These browned butter cookies may not leap off the page, but you need to just trust me on this. No one you offer these moist, sweet and savory cookies to will be satisfied after just one. They are immediately going into high rotation at Chez Tv Food and Drink! Many many thanks to Danelle at Let’s Dish Recipes for sharing!
When telemarketers call my home in the middle of the day and cheerfully ask, “Hi! May I speak to Mister or Misses Green?” I usually shout back woefully, “Misses Green has been dead for eight days now. Who are you… and why do you keep doing this to me?”
After a momentary gap of dread, the telemarketer begins desperately apologizing in clumsy stammers and half-sentences, and when I feel like they’ve suffered enough I interrupt them by saying, “You sound hot. What do you like in the bedroom?” Before they can recover, I hang up on them.
The tingling afterglow I experience from indulging in little weekday funsies like this has convinced me that I could be a stay-at-home husband for the rest of my life and never be bored. Why did I spend so many years convincing myself that the keys to a fulfilled life were challenging my creative limits and building myself a robust career outside of the home, when it’s just as rewarding to watch Franklin and Bash all day in my bathrobe while I’m drinking iced mochas and painting my nails?
Exactly one year ago this week, my last show was cancelled after a three-and-a-half year run, and in the time it took for the network executive to get out the words, “severance package,” I went from being a high-functioning, multi-tasking television producer to just another out-of-work Hollywood dude who looked at the busses going up and down Sunset and wondered if eventually he’d end up so broke he’d actually have to get a job driving one.
Meanwhile, MG has become the primary breadwinner in the relationship. He goes to work every day at a stop-motion animation studio in Burbank. He sweats under lighting grids, and strains his lower back muscles leaning over miniature sets and adjusting puppets so he can snap a single frame, and then he has to start the process all over again for the next frame. He sometimes slices open his fingers, or burns his arm, or gets headaches from the intense concentration he has to maintain to execute his work as phenomenally as he does. It’s always a grueling day for him.
And yet, he’s still considerate enough to stop and call to ask what I’m doing at home. I tell him I’m updating my resume or getting ready for a run, but really I’m pricing swimming pools on the web, alphabetizing the board games, or practicing my autograph for an hour to get it “just so” in case anyone ever asks for it.
And every Thursday, I make cookies for him take to work and share with all his co-workers on Friday morning. I do this partly because I know how slow and arduous the process of creating stop-motion animation is, and I think anyone who voluntarily chooses to work in that field deserves to be treated after a long, hard week.
But I also do it so eventually MG is making enough money so he can hire me a cleaning lady. I certainly don’t mind picking the occasional shoe up off the floor, but I’m a busy man. I don’t have time to dust and wax and polish this whole place while I’m waiting to convince the next telemarketer to hurry and call the police because any minute now my kidnapper will be back with the hacksaw and the sulphuric acid. Fun doesn’t just create itself. It’s hard work.
When Michael sent me this picture earlier today from the Robot Chicken animation studios, I texted him immediately and asked if this guy was going to mind having his face on my website. Michael responded: “Oh, no. Kevin is an attention whore. He’d LOVE to be on your site!” And so for Kevin the attention whore, the road to fame and notoriety begins here today at TvFoodAndDrink.com.
Michael tells me a lot of stories about the characters he works with, but I rarely see these people in person. I may meet them at a wrap party or a Christmas party, but months will pass in between, and I’ll inevitably forget which face belongs to which name. It’s a character flaw, but it isn’t limited to Michael’s co-workers. I can’t even keep track of my remote control. The other day I found it on top the cat box out on the balcony.
So when Michael texted me last week, simply saying, “Olive is here!” boy did I feel the pressure. I knew he was waiting for an appropriate response, but I hadn’t a clue who “Olive” was. The few of Michael’s co-workers I have managed to burn into my sickly memory banks I’ve done so by associating with things I’ve learned about them or moments I’ve shared with them: ”Joy who’s getting married,” “Tommy who lives downtown,” “Trish who used to work at Starbucks,” “Jeanette who I got drunk with,” “Dan who has the blog,” “Sarah who I made hot dogs for that one time.”
But who the hell was Olive?
I decided to roll the dice. It was clear Olive didn’t work with MG or he wouldn’t have felt the need to celebrate her appearance. Instead, I figured it had to be a loved one associated with someone at work – the kind who is occasionally brought into the office for a special guest appearance, to be coddled and adored over while work goes completely ignored for twenty to thirty minutes.
So I texted Michael back, “Oh… Olive! Is that the baby… or the paralyzed chihuahua?”
I figured I might be able to trick Michael into thinking I at least almost knew who Olive was by narrowing it down to two possible options.
But I was wrong on both counts.
Olive is a pug… a pug with four fully functioning legs. Boyfriend points denied.
If we’re out together and someone Michael recognizes waves at us and begins an approach, I quickly lean in and whisper, “Do I know them?” and Michael either assures me I don’t, or gives me a lightning fast bio so I don’t make an fool of myself, just like Emily Blunt did for Meryl Streep in The Devil Wears Prada. ”That’s Rick. We met him at Comic-Con. He lives in the hills. He does calligraphy.”
And for that, but not that alone, I will always be grateful to Michael. And I will always make him cookies to share with his co-workers. Even Kevin the attention whore.
By the way… I wasn’t making up the paralyzed chihuahua. You can see a picture below. You ought to watch the way that baby can get around on those back wheels, coasting and swerving through all the legs at Robot Chicken and snapping up every dropped cheese puff in sight!
I can’t decide who I like the most… paralyzed chihuahua, Olive the pug, or Kevin the attention whore. But one thing is certain. Now that they’re all on my website, I’ll forever have a short-cut to remembering which is which.
I could live with rain, gray skies and wind all year round. I find dark, gloomy, damp weather stimulating… charged with silence and secrets and the temptation to indulge in sneaky, nefarious behavior, the likes of which you might regularly encounter on shows like Dark Shadows or The Edge of Night (the former I’m too young to have caught, the latter I watched religiously every day… Kim Hunter, cursed movie sets and killer clown puppets? You could have tried to stop me, but how well do think that would have gone for you?)
My noir temperament is definitely more suited to settings like San Francisco, Seattle or London. But I live in Hollywood. Here, it’s bright and mild almost all of the time. Litter-soaked alleyways are exposed by far too much sunlight to ever look sinister. No one wears trench coats or fox fur hats or ankle-length raven’s black capes, except for me.
Instead, everything is ho-hum conspicuous in Hollywood. Not even the sunsets are devious.
So, MG and I will make the best of the predictably obvious Los Angeles summer that is almost upon us. We’ll reluctantly spend evenings enjoying vistas just like this from the balcony or possibly the roof. I’ll work my producer skills to their furthest to compensate for the lack of atmosphere. Candles on the railing. Bernard Herrmann from the living room speakers. Sage and basil positioned to be picked up by the breeze. And an eighteen pound cat we’ll both pretend is the Orson Welles character from Touch of Evil.
If you’re still looking for ways to wow your friends and family with a one-of-a-kind Mexican feast this Cinco de Mayo, here come the Top 10 Latin-themed recipes that should definitely be crowding your table this weekend.
Some are wild, some are mild, but they’re all rich in flavor. More importantly, they all go well with a chilled Tecate or a shot of tequlia. Have a great weekend!
Habanero Pizza
It may look like a traditional Italian pie, but this sauce carries a kick that definitely comes from South of the Border! Those who like to avoid foods that make their eyes water will not be put off, though they will receive a subtle indication with each bite that there’s something sneaky going on. It’s just a pinch of heat that won’t linger on the tongue but will definitely make its inclusion known.
Today, I sent my man off to work with a double batch of these babies.
You may be saying to yourself, “But Gary… you go to such great lengths in the kitchen, and then you let MG take all those brownies to work with him?”
And I’d answer, “yes.” Because when the hubby goes to work with cheesecake brownies made from scratch, his stage (he’s an animator) becomes the focal point of the production offices.
When his stage becomes the focal point of the production offices, he’s more readily able to showcase not only his brilliant animating skills, but also his winning personality and magical blue eyes.
When he showcases his brilliant animating skills, his winning personality and magical blue eyes, co-workers say, “Wow, that Michael Granberry is something special!”
When co-workers say, ”Wow, that Michael Granberry is something special!” they’re more likely to throw promotions, raises and multi-million dollar production deals his way.
When co-workers throw promotions, raises and multi-million dollar production deals his way, he becomes a Hollywood hotshot, all his career dreams come true, and I get a swimming pool!
So yes, the brownies go to work with MG. Just like the oatmeal truffle cookies did last week, and the yet-to-be-determined dessert will next week.
And the week after that, and the week after that, and the week after that.
And whenever Michael comes home with good news from the office, I close my eyes, smile, and say to him, “I can almost smell the chlorine already!”
Every recipe I read for preparing spaghetti squash warns that if one intends to cook the squash without cutting it in half, one must never forget to pierce it numerous times with a sharp knife about an inch deep to prevent bursting.
I, personally would LOVE to roll the dice and cook myself up a hot “squash bomb,” and if I was living in my old apartment I would have done it, because the splattering of wet hot spaghetti meat and moist squash skin on my kitchen walls would have actually been an improvement. But I probably won’t make one now that I’m in my new place, where cleaning the refrigerator actually has an effect, the floors aren’t covered with scratches and the smoke alarm doesn’t go off every time I go to boil a hot dog.
The husband went back to work this week as animator for the new season of Cartoon Network’s Robot Chicken. Why are they lucky to have him? Well, he took my decadent oatmeal chocolate truffle cookies to work to share with the entire production staff. That’s reason number one. And he will continue to take my cookies to work to share as long as my oven works and they’re smart enough to keep him on the payroll. That’s reason number two.
He’s also a pretty phenomenal animator. That’s reason number three. I might be willing to bump that up to reason number two, but he’ll have to feature my likeness in more of his work before that happens. My effigy hasn’t made a cameo in almost five years!(that’s me in the driver’s seat of the car during Georgie’s Wish below). Recipe follows after the jump:
The buttery delight that bubbled up in front of me as I made this dish last week was almost worth the grief my astonishing fish ignorance caused me.
When I go to the fish, I’m generally a salmon man, and dealing with bones is not an issue. Just season it, cook it, and send it to its demise.
So, when I bought trout instead of salmon, I expected the same easy preparation.
Not the case. As MG informed me, trout are cut lengthwise and salmon are cross-cut. “If you got yourself a salmon fillet,” he informed me with authority and gusto, “it would be about three feet long – they’re big fish – big enough that they can cut them cross-wise.” He impressed me so much with his ability to immediately bring up such amazing fish knowledge that when I told him I was incorporating his explanation into my post, I was a bit disappointed when he backed off immediately and said, “well, I think that’s the reason.” “Too late,” I told him, “it sounds right… so it’s going in.”
Right or wrong, had I more time to look into it that evening (the potatoes were already simmering), I would have discovered a much easier approach to de-boning the trout than what I actually ended up doing, which was basically just digging each teeny-weeny bone out with my fingers and in the process tearing up two perfectly good fillets.