Lazy Girl's Key Lime Pie

It doesn't get easier than this but it CAN be considerably more tasty if you use good ingredients instead of the schlock I've listed here.

1 can of sweetened condensed milk
Three limes
Cool Whip (none of that yucky Fat Free or French Vanilla or Mocha Sod flavor or whatever they're pushing at the minute.)
Graham Cracker pie crust.

Grate rind of limes (green part only) and squeeze juice, including the odd bit of pulp, into a large glass bowl. Add contents of can of sweetened condensed milk and stir until it thickens, about one minute.
Fold in one container of Cool Whip. Mix gently until all ingredients are incorporated evenly. Spoon gently into prepared pie crust, preferable a cookie crumb pie crust (such as one made from graham cracker crumbs, or better yet, gingersnaps.) Put in fridge to "harden" for at least 20 minutes or throw at guests immediately if they can't wait that long. Freezes well.

Ugh, I hate Cool Whip and I dislike the film of plastic waxy coating that graces my tongue after eating anything made from it. However, I must admit, the lime juice goes a long way in counteracting said wax effect, so if you need something impressive QUICK, and you have the ingredients on hand, go for it. It's unlikely that these are ingredients an expat just happens to have on hand--Cool Whip is like diamonds out here and almost as expensive--but if you do, more power to you.

Am thinking of way to incorporate this into my Mad Man Cocktail Supper (a dinner party consisting entirely of what my friend calls "whore durves" ) and perhaps tiny "cookie lime pies" are the way to go--this, served on a tiny Vanilla Wafer. What do you think?

White Chocolate Chunk Peppermint Brownie Recipe Recap

I am reposting this recipe because the brownies are just that damn good. No white chocolate chunks with Candy Cane bits lying around the house? Then omit--or, throw in a handful of chunks of white chocolate from a smashed-up Dove bar, and perhaps add some toasted almonds and raisins you've plumped up in brandy, in which case the name changes from Brownies to "TDFs" which stands for To Die Fors. (This explains my college weight gain, for sure.)

Brownies: These microwave BEAUTIFULLY. Melt 9 tablespoons of butter (half-cup plus one tablespoon). You can nuke it or do in on the stove top, but whatever you do, you must let it get back to room temperature before you mix in other ingredients. Otherwise, as  women wiser than I have noted, your brownies will be very heavy and kind of dry. Since you're nuking these, and it's awfully easy to dry out anything being nuked, err on the side of caution and leave the stuff strictly alone for at least ten minutes. Go do your nails or something while it's cooling off. (This also gives any toast crumbs that may have accidentally been scooped into the pan a chance to settle, so you can fish them out.) Don't use bacon grease or olive oil. Bacon, which is actually delightful with chocolate, does not enliven baked goods (although it's a marvel on a Maple Bar.) Olive oil and chocolate--not a good combo either. If you have to go cholesterol-free, just don't bother with this recipe and make yourself some hot fudge (zero fat, if you use skim milk) and pour it on some fat-free ice milk and be happy.




When you return, stir in a cup and a half of white sugar, three eggs, a generous dollop of vanilla (at least a teaspoon, but not a tablespoon) and a pinch of salt. If you have the time and patience, you can then beat the shit out of this until it's light and fluffy and glossy and pours like a ribbon, which will ensure brownies with a lovely meringue-like top. If you're me, you say the hell with it as you don't even have a proper wooden spoon anymore (thank you, Blessed Herbs Colon Cleanse) or some big-ass fancy mixer and so you just mix it up until it's fairly smooth and no yucky yellow lumps are showing. Now add 9 tablespoons of cocoa (that's a half-cup plus one tablespoon) and stir in 12 tablespoons of flour, which is 3/4 of a cup or a half-cup plus a quarter cup or a half-cup plus four tablespoons (I spell this out as some of the women in my family are not really good at maths.) Gently fold this in--do not beat--and as soon as it's more-or-less incorporated, pour it into a greased and floured ( or cocoa'd) microwaveable pan--8 by 8 inches is good, but a round pie pan made of Pyrex is even better, as you can slice it into pie wedges when finished. Regardless, spread it in the pan, then sprinkle a bunch of cut-up Hershey Candy Cane Christmas Kisses on top: sort of squish them in a bit so they're not all at the very top. Nuke on high power for six minutes, then check: done? Still squishy? Try another minute. Then another. Keep going until it's more or less set in the middle. There will indeed be some slightly wet places when you pull it out but these will dry up a few minutes out of the oven, because it's still cooking a bit. If you have used Pyrex (and I HEART THE STUFF!) the glass will retain quite a bit of heat and give your brownies a more finished appearance. Truthfully, you should let the stuff cool before attacking it. I mentioned earlier that I don't really like to eat brownies--I get a sugar rush, then I get cranky, and then I need a nap which is filled with my recurring dream of speeding along back country roads in search of a house I can call my own...I've had this dream so often that I know which road to take to go to which house and yet I somehow never get inside any of the houses...



These brownies are plain, simple, good, and can be dolled up a number of ways, such as using brown sugar and rum (instead of the vanilla), adding nuts, adding dollops of peanut butter, using a different liquor in place of the vanilla, using crushed-up peppermint sticks, adding a tablespoon of espresso powder, mint chocolate chips, plain semi-sweet chips, peanut butter chips, ad nauseum. They're the sub to a dominatrix dessert menu: they seem sweet and submissive but when all is said and done, they're really just there to make you their bitch.

Lays, Lays, and More Lays, plus Key Lime Pie

All right, you know how I have been slagging off Lay's Flavored Potato Chips? Well,  I sampled two more types and found one to be flat-out-fall-on-the-floor delicious. The two types are pictured below. Which one gave me mouthgasm?

The first, Lay's Intense and Stimulating Numb and Spicy Hot Pot Flavor. The second, Italian Red Meat Flavor. You'd expect the second one to be spaghetti bolognaise on a chip, but you'd be wrong: it has the same pissy sweet slightly red flavor found in other Lay's chips. As for the first chip, well... since I had experienced another "Intense and Stimulating" potato chip flavor and found it about as intense and stimulating as a shy but drunken teenage date, I wasn't expecting much. But oh my my my my my, to my surprise, this was a crisp ridged chip which delivered a powerful punch of flavor. As promised, some of the pain receptors on my tongue were knocked out by the presence of ma, the coating found on peppercorns which is used a lot on Hunanese and Sichuan cooking. Ma reduces sensitivity in order to allow the tongue to accept food normally too hot to bear. The flavor was intense indeed, a bit on the hot side for me, but beautifully complemented by the sour cream I dipped it into to cool down my mouth. Ah, bliss! I will work out some dip recipe to complement this chip--possibly something with spinach--it's that good. However, since I have to watch the salt intake, I contented myself with a few bites, then tossed the contents. Of course, once I did that, someone who likes spicy food popped by for a cocktail and I was forced to serve the old standby, peanuts liberally coated with cayenne pepper. (Don't ever throw anything away.)

I have dinner guests coming over, one of whom is NOT a fan of the hot and spicy, the other one disliking chocolate. One is also allergic to nuts. This limits the menu somewhat but not so much as when vegan friends come over the same evening that your friend on Atkins is staying. (Worst night of my life, by the way.)  The menu will be simple: they order the pizza they like, I have a killer salad with three different dressings, devilled eggs, asparagus in citrus butter sauce, and for dessert, my killer brownies with white chocolate mint bits, aka Hershey Candy Cane Kisses. I just invested in two bags' worth--about 12 dollars worth of chocolate--which will cover four pans of brownies. The last dessert is Key Lime Pie, made simple for the Chinese kitchen.

Here goes. Chill two boxes of cream, 500  grams total. I use Nestle Whipping Cream, which comes in cute little 250 gram boxes. Chill your beaters (or wire whisk if you're using one) and the bowl as well. While this is chilling, grate the rind of three small limes into a bowl (mine came from Jenny Lou's, you can get them at the Marketplace as well) and add their juice. Add one regular sized can of sweetened condensed milk and stir 'til thick.

Beat the two boxes of whipping cream with the chilled beaters (about four minutes with my wussy little handmixer, or ten minutes by hand.) Beat until fairly stiff but don't tip it over into the "Come butter come" stage. Fold in the thickened milk-lime juice mixture. Fold gently until mixed. A few drops of green food coloring enhance the finished product but I don't go for the artificial stuff (despite the forays into Lays) so I don't add it. Gentle scrape into a prepared cookie crust of some kind--for example, a crust made of crushed gingersnaps, or even Oreo-type cookies. You can make your own crust-- 1 1/2 cups or so of smashed cookie crumbs or Digestive biscuits, two spoonfuls of sugar, about three tablespoons of butter, mixed, smashed into a pie plate, and microwaved for about a minute. (I adjust the recipe according to how big  my remaining knob of butter is, and other factors.) Make sure it cools thoroughly before you add any filling.

This pie is best kept frozen, or refrigerated in a very cold refrigerator. Frozen, it lasts as long as you don't have guests with spoons who like to hang around the fridge at night. I wouldn't keep it more than a day or two in the fridge, however. (Not that that's a problem around here.)

To serve, garnish with finely chopped candied ginger, especially delightful if you have put in in a gingersnap crust. Especially good with a tiny, piping hot cup of espresso.

Equal Rights My Ass

I've mentioned repeatedly that I ride around in San Lun Che, motorized pedicabs with three wheels which are sometimes, but not always, powered by electric batteries. The driver has the option of peddling with his feet as well, which comes in handy going up those steep hills. This form of transportation is plentiful and cheap, albeit dangerous. If something bad happens, the aluminum frame and cardboard floor is not really going to protect me, but given the maneuverability of the vehicle and the fact the driver doesn't really want to die either, I'm about as safe as one as I would be in a tank. (Or so I hope.)

I've also mentioned that I have hopped into one piloted by a hunchback midget with only one good eye. I'm not being patronising when I jump into his cart--sometimes quite simply he's the only one around, and I have to walk down the street to the newsstand he owns and ask for a ride. There's usually a long queue of drivers outside the place where I work, but in an off hour, say, 2:30, the queue is off having lunch and a snooze somewhere else. At peak traffic times, the queue is firmly in place and I take whichever driver is at the head of the line, murmur my request, and get in.

Last week, as I was headed out the door towards the queue, the one-eyed hunchback midget sailed down the street in his newly decked-out wheels and started honking and screaming at me from a distance of about half a block. I was startled, to say the least: I hate it when drivers honk and scream at me trying to get my attention. I wasn't sure he was yelling at ME, in particular, so I ignored him and started to walk towards the queue, towards the line of sweating tanned men waiting patiently for their turn to earn pennies. This evidently enraged the one-eyed hunchback midget, because he put on a burst of speed and salty language which included phrases screamed at top volume such as "Hurry up and get in my f#$ing cart!" and yes, he was screaming them at me. Apparently, if you engage him to "pull" you home twice in any given year this grants him the God-given right to your exclusive services for life. I was pissed, but I did ignore the waiting drivers and got into the cart, cursing myself for having done so.  The driver continued his rant all the way home: why the HELL hadn't I moved faster? Why did I have to much heavy stuff? (I hoped he was referring to my bags of teaching materials and not my ass.) Then I thought, is this guy playing on my sympathy? Does he think he can be a bad-tempered bastard and get away with it? Well, true equality lies in treating everyone with kindness and consideration. Should I blast him back with a string of expletives, as I normally would, or should I be a superior person and kindly explain why it wasn't right to yell at me in that fashion? Somewhere along the road, my soul resonated with the answer, and yet, when I got out of the vehicle (which to my surprise came to a full stop--I half-expected him to slow down slightly and growl, "Get out, Bitch") my mouth made this compromise. As I handed him his fare I looked him dead in his eye and said in low even tones, "If you ever yell at me like that again I'll cut your balls off." He grunted in understanding and took off. I have seen him on the street since then and he does not look at me (not that I can tell--kind of difficult to know for sure) and he certainly does not try to flag me down. I've pondered what  I said many a time in my heart, and while I am appalled at what I said--and more appalled that I knew how to say this in Chinese, it occurs to me that I treated him as the person he was, a jerk. A man who was a jerk, and not some cute Disney version of a disabled person--but a man, and a jerk. What's more egalitarian than that?

Make Tonight Amazing in Minutes! Take a Bath!

I was scrolling through Facebook when an ad caught my eye. It invited me to pour the wine, and to make tonight amazing in minutes. Thinking I was about to be invited to but yet another porn site, I was about to log off when I noticed it was an ad for Stouffer's Stuffing Mix--for two.

Ah, the romance of stuffing! Yes, nothing spells seduction like pouring hot water and oil on a batch of dried out bread crumbs saturated with salt, MSG, and enough artificial "chicken" flavoring to make The Colonel blush! I can't imagine that any man who wanted to get into my good graces, let alone my good panties, would have the nerve to think that THIS is the ticket to romance. Damn it, good stuffing is a superb blend of succulent juices from vegetables (and meat, if you will) as well as good butter, a godly combination of sage with other herbs, and very very good bread. (A bit of cornbread adds a wonderful tang.) I would be amazed if some man made me dinner--hell, at this point I'd be amazed if some man made it to a second date--but would I drop trou at the sight of Stovetop?

I may be fairly broad-minded and perhaps a trifle too--shall we say--suibian (loose) \---but I do have my standards. I wouldn't want to insult a host, someone who cooked for me, after all, but if someone served up Stovetop with a well-cooked chicken, well, I'd certainly not complain. Stovetop and chicken from a can? I'd be out of there, fast. I've had one or two boyfriends who cooked amazingly well and I must admit a fondness for them still: they just had more going for them as people. I'm not saying I would never get involved with a non-cook, but the chances that I'd get involved with someone who was not an eater are far, far slimmer than I am. Let's face it, I will probably stay single for the rest of my life, due to a peculiar set of circumstances, the largest of which is choice: however, I can make tonight amazing in minutes all by myself, without using a packaged mix or anything that requires batteries.

The Phone Call

This doesn't happen often anymore, although at one time it was a daily occurrence. I'm exercising (that's not the daily occurrence) and the phone rings. I check the number: work? kid? embassy? Nope. It's a number I don't recognize but what the hell, it's not a blocked number so I answer. A voice I don't recognize screams at me joyfully and rapidly for about a minute, then pauses, then asks, "Hao ma?" I stand stunned under the blitzkrieg of sound and tones and blink. The voice repeats, "Hao ma?" ("Ok?") and I stammer, in Chinese, "Please say that again, more slowly." The caller sighs, then launches into the verbal assault again, no slower, just a LOT louder. Then I get it: this person saw me, wrangled my phone number off someone (probably my landlord) and called me in order "to make a foreign friend." This is code for "free English lesson."

In this case, it was my dog groomer: she did a superb job on the Peke's coat, but cut a pair of fat pants on the terrier that look like something you'd choose for a plump niece you secretly hated. (Oh, by the way, Aunt Kathy, thanks for the outfit.) I don't feel I owe anyone friendship because they performed a service for me, particularly one which I paid handsomely for, although I owe them courtesy and kindness because that's just the right thing to do. My refusal to make "new friends" via the telephone is not snobbery, it's just that my time is so very limited. I have two jobs, graduate school, and I live in the butt cheek of Beijing where it's a 45-minute taxi ride just to get cheese. Do I really have time to have people come over where I slowly and painfully make conversation about "This is the pen of my aunt" and "ABC, 123?" No. I don't even have time for a cocktail now and again with good friends--just to manage a dinner party, I have to give up the second job this weekend and I'm only ordering pizza at that.

I dread speaking on the phone in Chinese, as I can't get those non-verbal clues that are really more than half of the conversation. I have to speak loudly for one thing, as my phone is very cheap, and this means anything I say has an automatic audience--either the pretending-they're-not-gay gay couple next door (they're no fun, and have absolutely no sense of style) or worse, anyone walking by when I am forced to speak Chinese in public. I hate the crowd that gathers and listens in, jostling for position as The Foreigner says rapidly and badly, "I do not understand. Please repeat." I also resent being "collected" and labeled as "The Foreign Friend I Made." I think every immigrant has the same dread, of being the token anything. I do have close friends who are Chinese--and South African--and British--and other nationalities. I don't think of them as nationality or ethnicity first--I think of them as friend, then add the other attributes as they come into play. For example--I recall that Gilly keeps kosher and don't have her over for pork chops in cream gravy. That's what I cook for my Texas-born friends. (I don't eat it.)  In fact, I use disposable plates and tableware for most guests as a lot of my friends have religious concepts regarding food and  drink: they're bending them plenty just to sit down at a table with me, so I try to go the extra mile and cater around their preferences the best I can. They're guests: they're friends:  I hope I don't ever stop trying to make guests and friends feel comfortable and happy in my presence.  

As I had never met the dog groomer--she deals with my  ayi -- I can only surmise that her desire to add my scalp to her belt was motivated out of a kind of curiosity. That's not a bad thing, it's just that I don't have the time to play Foreigner on Parade. As much as I'd love to have a friend nearby, I don't even have the time for the ones in town. Perhaps if I were the New Kid in Town in a less diverse area--for example, some small town in the US--I wouldn't be so quick to say "No"  to offers of friendship. But given my record here--Token White Chick--I'm almost grateful for a frantic schedule which precludes adding more friends to an overcrowded dance card.

Tiny Updates of Little Importance

Yes, I'm still alive and kicking. I've had two weeks straight from the bowels of Satan--overloaded on work, stupidity, bad planning (not on my part) and more. Among other things--a houseguest disassembled my bookcases to make it "easier" when I move (I'm not moving) and I am jumping over stalagmites of books all over the floors on my way out the door. The doggies are morose because the weather turned cold and shitty again. I have a friend in town who is unable to comprehend the schedule I drew up which stated "I can see you at THIS time or THIS time but you have to let me know NOW which one" and who keeps texting me, "Are you free now?" No, I'm not. I have two full time jobs. The main one changes my schedule at whim--seriously, I got this week's teaching schedule at FIVE THIS MORNING. It's Monday. That's right--I had no idea what my schedule was for the week until Monday morning. And yes--it changed radically. As for job number two--that's scheduled a month in advance, except I have to keep changing it at the last minute when job number one flexes its stupidity muscle and changes everything at the last minute. It was Mother's Day yesterday and I spent it at job number two, and now I'm tired, and the doggies want to be walked, and all I want is to go back to bed crooning love songs to baths, because I only have a shower and I would love, love, love, to be submerged in a hot tub with lots of sweet smelling bubbles. Instead, I will put on pantyhose and a business suit and go walk the dogs. Such is life.