Hazelnuts @ 12:46 in the morning

March 13, 2009 at 8:10 am (Epicurious, Life, Lifestyle, food, foodie) (, )

By normal standards I should have in bed hours ago. By my standards I should have retired to the freezing comfort of cotton sheets 17 minutes ago, but I can’t. HAZELNUTS are on my mind. Why? Dear God, it all started with a soiree I am to be attending tomorrow. Well, technically tonight. I am not obligated to bring something, but at around 10:36 tonight I started thinking ‘hmmm….rose cupcakes with vanilla flecked frosting…no wait; lavender and honey cupcakes with vanilla flecked frosting.’ Some how, while seaching the meandering web of food blogs I find myself writing this blog with one web browser window while dually perusing Wikipedia and the Hazelnut Council’s website for hazelnut…and yet, I can’t tell you how the heck I got from rose cupcakes, to remoulade, to looking up hazelnuts, or what they have to do with what I bake tomorrow.

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Grand slam?

February 5, 2009 at 9:20 am (Life, Lifestyle, food, food experience, foodie)

So were you one of the lucky ones to get a free Grand Slam from Denny’s? Yeah, me neither.

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WOOT!

November 25, 2008 at 5:53 am (CA, Epicurious, Life, Lifestyle)

I’ve been on an unfortunate hiatus from Nosh Posh due to employmee and product spasms at work… hence, I have a backlog of posts…

and now they’re coming your way….

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Oh the thing’s I’ve eaten: the VGT Omnivore’s Hundred

September 8, 2008 at 7:10 am (Epicurious, Life, Lifestyle, food, foodie)

I heard about the VGT Omnivore’s Hundred while perusing the food blog lists. The rules are easy, just mark which of the 100 listed foods you’ve had the pleasure of wolfing, sampling, or regurgitating.

It’s not one of those be-all and end-all foodie lists, still it’s interesting and has a wide variety of edibles. I say edible because I’m not sure everything is actually food.

If it’s in bold, I’ve eaten it. If not, I haven’t. I haven’t eaten 28 items listed. Coolness.


1. Venison (Bambi is scrumptious)

2. Nettle tea

3. Huevos rancheros

4. Steak tartare

5. Crocodile

6. Black pudding (At the Witchery in Edinburgh Scotland, where the people making reservations before us told us about the ghost they’d encountered in their room the night before)

7. Cheese fondue

8. Carp

9. Borscht

10. Baba ghanoush

11. Calamari

12. Pho

13. PB&J sandwich

14. Aloo gobi

15. Hot dog from a street cart

16. Epoisses

17. Black truffle

18. Fruit wine made from something other than grapes (Pomegranate Wine)

19. Steamed pork buns

20. Pistachio ice cream

21. Heirloom tomatoes (qualification: home grown tomatoes from harvested seeds)

22. Fresh wild berries (qualification: berries that weren’t obtained from a shop, but from friends’ (and strangers’) yards)

23. Foie gras

24. Rice and beans

25. Brawn, or head cheese (I’ll try this just to have a tongue of steel and a stomach of…I dunno…lead?)

26. Raw Scotch Bonnet pepper

27. Dulce de leche

28. Oysters

29. Baklava

30. Bagna cauda
31. Wasabi peas

32. Clam chowder in a sourdough bowl (Splash Café in Pismo Beach, CA makes the BEST FUCKING CLAM CHOWDER!)

33. Salted lassi

34. Sauerkraut

35. Root beer float

36. Cognac with a fat cigar

37. Clotted cream tea

38. Vodka jelly/Jell-O (My best friend Kelly’s recipe for this is bloody lethal. Good bye world!)

39. Gumbo

40. Oxtail

41. Curried goat (I love curry and goat but I’ve yet to have them together)

42. Whole insects (my boy loves insects. I can’t get into them yet.)

43. Phaal

44. Goat’s milk

45. Malt whisky from a bottle worth (Ardbeg muthfuckas)

46. Fugu (no blowfish for me yet!)

47. Chicken tikka masala

48. Eel

49. Krispy Kreme original glazed doughnut

50. Sea urchin

51. Prickly pear

52. Umeboshi

53. Abalone

54. Paneer

55. McDonald’s Big Mac Meal

56. Spaetzle (I’m reminded of a journey to the only German restaurant in Bakersfield, CA where the owner told my friend (her employee) to make sure the nice group of Germans coming to eat that night didn’t know she was of French heritage.)

57. Dirty gin martini (the only way to have a martini babe!)

58. Beer above 8% ABV (Chimay Blue Label)

59. Poutine

60. Carob chips

61. S’mores

62. Sweetbreads

63. Kaolin (qualification: in the form of freshly picked fruit/veggies that haven’t been washed)

64. Currywurst

65. Durian

66. Frogs’ legs

67. Beignets, churros, elephant ears or funnel cake

68. Haggis

69. Fried plantain

70. Chitterlings, or andouillette

71. Gazpacho

72. Caviar and blini

73. Louche absinthe

74. Gjetost, or brunost

75. Roadkill

76. Baijiu

77. Hostess Fruit Pie

78. Snail

79. Lapsang souchong

80. Bellini

81. Tom yum

82. Eggs Benedict

83. Pocky

84. Tasting menu at a three-Michelin-star restaurant.

85. Kobe beef

86. Hare

87. Goulash

88. Flowers

89. Horse (Possibly, there was this odd incident at the castle in Heidelberg, Germany when I was 17.)

90. Criollo chocolate (All RICHART chocolate is made with Criollo chocolate and I had some on my recent chocolate crawl adventure.)

91. Spam

92. Soft shell crab

93. Rose harissa

94. Catfish

95. Mole poblano

96. Bagel and lox

97. Lobster Thermidor

98. Polenta

99. Jamaican Blue Mountain coffee

100. Snake

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Rynn: Melon Vingette

August 21, 2008 at 3:27 am (CA, Epicurious, Life, Lifestyle, food, foodie, friends) (, , , , , , , , , )

It was the maniacal giggling emanating from behind a mound of bananas that captured my attention. The source of the laughter came in to view as I rounded the banana cart.

Crouched in front of a shelf cut into the side of the banana cart was my boyfriend. On the shelf before him were a variety of melons that could easily have been the brainchild of Dr. Seuss himself. Both of Boyfriend’s hands rested on a melon. I watched as he squeezed each melon with an alternating rhythm, his vaudevillian giggling increasing with each squeeze.

“They’re like Nerf melons,” said Boyfriend. “Very squeezable. Squeezy. Squeeeeeeezy.”

It was then that someone’s blue-haired granny turned into our grocery aisle and took in the scene before her. I watched her face darken in an obviously disapproving scowl.

Both the moment and old blue haired begged for a sarcastic comment- the gods nearly had nearly decreed it so.

“Stop molesting the melons. You’re making my breasts jealous,” I quipped.

Out of my peripheral vision I saw granny’s mouth drop and her face turn ashy with shock.  She gripped the shopping cart handle till her knuckles whitened. With a huff and a push to her cart, she fled the scene.

“That wasn’t nice,” exclaimed Boyfriend, still crouching, his head turning to watch granny’s escape.

“You’re the one groping the produce,” I retorted.

“Yeah,” he said with a slow pause. “I am.”

I watched Boyfriend bring one hand to his knee. With his other hand he gripped a yellow and green stripped “Nerf” melon tighter. He pushed himself up and with a graceful swoop of his arm, brought the melon to rest directly in front of my face.

“We’re getting a Nerf melon.”

“What kind of melon is it?” I inquired.

Boyfriend turned the melon round in his hands till he found the label.

“It says Casaba.”

“And what are you going to do with the Nerf melon?”

Boyfriend wrinkled his nose. An expression I’ve come to know as “what an asinine question” graced his face.

“Eat it,” he replied then stalked off towards the cashier.

Thirty minutes later we were positioned side by side, laptops open, scouring the web for Casaba melon recipes.

“Watermelon salad, cantaloupe salad, honeydew salad. You know, I just don’t like salad that much.”

Boyfriend laughed. “Yes you do you just don’t like melon that much.”

“Touché,” I replied with a tilt of the head.

Boyfriend reached out and grabbed the melon. He twirled the melon in his hands and began tossing it in the air like it was a football.

“Barbequed casaba?” he asked.

Now my own faced darkened with the ‘what an asinine question’ look. It was a question only a desperate foodie with a shot memory would’ve asked.

“We’re out of propane,” I replied.

“What about the prosciutto?”

“The last of it went on our pizzas last night.” I turned from my laptop to face him. “It’s a hundred and eight degrees outside.* Are you really thinking of cooking?”

Ignoring my comment he stood, melon in hand and walked to the fridge.

“Forget the fridge,” I said. “Get the rum. And not the Bacardi. Get the Leblon”

Grinning, he grabbed the bottle of Leblon rum from the liquor cabinet. He soon made short work of the melon and quickly deposited it’s pale lime-colored flesh in a blender with ice and a fair amount of rum. He sugar rimmed two highball glasses. The frozen rum and Casaba made sloping noises as it filled each glass.

“Dinner is served,” he proclaimed. I noticed his glass was already half drained as he set my own high ball in front of me.

“Kudos to the chef, in all his melon molesting glory,” I said as I raised my glass and put the glass to my lips.

A self-satisfied look and wicked smile came to his face. “Not as good as your melons. But satisfying nonetheless,” said Boyfriend.

I sputtered, showering the table with frozen rum and melon.

“I see you agree,” said Boyfriend.

And to that, I have no comment.

*Yes, it was 108 degrees farenheit outside. I was visiting Boyfriend who currently lives in a place Buck Owens once called home and is in So. Cal.

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Rynn: Breakfast Diaries

July 8, 2008 at 7:23 am (CA, Epicurious, Life, Lifestyle, food, foodie) (, , , , , , , , , , )

Here’s my breakfast diary from the past week. Not as scintillating and titillating as some diaries but…you can’t please everybody!

July 1

Breakfast: One overripe banana sporting an oh so fashionable leopard print coat has been shoved into my mouth. I ate it with such speed that I can’t remember what it tasted like. Frankly, in my OH-MY-GOD-I’M LATE-FOR-WORK frenzy I wouldn’t have noticed if it had tasted like ferret.

July 2

Hot coffee and 2% milk stamped with an expiration date from two weeks ago today. Here’s to living dangerously.

July 3

Same hot coffee and 2% milk as yesterday. Only today it’s expiration date reads from two weeks and 24 hours ago. I am such a rebel.

July 4

I woke up at noon. Forget breakfast, where’s lunch?

July 5

Breakfast of champions equals the leftover crumbs of barbecue, cheese, and salt and vinegar potato chips from your friend’s Independence Day celebration. And a beer.

July 6

1 Corona Lite with chorizo, eggs, and yummy tortillas.

July 7

I ate so much over the holiday I am abstaining from breakfast this fine morning. I’ll probably avoid food altogether now that I think of it.

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Rynn: My Microwave

June 24, 2008 at 7:17 am (Life, Lifestyle, foodie) (, , , )

My microwave has decided to get itself possessed. How do I know this. I went to heat up leftovers. It started working. Then stopped. The screen started flashing 666,666, 666 over and over. Apparently the devil wanted my leftover black beans.

Call the exorcist.

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Rynn: My friend’s trip to Cambodia…

June 19, 2008 at 6:22 am (Epicurious, Life, Lifestyle, food, friends) (, , , , , )

Hola blogosphere. Got this from my best bud Stef and thought the world should read it. Not nosh or posh in any way except to highlight that everyone deserves to nosh posh- and by that I mean live well as opposed to surviving and eat well as opposed to begging and scraping by. Rynn

Stef writes::

Sawasee khaa, everyone! Gin kow reu yang?

I hope this finds you all well. I’m back in BKK after a week in Cambodia , and whew, am I glad to be “home”! Cambodia is a trip of a lifetime and everyone should probably visit once before they die. That being said, I was glad to leave it. If Thailand is the beautiful woman with an ironic smile that stole my breath away, Burma a hunched grandmother with broken teeth and tired eyes, and Loas a wild child with dirty knees and crooked grin, then Cambodia is a broken man with upturned hands and down cast eyes whose very existence shamed me. It is truly a third world country full of scarred people and an economy going nowhere fast. If Laos was poor, Cambodia was poorer. I went wearing all my best emotional armor and still felt stabbed in the gut. I thought bearing witness to the Tuol Sleng genocide museum and paying respects at the killings fields would be the worst (and most important) part of my trip, but the poverty and desperation in the capitol city, Phnom Phen was worse. The govt is the worst in the region next to that of the Myannmar junt with many of the officials rumored to have ties to the former Khmer Rouge govt. whose former soldiers by the way are still alive and well in the country, often living side by side with the family members of those they killed and getting veterans retirement kickbacks to shut up and stay out of trouble. The govt seems to care little for the people and there are not enough social programs to provide for the poor. Make no mistake about this, the killing fields are not gone, the Cambodian people are still dying because of their government, but the deaths are slower and more indirect. They have no dignity in the system and no other options available. All the money in the country’s economy is focused in Siem Reap/ Angkor Wat and in Phnom Phen where virtual palaces (for corrupt govt officials and tourists) are being built up next to tent cities housing the people upon whose backs the country rests. The govt has forcibly evicted people from the shacks they owned into slums outside the city to build on their land because it is so valuable. Yet for a city in the midst of institutionalized “beautification” it is the dirtiest and ugliest I’ve ever seen. Uncollected trash piles up on the same sidewalks where street children sleep and workers eat from food stalls lined up on the opposite side of filthy streets. There is no public health system to speak of, education is hit and miss, and begging is so common place that you learn to ignore the one-legged men and crying children. Scamming and theft is common there, and was by far the place I have felt the most threatened in SE Asia . Comparitively, BKK feels as safe as SLO. It was a relief to get on a 6 hour bus ride to Siem Reap, a synthetic town based on tourism near the Ankor Wat heritage site. Because of tourist police, the worst that will happen to you there is being hassled at every corner by Tuk Tuk and moto taxi drivers trying to make a living. Angkor wat is the seat of national pride, gracing every bill of money and every sign, brochure, and company slogan. It is perhaps the only thing that the country has to be proud of right now. It costs a whopping $20/day to visit (And it is very heavily toured by visitors from all over the world) but the amount of work being done to preserve it is minimal (my what could the govt be doing with the money?) and if it is not better protected soon, there might be one less wonder of the world to visit because the wats are fading fast. The murals are decaying and already all of the Buddhas have been stolen or had their heads removed by looters. My advice to you all, see it soon if you are going to. That being said, the grounds are gorgeous and the temples are awe-inspiring. There is no shortage of wonder to be found at every turn and the history of it is truly impressive. It IS worth it, and I am glad I went.

After 5 days in Cambodia I made the treacherous 10 hr trip by land back to BKK. Mind you the only reason the roads are as bad as they are is because the govt has neglected to have them paved due to pressure from certain airlines who would like tourists to continue flying out of Phnom Phen at inflated prices and with a $25 exit fee for leaving the country. My friend paid $150 to leave Cambodia by plane. I paid $12 but suffered for it. I’m glad I did, Damn the Man!

All in all it was the trip of a lifetime and I will probably never return in this life.

Now, back in BKK, I’ve settled down into an apartment where I’ll stay for the next month or so to work on a Burmese community education project doing secondary research and compiling data for an NGO newsletter. I will be getting summer school credit for it and working on my senior project at the same time so I’m basically still in school here even though my classes finished 2 weeks ago. My travels are winding down and the work is starting so I beg you to forgive me if emails become infrequent. I will of course keep people updated if anything exciting occurs and pics will be made available for those who want them.

I hope you are all well and happy and I’m keeping my circle of family and friends in my prayers consistently. Please drop ME an email if you get a chance to let me know how you are and keep me abreast of the gossip in the Central Coast .

Lah Gorn khaa,

Stef::

::end Stef

God I love her! the-apsara-and-rynn\'s friend Stef

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Rynn: Business Dinners Part 3

June 17, 2008 at 7:02 am (Epicurious, Lifestyle, food, foodie) (, , , , , , )

It was the scintillating comment my boyfriend made that sent my thoughts into a tailspin no amount of slow smoked pork ribs slathered in Sweet Carolina sauce could cure.

“You know a company is in trouble when the only employees that come to the company BBQ is the Exec staff.”

The comment was whispered low, slyly murmured into my ear like a love song so as to confuse the CAPTAINS OF INDUSTRY into thinking that he and I were sharing a private moment in between our bites of potato salad and glasses of sangria. Me, all I could think was, “Daaamn. You’re right,” and I tore a chunk of pork from a rib with my teeth.

I had arrived at the festivities with boyfriend against my true sensibilities which preferred to be baking lavender shortbread with freshly dried lavender provided by a friend. Alas, the sloven beasties of business politics and career success was steering this satanic rickshaw and slumping I surrendered to the laws of business.

Corona in cans, BBQ, and people I spend way too much time with on the Mon to Fri, 8 to 5 drag (but in my case tis more like 8 am to 9 pm, Mon through Sunday). Ick.* Only the PB and chocolate chip cookies I’d baked offered comfort enough to soothe my seething soul.

Rynn’s PB and Chocolate Chip Cookie Recipe (makes 2 dozen cookies)

1 cup peanut butter

1 cup granulated sugar

1 egg, room temperature

1 cup chocolate chip cookies (I use bittersweet to soften the cookie’s sugar content)

Place all ingredients in a bowl. Mix until incorporated. Using a teaspoon, spoon mixture and drop on to cookie sheet lined with parchment (or those cool Silpat things). Bake at 325 degrees Fahrenheit for 15 to 18 minutes. Cookies should be lightly browned on the edges. Remove from oven. Allow to cool before eating. I’m not responsible if you gobble up hot cookie treats. You do so at your own peril.

*I promise…no more bitching bout work till the next company gathering.

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Rynn: Shamrock Cookies & Margaritas

March 17, 2008 at 6:22 am (Epicurious, Lifestyle, food, foodie) (, , , , , , , )

A brief post…life has been…let’s just say tis a mad, mad, mad hatter world and I left my hat next to the drunken leprauchan…and then the bastard stole it. Oh well…he left his pot o gold so we’re even…

St. Patrick’s is tomorrow. Unless you’re Catholic and living in Ireland, then you celebrated it yesterday since Ireland’s Bishop received a special dispensation from the Vatican to celebrate it early so that millions of Irish folk wouldn’t be lying wasted with drink in the streets on the first day of Catholic Holy Week aka the week prior to Easter.

Still with me?

For those of the Celtic descent it’s a day to remember your Irish roots and binge drink. For everyone else, it’s a day to wish they had Irish roots and drink like they did. My mates and I have already finished a box of shamrock shaped cookies from Smith’s Bakery in Bakersfield brought up special by my loving mother. She would be the one who generously donated her Irish DNA to myself.

I spent yesterday whipping* up an Irish banquet: colcannon, soda bread, corned beef & cabbage with potatoes, parsnip & carrot puree, swiss chard with pepper and nutmeg. While whipping I was also imbibing Smithwick’s, Guinness, Harp, and my lover’s first batch of homemade, self-monikered “Black Cat Stout.” All of it soooo tasty. So overwhelmingly so that I ate too much, drank too much….insert Dave Matthew’s Band’s “Too much” here. Hence today I’m dehydrated and so tired…and still up at 11 writing a blog, drinking a margarita, consuming a leftover shamrock cookie and listening to singer De Sela Lhasa’s “De Cara a la Pared”** when I’ve to rise for work at the 0600 hour when the sun is still slumbering.

Oh well…I’ll sleep when I’m dead.

*Speaking of whipping there was no true “whipping” of either eggs, cream, or people, but Goddess knows, my 17-year-old sister sure could’ve used one for being surly in my house. Out of town guests need to remember that, when leeching off someone else’s hospitality (whether they’re related to that hospitality or not), politeness goes a lot farther than smarminess.

**Have I also mentioned I have good stock Mexican roots from mi padre? When Irish and Mexican meet in America you get…Mexican nachos served with apple pie…and fireworks, lots and lots of fire works.

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