Sunday, July 12, 2009

Banana Bread, Revised

I have tried the gluten-free & sugar-free recipe from Babycakes' cookbook; wasn't too impressed with the results. The bread was semi-dry, and had a bit of an off-taste. Although it required 6 bananas, the taste was lost somewhere among the other ingredients.

So, yesterday, when I noticed that I had some bananas entering their mature phase, I thought I'd bake them into a bread. Instead of following the Babycakes Banana Bread directions, I took my all-time fave banana bread recipe, and inspired by the Babycakes ingredients, revised it a bit. And the results... one of the most delicious banana breads I've ever made!

Here's my all gluten-free, sugar-free, vegan Banana Bread:

Ingredients:
6 ripe bananas
4 ounces of coconut oil
4 ounces of canola oil
1/2 cup of brown rice sugar
1/2 cup of agave nectar
1 tsp of baking soda
1 tbs of vanilla
pinch of salt
2.5 cups of gluten-free flour
1 tsp of xantam gum
optional- nuts or vegan chocolate chips, about 1/2 cup

Directions:
Mix all the ingredients together, and put into a loaf pan for 1 hour at 350 degrees. Test it with a toothpick or a knife until it comes out clean.

It's that simple!

Monday, April 6, 2009

Turkish Cuisine Westchester in White Plains

Inspired by the sun and mild temperatures, Hubby and I gathered our fleeces, and headed over to Sunset Cove in Tarrytown to watch the sun set lazily behind the mountains. Life seemed to stop and take a back seat...

But our stomachs didn't.

Another one of Hubby's clippings- this time from the Westchester Magazine-, we visited the Turkish Cuisine Westchester in White Plains. Not knowing what to expect- I find that most Turkish food, just like any ethnic food, is altered to the local tastes- I was pleasantly surprised.

It reminded me of the earlier version of Ali Baba on 33rd Street- only on a much smaller scale. There are about six tables (seating 2-4 at each) in the back, and a take-out counter space with 4-5 stools for solo eaters. This is not a place for elaborate dining- for that, you may head over to Mamaroneck to Turkish Meze, the same owners as this joint.

The menu is diverse- no side dishes- and the kitchen is flexible if you crave for anything that may not be on the menu. For me, it was the "ayran"- a savory yogurt drink that goes fancily with traditional Turkish meat dishes. I loved my Skewered Ground Meat (complemented by a side of green chili sauce- also on request) that was served with a heaping salad and rice (made in bay leaf broth). Hubby opted for the Grilled Lamb Chops- unfortunately, they were out- and then chose to have Meatballs. Turkish Cuisine does not have a liquor license, but they welcome if you decide to bring any with you. Both dishes were delicious, and the serving sizes were just-right.

There is so much on the menu that I'd like to sample, so I'll be going back for some more.

Turkish Cuisine Westchester
116 Mamaroneck Ave
White Plains, NY 10601
(914) 683 6111
Mon to Wed 11 am–9 pm
Thurs to Sat 11:30 am–3 am
Sun 11:30 am–9 pm

Sunday, April 5, 2009

Emma's Ale House

Last Sunday, on our way back from house-hunting, we made a turn onto Gedney Way to stop by Emma's Ale House, a new bar/restaurant in White Plains. Hubby had read about in the NYTimes, clipped the review and strategically placed it by the Tassimo for my reading pleasure.

Familiar with the watering holes in White Plains, I had mixed feelings going into the place- one time, when we had stopped by the Black Bear for a quick wings & beer during the football season, I had felt terribly "old" in my long-sleeved shirt and jeans. Looking around at the females who were in their "Sunday best"- faces fully made-up in revealing slinky (flimsy?) shirts-, I felt like I was as pristine as a nun. Thank goodness, Hubby never said a word, or he was perhaps enjoying the 'company' around us that he did not even notice my discomfort!!

From the moment you walk into Emma's, you're surrounded in dark & rich mahogany colors of old-school bars. To the left of the entrance, there's a large dining room- and on that Sunday, there were plenty of families dining with their little ones. We chose to stay to the right- a rather spacious area- where a long bar welcomed us. Hubby instantly commented on the beers on tap- happy to see the Captain's Reserve Imperial IPA from the local brewery, Captain Lawrence. We recognized the bartender- he was transferred from the Black Bear who share the same owners.

As we were watching the NCAA game on the flat-screen, I surveyed the clientele- a group of what seemed to be golf/sailing buddies with their wives, several young(er) couples enjoying the homemade chips on the bar, a few singletons, and groups of men and women cheering for their favorite college team...

Food was quite decent and prices reasonable- especially loved the soft pretzel sticks that preceded our dinner. Later, when I looked up their website, I noticed that Emma's is a Certified Green Restaurant by the Green Restaurant Association. Good news.

Making our way out of Emma's, I made a mental-note to come back.

Emma's Ale House
68 Gedney Way
White Plains, New York 10605
Phone: 914-683-EMMA
Fax: 914-683-6627
View Map & Directions

Saturday, April 4, 2009

Musing in the 'burbs...

Looking out at the tarmac, I feel the tears welling in my eyes. No matter how many times I promise myself, it’s always the same.

One moment I am settling in my seat, checking to see I am buckled up, making sure to have enough reading materials in the mesh bag they always have- regardless of airline- in front of you, and then the next moment, the tears are forcing out of my eyes. Some uncontrollable force inside those tear sockets, as I call them since I’ve never been good at biology to name exact body parts, they have a thing about exerting their energy to push those tears out. I sense the energy behind my eyelids trying to push them back in, but they’re forceful. I know that. I just release the tears; let them slalom through my rounded cheeks. I feel the full heat from the release; I invisibly track the trace of the salty lines on my cheeks. As hot as they come out, the colder they get from the air pressure valves that are above my head in the overhead cabin. I reach slowly over to the rounded knob of the air vent, and turn it counter clockwise to shut it off. I always wonder why anyone would like forced air hit their face violently like that. It’s so uncool.

I push my head in the soft pillow of the seat. The coolness of the gray leather seatback touches the skin on the back of my neck, and I shift to cover my neck with enough of my hair to shield it from getting goose bumps. Although I usually love the contact of fresh, cool leather with my bare skin, this is not one of those times. I cringe at the thought of numerous human skins that made contact with the same seatback as I have. Pushing back these thoughts in a small, irrelevant compartment in my brain, I carve out a small indent, small enough to fit my head into the crook; I bury my head right into it. I notice that this particular seatback is not as worn, perhaps we’re on a newer plane, and I feel annoyed. This means a long flight of uneasy rest, constant shifting of my head to find the right spot to get some resemblance of sleep or rest.

I shift my body a little in my seat to accommodate my now twisted position, I think to myself if I’m going to have to leave this place with a major backache. I almost yearn for my bed, for my pillows. I think of those little kids who bring their pillow with them onboard, and for a second I envy them. That had never been my thing. And those neck pillows keep your head up so artificially that when you take them off, your head always bobbles like a newborn’s, the muscles forget their jobs, leaving you in a discombobulated state. And I don’t like that.

I settle in a spot that makes me semi-comfortable and I close my eyes. With the closing of my lids, the tears get an expected push down my cheeks. Not again. I try to make a picture of happy times, although this is one of them, and I cringe at the thought that I cannot visualize any. My eyes search through the images in my head, almost like going through an entire playlist to locate your favorite song. It’s frustrating. Almost involuntarily, I shake my head left and right, as if that’s going to be any help, to find that one comfortable moment of time that will help me dry up- or at least calm- my tears. I know it’s going to get worse. Just wait until the plane starts moving.

I focus on my breathing. One, two, three, exhale. One, two, three, exhale. I try to echo the words of the yoga instructor in my head- find you chi. I inhale once more, absorbing all the fake air into my lungs. The fakeness is unbearable, so unnatural. My nose twists, all crinkly and uncomfortable. There’s almost a metallic taste lining my mouth, I roll my tongue around my teeth, feeling the discomfort. This air is also surrounding my lungs, something that cannot be good for me or for anyone for that matter. I exhale quickly, now taking short breaths. I come back to the chi. I twist my stomach on the inside to feel the very tip of my ribs. I think they’re my ribs, I cannot tell. What I find there is not surprising. A sudden twinge of pain returns when I think of years of unforgotten unfairness, a deep desire to belong, and an even deeper yearning to be an unconditional part of something. Someplace. Someone.

Monday, February 9, 2009

Valentine's Day. Remembered.

Some time in late-1990s. Somewhere in New York. February 14.

I waited.

First came the bouquet of pink roses. Mom. Never missing an occasion, never hesitant to show her affection, she's always good like that. Then a medley of wildflowers. The ones my roommate and I sent to each other. In case we did not receive any. Followed by a dozen of white roses. Peace offering from an old boyfriend. Remembrance? Where's the rosemary, I'd like to ask. He's somewhere in the depths of Facebook.

I waited.

A bear with a bow-tie and box of chocolates. From "it's-never-going-to-happen-let's-stay-as-friends" guy. Good choice. Still very good friends.

I waited.

An email with an attachment. Very excited- maybe there's some surprise embedded in there, maybe an "I'm right around the corner, look out your window" kind? Maybe, an "I skipped school and drove all night just to see you" kind. I didn't (and still don't) think it was too much to ask.

So, I opened the email with the attachment. A clip art of roses.

Let me bring this in perspective: Year circa late-1990s, my old IBM Thinkpad, black & white monitor. I'm surrounded by a mini-garden in my bedroom, and staring at a black & white (funeral?) image of roses. One line of sentiments: "Happy Valentine's." That's it.

The end. To him. To long-distance relationships.

Sunday, January 18, 2009

Suburban Spirit

On the way from the gym last night, I felt brave. I was in touch with my emotions, secure with the progress of my new year's resolutions, and overall, comfortable with the recent decisions my hubby and I have been making. Emotionally, I was on solid grounds. With this courage, I declared to hubby that I wanted to see Revolutionary Road.

See, I have been afraid of seeing that movie, primarily because I kept thinking it'd bring out the "city" in me, the desire to leave everything behind, run with hubby, and move back to what's been our home. The push-and-pull between the city and the suburbs has been an emotional roller-coaster ride, one that brought hubby and I closer together, one that has enabled us to grow together. Or, maybe, just me.

A friend who recently saw the movie commented that it surfaced some 'commitment' issues. Some others thought it was a 'dark' and 'bleak' look into relationships in general. A recent New York Times article in the "Westchester" section while admitting that the movie is "affecting," denies the stereotyping of the 'burbs with a heart-warming story of a Pelham family. (And I have to admit that I've seen, first-hand, a community come together in the face of multiple tragedies- there's definitely something to say about that.)

So on the way from the gym last night, after confirming to myself that I am on solid emotional grounds and can handle movie, I heard my hubby respond, "I'd rather see Gran Torino."

Typical. So typical...

Monday, January 5, 2009

Orgasm. In Multiple. Thank you, Secret Santa.

Back to the daily grind finally.

Finally? Yeah, I think I missed my "working-self." I was surprised to find myself looking forward to the dreaded early morning, the mid-day lunch break, and the anticipated end of the workday. I definitely LOVE what I do for living, although as with anything you love, my work does have its challenges. Maybe it's the challenges that I crave for? I don't know.

Now, here's what I know for sure. I am a girl who takes pleasure in simple things. I love minimizing complications. Maximizing pleasures. Multitasking is a key vocabulary word for me.

Enter simplifying, uncomplicated, multitasking products. Ah- now, you got me!

I'd like to introduce you to my new addition to my morning-routine: NARS Multiple in Orgasm. I think I first met this stick either in a Space.NK or Sephora catalogue. It's a miracle tube wrapped in a chic little black tube (looks suspiciously like a pocket rocket- not that there's anything wrong with that- just an observation). Acts as a subtle gloss-on blush, eye shadow, and with a little help of some lip balm, a lip gloss. I absolutely love it. And I have my Secret Santa to thank for it.

Apparently, there's a whole story behind the "Multiple"- which makes it a little more charming:

" In 1996 Harper's Bazaar did a story featuring six of the top makeup artists of the time. The direction for each was to pick their favorite model, pick their favorite look and the magazine would credit every product used.

Carolyn Murphy was the choice of François Nars. François was inspired to showcase beautiful, translucent looking skin - a departure from the heavily matted skin in fashion at the time. François choose to use a single lipstick on eyes, cheeks and lips to add a touch of color and a healthy glow. Nothing else was added.
NARS was credited with exactly the one product. The caption read: “NARS Brown Out - Tangier Lipstick on eyes, face and lips”

Soon customers started buying lipstick for eyes, face and lips to re-create the beautiful skin they'd seen in Harper's Bazaar, but we all know that lipstick is not the best for face and eyes. This led François to create a universal texture - The Multiple was born. A revolutionary stick for the entire face in a cream-to-powder formula that was oil-free.

The single image which transformed an industry."

From NARS website: http://www.narscosmetics.com/the_multiple.htm


Sweet.

Seems like the whole beauty industry is on the "multitasker" bandwagon. The New York Times reviewed several, what they called "Beauty Care’s Swiss Army Knives," products that save money, time and energy, just this past Sunday. Even the ever-so-high-and-mighty Vogue spent some web bytes on Winter 2008 beauty bargains, under "splurge OR SAVE." Recommended reads if you're thinking of replacing your old products with new, more pocket-efficient ones.

Simplify. Now there's a new year's resolution I can keep...

Saturday, January 3, 2009

Resolution, Schemezolution,..., I'm Determined! And, This is Personal.

Hubby is right to laugh at me (note: not "with" me) when I declare to him my 2009 resolutions. It stings a bit; yet, we go through the same motions every beginning of a new year. There's a pattern, I cannot blame him.

Well, not this year. This year, I am determined.

According to studies, "40 to 45% of adults in the United States will make New Year's resolutions" and "40 to 46% of New Year's resolvers will be successful at six months." Heck. I want to be among the 40 t0 46% this year. And I will.

According to Dr. Norcross from University of Scranton, the resolutions need to be:

1. Realistic, hence attainable,
2. Part of an action plan,
3. Backed up with your own confidence, and
4. Declared publicly.

I'd like to believe I've checked off the first three requirements, and this entry is my public declaration. Here are my 2009 resolutions:

1. Body: Beyond just the body image and my perception of my physical self, I don't believe I've taken utmost care of my body. So, as part of my action plan this year, I'll be more conscious of what I put in it (declared a war on mono sodium glutamate and hydrogenated corn oil), complete a 21-day detox in January (already planned what I need!), and work out at least 3 times a week. I also would like to pick up on my running- I had a fairly good stamina- so, I want it back. Nothing like a runner's high!

2. Soul: Reading and writing are food for my soul. Although I am a verbal person and never shy to express my thoughts, I often find comfort in writing when my thoughts reflect my deeper feelings. Same goes for reading- I tend to read books that usually match my mood du-jour, seek for those moments where a book can provide some answers to what's going on in my life at that time. Both reading and writing to me are very closely related to listening to music, and a variety of it- minus some Folk, some Honky-tonk, Jug band, alcohol-infused Texan Country Music. I get my inspiration from music- lyrical and non-lyrical alike. So, this year, my resolution for my soul is to read, write and listen as much as I can! Part of my action plan includes writing on a daily basis, and taking little steps towards completing my story. I've already rejoined my trusted circle of writing friends; we start in February. Renewed my library card. Of course, I will put that iTunes gift card to use!

3. Mind: I admit, I cheated a bit on this one. This is not a new resolution per say, but rather one that I had made, pursued, and achieved, not yet accomplished. More explicitly, I had applied to a master's program at a school of my choice, and got admitted for this summer start. I am thrilled at this opportunity, one that I'd like to think that I worked very hard at achieving. At the same time, I don't feel that I am ready to celebrate this as an achievement, but rather take it in as a means to getting where I see myself going. This will be my resolution for my mind.

There. I've declared them all. Quite frankly, this does feel pretty good!

Give it a try yourself.

Friday, January 2, 2009

Love Affair with a Piece of (New) History

I am so sorry PETA, but I love my vintage three-quarter length fur coat. I do.

See, the thing is that 'my' coat is not only vintage, but it's also been custom-made to my mother's specifications. You can see it in the stitching, the quality of the lining, the details on the metal hooks, and the seamless connection of the fur pieces. In addition, it's a gift from her.

My personality gets crushed under the coat- without asking for permission, it gives you a whole another persona. Maybe a woman of means, a lady of leisure? Or, maybe one that meets her secret lover at French bistros across town? One that wears make-up to bed?

The coat begs for expensive high-heels. Also, something frail and lithe underneath. Or maybe, just a simple black cashmere turtleneck. Better yet, just a little piece from La Perla?

My imagination runs wild as I stare at my mind's 'new' self in the mirror. I can be anything, anyone.

Only underneath, I am supporting my worn-down blue pajamas, pink fluffy socks. Hair is sticking out from the makeshift bun on my nape. Manicure-less fingernails. Face too tired from previous days' indulgence. I notice my cheeks a little chubbier than usual, my face a little rounder. A pale yellow, splotchy face.

I close my eyes. Cringe that the reality does not match the imagination.

This time, I am not angry. More determined. More reflective. I am quick to think about my priorities, my goals. What matters, what does not. Isn't this part of 'growing up', I wonder.

I love my vintage three-quarter length fur coat. I really do.

Thursday, January 1, 2009

So, It's a New Year's Eve... Again...

I think I have a love-hate relationship with new year eves.

As a little girl, I'd look forward to watching the festivities in our apartment- running around from the living room to the dining room back to the kitchen, just following the clatter of wine glasses, passed hors d'oeuvres in a smokey haze of 'adults' talking with louder voices, exploding with unexpected laughter, bare arms flirtatiously touching each other, and more laughter... I thought this was the best time of the year- ever... I'd get to sip from my parents' glasses, eat off of passing trays of food before they even left the kitchen. Guests patting my head, admiring how much I've grown, how pretty I looked in my outfit,...

Sometimes other kids would be involved- we would put together little plays for each other, try to display our knowledge of 'adult' topics (after all, this was the era of Dallas and Falcon's Crest), and maybe, play a board game or two until one of the 'older' kids would decide to break free and mingle with the adults. We thought he was 'cool'.

Then there were those new year eves, where I'd sit with my grandparents, watch the festivities on the television, speculate about the outfits of the singers, and nibble on food. I'd read from some of the old magazines stacked on shelves, make small conversation with their guests, and drink a glass of something bubbly at 12 midnight. The phone call from my parents would follow to say happy new year's, and perhaps, to check up on me. I wouldn't see them until the next afternoon.

In my teenage years and early 20s, tagged along with Mom, I would go from one store to another, looking for that perfect outfit, perfect shoes, and even more perfect accessories. We would go to the hairdresser's on that day, and based on the year, we would ask him to make our hair wavy or blow dry straight, or give that little trim that would prepare for the new year's eve. All throughout these activities, I would anticipate who I would kiss first: my boyfriend, if I had one that year, or maybe a new boy who would become one, at least for the night... I'd try to think where it would be... Would we be standing on the balcony overlooking the Bosphorus, or would we be amongst the huge crowd of people at the night venue with confetti showering over our heads?

I remember a particular new year's eve: Breaking out of our families' party (no one wanted to hang out with adults anymore!) and ditching her younger sister, a childhood friend and I went out to a 'hip' spot with a birds eye view of the city. Transported in her little Beetle, she gave me heads up on which guy we were meeting was her intended 'boyfriend'; and of course, he had a 'friend' that I might like. He already knew about me. Over the years, I really tried to block out this evening from memory- just the sight of that guy makes me queasy; the only part I kept with me is the (short) time I got to spend with my girlfriend, giggling like we always did when together... She passed away about five years after that new year's eve.

I have been recounting all these priceless memories of new year's eves: From a 'boyfriend' who called his mother before kissing me at midnight, the one who hugged it out with his guy friends before even finding me on the balcony, the one who was documented kissing another girl while I was waiting for him at another party, the one who called at midnight to be forgiven, the one who never forgave me for kissing his friend...

So, over the past years, I've managed to tone down my expectations and learned not to anticipate any drama to happen. And as 2008 turned into 2009, I was at peace with new year's eve: A sip of cold Prosecco and a delightful kiss at midnight.

Happy 2009.