5/26/2011

By popular demand: peanut-soup recipe

My sweet-potato-and-peanut soup recipe became a topic of conversation at Swancon, and several people expressed a desire for it. I can't honestly remember whether I've posted it on this blog before, but it is tasty enough to bear repeating. Here, then, for all who take an interest in such things, it is:

SWEET POTATO AND PEANUT SOUP
(all disclaimers apply and your mileage may vary)
  • Two large or three medium sweet potatoes
  • 2 tablespoons cooking or olive oil
  • 1 tablespoon chopped garlic
  • 1 tablespoon chopped or grated ginger
  • 1/2 onion, chopped fairly finely but don't get too obsessive
  • 1 teaspoon cumin (crucial!!!)
  • 1 teaspoon turmeric
  • 1/2 teaspoon paprika
  • 1/2 teaspoon ground coriander SEED (optional, but it must be seed, not leaf)
  • 1/4 teaspoon chilli powder or one chopped fresh chilli (more, less, or none as you prefer)
  • 1 cup (aka a few really generous and slapdash big spoonsful) crunchy peanut butter
  • 1 can (big or small, as you prefer, but big is better) coconut CREAM (not milk!)
  • 1/2 cup brown sugar or honey (although if I'M making it, I double this amount)
  • some water or stock to thin the soup as needed
  • salt and black pepper to taste

Roast or microwave the sweet potatoes until they're soft right through (indulge your taste for horror and impale them with a skewer or knife to check). When they're done, leave them aside to cool (you'll thank me during the next step).

When the sweet potatoes are cool, or at least not dangerously hot, cut them open and scoop out the guts (more culinary horror here) into a bowl. Then mash them roughly, as you would for mashed potatoes. Me, I like to leave some lumps in. If you make it really pureed like baby food, it's, well, kind of disgusting. Like baby food.

Heat a large saucepan, with the heat set to "energetic and enthusiastic" (but not "enraged"). Add the oil. When that's hot as well, chuck in the onion, garlic, ginger, chilli, and spices, and cook them up for a few minutes (until the onion bits are soft, but stop before the garlic starts to get brown). Turn the heat down to "calm and reposed" (but not "limp and exhausted").

Chuck in the mashed sweet potatoes, the coconut cream, the peanut butter, and the brown sugar (or honey). Stir everything around for a while until it looks like one thing, not ten things. If it's too thick for your liking, add some water or stock.

Check whether it needs salt (it probably will; start with a quarter teaspoon and work from there) and/or pepper.

When it's steaming hot (but not necessarily boiling), you can eat.

In its slightly thicker form, this soup makes a wonderful sauce over couscous or rice and steamed veggies. I've also made variations where I chuck in a ton of macadamia nuts. Mmm, macadamias....

Eat well! And don't take these ingredients or proportions as gospel. I certainly don't. I just chuck stuff in a pot and hope for the best.

Source for this recipe: my own odd brain.

5/25/2011

Why all writers should make bread

Today's bread-making will eventually result (I am optimistic) in apricot-hazelnut naan and apple-cinnamon naan. It occurred to me while I was getting the preparations underway that bread-making is one of the very best things for writers to do.
  1. It can be done as breaks in the writing day. Invest 15 minutes at the start, then go away and write for a couple of hours. Then shape the loaves and go away again, then bake them and go away while they're baking, then let them rest and cool (and they don't need you there for that, either). At each step there's a nice break for more writing, and the only time you have to actually pay attention is when the bread is the oven. And even then you only have to be half-aware, because the smell of bread when it's nearly done would rouse the dead, and even bring you out of your current opus in time to rescue it. (Of course, this assumes you're fortunate enough to occasionally be able to devote large blocks of time to writing. I sincerely wish such Good Things for you.)

  2. It's a whole lot simpler than it appears. The only things you need to really be careful about are (1) making sure the water is neither too hot nor too cold; (2) making sure the yeast was purchased sometime in the last year or so (I keep mine in the freezer so it stays oomphy for longer — don't judge me, man!); (3) if you're using whole-wheat or other not-quite-as-glutenous-as-they-could-be flours, making sure you mix them with white flour (unless you're actually wanting to bake a weapon); and (4) giving the dough plenty of time for rising.

  3. It's all old-timey and historical. It connects you with all those humans who have been making bread since the dawn of civilization. Writers need to be connected with the rest of humanity; it's good for sales.

  4. It feeds you properly. Your own bread is going to be fresh and simple and tasty, with nothing in it that you don't know about.

  5. It's cheaper than store-bought. I don't need to tell you how attractive that feature is to writers.

  6. It's the coolest science and the weirdest magic you can imagine. Think up something as amazing as bread, and you'll win that Hugo you've been fancying.

Now go! Go, and make bread!

Towel Day AND Geek Pride Day

I'm not a particularly rabid fan of The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, but I'm fan enough to enjoy the fact that it's Towel Day. Nothing wrong with being prepared and festive at the same time, I always say. (Not to mention that it's a gesture of appreciation for a fabulously imaginative and apparently very-nice-guy author who has brought joy to millions all over the known universe.)

I'm also intrigued to find out that there's such a thing as Geek Pride Day, and that it's also today. Someone (Wikipedia is less than clear on exactly who, surprise surprise) has come up with a Geek Manifesto, which I quote here as it is found on the Wikipedia page:
Rights:
  1. The right to be even geekier.
  2. The right to not leave your house.
  3. The right to not like football or any other sport.
  4. The right to associate with other nerds.
  5. The right to have few friends (or none at all).
  6. The right to have as many geeky friends as you want.
  7. The right to be out of style.
  8. The right to be overweight and near-sighted.
  9. The right to show off your geekiness.
  10. The right to take over the world.
Responsibilities:
  1. Be a geek, no matter what.
  2. Try to be nerdier than anyone else.
  3. If there is a discussion about something geeky, you must give your opinion.
  4. To save and protect all geeky material.
  5. Do everything you can to show off geeky stuff as a "museum of geekiness."
  6. Don't be a generalized geek. You must specialize in something.
  7. Attend every nerdy movie on opening night and buy every geeky book before anyone else.
  8. Wait in line on every opening night. If you can go in costume or at least with a related T-shirt, all the better.
  9. Don’t waste your time on anything not related to geekdom.
  10. Try to take over the world!
Not sure I'm in complete solidarity with all of these: while trying to take over the world is a self-evident provision, trying to be nerdier than anyone else is a bit anti-geek, in my opinion. If you have to try to be a geek, you don't get it. However, as a whole, I think the document can stand as a beacon for us all.

Get your geek on, hoopy froods all! And don't forget your towel.

5/20/2011

A little story by Kipling you might like

In the course of my research, I stumbled across a little story by the fabulous Rudyard Kipling. It's called "The Ship that Found Herself", and I found it intriguing for several reasons.

1. It's a genre-buster, which, as you probably know, makes it of particular interest to me: it's sort of a sea adventure, sort of a humor piece, sort of a fantasy, and DEFINITELY strongly within the steampunk realm.

2. The plot is very, very subtly done — so subtly, you find you are riveted to it (that's actually self-referential, which you will see when you read the story) without quite knowing why. Then you get to the end, which reveals itself to be a very satisfying ending indeed. A highly useful case study in plotting.

3. Kipling was a wickedly funny writer when he was in the mood. There are grins aplenty here. (At least, I found it funny.)

4. It's by no means one of Kipling's most famous stories — even so, I find I enjoy it at least as much as several of the (much more famous) ones in the Jungle Books (first and second). I feel compelled by loyalty and honesty to add, however, that the Jungle Books as a whole are amongst my very favorite things I've ever read in my whole entire life, I love them completely, and I will not hear a word against them.

It's a cause simultaneously for rejoicing and despair that there are so many, many little gems like this out there — joy because of the discoveries that await; despair because we only have so long to get to them, and there are more every minute, and we'll never, ever be able to read them all, no, never! *sob*

5/15/2011

Choices

I am acquainted with a particular mantra: "Happiness is a choice." Frankly, I think it's crap. Happiness is a complex and elusive thing, and (dare I say it) worrying about being happy is just about the biggest waste of time I can think of. Happiness is not a choice; it's a side-effect of doing what's right and brave and good and loving. Chase after happiness, instead of focusing on honor and courage and goodness and love, and all you get is out of breath. And even more miserable than you were before.

However, many things legitimately are choices, in my opinion. One of them is how you look at the things that happen to you. Within rational limits, you do have a choice of whether you look at the ups and downs of your life as good or bad things. This is in no way to be construed as saying you should chirp fatuously about genuine pain and crisis, and how they are lovely opportunities for personal growth, gosh, you bet! Some things just plain hurt, and hurt bad, and that pain needs to be respected, not belittled or waved away. But for a lot of the daily things, you can choose. And it is important what choice you make.

Here's an example. Today I almost, a-l-m-o-s-t got a story accepted by a market I've wanted for years to crack. They really liked the story; they even asked me to send them another. Upon reading the email, I had a few choices for what I could think:
  • Damn. Rejected AGAIN. Damn, damn, damn. I'm humiliated and I suck.
  • Oh, well. At least they gave me some positive feedback. *sigh*
  • Woo-hoo! That was really close! Progress! Now I know more about what this market wants! Woo-hoo! And I definitely don't suck!
Guess which one is going to not only help me cope, but keep me writing — and writing better and better. Just guess. Uh-huh.

5/02/2011

Not a con report

This is not a con report. It's a thank-you to everyone who contributed to making my time in Perth so incredibly cool.

First, my family in Bunbury: you completely rock, every last one of you. Shout-out to the Fabulous Tornado Child: stay strong, little buddy, and be true to yourself! Rock and roll! Yeah, baby!

My family at home, who managed to be okay with my trotting off and having fun without them for a couple of weeks.

My fantastic Perth hosts and longtime friends Luca, Bernadette, Sam, and their sedate little dog Jacqui.

My legendary supervisor/advisor, Van Ikin, who is entirely generous and more than happy to spend his days helping other people (like me) achieve their dreams.

Ben and the cheerful, welcoming folks at the University of Western Australia fencing club. Any week with fencing in it is a good week. Thanks for helping me get my fix.

The people on the Swancon committee: you created a time-and-space bubble in which a lot of people could be happy and enthusiastic and just as geeky as they wanted to be (including a couple of furries who stalked around the hotel lobby on all fours). That's a good work. An important work.

My friend David, who went to church with me for the Easter Vigil, bought me beer (not at the same time, though), and just generally was an all-around good person to hang out with. Look forward to seeing you again soon! (And thanks to the Archdiocese of Perth, whose parishes and pastors made Holy Week a sacred time for me and thousands of others.)

The larger-than-life Dirk Flinthart, whom I thank effusively for his company, his perspectives, his princely gift of a pennywhistle in my hour of need, and his eagerness to discuss everything from obscure food items to metaphysics to the Icelandic cow that licked the world into shape (arguably something that could fit into both the preceding categories). I keep both the pennywhistle and a small Scary Snack Tub as mementoes.

My Illawarra peeps Cat, Rob, Al, and Richard. Yes, as Cat pointed out, it's just a little lame that we have to fly 3,000 miles to meet up. I am definitely scheduling a Writers' Barbecue (where we eat barbecue, not barbecue writers) Real Soon Now!

OF COURSE, all my well-beloved Clarion buddies who were there (and the ones who were there in spirit); particularly (in no order) Simon, Helen, Peter, Lyn, Lee, and Rob (again). I include in this group not only my fellow Clarion students (Clarion South 2007, WOOOOOOO! WOOOOOOO!), but our tutors and convenors, and all the other Clarion buddies from other years (students, tutors, Clarions here, Clarions there).

My Scrabble buddies — you are even more fun and fabulous in person!

Grant, my panel comrade — great to share ideas with you and the audience! Keep me posted on how your plays are going, yeah?

All the other writer and reader buddies I met at Swancon: glad to know you! Hope to see you again!

The very nice people at the quick-e-mart and several Indian restaurants in the vicinity of the con hotel.

And finally, the almost entirely taciturn folks at Transperth. I got to know you as the days and miles went by, but not to know you well.


I suppose if I were required to go around scraping up sputum for DNA analysis, I'd be taciturn too.


If I missed anyone who should be thanked, please let me know in the comments and I will rectify the oversight with apologies.