I Spy

[with heavy German accent]

My name? My name is Greta Schmidt. I am a 33-year-old Astronomer from Germany. I am traveling to London, England on business for four days. Of course I am not Sarah! Codename "Pineapple"? What are you talking about? I do not know any such person.

I certainly was not at the International Spy Museum in Washington, D.C. this past weekend. In fact I've never even heard of the International Spy Museum, nor have I heard of or ever participated in the hour-long interactive experience, Operation Spy, which was not totally fun except for an under-enthusiastic group, and I absolutely do not think it would be fun to go back -- because, of course, I have never been -- with a group of 8-10 friends who would be enthusiastic about playing along, hypothetically speaking.

No, I have never seen this woman before in my life. Jen B you say is her name? Codename "Pancake"? This is silly. Not only have I never seen nor heard of her, I was definitely not with her while I was not at the Spy Museum this past weekend. She looks suspicious though. Perhaps you should use the time you are wasting with me to find and interrogate her.

We didn't walk down to see the White House either, after not going to the Spy Museum without having ever met.

And then we didn't go to Georgetown for an afternoon of lunch and shopping. Oh? I'm really not excited to hear that a Paper Source is opening in Annapolis later this year. Eh. So what?

We did not go to this restaurant -- Café Bonaparte, you call it? -- and we didn't eat delicious crépes for dessert. No, the Crépe Josephine was not dark and luxurious with bananas and Nutella, not topped with vanilla ice cream, and the Crépe Suzette was not warm and citrusy -- absolutely not the thing for a long afternoon in late spring -- also not topped with vanilla ice cream. I don't even like ice cream. (Alright! Maybe a little.)

Okay, this is getting a little old. No! There is no such place as Georgetown Cupcake, that is not a line of people not standing outside of the shop that is not Georgetown Cupcake, and I most certainly did not purchase Coconut, Red Velvet, Lemon Berry and Chocolate Hazelnut cupcakes that were not fantastically delicious to give away and/or eat for breakfast Sunday morning. In fact I am not even really interested in food.

Six Random Things About Myself: Introduction and Part One

A short while ago, Jen tagged me with another blog tag game thing. I'm going to be a bit of a Scrooge again and not tag anyone else, but I will play the game because it's good creative writing exercise. Although I'll do it in installments. What's the game? To write six random things about myself. It is from this that I cleverly derived the title of this post. According la belle Jennifer's post on the matter,

Here’s what you do: Post the rules, write the post and don’t forget to tag six more people in your post, publish the post, and let those you’ve tagged know you’ve tagged them. And no. You won’t win the lottery, lose 10 pounds or stumble upon the secret to a great pie if you participate.

Oh, but LITTLE DID SHE KNOW that, in tagging me, SHE would stumble upon the secret to a great pie -- which brings me to numero uno:

It's all in the crust. I secretly (until now) pride myself on my natural ability to make good pie pastry. If I wasn't a little superstitious, I'd say that it almost always comes out perfect -- tender, flaky, and just sweet or salty or zesty enough to complement whatever's inside. It always bakes up golden brown and tempting, without the need for silly tricks like an egg wash, which my husband is allergic to anyway. Just *LOOK* at this Brown Sugar Peach Pie I baked last night:

TELL me you don't want some of that?! And I'll tell you it's probably some of the best damn pie pastry you've ever had. That's right. I am THAT confident.

Others have come seeking my pie-making wisdom, asking me to teach them how to make good pie pastry. And I've honestly tried to teach them, because I'm all for sharing when it comes to making good food. I've shared my favorite recipes, I've taught the cutting-in techniques, use cold butter, use ice water, humidity changes the amount of water you'll need, DON'T OVERWORK THE DOUGH -- that makes it tough. In fact, don't think of working it at all, just let it start to come together and then gently help it along. Let it chill in the refrigerator for at least a half-hour. And you only have one shot to roll it out (because re-rolling is overworking and thus makes it tough).

Still, I don't think anyone has quite caught on. It's really as if my fingers just know what to do, they've always known, they will always know without really letting my concious, analytical brain in on the process. It's meditative, almost spiritual, requiring a small leap of faith, believing that this will turn out right.

And here's the thing: I can't always roll out the pastry without it cracking, I can't always peel it up without it sticking and tearing -- the making doesn't always go perfectly. Yet anyone who wasn't there when I made it wouldn't know. Because I'm always ready with my little cookie cutters, or lattice-weaving and fluting techniques -- and even the perfect crumb topping recipe if it goes *really* wrong: a veritable repository of backup pie finishing techniques (the bottom doesn't matter as much). I can take a pie that's not going exactly the way I'd planned and turn it into something that looks as beautiful as anything in Martha Stewart Living and tastes as spectacular. So I guess my secret, THE secret, the honest-to-God pastry-making, cooking and baking secret to LIFE ITSELF is this:

Don't panic.

Oh, if only

Somewhere, in a parallel universe, where my life is closer to ideal, my day went something like this:

7:00 a.m. - I wake up to the sound of the birds and the gentle rustle of leaves in a spring breeze, as the sun pours its golden rays through the bedroom window, filtered by a lush canopy of green. Ever reluctant to leave the comfort of my bamboo sheets and cashmere coverlet, I stretch and push back the blankets, glad to find that the air temperature is steady at a perfect 76 degrees Fahrenheit.

7:20 a.m. - Downstairs in the kitchen, the scent of maple begins to fill the house when I throw the maple sausage links into a hot pan.

7:30 a.m. - After saying goodbye to Keith as he heads off to work, I sit down to breakfast. I start leafing through the current issue of Elle Decor and indulge in a bit of global design inspiration while I savor sausage links, locally grown strawberries (freshly picked!), a buttery, flaky croissant, and a cup of coffee with milk and sugar.

8:15 a.m. - I put the magazine down for now, clean up the breakfast dishes, and head upstairs for a quick -- but hot! -- shower.

9:00 a.m. - Showered, dressed and now fully awake, I'm ready to get to work in my studio. It's a sunny day, so I pull the curtains back wide and open up the window to let in the fresh air. I sit down at my iMac (Maxwell) and spend a few minutes checking and answering e-mail, and going over my to-do list.

9:20 a.m. - Today is a scheduled printing day, so I pull up Pandora Internet Radio -- it knows exactly what I like! -- and log into my station for some music to work by. With Jack Johnson grooving in the background, I set up my work table with inking plate, brayers, blocks, proofs, ink and paper, flip on my work light, and get a-printing.

12:00 p.m. - Having finished a very successful run of prints, it's time to break for lunch. I clean the ink off my hands, hang up my apron and head back downstairs to the kitchen. I think I'll have some of that leftover pasta dish from last night's dinner: Penne with zucchini, broccoli, red bell peppers and crumbled applewood-smoked bacon, tossed in a basil pesto. I scoop some into a bowl and grate some Parmigianno-Reggiano over it.

12:05 p.m. - Lunch in hand, I am now faced with a decision: Do I want to read some more, or do I want to check out what's on TV? I bring my book into the living room and set it next to me on the couch; if nothing's on, then I'll read. I turn on the television, flipping between HGTV, Food Network, PBS and the History Channel until I find an episode of A Cook's Tour exploring the Basque cuisine of Spain. It's mostly seafood, which I really don't like, but there are some interesting characters to watch, and I *never* mind learning about food.

1:32 p.m. - The doorbell rings -- a welcome distraction to finally pull me away from another episode of The States on History (even in Ideal Universe, I'm still a nerd). It's the handsome Scottish UPS man delivering a box chock-full of wedding invitation supplies from Paper Source. Mmmm, j'adore papier.

1:40 p.m. - A bowl of Ben & Jerry's "Sweet Cream and Cookies" is just the thing I need to get psyched up for another half-day of work.

2:00 p.m. - After unpacking my Paper Source delivery, sorting the items and checking them against the packing slip, checking the packing slip against my receipt, and updating my books, I call Jen to see if she wants to come over in a few hours for one of our fun, delicious and highly productive invitation assembly/dinner parties.

2:45 p.m. - Jen and I hang up. She'll be over around 5, once she finishes up a few things at the barn she manages and hands over the evening chores to her cowboy boyfriend -- a dead ringer for Clive Owen -- who's only too happy to take over so she can go off for an evening of repetitive, tedious fun with me. This means I'd better get busy printing out the pieces!

3:00 p.m. - My Xerox Phaser 8860 solid ink printer is humming merrily as it prints out the wedding invitations with no trouble at all. Meanwhile, I decide to sit down and write a blog post about what a lousy day my doppleganger in a parallel universe must be having because everything here is going just so darn good.

3:30 p.m. - I quickly get back on the phone to try and catch Keith at work and let him know Jen is coming over at 5. He suggests that he could make us homemade pizza for dinner (he's a pizza crust-making whiz!) -- great idea.

4:00 p.m. - The printer is still working happily, while I'm trimming the pieces that are done and starting to set up our assembly line.

4:15 p.m. - Keith arrives back home, loaded with mozzarella, mushrooms and some delicious-looking onions and bell peppers from the local farm stand. After a quick hug and kiss hello, I dash out back for some oregano, rosemary and basil. Keith comes out for a jalapeño or two and some tomatoes. I help him get everything washed up and start prepping vegetables while he gets started on the crust.

5:10 p.m. - There's a quick knock on the door, it squeaks open and a "Hellooooo!" announces that Jen's here! She walks into the kitchen and comments on the scent of bacon, Italian sausage, peppers and onions that's now wafting through the house.

5:30 p.m. - Dinner's at least an hour away, so Keith sends us giggling upstairs to get started on what we're here for in the first place. All the invitation pieces are printed by now; I finish some trimming while Jen cuts lengths of ribbon.

6:00 p.m. - Keith peeks in the studio to see what all the laughing is about, and to make sure we're really getting some work done. Despite the lively and imaginative conversation, the dynamic duo of Jen and Sarah has quickly settled into our typical, efficient work-rhythm and we've got at least a quarter of the invites fully assembled. (The bride will be so pleased.)

7:00 p.m. - All 75 invitations are assembled and ready to go, just waiting to be boxed up (in style, of course). Keith comes up to announce dinner, only to find us huddled around Maxwell fully involved in Garage Band. He smiles and shakes his head, because he knows that we are fully determined to write a hit Wizard Rock song.

7:15 p.m. - We all sit down around the table with fantastic homemade pizza a la Keith. *This* is how every day should end: delectable food shared with incredible people. A perfect life indeed.