Mountains Out of Molehills

Ever since I went here in NYC, I've been obsessed with creme fraiche. Creme fraiche, a far superior cousin of sour cream, makes everything better.

• Blended with pan sauces, you have a silky decadent sauce for pasta and vegetables.


• A dollop on top of fruit, and you'll never look at Cool Whip with anything less than horror again.


• And best of all, blended with chopped bittersweet chocolate, and you have pot de creme.

Easy recipe for creme fraiche:

3 cups heavy cream - pasteurized (NOT ultra pasteurized, sterilized, or
with any additives)
3 tablespoons buttermilk

1. Combine in a saucepan to a tepid 85 degrees. (Don't scald the baby.)

2. Pour into a glass container.

3. Loosely cover and let stand at room temperature until thickened -- anywhere between 8 and 24 hours.

4. Stir and refrigerate at least 24 hours before using. Keeps up to 2 weeks.

Coming up on the expiration of your creme fraiche? Pot de Creme:

2 1/2 cups creme fraiche
11 ounces chopped bittersweet chocolate

1. Heat creme fraiche in a saucepan over medium heat, stirring constantly until it gently bubbles.

2. Add chopped chocolate. Stir well until chocolate melts and mixture is smooth.

3. Pour into souffle cups and chill, covered, for 2 hours.

4. Serve with creme and a sprinkling of cocoa powder.

Or you can be like me, and eat the whole damn pan with a pint of strawberries.

me: Well, I just haven't been in very many situations where I felt comfortable showing anger.

S: yeah. i think it's awesome when you're angry. it's kind of adorable.
cause you're a tiny little angry person.

me: oh my lord.

S: hehe :)

I will admit, though, that supressed emotion explosions have gotten me into trouble a time or two. Or five. In less than a week.

1. My roommate moves out, and when he's hugging me goodbye, I tried so hard not to cry, but what are my last words? "I hate you!"

2. (Still) determined not to cry, I went an entire day, smiling and dutifully laughing at at my friends' bad jokes. Late that night, a young man peered into my face, his lips less than a millimeter away, and drunkenly asked, "Do you know how beautiful you are?" Instead of gracefully accepting the compliment, I replied, "Dude, is your face is melting???"

3. After sweet talking nasty defense attorneys all day, a recruiter calls me to scope out my interest in working at a defense firm. "Why in god's name would I want work for them???" (Two days later, I find the house of my dreams...and the answer to my question. $379,900.)

4. A friend calls, and shares her plans to stalk her ex-boyfriend, cause property damage to his home, and threaten the sanctity of his marriage. My advice? "Just make sure it's not actionable."

5. At lunch, ex-boyfriend spent examining our relationship's cyclical history in excrutiating detail. I patiently nod and murmur agreements for much of it, since he's doing a damn fine job of tearing himself to shreds. An hour later, he looks at me with huge puppy dog eyes, and says, "So why are you the only woman I can't forget?"
"Because I'm fucking awesome, and I'M OVER YOU."

So a friend of mine, R., is going on his first date in a long time.

He shows up at the girl's house, where she still lives with her parents, and it turns out the house is palatial. As her mom guides R. through the echoing hallways to meet The Dad, he enters a large well lit room, and finds himself staring at a centrally placed 50 inch plasma screen television.

On the tv, hyenas rip the flesh from a still squirming wildebeest, their shrieks mingling with its bleats for help.

Probably not a coincidence.

My parents are cheap. We rarely ate out, and when we did, I would be lucky to leave without finding my skin stuck to the vinyl seats. My father uninstalled the air conditioning in our home, convinced that running the AC in Texas's triple digits would be a crime against nature. My mother will shop for 9 hours straight without a drop of water because it's free! At home!

Once I started working, the local mall's heady mix of of materialism and capitalism went straight to my head.

I started to rebel against my parents.

At first, quietly. A clearance skirt here. A bottle of nail polish there. Even the occasional smoothie.

Once I moved away to college, I started (gasp!) buying Kraft Cheese and Lay's potato chips. During their visits, my parents marveled at all the brand names crowding my refridgerator. I tried to pin the blame on my wasteful roommates, but deep in their hearts, my parents knew the truth.

Today, I realized that I reached the point of no return. Witness an exchange between M, the firm's law clerk, and I:

M: Carolyn! You're never going to believe what I read in the Wall Street Journal.
C: I probably won't, but go ahead.
M: Brooks Brothers is coming out with a trendy line of tight suits that are cut really close.
C (and the problem with this is...?): Well, considering the obesity epidemic, I can see how that's pretty unfair to consumers. (and my eyes)
M: No no no! It's just not right! I want a classic look! And besides, this line is going to be a lot cheaper. I'm sorry, but if I pay for a Brooks Brothers suit, I don't want some little emo kid running around in the same thing.
C: That's terrible. But true. And you know what's worse, right? BMW is coming out with a 1 series line that's going to cost about the same as a Honda Civic.
M: NOOOOOOOOOOOOO....not that I drive a BMW, but if I did, I want the cachet! The pride! Do I sound crazy?
C: It's all right, I understand. No one wants their name brands diluted. Even if when it's off-the-rack.

All this? Stated with a straight face.

"David" is the seventh most common name in our country, so it may be unsurprising that most know quite a few Davids.

I, on the other hand, don't seem to know men named anything BUT David. Today, I spoke to no less than five Davids.

David #1: He started out the perfect boyfriend, but quickly showed his drama queen colors.

David #2: He started out the perfect solution to the David #1 doldrums, but turned out to only be good for chocolate chip cookies.

David #3: My favorite David, by far. At our last party, while standing in the midst of a dozen attorneys -- including one cute potential opposing counsel -- loudly informed exclaimed, "You're just never going to find a boyfriend if you keep hanging out with homos!" (Yes. He's gay.)

David #4: Wrote my letter of reccomendation to the Navy with thirty minutes' notice. LOVE HIM.

David #5: Tongue trippingly hot colleague who I happened to run by this morning on the Lakeshore Trail. Twice.

I ran 4 miles today, and as my runner's high faded, nausea set in.

I decided to wait it out, and ran errands until 10, waiting for the nausea to fade. It got worse and worse and worse, so I figured I needed something to settle my stomach.

I went to Whole Foods -- because "whole" and "organic" must mean healthy -- and got a plate with prime rib, yams, spinach, and chocolate cake. Whole Foods charges $7.99/lb, and my "plate" was $11.31.

I ate it all, it was delicious, and worth every penny.

But my stomach hurts.

Lack of sleep makes you vulnerable to temptation and stupidity.

I'm on my second pack of gum.
Third Britney song.
Fourth Coke.
Fifty millionth Bluebook consult.

And let's not talk about how many servings of Cheetos I've had. They're kidding when they say 18 is a single portion.

http://music.aol.com/radioguide/bb

AOL Music.

My (free!) savior.

How can I not love being at work with Annie Get Your Gun's "I'm a Bad, Bad, Man" blaring on tinny speakers?
When I can sing Nine Days "Absolutely (Story of a Girl)" at the top of my considerable lungs?
With zero fear that someone will hear me (badly) serenading my dog with House of Pain's "Jump Around"?
Or see me use a nutcracking squirrel as a microphone as I screech along to Natalie Cole's "I Live for Your Love"???

This just wouldn't be nearly as much fun in the privacy of my own home.