For some reason this nursery rhyme has been going through my head all week; although, admittedly, I never get past “Thursday’s child is meek and mild,” which turns out to be an incorrect line anyway.
Actually, the rhyme goes: “Thursday’s child has far to go.” Ladies and gentlemen, let me tell you, today, this child right here has felt like she has got a loooong way to go. Thankfully, a creme brulee dougnut was brought home by a roommate, quickly consumed with coffee, and the road became if not shorter, a little friendlier.
Ya see, when I moved to Turkey I was filled with excitement, and plans, and preparedness that turned out to all be pretty much useless because Turkey was nothing like I expected it would be. This time around, I was pretty much not prepared for my move; I was filled with excitement, albeit the kind that sometimes results in vomiting. Chicago has been very little like I thought it would be. It’s a slightly dirtier place than I expected, although there’s also more sunshine than I expected. This apartment is so nice and comfortable. Our landlord is excellent, and the people who I’ve gotten to know in the last few weeks (although not many) are all great. Just fabulous.
I have cooked, and I have written Christmas cards (Winnie the Pooh is in the mail!), and I have figured out how to get places on my own, although who knew that you had to push open the back door of CTA busses by hand. What’s with that? I mean, ok, but what’s with that? It’s been great, but at the back of my head I’m also thinking (like, every second), “Where’s your job, Marianne? Where’s your real, grown-up job?” And then I answer myself (my internal dialogue is pretty intellectual, you know) “I don’t even f*cking know. *Sob*”
Here are some things that give me hope: I have used “connections” very sparingly in getting jobs and internships, by circumstance, not choice. I always find the ONE place to apply where I (nor anyone else) knows a living soul. This is not always true, but it’s happened, a lot. The fact that I know absolutely no one in Chicago is pretty inconsequential, according to my logic. Hope also springs eternal from the fact that I have seen many resumes and cover letters, and I know that my resume and cover-letter-writing skillz ain’t bad. They aren’t the best, and I still design like a Microsoft Word ’95 template, but my organization and phrasing is pretty sound. Finally, I’m sending good vibes out into the universe like nobody’s business, and at some point those are all gonna come back at me, once again, according to my (and my mommy’s) logic. So there!
Now, if you’re still with me, you’re probably wondering, what in the world is she thinking writing all of this down? Is this a result of day-drinking? (huh, I wish). Is this depression? (my grandma just asked me if I’m depressed on the phone–nothing more depressing than that, but no. Not depression). Nope, it’s because as I recently described my blog to someone–this is just a self-involved rambling blog. Just FYI, this is not likely to change or transform into a fun craft blog, or an even better food blog, despite how cool that would be. If you’re bored, I understand. No. hard. feelings. If you’re not bored, what is WRONG with you? My own father doesn’t even read this thing (truth).
In other news, here are some high points, gems we could say, of this week:
1. We made pizza for the first time at our apartment and it was awesome. Wow. We did a rosemary/garlic crust and then made all kinds of toppings. So so so good. I was surprised once again by how onion butter (recipe below) can transform a good pizza into a phenomenal sensory experience.
For 4 medium-sized (go big or go home) pizzas:
Dice one very large onion (or two mediums). Heat 1/2 stick butter and 1/4 c. olive oil in a pan, preferably cast iron. Throw in the onions and sprinkle liberally with salt (at least a tsp). Let those babies carmelize for a good while, meaning cook ’em on low for a long time. When the onions are brown, preferably not burnt, throw them in the blender, or wand them with a hand-held blender and you are good to go. If you’re vegan, just go 100% olive oil.
[Random thought: you know what I think of now when I write out olive oil? Rachel Ray. Damn her. Damn her and her cute EVOO!]
2. I took a bus to work and back and did not fall apart! I feel real good about the L, but I still am a little iffy about buses here. Not having a car here makes me feel free. Weird, but true.
3. Ironically, I drove for the first time in Chicago this week and drivers here freaking suck. They are pushy and impatient and they can’t park worth a damn, which is incredibly disconcerting because parking spots do not grow on trees in the Greater Chicago Metropolitan area, people. Don’t make me go into my road-rage-Marianne-unhappy-place. For real.
4. I ate a creme brulee doughnut, and my life is forever changed. Suriously, it was so good. It was from a place called Glazed and Infused. Chicago is a town with some good doughnuts, let me tell you. I mean, if I’m being honest, I still think that Mrs. Johnson’s on Airport Blvd is the best place to get a good ‘ol glazed doughnut, but Chicago has got some fine, fancy options. For starters. This doughnut had a burnt sugar topping, which was a divine counterpoint to the brulee/pastry cream filling. There was nothing doughy or sloppy about it. And the doughy itself was tender, but obviously well-cooked. Go out and eat a doughnut, it’s on me (in spirit…)!