I gave up.

I'm the worst food blogger - IN HISTORY. Those assmunches on Yelp ain't got nothin' on my fail.

Instead, I'm just going to write down some things.

1. I think energy drinks are trashy. I can handle it when a friend gets a Red Bull-vodka to pep up on a sleepy evening, but when I see someone just walking around with an energy drink - any brand - I think they look really lame and cheesy. I'd say Red Bull has a slight edge over other ones, perhaps because of its European cachet, but all of 'em are gross. The saddest part is that I think some people drink them to look sophisticated.

2 (related). Why are drug addicts in my nabe always toting a vat of pop from a gas station?

My minty valentine: Another dessert distraction

(Crap, I forgot to take a picture!)

I saw this recipe a couple months ago in Bon Appetit and thought it sounded richly fabulous. Since we decided to keep Valentine's Day on the low-key side (as usual, really), I made these for a fancy dessert after our Ethiopian dinner.

Phew. This was a labor-intensive recipe and took a long-ass time. Part of it was my own fault: I only have one cookie sheet, so it takes quite a while for me to let a batch cool, transfer, add new parchment and throw in another batch.

It turned out all right. Like most cookies I've made at this altitude, they went out instead of gently up. I used to bake a lot when I was a kid in Iowa, but kind of lost the bug after moving to Denver. Too many failed attempts, forgetting to adjust for altitude. I'm still not entirely certain how to work this with cookies—I've been OK with cakes and breads, but my cookies never seem to turn out quite as they should.

Anyhoots. The chocolate cookies were shaped all right, and tasted fine, but came out extremely delicate. We (John helped) had to be very careful when spreading on the frostings. I could have used more of a punch of chocolate, but the little sandwiches turned out pretty well. We still have a bunch of them in the fridge, and I think they might taste even better cold.

Recipe: 4/5
My performance: 3.5/5

Experiment #4: Seared scallops with tarragon beurre blanc

French month begins at last! I'm beginning to think I should just lay off the "month" thing and concentrate on doing four recipes per "unit." February will be over so soon, and I've barely had time to choose my recipes.

Nonetheless, here is the first installment of my French unit. Despite a rough start, it turned out quite well.

The rough start: I went to the overpriced gourmet market for my scallops because our car was, quite literally, frozen to the street. I didn't purchase the full 1-1/4 pound of sea scallops the recipe calls for since there's only two of us, and the bastards were $20 a pound. I ended up getting about a pound anyway because the initial 3/4-pound I asked for looked pretty small on the scale.

So I bring them home and get set to start cooking. I discover that many of the scallops are partially frozen. Not rock-hard frozen, but definitely on the icy side. Goddammit. Not only that, the guy had given me a bunch of runty little ones - there were probably two or three good-sized scallops, and the rest were nubbins. Personally, I'd rather have fewer of the big, meaty ones than a bunch of tiny sad dudes.

But this was OK, at first. I left the scallops out of the fridge and set to preparing the other ingredients, chopping shallots and tarragon and meting out the liquids. I cut up some bread, divided the butter, dum de dum... the scallops were still frozen. Now I began to get angry.

I started picking up the frozen scallops and pressing them between my hands, trying to work the ice out of the meat. I had limited success with this, so, in a desperate moment, threw a couple in the 'crowave to defrost. They began to cook, even on the defrost setting, so I yanked them out.

At this time, I had my usual thought: "Ah, fuckit." So I just started cooking. Angrily.

The scallops didn't sear quite the way I wanted them to—they didn't seem to get brown enough on the tops and bottoms. Next time I should use a little higher heat, I guess, or get scallops that AREN'T FROZEN. Despite the lack of browning—they got more of a light tan—the texture of the meat was just about perfect after spending some extra time in the skillet.

And then, the sauce: Oh, the sauce. The sauce was easy and quick to put together. The sauce was fucking delicious. I love tarragon so much. It reminds me of summer when I was little, before I could go to school even: the scent of dewy, freshly cut grass in pale yellow sunlight. My brother and I insisted on swimming in our baby pool in the morning, probably before 10 a.m., so my mom would fill it up with water from the hose. She'd try to do it early in hopes that the sun would warm up the water a bit, but we'd usually just go in anyway, shrieking at the chilly water.

Anyway: Tarragon. I love it. Tarragon + butter + white wine = drooling joy.

So the beurre blanc sauce turned out well, in short. I mopped up every last bit from my plate with baguette, and shared the rest from the pan with John. Heavenly.

So: Success! Next time I'll be more careful with my scallops, though their steep price means I probably won't be using them again anytime soon. Which also means I need to find other uses for that glorious sauce—but next time I think I'll ease up on the vinegar just a touch.

Recipe: 5/5
My performance: 4/5

Intermezzo: Spaghetti carbonara

It's been frickin' freezing here in Colorado. The weather has kind of sucked away my will to continue with French Month, even though I love French food. When your car gets covered in pounds of snow, the streets are sheets of ice and the temps are dipping below zero, it's hard to work up the enthusiasm to trudge to the store on foot. There's an upscale grocer just a couple blocks from our house, but the brands they stock are very expensive and even the more down-to-earth items have a huge markup.

Example: I needed to buy noodles to make Ruth Reichl's spaghetti carbonara recipe, from her book Garlic and Sapphires. I bundled up to the point of near-immobility and waddled over to the gourmet market. There was only one brand of capellini in the house, and it cost $8 for less than a pound of the fuckers. This should give you a slight indication of why my start to French Month has been very slow.

Anyway, I made the carbonara last week and it was another hit. The recipe is quite simple, and I can see why Reichl says, in the book, that she has yet to meet a child who doesn't like it. I overcooked the bacon a bit, I think, and now understand how more tender pieces would blend better with the pasta. Also, next time I'd perhaps mince the garlic instead of just throwing some cloves in the pan. I got a couple bites of extra-garlicky flavor and it was delectable. (I love garlic.) Without the punch o' garlic, it was a little on the bland side for me.

Nonetheless, I've been wanting to try this recipe for a long time, and I'm glad it turned out well.

Recipe: 5/5
My performance: 5/5

Ruth Reichl's Spaghetti Carbonara

1 pound spaghetti
1/4 to 1/2 pound thickly sliced, quality bacon
2 cloves garlic, peeled
2 large eggs
Black pepper
1/2 cup grated Parmigiano cheese, plus extra for the table

Most dried pasta takes 9 to 10 minutes to cook, and you can make the sauce in that time.

Cut the bacon crosswise into pieces about 1/2-inch wide. Put them in a skillet and cook for 2 minutes, until fat begins to render. Add the whole cloves of garlic and cook another 5 minutes, until the edges of the bacon just begin to get crisp. Do not overcook; if they get too crisp, they won't meld with the pasta.

Meanwhile, break the eggs into the bowl you will serve the pasta in, and beat them with a fork. Add some grindings of pepper.

Remove the garlic from the bacon pan. If it looks like too much fat to you, discard some, but you're going to toss the bacon with most of its fat into the pasta.

When it is cooked, drain the pasta and immediately throw it into the beaten eggs. Mix thoroughly. The heat of the spaghetti will cook the eggs and turn them into a sauce. Add the bacon with its fat, toss again, add cheese and serve.

Experiment #3: Za jiang mein

Success at last! This recipe was delightful in many ways, most of all because I managed not to completely screw it up.

I've had this dish before, at a lovely Denver restaurant called Lao Wang Noodle House. It's run by an elderly couple—he does the kitchen, she takes the orders—who seem to know their stuff. I really loved their version of this "Chinese spaghetti" when I visited last month, having already decided to make it as part of Chinese Month.

Lao Wang, I love you, but this recipe is better. I made it exactly as ordered, with few exceptions. I used a regular skillet this time instead of our stupid mini-wok. I didn't have cucumber, so just did the carrot shreds. I felt like the whole tofu thing was a bit much, so I didn't use that, either. I couldn't find the wider, fettucine-like noodles used at Lao Wang, so I just used thin Chinese egg noodles.

As suggested in the recipe's accompanying article, I added cilantro to each bowl. This was a lovely touch, as I believe cilantro is a miracle. I can also see scallions being good.

I will most assuredly make this recipe again. In fact, I can't wait to do it. John scarfed it up, and we both ate the leftovers a couple days later. I think it tasted even better after sitting in the fridge and getting its flavors more fully blended together.

The only thing I would change is to increase the sauce mixture by half or double. I like saucy noodles and this was a little dry for me. But so, so excellent. I'm also excited to try the author's vegetarian version with mushrooms and tofu. Mmm.

Hooray! This little success was much needed. I don't generally like Chinese food, so I ended up cursing quite a bit at my failures. "I KNEW there was a reason I didn't like Chinese food! Ugh! Screw this!" But the za jiang mein was a revelation.

Recipe: 5/5
My performance: 5/5

On to French Month!

The Blueberry Muffin Interruption

(This post is very late.)

After my last two failures, I felt the need to make something to lift my spirits. And so: Blueberry muffins!

I had most of a container of blueberries in the fridge, so I went online and dug up this super-easy recipe for blueberry muffins.

I made a couple adjustments. I'm not a big fan of super-spicy (as in, spice-y) blueberry muffins, so I eliminated the nutmeg and used maybe half a teaspoon of cinnamon. I also don't really like crusty, sugar-topped muffins, so I didn't do the extra sugar-on-top. Finally, the blueberries I had were humongous, so two cups' worth turned out to be way too much. The creamy batter started to turn into a heap of batter-coated blueberries.

The resulting muffins were pretty fantastic. John couldn't stop snarfing them. They were maybe a little denser than I usually go for, but I'll definitely make this recipe again. (I have a very specific taste when it comes to muffins, obvs.)

Recipe: 4.5/5
My performance: 5/5

Experiment #2: Green beans and mushrooms in black bean sauce

Sigh. This was yet another near-failure, but we managed to eat dinner that night, so it was OK.

Here were the major issues:
1. I couldn't find fermented black beans at HMart. I wandered that store forever and couldn't find any black beans labeled "fermented" or "salted." I found the aisle where such items were likely kept—it was filled with dried beans and vegetables of many varieties—but none seemed to fit the description. I ended up buying the closest thing I could find to a photo I saw of a package of fermented beans: a bag of Choripdong dried black beans that simply said, "BLACK BEANS INSIDE GREEN." No idea what this means. For the rest of the day an angry Asian lady shrieked "BLACK BEANS INSIDE GREEN!" in my head in a thick accent.

2. The wok, or maybe stir-fry pan, we have is very small. I think it's meant to make one (small) serving of stir-fry at a time. I don't know what its actual function is; John had it when we started dating. Anyway, the thing's freakin' tiny, and was hard to cook in.

So, with these two problems duly noted, here's what happened.

I was feeling good while chopping up my green beans and shiitake shrooms. I like both of these items, so I was looking forward to what I thought would be a pretty manageable and delicious recipe, courtesy again of Gordon Ramsay. Everything went along fine until I actually started cooking. The pan was so small that I had to cook one meal at a time—not a big deal for just two people, right? I halved the recipes for the sauce and set to work, dropping my little "fermented black beans" into the pan.

Ha. Hahaha. These were not fermented black beans. These were just regular dried black beans. I didn't know it at first, though. I've never seen or used a fermented black bean in my life. I just kind of puzzled over the fact that they were sitting there, not doing much. No interesting scents or luscious juices were released in the cooking oil. They just... sizzled. Eventually I realized that I'd fucked up, again.

No matter. It was dinner time. I plowed ahead with the recipe, making two helpings of what turned out to be a bean-and-mushroom stir-fry with brown rice on the side. I also added these little, frozen "leek pies" that I found at HMart. (The bag the pies came in was tied with a lovely red ribbon. As I untied it, I thought of the factory worker in China who'd tied the ribbon. What would he or she think if they could see me, a spoiled American girl, eating the pies with her horribly prepared version of their national cuisine?)

It was a healthy dinner to be sure, but probably not what Ramsay had in mind. Again I imagined a red-faced Ramsay screaming, "YOU FUCKING DONKAAY!" and throwing my shitty meal in the garbage.

The stir-fry tasted good enough, reminiscent of the easy stir-frys my mom used to make when I was young. The green beans didn't quite cook through all the way, which was sad. It was probably something stupid that I did, but I'll blame it on the tiny wok. The black beans just got really hard and did nothing. I never did see the INSIDE GREEN. Next time, in the absence of fermented beans, I'd make a simple stir-fry using the same sauce recipe, easing up a little on the wine and vinegar. Also, I'd use just a regular skillet instead of the stupid baby wok.

If there's one thing I'm learning from my Chinese month, it's that Chinese food can be very forgiving. If you mess something up a little, it's not going to turn your meal into a vile disaster. It'll just be kind of... off.

(Also, looking at the recipe again, I'm realizing that they did have the beans I needed: Fermented black soybeans, not regular black beans. I am bad at this.)

Gordon Ramsay's green beans and mushrooms in black bean sauce
14 oz. green beans, trimmed
8 oz. shiitake mushrooms
2 Tbsp vegetable or peanut oil
1 Tbsp fermented black beans, rinsed and dried
2 large garlic cloves, peeled and chopped

Sauce
2 Tbsp Chinese rice vinegar
2 Tbsp Shaoxing
2 Tbsp light soy sauce
1 Tbsp oyster sauce
1 tsp sugar
1 tsp cornstarch, mixed with t Tbsp water

Cut green beans into finger lengths and finely slice mushrooms. Mix together sauce ingredients and set aside. Heat the oil in a wok over medium-high heat. Tip in the black beans and garlic and saute for 30 seconds or so, until fragrant. Add the green beans with a little splash of water. Stir-fry for 2 minutes, then add mushrooms. Stir-fry for another minute or two.

Pour the sauce over the vegetables and toss well. Simmer for a couple of minutes until the sauce begins to thicken and the green beans are tender but still retain a slight crunch. Transfer to a warm plate and serve.

Recipe: 5/5
My performance: 3/5