palace of winds

I’m really enjoying the Flaming Lips’ version of “Can’t Get You Out of My Head.”

Last night I made cornbread in my new cast iron skillet. It was gorgeous, both visually and — gustatorially, I guess is the word. It’s sort of an awkward, bulky word for what it means half the time. Anyway. It came out perfectly crusty on the outside and wondefully soft inside, with a fairly good lift. I may try a touch more baking soda next time, or give the eggs a more vigorous whip. I’d also like to try it with the recipe’s preference of buttermilk over yogurt, as I found it just a bit on the tangy side and I’m used to a more mellow cornbread. All in all I count it a definite success, though. As soon as I find out where there’s a good place to get cheap corn flour I’m going to try my hand at rolling my own tortillas.

I also made chili in the crockpot. Luckily chili is about the easiest thing ever to make and nearly impossible to mess up, since I made enough for a small family of elephants. This time around I tossed in green peppers and jalapenos, and corn right at the end, so it had a lovely mix of colors. It was, by virtue of being chili, delicious.

Alex’s baptism went off swimmingly. My sister and her husband bucked Presbyterian tradition and Alex now had two godmothers and a godfather, in addition to the whole congregation (for all it matters with the latter, since they’re still planning to move soon). He didn’t cry at all; he chewed with great concentration on his fist while he was being baptised, practiced making raspberries at the congregation while the pastor carried him around to meet everyone, and fell asleep soon after we returned to our seats for the sermon.

It’s been a very, very long time since I’ve attended a church service (vs a wedding). I’d forgotten how much I like the Presbyterian worldview, compared to all the others I know (Christian, that is). The pastor talked a little about why Presbyterians don’t evangelize, and the language of the baptism was rather nice — the congregation promised to help raise Alex in the church until he’s old enough to make his own informed decision. It’s easy to forget that the judgy/condemny branches of Christianity aren’t the only ones out there; I think Carrie has been my only other reminder these past years.

My pressure cooker is scheduled for delivery today. It is, in fact, out for delivery, according to the UPS website. I am stupidly giddy to give it a test run. Part of me thinks I should enlist Carrie and/or Jonathan to help me since they’re pressure cooker pros by now, but mostly I know I won’t be able to wait. The rule is I’m not allowed to open the box tonight until after I’ve worked out, or it will never happen. I now have only to find and purchase a suitable kitchen scale and my immediate burning need for kitchen equipment will be over. (That is not to say I don’t still desire a great many things — chief among them a specific granite mortar & pestle, and a KitchenAid stand mixer. The former I am putting off as my next treat-to-self after the scale, and the latter I am putting off indefinitely. Unless I happen to find one at an incredible deal, like my knives. Oh my knives. I also need a blender sometime before smoothie weather.)

Okay. Enough of this Monday morning procrastination. I’m working now. Really.