in heaven there is no beer

Man, the Aussies sure like their jugs of Cooper's.

green onion pancakes

I just found them on the fairway.  If I have to be rolled home next week, that'd be why. 

dinner with friends

On Wednesday we had a light supper and put the baby to bed and then drank wine on the roof and talked until it was too dark to see each others' faces. This is the good stuff.

(And, hello, summer!)

you always remember your first time

I was searching for something else in my inbox and found this in a message I wrote to Ida four years ago:

Last night there was a terrible accident with buttercream.

Which also means I made some, for the first time ever, and it's wicked awesome. When I started beating in the butter it got grainy, and then smoothed out nicely... and then dissolved into this spongey mush of buttered sugar floating in slimy eggwhite: So. Totally. Gross. I vaguely remembered a recipe that said "Keep beating! It'll smooth out!" and of course I thought that I'd be the one exception and it would never ever work for me, but the clouds parted and all of a sudden it emulsified (emulsed?) into a perfectly smooth cream in this amazing moment of culinary drama. I recommend it.

I tried to figure out how many pounds of buttercream I've made since then but when it comes to butter I go all Watership Down and can't count past four (which happens to be the number of different flavors of leftover buttercream in my freezer right now).

my other new favorite thing

The inimitable RKatz offhandedly asked if I listened to the American Theatre Wing's "Downstage Center" podcasts. I do now, and you should, too. I'm very proud of what I do as a fringe theater actor in the Northwest, but the opportunity to listen to real, live career artists ("What are those, Mommy?") discuss the craft is not to be missed. 

Of particular note: James Earl Jones on the value of education, the "delusion" of race, not being an activist, and how annoying it is that film actors play entire roles off-voice for effect. (Of a talented actor playing an American president on TV, "He whispers. Too. Fucking. Much.")

for spacious skies

Basil just introduced me to my new favorite thing.

I got the Hem album "Funnel Cloud" last night and listened to it on repeat for four hours. (I'm sure my neighbors enjoyed it as much as I did.) It's sort of bluesy alt-country via Tin Pan Alley -- Rodgers & Hart clearly gave Great American Houses of New York and Almost Home a little smooch -- and it's the sweetest little slice of Americana I've ever heard. In celebration of this great nation, I plan on acquiring and devouring the rest of the discography as soon as possible.

(Thanks, Bas!)