Category: Stuff Your Parents Would Like

Sad Shibow’s Got A Bad Case of FOMO, Requests A Good Case Of Wine (Oh I Made Poptails Too)

Post author By Shibow
Post date May 5, 2015
No Comments on Sad Shibow’s Got A Bad Case of FOMO, Requests A Good Case Of Wine (Oh I Made Poptails Too)

As many of you probably haven’t noticed because the change is so subtle it’s, like, not even there, I’m trying to be more positive on this blog, just to see what that’s like. But I can’t really muster up the will to do that this time around. I am grumpy, plain and simple, and there isn’t a confection in the world that could cure my crankiness, damnit.

I have a confession: I got the FOMO, guys. I got the FOMO real bad. I have stalked all of your Instagrams, seen your happy news on Facebook, chuckled at your vibrantly witty tweets and liked your new positions on LinkedIn, and I AM ALSO CRAZY JELLY OF ALL OF YOU. And it totally smarts to admit that.

I’ve spent almost every day of the last three months on Google Flights, selecting flights on SUPER shady (and also dirt-cheap) airlines to fancy European destinations. I get all the way to the “payment info” page before I pretty much freak out, bail, and whine about money. I get that there are bigger problems in the world– I’m lucky to have a forum to complain on, hell I’m lucky to have an internet connection– but sometimes it is very difficult not to feel like a big old damned loser. Where did I go wrong in life, that I can’t even purchase a simple 4 or 5 day vacation to anywhere without losing my mind over the cost?! (Btw, as I write this, I have no less than seven other tabs open with seven separate vacation deals from seven separate sites, all pretty much at the checkout stage. Sigh). This is probably some sort of cultural or hereditary or Catholic thing, because somewhere in life, I am convinced, someone told me that the purpose of life is suffering, and that all that matters is that we toil away in misery until we all eventually perish, penniless and alone. Maybe that was never expressly told to me, and is instead something my twisted brain took away as a lesson from an episode of Mighty Morphin Power Rangers, because that’s something that happens to anxious, misanthropic Indian women sometimes. Right?

Sylvapotamus and I rescued this little Ewok, who's been happily lounging on my parents' couch for the past two weeks. Soon after this photo was taken, our friend decided he wanted nothing more to do with me and now barely acknowledges my existence. You see now why I am the way I am. — Sylvapotamus and I recently rescued this little Ewok, who’s been happily lounging on my parents’ couch for the past two weeks. Soon after this photo was taken, our friend decided he wanted nothing more to do with me and now barely acknowledges my existence. You see now why I am the way I am.

I have recently realized that I will happily spend money on household necessities, gifts for loved ones, and even mint chocolate chip ice cream (*shudder*) for my boyfriend, but I will find every single reason in the world to resist treating myself. Yes folks, Clorox Cleaning Wipes > Anything That Could Possibly Elevate My Overall Well-Being. I really don’t get it either. What I do get is that this is very much a champagne problem, but it is still one that I can’t help writing for all of you to see, mostly because I am hoping I am not the only one who feels this way. And I think a big part of it is also coming to terms with the fact that my life has taken a much different trajectory from the life I’d planned, from the life people around me are living and– I assume– expected I’d live, too. Sometimes it’s hard to see the people around you grow and change and experience amazing things that you always thought you’d have experienced too by now. It’s hard to accept that your timeline is different, or that your timeline was never even really a timeline but a time rhombus that will zip and zoom you in and out of places faster than you could say “Why in blog’s name am I so bitter?!” It’s difficult to feel left behind, to feel like there are choices that I should have made but didn’t, and that now because of the way I’ve gone I’m somehow lacking in awesome. And I don’t want to be lacking in awesome.

Now, it is currently an unseasonably warm 80 degrees outside, and I have been known to short-circuit and completely bug out when I overheat, so maybe this is all weather-related angst. And I think I know how to fix that: more booze popsicles.

Pina Colada Poptails

1 1/2 cups of coconut milk

1 cup of fresh pineapple

1/3 cup of brown sugar

1/3 cup of lime juice

1 teaspoon of cinnamon

1/4 cup of rum (omit if making non-alcoholic)

1/4 cup of shredded coconut, optional

This particular bottle is near and dear to my heart/belly for sentimentally boozy reasons.

In a blender, mix together coconut milk, pineapple, brown sugar, lime juice and cinnamon. Stir in rum and fold in coconut, if using. Divide among paper cups or popsicle molds and freeze for at least four hours (if using paper cups, snip one side to make it easier to remove popsicles when frozen,; wait at least an hour until popsicles are semi-frozen and place a wooden popsicle stick into each cup, then place back in freezer).

I think I threw my beloved popsicle molds away in a fit of moving-related rage. :( — I think I threw my beloved popsicle molds away in a fit of moving-related rage. 😦

If using molds, dip mold in warm water until popsicles slide out, and if using paper cups, tear the cup around the popsicle. Enjoy.

Ho man. Do not drive or operate any heavy machinery for a LOT of hours after having one of these potent poptails. But are they any good? Oh they’re I’m-not-planning-any-parties-so-I’m-going-to-have-a-solo-frozen-fiesta-ASAP good. I’m home alone and I’m happily snacking (sipping?) on one.

Warning: may cause FOMO in all of your FB friends 😉

Tags boozy popsicles, pina colada popsicles, poptails

Cakes Classic Favorites Holiday desserts Stuff Your Parents Would Like

This Blog Celebrates A Birthday…And So Does The Man Who Dislikes It!

Post author By Shibow
Post date April 3, 2015
1 Comment on This Blog Celebrates A Birthday…And So Does The Man Who Dislikes It!

This blog is FOUR guys! That means we’re [probably] potty trained and [probably] tying our own shoelaces, unless you were one of those cool kids with velcro straps on your TMNT kicks. Whatever. Not jelly. Anyway, thank you all, as always, for keeping this blog, and me, going. Your support is everything.

Ok. Let’s talk about Easter desserts. Specifically, let’s talk about macabre Easter desserts.

Whilst searching the ‘nets for some inspiration, I came across a few pretty dark-sounding sweets. Let’s list them, yes?

1. Empty Tombs. Which, as I remarked to a friend of mine the other day, is probably a step up from “Tombs Filled With Sleeping Jesuses,” but is still not something I could see myself enjoying.

2. Chocolate Crosses. Again, not totally sold on the whole “eat a symbol of suffering while feeling really good about the sugar you’re imbibing” thing. I dunno.

3. Judas Cookies. To be fair, my friend Jeremy had the idea for Judas Cookies, which I suggested should be topped with chocolate Judas kisses, and then we had to stop before all the Catholics we both know (and some we don’t) came after us with Super Soakers full of holy water. (There’s mad blasphemy all up in that sentence, isn’t there?) My mother alone could form a very, very formidable army of such soldiers.

4. Bonkers Easter Cake. WHO WOULD COMMIT SUCH AN ATROCITY?!

So, I decided to go for something a little bit more classic. Ok, fine, full disclosure: this post is going up a couple of days before Easter, so y’all know I didn’t really make this for Easter. This was actually a birthday cake for my dad, who normally hates, in no particular order: cakes, blogs, things that are made from scratch, things that are made from scratch and then blogged about, cakes that are blogged about, and his child blogging about cakes she made from scratch.

He will very likely end me if he finds out this picture is on the internet, but seriously people: check out that swagger. Dude is holding an infant and cutting a cake like it's NBD. I'd have trouble doing one of those things with total confidence. — Dad will very likely end me if he finds out this picture is on the internet, but seriously people: check out that swagger. Dude is holding an infant and cutting a cake like it’s NBD. I’d have trouble doing one of those things with total confidence.

A lot of people have asked me how it feels to have my dad not like my blog. Those same lot of people are always shocked to hear me say that I think it’s HILARIOUS. He’s such a grump over the most random issues (see: cake-making, also the clothing choices of complete strangers and when people lose on Wheel of Fortune) that it starts to get very amusing after a while. He’s also my dad, the guy who– no questions asked– came over to my apartment a few years ago when I was living alone in order to kill a giant waterbug for me– which I originally claimed was a bat, it was that large– because I was too scared and squeamish to do so myself. He’s the guy who drove over to my apartment last week to pick up my boyfriend and me after our apartment became uninhabitable for a few days (remember that awful varnish smell I mentioned?), and then left us with to-go breakfast sandwiches when it was time for us to head home. He’s the guy who happily secured tickets for five brown people who inexplicably wanted to see Tom Jones in concert in Atlantic City in the mid-1990s, and I am still weirdly proud that it was the first live show I’d ever attended. So, despite the fact that you may very well never read this, I thank you Papa K, for making life funnier, more stressful/less stressful, and safer from disgusting insects/life’s other random villains.

Still, like I said, the man does not normally enjoy cake. BUT! There is an exception, friends, and it is an exception so simple and yet so profound, that even I in my all-powerful wisdom (LOL) could never have guessed it: carrot cake. Regular old carrot cake. Well. Not so regular, and not old at all, but it is more classic than the one I’ve made before. Let’s do this.

Very lightly adapted from The Betty Crocker Cookbook

Carrot cake (makes one 9-inch round two layer cake)

For the cake

1 cup of brown sugar

1 stick of butter, browned (melt until butter darkens, brown bits begin to form in the butter and it takes on a nutty smell)

1/4 cup of vegetable oil

3 eggs

2 cups of all-purpose flour

2 teaspoons of cinnamon

1/2 teaspoon of salt–unless butter is salted, then omit

1 teaspoon of baking soda

1 teaspoon of baking powder

1 teaspoon of vanilla

1 cup of raisins

1 cup of pineapple puree, or one cup of pineapple chunks in juice

4 cups of shredded carrots (about 4-5 medium)

For the frosting

8-ounce package of cream cheese, softened

3 tablespoons of butter, softened

2 teaspoons of milk

1 1/2 cups of powdered sugar

1 teaspoon of vanilla

To start, preheat your oven to 350ºF. Generously butter and flour two 9-inch round cake pans and set aside. In the bowl of a stand mixer or in a large bowl with a hand mixer, beat together butter, oil and sugar on medium speed until fully blended. Add in eggs, one at a time, until completely mixed. In a separate smaller bowl, sift together flour, cinnamon, salt (if using), baking powder and baking soda, then add in vanilla.

Gradually add flour mixture to wet mixture, with mixer on low to medium speed, until batter is fully mixed. Fold in raisins first, then pineapple, then carrots, until evenly distributed throughout batter.

Divide batter between pans and bake for 30 to 35 mins, until a cake tester inserted into the middle of cake comes out clean. Allow cakes to cool in pans for 10 minutes before inverting onto cooling rack to cool completely, about 1 hour.

To make frosting, beat cream cheese and butter together with a mixer on high speed until blended. Add in milk, a little at a time, then gradually beat in sugar and vanilla until mixed. Note that this recipe will produce a cream cheese frosting that is on the tangier side, because no one in my family likes it to be terribly sweet. If you prefer yours on the sweeter side, add in about 1-2 more cups, a little at a time, tasting as you go until you reach your preferred level of sugar shock. Frost the top of one cake round, then top with second cake round and frost. Decorate how you wish and serve.

Sort of an inside joke-y cake topping, but I went for a vaguely Indian color scheme. Also was pressed for time :( — Sort of an inside joke-y cake topping, but I went for a vaguely Indian color scheme. Also was pressed for time 😦

Thoughts? I’m weirdly surprised at how well this went over with everyone. My dad being my dad, he did question why I’d spend the time baking something that seemed complicated to him from scratch…until he tasted it. In fact, everyone was really happy with the cake, from the tangy frosting to the rich, not-too-sweet actual cake. I was pretty damned shocked to hear that my parents, who aren’t really big sugar fiends (yes, I know, I also suspect I was adopted) polished off the rest of this cake a couple of days after dad’s birthday. You never cease to surprise me, Pops.

Tags carrot cake, classic carrot cake, less sugar carrot cake

Easy Baking No-Bake Recipes Puddings Stuff Your Parents Would Like

Let’s Pretend We’re In India, And Not On Hoth, Which Is Where We Live Now.

Post author By Shibow
Post date January 28, 2015
1 Comment on Let’s Pretend We’re In India, And Not On Hoth, Which Is Where We Live Now.

So I’ve been cracking Hoth jokes since this past weekend, when snowpocalypse was but a mere twinkle in the Northeast’s eye. This morning, I asked my boyfriend to bring the Tauntaun around so we could ride to the nearest park and go sledding. Hilario, I know. Oh, but I wasn’t always this jolly. I spent most of last night freaked out by the end-of-days posts on Gothamist and worried I didn’t stock enough milk for the pending storm (spoiler alert: I didn’t).

In case you were wondering, I’m writing this post on Tuesday evening, just as the big “blizzard” is winding down. I spent today working from home, which is simultaneously happy and sad.Happy because I can see the alternate universe in which I attempted to commute, and it involves me crying on the Manhattan-bound F train platform and picking frozen tears off of my face. I need to make some life changes.

How I survived the storm. — How ELSE I survived the storm.

It’s sad because I AM GOING COMPLETELY STIR CRAZY GUYS OMG. I recently made the mistake of learning that my phone has a built-in pedometer, and now I cannot stop tracking my steps, and since I live in an apartment in New York City, there are only so many steps I can take. Today, so far, I have only taken thirty steps, and knowing that is driving me bananas. As a result I am spending entirely too much of today walking from wall to couch to television to wall again whilst obsessively checking my phone to see the numbers shoot up. I am a sad, pajama-clad, live-action game of Pac-Man. Wait! Forty! I’m up to forty steps! Progress!

And how ELSE am I riding out this non-blizzard? With payasam! “WTF SHIBOW?! Be a little more aggressive with the spell check,” is likely how many of my non-Malayali readers are reacting right now. But fear not, friends! I can still spell like a mother. Payasam, a South Indian treat, (similar to kheer, which is a common North Indian dessert that can be found at many an Indian restaurant) is a sweet, milky dessert containing noodles, raisins, nuts and a few spices. It’s almost a pudding, almost a sweet soup. Payasam was always THE best part of all family functions for me, mostly because I am a sugar fiend and a little bit because I have poor social skills. If you’re more of a cupcake and cookie kind of human, this dessert is weird for you. I get it. But you need to try this, a. because it’s easy, and b. because it will give you the opportunity to open the eyes and stomachs of all of the other cupcake-and-cookie loving humans around you to a new, glorious comfort food. Let’s do this.

Payasam (makes a healthy few bowls. I know that’s vague. Sorry guys)

2 tablespoons of ghee/clarified butter (we’ll go through how to make this if you don’t have any on hand)

5 cups of coconut milk

1/2 cup of sugar

1 cup of vermicelli noodles (if unavailable, sub in 1 cup of angel hair pasta, broken into smaller pieces)

1/2 cup of raisins

1/2 cup of halved cashews

1/2 teaspoon of ground ginger

1/2 teaspoon of ground cinnamon

1 teaspoon of ground cardamom

To begin, we’ll make our clarified butter, if you don’t already have some ghee handy (I didn’t). For two tablespoons of ghee, melt about four tablespoons of butter over medium-high heat in a medium-sized saucepan, then reduce heat to low when butter is melted. Allow to cook until the butter browns and a foam forms on top, about 6-7 minutes.

Skim the foam off, then pour butter through a strainer. Discard strained solids, and pour clarified butter back into the saucepan.

Over medium heat, saute noodles in ghee until lightly browned. Pour in milk, sugar, and spices and bring mixture to a boil, stirring occasionally.

Once mixture reaches a boil, add in raisins and cashews, and bring heat back down to a simmer. Allow it to cook until the milk thickens and the pasta has softened, then remove from heat. Serve hot, warm or cold. On days like this, it’s absolutely perfect warm.

So, it may not look like much, but WOW. I know I’m a highly emotional, extremely sentimental person, so having a bowl of this definitely brought a couple of tears to my eyes. It’s legit. My dad happened to be dropping by just as I was done making the payasam (truth is, he was dropping off blizzard food for me and my boyfriend, because he is an Indian father and does not believe we eat anything but Multigrain Cheerios and also is a nice human being), so I set him up with a to-go bowl for the family. My mom (who’s celebrating a birthday today– HAPPY BIRTHDAY MAMA! <3), after giving me several pointers which were subsequently worked into the above recipe, praised it, which is really all I needed to hear. Payasam. Kid created, Indian mama approved.

Tags easy dessert, easy indian dessert, easy winter desserts, indian dessert, payasam, south indian dessert

Easy Baking Jams and Jellies No-Bake Recipes Strange and Yummy Stuff Your Parents Would Like

The Best Part of Waking Up Is Realizing It’s Not 2014 Anymore. And Also There Are Coffee Jellies

Post author By Shibow
Post date January 20, 2015
No Comments on The Best Part of Waking Up Is Realizing It’s Not 2014 Anymore. And Also There Are Coffee Jellies

Happy 2015, ya’ll! How’s it feeling for everyone? Better so far than the pile of fetid garbage that was 2014? Okay, last year wasn’t completely bad, it was just 87% bad on my end. But so far this year’s lookin’ up! I’m ready to feng shui my whole damn life into order!

How I spent New Year's Day. Staring, motionless, at a stranger in a windbreaker and/or lighthouse in the distance. — How I spent New Year’s Day. Staring, motionless, at a stranger in a windbreaker and/or lighthouse in the distance.

Remember when I told you all about my sort-of resolution to ease up on the profanities? Yeah. Let’s f***ing scratch that; for, readers, I am weak, and my need to swear is strong. My new goal is to BUY MORE KITCHEN GADGETS. Lately I’ve been on the hunt for an ice cream maker and a slow cooker, which should be on sale because I feel like most things you can plug into a wall become deeply discounted after Christmas. My boyfriend says I’m forbidden from “bringing any more gadgets into our fun-sized kitchen unless the plan is to get rid of something(s).” It’s sad for my boyfriend that he doesn’t yet understand that I’m not forbidden from doing anything ever, forever. Poor chap. (I also want a kitchen torch, but for what I think are probably obvious reasons to many of you who know me in real life, I have forbidden myself from purchasing one.)

Really the only thing working in my guy’s favor right now is that I am boogie-down broke, due to the fact that I have decided to put the bulk of my earnings toward finally paying off my credit card debt. I am thisclose to doing so, and it simultaneously makes me want to jump for joy and die inside. If you, too, have ever had credit card debt, I trust you understand these contradictory impulses. And no, my debt was not due to an insane kitchen-related shopping spree, or a booze bender–though those would have been damn fun and I would have had no regrets, especially if I was on the booze bender WHILE on the shopping spree. Just thinking of the all the kickin’ baking contraptions I could have had at my disposal makes me wish I had swiped that plastic rectangle all over Chef’s Central instead of at [ENTER BORING, SADLY NECESSARY EXPENSE THAT I COULD NOT BEGIN TO AFFORD AT THE TIME]. Yes, I purposely censored myself on that one, because it really is a pathetically boring list of needs, and you’ll all be sad for me and we just can’t have that.

What we can have? Weird sweets. Yes, friends, it’s time for more of the strange, fancy, gelatinous desserts that have perplexed and awed us all.

Coffee Jellies

adapted from Saveur

For the jellies

4 cups of strong brewed coffee

3/4 cup of sugar

2 packets (1/4 ounce each) of powdered gelatin

For the whipped cream

1 cup of heavy cream

2 tablespoons of sugar

2 teaspoons of coffee liqueur (optional)

To start, have someone who is obsessed with figuring out how to make a damn-good cup of coffee brew four cups of the stuff for you. In my case, it’s my boyfriend, who has spent countless hours trying to create the perfect cup of joe. I’m not much of a coffee drinker, but whenever I steal a sip of his I am always impressed. Dude knows his stuff.

Place brewed coffee in a medium-sized saucepan over medium-high heat, and stir in sugar and gelatin. Bring to a boil, stirring until the gelatin and sugar have dissolved, and remove from heat. Pour mixture into either an 8″ square baking pan or into lightly greased mini-muffin tins. Let chill in refrigerator for at least 4 to 5 hours. If using a baking pan, cut into cubes or desired shapes. If using a muffin tin, just pop these babies out.

For the whipped cream, whisk heavy cream with a stand mixer or hand mixer on high speed until peaks begin to form. Whisk in sugar and coffee liqueur just until combined. Serve jellies in mugs or ramekins and top with a dollop of whipped cream.

Dude… I am not fancy. You all know this. It was a real struggle to try and make these look fancy, so my bad for the weird pictures.

Yes, they're shot glasses. I know. — Yes, they’re shot glasses. I know.

So, verdict? Well, I’m currently BOUNCING OFF THE WALLS. It’s proving difficult to even sit here long enough to finish this post. If you like coffee and drink it often, this is the fun, quirky brunch treat for you and all of your caffeine-loving pals. I, on the other hand, very rarely drink coffee and am therefore quite sensitive to it, which means weird nervous energy for me and lots and lots and lots of run-on sentences for the blog, because it’s my blog and I can’t stop typing and coffee makes me feel WEIRD these days and OHMYGODWHATHAVEIDONE. (Note: I went back and edited this piece hours after coming down off of the extreme caffeine high I was on, and it was NOT pretty. Lots and lots of long, long rants with little to no punctuation. It was actually frightening.)

Oh! So you may not believe me because, like I said, coffee’s not really my thing anymore, but you WILL believe these pictures. Part of the reason I didn’t take a fancy picture of the jellies in a fancy mug was there weren’t enough of them by the time I decided to photograph.

Exhibit A…

See all those empty cups? HE HAD SO MANY. In a couple of sittings How? How people do this?!

Oh, also, peep this:

Notice the weird stream of light shooting out of the tin and up into his hand. The jellies seem to have unlocked some sort of probably scary force on my boyfriend. More to come as story develops.

Empty. In ONE day, this tin was empty (I only managed to get down two jellies before I went completely bonkers and had to stop). I mean, I know the guy likes sweets, but this is a new ballgame. And he didn’t freak out and do eighty jumping jacks, or try to make a four-course meal in the middle of the day, or try to do parkour in a tiny New York City apartment… like a certain someone else. I’m stunned.