. Meanwhile, beat eggs, sugar, oil, and vanilla together in the bowl of a stand mixer fit with the whisk attachment on high speed until light lemon color and slightly frothy. Switch to the paddle attachment. Alternate adding the dry ingredients and the wet ingredients, starting and ending with the dry flour. It will come together in a wet, sticky dough. When you scoop it with your spatula, it should cling to it, but still drip off veeeeery slowly, in a kind of stretchy way (if that makes any sense). If you're worried it's too wet, add a little more flour.

Put the dough into the fridge to chill for at least 30 mins.

Heat several inches of oil to 375 degrees or so. Prepare cinnamon sugar mixture in a large zip-top bag.

Drop a tablespoon or so of batter into the hot oil (like I said, I used a small disher, ice-cream scoop style). Turn occasionally, fry to the far side of golden. Remove with a strainer or slotted spoon. Let cool on a cookie sheet lined with paper towels and test when cool enough to eat. If it comes out all right, start frying fritters in batches, careful to not overload the oil--let the fritters have space.

When mostly cool, shake in the cinnamon sugar... and enjoy! It should be dense but moist, doughy but cooked, and entirely delicious!

Happy Frickin' Spring

So. It's spring. Yeah, right. Spring is far away somewhere to the south, huddled in a cave, shivering and rocking while she mutters to herself, "the only person who has power over me is me. The only person who has power over me is me. The only person who has power over me is me. Winter can't keep me down! I'm strong! I have power! The only person who has power over me is me." And then she mixes herself another drink and keeps on rocking.

I put a wreath on my door with magnolia blossoms and lavender, trying to force the issue along. Look, it's spring! It can't be winter! I took down the frosted pine boughs and holly berries! Winter has no hold here!

Unfortunately, the issue refuses to be forced. It snowed 8 inches today. 8! But I'm starting to realize that we have awesome neighbors. This morning after Sean left for work, the neighbor on our left "shoveled" our driveway with some sort of electric shovel-slash-snow blower contraption, and he did our walk. Four inches of snow later, our neighbor on the right used his snow blower to do our driveway and shoveled our walk again. I didn't even have to lift a shovel. Considering when I shoveled two weeks ago I was so sore I was walking hunched and bent, I did a little happy dance when I realized what was happening--upstairs, behind closed curtains, so that my neighbors couldn't see and decide they'd never shovel my walk again.

So, nice neighbors or not, winter remains. This weekend I have big plans to drive around town and shake my fist in anger at homes who have yet to take down their pine boughs, Christmas lights, or red-bowed "kissing balls." If that doesn't work, I'm thinking about taking out a hit on Punxsutawney Phil. I'll try to keep you updated on that.

The annual outbreak of spring fever has a record number of victims this year. The infection is nearly palpable. We're desperate here, people. Desperate. Desperate people do desperate things. Like eat cake.

I had grand plans for these cakes. I did. They were going to be magnificent and chic and pretty and Martha Stewart Living-worthy. Lightly Lemon Cake with Almond Cream frosting, they were going to bring a whiff of spring and give winter a sock in the nose and a kick in the arse. Instead, I ended up with "cute." I suppose it's still fine. Cute is better than "hellishly trapped in an endless cycle of winter." Cute can embody "thank you," and "keep up the good work," and "chin up. I know life sucks right now, but eat some cake! It will be better!"

All of those were the goal of these cakes for Sean's team... thank you, keep up the work, chin up. Spring will come. We'll form a ritual circle and eat cake and perform frosting sacrifices until she comes. She WILL come... as soon as she finishes that drink.

Happy Frickin' Spring.

Coffee, Love, and Hope

Just this weekend, I commented to my husband that I feel like the fundraisers are out in force. Our doorbell rang in the evening with a young man selling candybars for...something, I don't even know what. Another boy was selling magazine subscriptions. Young girls and boys on cheer and atheletic teams are standing in busy intersections in the malls, pleading with puppy dog eyes for you to support their team, their club, their association. Cashiers are asking you to buy paper shamrocks or hearts and plastering them on windows and walls in stores.

So, when my sister sent me an email with the subject line "A shameless plea for some help," I sighed and clicked, expecting her to be asking me to buy something for my neice and newphew's school. Instead, she was telling me about something very different.

My sister is an amazing--and amazingly busy--woman. She's a pediatric physical therapist, a mom, a professionally-sponsored cyclist, a coach, a mentor, a sister, a friend, an aunt... and she's deeply connected to her cycling "family".

Last week, a couple members of that family suffered a tragic accident in Hawaii. Mark and Sarah Bender were celebrating their 15th anniversary with a special vacation--they left their four sons at home. On the last day of their trip, they went for one last dip in the ocean, just before they had to go to the airport.

On that last dip in the ocean, Mark had a horrible accident in the surf. In a catastrophic injury, he broke his neck. They rushed him to surgery, and he's currently recovering in ICU at a Hawaiian hospital--he'll be there for at least two weeks before he's stable enough to try and be transferred to a hospital at home.

As of Saturday, Mark had no feeling from his chest down, but Sarah--his wife--sends out regular updates to her friends. This is what she wrote on Sunday:

“Day 4 report…what can I say but wow! Mark said it was a hard day but a good one. After a rough night . . . he started the day tired but ready to tackle whatever he needed to do. His theme verse was Neh. 8:10, “The joy of the Lord is my strength”. . . . The greatest victory of today though has been huge. Everyone sit down….

 

his legs responded to touch. . . Not once but multiple times throughout the afternoon and evening. I don’t know what to say but keep the prayers coming. We are believing that [Mark's] miracle story is just starting.”

Prayer is what she's asking for. I believe in the power of prayer. I also believe that each of us has the power to be the answer to prayer.

Mark and Sarah are parents to four boys, community leaders, active church members, and passionate cyclists. But I can't begin to imagine the challenges that face them. Life is already hard without astronomical medical bills, or having to quit a job, or handling the daily ins-and-outs of life while caring for a family member, or being forced to come to grips with the fact that life will never, ever be the same again.

And while money can't buy happiness, it sure can buy security and blessed relief for a family in need.

I thought for a long while before I decided to post this. I know we all have priorities, and sometimes supporting someone you don't even know isn't high on that list. But then I got to thinking...if this were ME going through this, how uplifting, how overwhelming, how AMAZING would it be to suddenly know that a massive group of family, friends, and strangers banded together to help me--for no other reason than helping someone in need is just the right thing to do? I talk about wanting to make the world a better place. I can't pass up an opportunity to do so when it falls into my lap.

So now (of course), I'm asking you for your help. My sister and her cycling team's sponsors, Doma Coffee Roasting Company and Vertical Earth in Coeur d'Alene, Idaho, are holding a La Bicicletta coffee fundraiser. I'll let my sister's words take it from here:

From today until April 30th, 2013, Team REP, along with the generous support of our team sponsors, Doma Coffee Roasting Company and Vertical Earth, is holding a La Bicicletta coffee fundraiser.

 

All proceeds from every $12.50 bag of coffee we (Team REP and Vertical Earth) sell will go directly to the Bender family.

La Bicicletta was a blend that Doma created for the women’s team of Team REP back in 2008. Proceeds from the sale of this blend, nationwide, have gone to support women’s cycling here in our local community. But because the people at Doma are so FREAKING AWESOME, they are working crazy hard to get this coffee out to y’all, and we are shifting the money to the The Bender family.

Sell it to your neighbors, your friends, your coworkers. Ask them to do the same. [Forward this post, send an email, "Like" this post on your FB page]. Put on a crazy costume and sell it on the corner. Whatever floats your boat (although I assume no responsibility for the corner scenario).

 

 Doma is a locally owned roaster in Coeur d'Alene, Idaho. Owners Rebecca and Terry firmly believe in women and our power to positively affect our families, our workplaces, and our communities. It’s a perfect partnership.

If you want to help, but don't really want coffee, you can go here. The Bender's church has set up a donation page to help them out. If you want to buy coffee, simply go to Doma and click on the Bender Family Fundraiser link.

Some of you reading this are cyclists or know cyclists...what a fun gift for your bike-loving, coffee-drinking friends! Some of you love coffee. Some of you just love doing good.

Regardless of who you are, thank you for taking the time to "listen." We're all in this messy, hard world together... we might as well try to help each other through it.

Amateur Hour

It's been a busy time, folks. Busy enough that I forgot my vow to try to post something every two weeks or so. I took a two week trip around the holidays, so that was excuse #1. Then my day job got a lot busier, so that was excuse #2. There are excuses #3 and #4 too, but the truth of it is that when I wasn't busy, I was just lazy.

And have you ever noticed that when it rains, it pours? I went from having relatively few engagements and obligations to having far too many in a short period of time.

My church set up a committee meeting on Wednesday. No big deal. Then Sean asked me to make a cake for someone that he works with who's retiring, for a meeting on Thursday. Ok, tricky with the church meeting and work, but workable. Then my writer's group meeting (which is always scheduled on the same day every month but which I somehow forgot about) was scheduled for Tuesday night. Ok, starting to get into overload mode here.

And then one of Sean's teammates contacted me on the down-low, because a bunch of executives were going to be in town and they wanted to throw a little surprise bash to celebrate Sean's recent promotion--and they wanted cake. So when they came to the teammate and asked him what kind of cake Sean likes, he asked, "Why don't we just have his wife do it?"

Why not indeed. So I told this plucky teammate that if I could get the day off of work for my regular job, I would be happy to bake cupcakes for 115 people. I got the day off. Sean had no idea.

So I'm booked enough now that I know I need to be careful. I need to be smart. I have a grandiose plan for the retirement cake. It will be stacked, round bottom, square top, chocolate bark on the edges. I figure I'll make the chocolate bark on Monday, not worry about it on Tuesday, and bake the cake on my lunch break and stack and frost it after the church meeting on Wednesday. Then Thursday I'd bake my little tootsies off in the morning and have all the surprise cupcakes delivered by 3:30. Easy-peasy, right?

Well, Monday and the chocolate bark went exactly according to plan. Check.

Tuesday night, I'm leave my writer's group meeting at 8:45 and call my husband. He sounds antsy.

"Is something wrong?" I ask.

"Uuuh, well, maybe. I think I might have made a mistake," he replies.

"A mistake? What mistake?"

"What day did I tell you I needed that cake for?"

Long pause.

".........Thursday. Why?" I ask, squinting my eyes in a "oh, HELL no" look that he can't see over the phone, but I know he can feel. And my voice sounds dangerously icy, even to my own ears.

"Well, um..."

"You need it for tomorrow, don't you?"

"Yeah, I told you the wrong day. But I can just buy something."

"No," I say. "No, it's ok. I promise I'm not upset, or angry. I'll throw something together when I get home. I'll just have to use cake mixes. Will you pull out 8 eggs and three sticks of butter?"

I wasn't as efficient as I could have been when I got home, I admit it. But I took out a vanilla cake mix and a chocolate cake mix, and tweaked them with some added ingredients and substitutions (coffee instead of water in the chocolate cake, for instance), and popped them in the oven to bake. Then I made some coffee buttercream frosting and pulled out my damask cardboard cake rounds and my cake carrier, pulled the cakes out of the oven.... and waited.

And waited.

Even in the fridge, waiting for cake to cool enough before you can frost it is mind-numbingly slow when you're on a timetable and would much rather be in bed. Soon enough the time passed, and I gave both layers a sloppy "homestyle" icing. I broke up the chocolate bark by hand and layered it on the sides of each tier as quickly as I was able. I placed three pieces on top as kind of an artistic statement.

I stepped back.... and I hated it.

"Ugh," I said.

"It looks good," Sean said. "What's the matter?"

"I had much bigger plans," I said. "This just looks like amateur hour to me. I should have done it better! I should have taken more time. The top layer should be smaller. The chocolate should be on better. The icing should be smooth."

"I think it looks fine," Sean said.

"You mean that?" I asked. "It won't bother me if you'd rather go buy something more professional. I'm not going to spend any time trying to fix it."

"I promise," he said. "This is going to be way tastier than something I'd buy at Price Chopper, and it looks better, too. You worry too much."

So, too tired to care, I took a few lousy photos on my phone and boxed it up for transport the next day.

Sean came home and told me that everyone loved the cake--the same team member that recruited me for the cupcake extravaganza on Thursday even sent me a text message to tell me it was awesome. And the guy who was retiring--who was actually a client--sent an email the next day telling the team that he'd miss them and that their best asset was "Sean's wife's baking ability."

And what really cracked me up? People were asking Sean what the flavor was on the cake, because it was just so tasty. Sean, who knew perfectly well that it came out of a red and yellow box with a few tweaks, just gave a little laugh and a shrug and said,

"Well, I know there's something special in there, but I'm not quite sure what it is."

Bless that man.

Unfortunately, I didn't take any photos of the 150 mini cupcakes I made (Mocha, Classic Vanilla, and Red Velvet). Really, once you've seen a few mini cupcakes, you've just about seen them all. But I do have to say--the red velvet ones looked quite smashing with their triangles of stripey chocolate bark. Waste not, want not, my friends.

And Sean never had a clue, until he saw my pink bakery boxes on the table and his team announced that I brought the cupcakes.

He called me afterwards.

"So, did you enjoy your day off?" he asked.

"Why yes. Yes, I did."

Cookies and Wreaths! It's Christmas time!!

Ah, Christmas. The time of year for family and friends to come together, share good food, fun, and cheer--and for people to stress the heck out right before everyone comes together to share good food, fun, and cheer.

I've mentioned several times that Sean and I have moved a lot  over the past 6 years or so. This seems to have an adverse impact on the amount of time we spend decorating. When we moved to Alaska we knew it was temporary, so we only brought up our tree and left our tubs and tubs of Christmas decorations in storage.

When we moved to our renovated loft apartment in New York, We put up the tree and a few knick-knacks here and there...but neither of us felt like trying to rent or buy a ladder to hang garlands, and there wasn't much surface area for porcelain Christmas villages and stuffed snowmen and the like, so we just let it go.

At THIS house, though, I was full of plans and dreams. We got our tree up around the first weekend in December. I put a wreath on the door. When my mom shipped me a better wreath, I put that one on the door instead, with plans to put the matching garland up. I went to Michaels and bought some new stuff.

And..... nothing's up. And now we're faced with the fact that we really only have about one week left before we take off to visit family and come back in January. So... the odds of it happening are slim now.

BUT. I blame my lack of decorating on another Christmas tradition. Baking. It's becoming somewhat of a tradition that Sean brings in baked goodie boxes for his team. And I, like a fool, cheerfully volunteer each year. So, this year for his 10-person team, I made this salted chocolate toffee pretzel bark (which is freaking amazing and amazingly simple), peppermint bark (also amazingly simple), spiced rum balls, cut gingerbread cookies, and --by their one request-- red velvet whoopie pies.

And of course I didn't remember to take pictures of any of it until literally everything was all boxed up and all that was left were these "reject" gingerbread cookies. And I want to get something straight... these snowflake cookies look all pretty and I'm proud of them and they were dang tasty...but they were also a ROYAL pain in the keister. Each of those arrow-head holes is made one-by-one with a cutter. So yes.  If you're feeling particularly artsy--by all means! Be my guest! If you're trying to mass-produce an insane number of cookies for 10 treat boxes, you may wish to stick with the smaller flakes or choose a different shape. And your husband might want to go grab you a beer after he hears you muttering in frustration when the dang itty bitty triangle jams up with gingerbread again. And that's before you even frost the suckers. He might want to bust out the vodka for you on that one.

Speaking of frosting, I don't really like royal icing. I think it's gritty and has a strange bitter sort of taste to it. However, I really wanted something with a fluid enough consistency that it could drip through the cracks of the snowflake, and I wanted it to have the side benefit of being hard or crusted. I had plans of piping each cookie with buttercream, but it only took me about three cookie cut-outs to realize that was never going to happen.

I stumbled upon this recipe for glaze, and I tweaked it a bit. I'm sure it's tasty just the way it is in the link, but I added an egg white (even though I don't like it in royal icing) in order to make the glaze crust faster, and then I also added more water until it reached the consistency I wanted. Then I just dipped and flipped the cookies and set them on racks to dry.

       For the glaze:
           1 lb of powdered sugar
           1/4 cup light corn syrup
           1/4 cup water, give or take for your desired consistency
           1 egg white
           Vanilla/almond/lemon/orange/mint extract--whatever you prefer
           Coloring gel, if desired

Basically, add everything together in a stand mixer fitted with the paddle attachment. Start with a lesser amount of water and add more by the tablespoonful until the desired consistency is reached. If you want multiple colors from your glaze, divide it out into separate containers to color. Pipe, dip and flip, or pour the glaze. Et voila!

And then, as though 10 treat boxes weren't enough, Sean volunteered me to make a dessert for a holiday potluck party at his office. Granted, he knows that it's a pretty safe thing to volunteer me for--and everyone pretty much expects/hopes for a dessert from me anyway.

I wanted something classy that didn't require a TON of effort, so I decided to go with a variation of the winter wreath that can be found in the popular cookbook What's Up, Cupcake? Simply melt some white chips, white melties, or white vanilla-flavored candy coating and use your finger to smooth it on mint leaves. Set the leaves aside on a wax paper-lined cookie sheet and put in the fridge for a few minutes, until set. Slowly and carefully remove the mint leaves from the chocolate. If the chocolate isn't too hot when you slather it on and if you're careful when you peel back the leaves from the chocolate, you can use the leaves to make multiple chocolate molds.

The wreath above is actually two rows of mini cupcakes, but you can do it with regular sized cupcakes. And to tell you the truth, I really ought to have more leaves, but I was too lazy and decided to leave well enough alone. Use M&Ms, Cadbury Holiday Chocolates (pictured), or other candies for the red berries. The wreath also looks pretty with a ribbon or fondant bow.

By the way, this post took me nearly three days to write because, you know, all the stressing. And the baking, and the packing, and the cleaning, and the shopping, and the dog trimming. Maybe that last one is just me.

Merry Christmas, and happy baking!

A-touristing we shall go....

Touristing with Sean and I really ought to come with some sort of warning label.

"CAUTION: Touristing with this couple may cause your feet to fall off."

Or maybe, "WARNING: Proceed with tourist activities with Sean and Jillian at your own risk."

Or, "DANGER: These two individuals are not your standard tourists. If you have any injuries which may preclude you from running a marathon, the Surgeon General of the United States advises against proceeding further."

Sean's friend flew out from Phoenix, and we met him in Washington D.C. for a long weekend (yes, it was a long jaunt for him, but Southwest Airlines fare sales are not to be ignored). 

Now, Jeff is no fool. He visited us in Japan when we lived there, and we warned him to bring his most comfortable shoes because we were going to be walking to the back of beyond--and back again.  He kind of grinned at this statement at first, but dag gum it...we walked that grin right off his face.

The Washington Monument. Smithsonian Castle on the left.

I've gained quite a bit of weight since returning from Japan, but because of the wonder that is Crocs (no, not the fugly ones that look like clogs--and "fugly" is not a typo, don't ask me to explain it--but the cute ones that look like mary janes or ballet flats or sandals), I can still pull off 6-10 mile days without too much pain. Or so I thought. I always bring my two most comfortable pairs of walking shoes, which fit differently. That way, if one rubs me and gives me blisters on one day, I switch it out to the other pair the next to give myself a break--or sometimes I carry the secondary pair with me. And I always load up on a bunch of band-aids and pass them out like candy to everyone in our party.

We met up with a friend of mine who lives in DC and had a relatively easy first evening. We probably only logged 4-5 miles. It would have been less, but we got off at the wrong metro stop. We viewed the Washington Monument and the Capitol at sunset on the way to the hotel, and then in full dark on our walk back to meet with my friend. 

The Capitol Building

The next day.... well, the next day felt fairly epic. Being in DC on Veteran's Day is an experience in and of itself. We started out in Arlington National Cemetery and walked as far as we could, even though the whole place was on relative lockdown due to Secret Service security before the President came to lay a wreath at the  Tomb of the Unknown Soldiers. We looked at the crowds gathering to take the shuttle up to the Tomb and decided that as cool as it would be to see the President at the ceremony, we didn't feel like being jammed in with 5,000 of our closest friends for nearly 3 hours for a 20-minute ceremony. Instead, we walked as far as they would let us before we felt moderately intimidated by an MP squad of Marines in full dress blues. 

Arlington National Cemetery

Then we walked back down through Arlington and crossed the bridge to the National Mall and Mr. Abe Lincoln himself. Right about then is when we saw the Presidential Motorcade whipping through the streets. We were talking about it later, and it really probably would have been cheaper to have the President come in on Marine One rather than shutting down the motorcade route and pulling the Marines, the Police, and the Secret Service into the mix, but then we realized there's really nowhere in Arlington to land a helicopter. 

We took in the crowds around the Vietnam Wall and decided to hit it later, then squeezed in to see Lincoln with our fellow patriots. Sean had gone for a six-mile run around the Mall in the morning around dawn, and he convinced us that doing the Mall and the Tidal Basin at dawn meant that we'd be sharing the monuments with four of our closest friends, not 4000. Not being a morning person, I really didn't want to consider the dawn jaunt...but then Sean showed me some pictures on his phone from the run, and I decided he was right.

Washington Monument at dawn 

Washington Monument pre-dawn

So, we trekked to the nearest metro station--which happened to be named Foggy Bottom, isn't that cool?--about two miles away, to meet up with my friend again in Friendship Heights for lunch. After another long walk from the metro station, it's a darn good thing Pete's New Haven Style Pizza was as tasty as Kirstin promised. At this point, we're about 5 miles into our day.

And then the conversation went something like this:

Sean - "How far away is the zoo from here?"

Kirstin - "Close-ish. Just a couple of metro stops. Did you want to walk, or take the metro?"

Sean - "I'm always up for walking. Let's walk."

Jeff and I exchange loaded looks of foreboding and doom. 

Somewhat reassured by Kirstin's statement that the zoo was "just down the hill," we began trekking in the general direction. Kirstin kept us moving on mostly level or downhill areas, so that was good. And she took us through some really scenic neighborhood. But one and a half miles in, I was starting to wonder just how far "down the hill" is. And then we came to another metro station, and the conversation again went something like this: 

Kirstin - "Do you guys want to keep walking, or take the metro?"

Sean - "How far away is it?"

Kirstin - "The entrance is between two metro stops, so it depends on which one you want to go to. So just one or two more stops. It's close-ish."

Sean, after looking at Jeff and I - "Let's walk."

Jeff and I  shift painfully from foot to foot and exchange glances of foreboding and doom.

A mile later, and Kirstin says we're "close-ish." By this time, we're starting to razz her. We figure our breakdown in communication lies in our relative understanding of the distance between metro stops. Sean and I--being used to NYC subways--figured two stops would be something like a mile, maybe a mile and half. Not three. One mile = close-ish. Three miles = take the metro.

And by now, Jeff is lagging a bit but trying not to show it. I'm lagging a bit and trying not to show it, but Sean must have a radar, because he drops back to ask me how I'm doing. At this point, my right foot is radiating pain into my toes, and the pad of the foot feels like I'm walking on bone, not muscle and skin. 

Tien Tien, the male panda

"I'm mostly fine," I say, "but do you have any Advil in your bag?" He doesn't. I say that it's fine, I'll power through anyway. But another block down, and the pain is excruciating. I went from legitimately being "mostly fine" to feeling like I have to amputate my foot. Luckily, there's a Walgreens, so I go in and buy some pills and a soda and dope myself up. I never dope up on pain meds of any kind, so that in itself is a signal of severity.

Then it's half a mile to the zoo. Then it's walking around and around the zoo. I'm trying not to limp. For whatever reason, it's just my right foot. Sean swears he's a little sore, too, but ironically he's doing the best out of all of us--even after his 6 mile run. Jeff is starting to sit down on any benches that present themselves when it appears that we're going to be stationary for more than 30 seconds. I'm afraid to sit down, because I don't know if I'll make it back up.

We finally call it quits in the zoo and hike back up the hill. Jeff suggests eating at the frozen yogurt place across from the entrance. I don't think anyone was very hungry, but I readily agree because I. am. in. so. much. friggin'. pain. 

Washed-out White House

We take our time at the yogurt shop and end up sitting for close to 40 minutes. At this point, we're on mile 9 or so. The pills are kicking in and the sitting has done me good, so when we get up, I'm the one that suggests we walk to the White House. I ignore Jeff's look of foreboding and doom. 

Half a mile down the road, and I'm fantasizing about chewing off my foot at the ankle. But I'm the one that suggested this trek, so I'm gonna suffer in silence, dammit. We make it to the White House and "ooh" and "ahh," then make our way back to the Mall. We stop in at a Cosi for coffee and the bathrooms, and Jeff again sacks out on a chair. After limping back from washing my hands, I join him. Sean is already there.

Coffees in hand, we head back out to the Mall. We walk down the length--which is pretty long on its own. We hit the Vietnam Wall, and I don't even want to walk the length of it--I say it's dark and I've seen it before, but the truth is, I'm still fantasizing about cutting off my foot. We're on mile 10, easy. Possibly even 12.

Washington Monument at dark

Then we cruise over to Lincoln and see him again at night from a distance, and take some awesome pictures of the Washington Monument. This is when Sean starts saying that it's really worth it to come in at dawn, and I'm starting to believe him, just because I don't want to walk the rest of the way. Then Jeff says that he's game to walk it all tonight AND tomorrow if we want to... he'll be fine.

So we cruise on over to the Korean War Memorial, then across the street to the Tidal Basin to peek in on MLK. We stop at the restrooms, and Jeff sacks out on a bench. It's obvious that he's in a lot of pain, and I'm cycling in and out of it. In the restroom, I tell Kirstin that I think we need to cut it short and find out where to eat dinner. When we get outside, Sean and I do one of those silent communication things that only married people on the same wavelength can pull off, and he agrees. So, we go see MLK since he's right there. As we're walking, I realize that I'm doing this as much for me as for Jeff, because dammit, pain is not supposed to spike up my toes like this. 

We see MLK and accidentally photo bomb some people, then head back to the far side of the Mall to try and find dinner. Halfway through, we give up and try to find a taxi. We finally find one, ask the driver to drop us off at a usually busy intersection, and when we get to the intersection to find food.....everything is closed. Sunday night off the Mall on Veteran's Day, and not an open eatery to be found--for under $60/plate. So we walk for four more blocks before we dive into an open joint. It's not even 7:30, but it feels like midnight. Jeff is dead on his feet, and just wants to go to bed. He encourages us to stay out, but none of us want to, either. As much pain as I'm in, I'm somewhat used to it. If he's on Phoenix time and just wants to go to bed, I know he's in serious pain.

So, though the metro stop is legitimately close (the joke of the weekend became adding "-ish" to the end of words to sarcastically indicate the opposite... "close-ish" for really far, "fun-ish" for misery, etc.), we hail the first cab we can find and ride it back to the hotel. We rationalize that splitting the cab fare three ways actually ends up cheaper than three metro tickets. 

Jeff heads up to the room immediately while Sean and I stop in the sundry shop for something sweet and some drinks. By the time we get up to the room, he's ready for bed and just waiting to climb in. 8:30 PM in Washington DC, and he's out like a light. 

Washington Monument at dawn, day 2

I end up being awake the longest. I beat both of the boys by more than an hour, and am ironically the second one up before dawn--Sean, of course, was first. We take a cab back down to Lincoln and walk the mall at dawn. I just have to get out of the car and see the sun starting to rise, the empty mall, and smell the fresh air to think, "this is so worth it."

So anyway, you're getting the point, I'm sure. We walk Lincoln and Korea and MLK and FDR and Jefferson and back to our hotel. And after Jefferson, it's becoming obvious that my right foot is fine, but now my left foot is spiking pain. But I say that walking back to the hotel is fine, even though we're already on two miles, and it's at least two miles back. I tough it out because it's a gorgeous day, but by the time we get back to the hotel, I can't hide my limp. 

So after all this walking, and the laps we did of Union Station and the Baltimore airport, when I was no longer trying to hide the fact that I was in pain... I'm feeling pretty low about myself that I'm wussing out after all this walking.

Jefferson Memorial at dawn on the Tidal Basin

Tidal Basin at dawn

Well, it turns out it's a legit problem, and not just because I'm out of shape. Apparently there's some sort of nerve bundle in that part of my foot that might need some form of surgery--so good news that I'm not just a wuss, but bad news on the whole nerve bundle thing.

Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. Memorial at dawn

Kirstin texted me that she could feel all of our trekking in her hip the next day--and we were 5 miles in before we met up with her.  Jeff was still recuperating himself. He spent a good deal of time rubbing his knee. The only person that appeared mostly unscathed was Sean. Of course. 

In fact, he just came to say goodnight, and peeked over my shoulder.

"You have me intrigued by your warnings at the top," he said.

"Yeah, I figured they're pretty accurate," I replied.

"Did you tell them about 'close-ish'?" he asked.

"Yeah, I did," I said.

"What about Marriott coffee?" 

I shuddered. "No, I didn't tell them about Marriott coffee. The post is getting really long, and besides.... it's not supposed to be a horror story."

He laughed. "True. Are you coming up to bed?"

"Soon-ish," I say.

OMG! That's an iPhone cake? LOL!

A couple of months ago, a friend at work sent me a link to a picture she had found on Pinterest (believe it or not, I have never been on Pinterest. I also don't have a Twitter account, and I barely check my Facebook. Oh, and I still don't know what tumblr is. Yeah. I guess I'm "lame" like that). It was a bunch of cute-as-a-button iPhone cupcakes, arranged in a grid against a patterned background to suggest it was the screen of an iPhone, and each cupcake was a little app. If such technology could be cute, it was cute.

So that got me thinking that I wanted to do an iPhone cake for Sean's birthday. I looked online and googled iPhone cake images, and I was disappointed in the number of cakes that used edible paper and food-grade ink to just print the iPhone screen and lay it on top of fondant. I mean, I could rally on about how such cakes don't use artistry or skill, but really, it was more the fact that I don't have one of those printers, edible paper, or food-grade ink. So I totally couldn't do that even if I wanted to. Which I didn't. Even though it would be easier and more accurate than hand-shaped apps. Meh. Actually, I'm kind of glad that I don't have edible paper and food-grade ink. I might have caved to temptation.

I did find a couple that made little app buttons out of fondant, so I knew there was hope.

The truth of the matter, though, is that after a week of intense baking and my day job (not to mention that it was also a week of intense baking failures), I had kind of lost all enthusiasm for baking the cake. In fact, I might have backed out if I hadn't already sneakily arranged for Sean to be booked in a "meeting" at work with his team so that I could pounce on him with the cake and embarrass him with an off-tune chorus of "Happy Birthday".

For once, I used regular rolled fondant instead of making my own marshmallow fondant. I just didn't have the gumption. Because I work from home, I was able to make the cake and have it done and cleaned up before Sean got home--but only because it was a slow day at work.

And man alive...I honestly feel like this is my favorite cake to date. Really. I love it. First cake that I didn't want anyone to cut.

Cool, right? So cool, it's like I wasn't even the one to make it. It's got the Settings app cog wheel! Maps app! The Safari compass! Volume buttons on the side, the headphone jack and switch on top, and the charging point on the bottom! C'mon... if you have an iPhone, please tell me you can recognize a lot of these!

Oh, sure. There are things I would do differently. I would make the background a lighter color of grey. I would use less water to clean the powdered sugar off the fondant so that it wasn't so shiny (though it WAS less shiny after chilling out all night. These photos were taken approximately 30 seconds after completion).

And Sean was surprised, so that part of it was a success. He figured something might be going on when his team asked him to come into the meeting, but he didn't expect me there, or the iPhone cake of Awesomeness.

He gawked at it for a little bit, afraid to cut it--and gawking was fine, because everyone was crowding in to get pictures before it was destroyed.

"Well," he said, once he finally took the plunge, "at least it makes for good portion control. Who wants what app?"

(I got the photo album sunflower.)

I wonder if there's a niche market just for iPhone cakes...