Man am I full.

Here is a picture of the Mock Porchetta:

It was great, although the vegetables came out undercooked because I tried to jam too many in there. I didn’t get a picture of the Xmas Pasta, but it was also a hit. Here is a tip, though: baking the pasta in individual serving dishes looks smashing, but the individual serving dishes emerge from the oven at 500°F and people have to spoon the pasta onto their plates.

Iris was a wee bit overwhelmed by Christmas. After she opened a couple of presents, she seemed to say, “Okay, what’s the catch here?” She did like the book I got her, The Great Chile Book. She picked it up and said, “Find some cascabels!”

For dessert, in addition to the pear-cranberry tart, we had a modification of Martha Stewart’s chocolate malt sandwich cookies, using the chocolate malt filling but with vanilla cookies, for a reverse Oreo effect.

Laurie noted that when you make Christmas dinner, you can’t sit around all day and play with toys. That’s true, but now that we have a family member whose job it is to sit around all day and play with toys, we had it covered.

From Roger Ebert’s review of Casanova:

> She is the more skilled swordsperson, and Casanova, keen student of swordsmanship, transfers his lust to her, only to learn that she is engaged to Papprizzio (Oliver Platt), who is, according to my notes, “the lard king of Genoa.”

> It must be a wondrous thing to be the lard king of Genoa and I would have wished Casanova time to quiz Papprizzio about his lofty estate…

I have two more cookbook reviews to post in the next couple of days, but tonight, a quick story–set to music.

Iris’s current favorite bedtime book is Owl at Home by Arnold Lobel, which was one of my favorites when I was a kid, too. One of the stories (which Iris calls “the crying story”) is called “Tearwater Tea,” and in it Owl makes a pot of tea from his own tears, generated by thinking of sad things like uneaten mashed potatoes.

Every time Laurie and I begin reading the story, however, we burst out laughing. The first two lines of “Tearwater Tea” are:

> Owl took the kettle out of the cupboard.

Hilarious, right? Well, I’m getting there. Either by coincidence or due to memories echoing from my youth, I once wrote a song called “The Chicken Bandit,” which was performed by Freebasing Meat Midgets, a band consisting of me and college chum Ryan Thomson. The first line of the song is:

> Mama took the chicken out of the oven

Somewhere in our apartment is the CD containing this song, and I’ll post an MP3 as soon as I find it, but in the meantime, because the lyrics embody the holiday spirit of love and larceny, here they are in full. Sing this song drunkenly to the tune of your favorite song, or several favorite songs at once.

> Mama took the chicken out of the oven
> And then we all said grace
> But when we opened our eyes again
> A note was in the chicken’s place
> It said:
> “No poultry is safe when I’m in town.”
> (Bandito de Pollo)
> “Your Thanksgiving turkey is going down.”
> (Bandito de Pollo)
> Bandito! De Pollo!
> Enrico! De Pollo!
> Bandito! De Pollo! Oh ho!

The Meat Midgets no longer exist, except in the hearts of children everywhere, but I will always remember them fondly as my second [most serious band](http://www.mamster.net/ratcm/).

**Update (16 April 2006):** [I found the CD](https://www.rootsandgrubs.com/2006/04/16/mama-took-the-chicken/)!

Yesterday we took Iris to the [bun bakery](http://www.belleepicurean.com/) and the central library. As we entered the children’s section of the library, I spied a book that appeared to be a children’s book about *bibimbap*. On closer inspection, it turned out to be a children’s book about bibimbap.

Bibimbap, for the uninitiated, is a Korean dish consisting of a bowl of rice topped with assorted flavorful meats and vegetables and a fried egg. My favorite variation is dolsot bibimbap, where the rice is placed in a dangerously hot stone bowl and the egg is cracked over the top, raw. The bottom of the rice gets brown and crunchy, a condition I like to call “crunchy rice bottom” and which is also highly valued in certain Persian dishes.

I get dolsot bibimbap sometimes at my local Korean restaurant, and I had to develop an elaborate pantomime over the course of several visits to convince them that I actually wanted the raw egg. In retrospect, I should have just looked up the Korean for “I’d like a raw egg.” Bibimbap is not complete without a large dose of *kochujang*, Korean hot sauce.

The kid’s book is great, and Iris demanded it at bedtime, even though she has never tried bibimbap. As I read it, I had a sense of deja vu, and I remembered that the very first time we went to the central library, I spied what appeared to be a children’s book about *natto*. It turned out to be a children’s book about natto.

Natto, for the uninitiated, is a Japanese torture device consisting of soybeans fermented with an evil bacterium that turns them into a stringy and foul-smelling mass. There’s an Iron Chef episode devoted to natto, and it is ten times scarier than Shark Week.

A Japanese-speaking friend explained that the story is about a kid who asks his grandfather how natto is made, and his grandfather shows him. Probably the kid was looking for a ten-second answer, or perhaps his grandfather is hard of hearing, and what the kid actually asked was, “Why do I have to eat this?”

Perhaps you don’t believe me. Well, I have pictures.

* Front cover
* Confronting the demon
* Initiated into the cult

I told my friend Rob, who has lived in Japan, about the natto book. “Have you ever had natto?” I asked him.

“Sure, I have it for breakfast every day,” he replied. And he was serious. I guess that is one way to kick ass. If you wake up with natto, the rest of the day is going to be cake.

Okay, I realize natto is probably no more an acquired taste than Thai shrimp paste, which I like, but it’s not like you run into natto that often in Seattle, so it’s easier to just make fun of it.

I’m still in Portland, and this morning’s Sunday Oregonian had a section about bloggers and the mainstream media. It made me realize that this blog is perhaps too frivolous, so I’m taking this moment to comment on a news event occurring on the TV right in front of me: Food Network personality Sandra Lee is currently hosting a Semi-Homemade Holiday special.

This is the first time I’ve seen Sandra Lee’s show; until now, everything I knew about her came from food discussion sites like [eGullet][], where she is almost universally abhorred. So far on this show, she’s made pepper-crusted prime rib, a dinner roll wreath, some white hot “chocolate” made with Starbucks liqueur and crushed peppermint candy, and some kind of cheese dip. Really, the food isn’t as bad as I’d expected, although I think she just dolloped some Cool Whip onto the drinks. The decor is terrifying: everything in Lee’s kitchen matches her red dress. I’m not sure if Kitchenaid knew the hell they were unleashing when they started making their appliances in designer colors.

[eGullet]: http://forums.egullet.org/

But the most shocking aspect of the Sandra Lee show, one I’ve never heard mentioned, is her neck. It is the longest neck on the Food Network. It is probably the longest neck on any network, with the exception of National Geographic specials featuring those women who extend their necks with metal rings. Sandra Lee seems quite tall, but I think if you subtracted the neck, she’d be a Little Person.

Now (this story is continuing to unfold) she is making Hanukkah cookies. “I love Hanukkah!” Lee enthused, and I know how she feels, because I love Eid, Lughnasadh, and Diwali. Lee has glued two meringue cookies together with frosting and is painting them with blue food coloring. She says they look like little dreidels, but to me they look like onion domes. Thanks for the Hanukkah gift, Sandra Lee! It reminds me of the country my ancestors had to flee due to religious persecution.

Later I watched a Food Network holiday special that brought together many of their most popular hosts, including Sandra Lee, Rachael Ray, Emeril, Michael Chiarello, and Paula Deen. It would show them cooking together in the kitchen, then cut away to the same person, superimposed on a white screen, talking about what an honor it is to be in such august company.

Clearly they missed the opportunity for an awesome hour of television. What if the white-screen portions had given the hosts the chance to say what they *really* thought of each other? You know, like:

> **Sandra Lee:** Here, taste this.

> **Michael Chiarello:** Mmm, that is delicious.

> (cutaway)

> **Chiarello**, on whitescreen: Oh my god, that dip? Christmas is ruined for me forever. And did you see her neck?