Friday, April 25, 2003

You know what’s worse than being a secretary?  Being a really bad secretary.  I spent all day in a mad rush yesterday preparing for The Meeting, and really very much almost didn’t make it, my hair was a mess, I bashed my shin in on a recycling bin, everyone could see what a moronic crazy person I was, and I wound up paying 265 dollars of my own money after a crazy stupid catering problem that was all my fault and that I don’t want to go into.  On the upside, I got to sit in on the meeting, which my confidentiality agreement does not allow me to divulge the details of, but which involved discussing issues of substance with a group of distinguished individuals from the fields of architecture, the arts, and academia, and which group included one totally hot distinguished individual, if you go for the arrogant professor type, which I do.  On the downside, again, it was not so much my gopher role in the meeting so much as that I was a gopher for the bureaucratic wonk end of it.  The people on the other end of the table were talking about the workings of the artistic mind and the nature of memory, the people on my end were jabbering in defensive legalese about infrastructure.  I want to be the wonk of artists and brilliant academics!  Also on that downside part, the discussions, while fascinating, is going to lead inevitably to another frantic day of hair-pulling last minute chaos.  So I’d better get on the ball with this thing. Needless to say, when I got home I did not cook.  After all it was Eric’s Spicy Thursday, and I was working on an episode of racking sobs, anyway.  Eric has become, in a very short time, quite the Zen-master in the kitchen.  When I came in, he had the oil heating in his new cast iron deep fry skillet, his batter ready and the chicken livers marinating for Deep Fried Chicken Livers, Beijing Style.  The livers were marinating in soy sauce, wine, scallions, garlic, ginger and brown sugar.  The batter was just flour, water and an egg beaten together.  He’d also made Hot Chinese Mustard, which as far as I can tell is just mustard – ¼ cup dry mustard, a tablespoon of rice vinegar, only he couldn’t find rice vinegar so he used cider vinegar, and two tablespoons of boiling water.  Very, very hot. So he heated up the oil to 375°.  While that was doing, he drained the chicken livers and dipped them in the batter.  When the oil was hot enough he threw in the chicken livers.  Something very strange happened then.  In my deep-fry experience, the danger is that when you put the chicken into the oil, if you aren’t careful, the temperature of the oil will drop precipitously.  Well, when Eric put in his chicken livers, the temperature went through the roof!  It was so odd.  We were turning the heat up and down, up and down, couldn’t get it to sit still.  I can’t tell if it’s the thermometer or the skillet, which I neglected to tell Eric he ought to season before using.  Whatever.  All turned out well in the end.  The chicken livers got crispy golden brown, yummy creamy on the inside, fabulous dipped in Chinese Hot Mustard.  We had avocado on the side, which was okay.  But it was all about the chicken livers.  People, listen to me.  If you learn nothing else from me, learn this.  I know they can be scary, but Chicken Livers Are Good.  In these daunting economic times, you can always have a sustaining meal with chicken livers for less than two dollars.  And it tastes wonderful, like foie gras for regular people.  As much as I bitch, I of course understand I’m an incredibly lucky person.  My job is soul-sucking, but there are lots worse out there, and I have a saint for husband, an elite coterie of tolerant friends, plus this little cyber-universe of bizarrely supportive and caring people who seem to make it their lives’ work to bolster me up when I’m down.  It pretty fucking great, actually.  So please don’t get too annoyed with all the whining – it’s just that it’s my special gift, so I try to make the most of it.  As far as the CSM thing goes: yes, Lulu, it is a bit annoying that everyone seems to insist I couldn’t boil an egg prior to this project – I have probably nurtured that notion along, what with the whole culinary disaster aspect.  Such are the pitfalls of the press, I suppose – always go with the zippiest story, no?  (And by the way, Lulu – dinner?  Soon?  Mushroom-less veal, perhaps?)  And picture aside, I swear to God, I’m putting on weight; it’s true I’m not fully rotund, though when I stand with Eric we look like a regular Abbot & Costello.  (You know, I realize I don’t know which one’s Abbot and which one’s Costello… us kids today….)  But see the picture is taken from the front, and I don’t know how to say this without having my less curvy compatriots think I’m a total asshole, but I tend to gain a lot of weight, well, on my chest.  From the side, I look like that bleach-blonde woman that used have that billboard in L.A., I can’t remember her name, but that billboard was in “Pretty Woman” and the credits for “Moonlighting,” remember that girl?  Anyway, that’s what I look like.  I’d like to hack the motherfuckers off, but I suppose I’ll be patient and wait until September and the subsequent starvation diet and triathalon training I’ll have to engage in to get my bust down to normal proportions. Oh, and the ladybug is very slimming.  In fact today, following an embarrassing session with my Earl Jeans I used to be so proud of when I could button, I believe I will wear it.   8:04:45 AM    comment []