Sweet Soy Sauce and Scallion Pork Chop

So this is what happened when I THOUGHT I correctly recalled a recipe I found online last week for Asian pork chops. Got the recipe completely wrong, but I can't say I regret it.

GET IT:
A pork chop
Soy Sauce
Sugar
Crushed Red Pepper
Ground Black Pepper
Garlic Powder
Scallions
Chili Oil
Baking Rack
Broiler

PREP IT:
Chop 2 scallions. Throw the pork chop in a container/bag with a bit of all above ingredients. Seriously, you know what you like...balance accordingly. Just make sure there's enough soy sauce to coat and soak chop and enough sugar to cut some of the saltiness. Let sit while you: wash dishes, start some rice and/or ask your boyfriend's thoughts on pimping your U.S. citizenship to star-spangle-eyed Peruvians. (He said no, btw.)

*Disclaimer: I have little regard for measuring units or utensils.

COOK IT:
Preheat broiler and baking rack for at least 10-15 minutes. You want it HOT! The extreme heat will sear your chop and keep it juicy. Place chop on rack. (drip pan or foil underneath for easy cleanup) Close broiler. Keep it closed. Turn when golden brown (about 6 to 7 minutes). Broil for another 6 minutes or so. Pork is done at about 155 °F. (I have no meat thermometer, only prayer.) Let rest. Enjoy.

PLATE IT:
I molded some plain Basmati rice in the center of a pasta bowl. Served with a simple spinach salad and garnished with some extra chopped scallions.

EAT IT:
Apprehensive is an understatement. But that first taste, you know the just-out-of-the-oven one you can't help but take, gave me the self-satisfied "I can actually eat this!" moment I was hoping for. This pork was surprisingly savory, especially considering the recipe I pulled up mid-marinade (the one I thought I was recalling) called for hoisin, sweet chili sauce and fresh ginger. Crispy crust, juicy center. Charred green onion bits. Yum.

The spinach didn't do much for me, but it was the ONLY veggie I had in my fridge. Need your green leafies.

So yeah, cooking is fun.

Crying Over Milk (Crates)

I have a milk crate that can make me cry

I have a heavy suitcase that I cannot empty
in it are the reasons my daughter
will never be mistreated
and a few why she might be a little crazy like her mother

I have a milk crate that can make me cry

I have a duffel bag that has a high school dance in it
it has the endings of the beginning of the beginning's end

I have a milk crate that can make me cry

And I have a cardboard box that has a pen
and the innocence
and the energy
and the drive
and the certainty
of an 18-year-old baby girl with everything to to lose
and gain

But about that milk crate that makes me cry...

It has that girl's heart
and her mind
It has everything she could have been
and everything she wasn't
It has were she came from
and no sign of where she's going
It has a mirror that reflects and unfamiliar face

I have a milk crate that can make me cry.

Wantings

So it's been a while...more than a year while...but let's not dwell on that.

With graduation coming at me like a high-speed Euro train, my mind has been consumed with thoughts of the future. Every little detail needs to be planned out...yet I have no solid plans on which to anchor my details, so I ultimately end up thinking in endless little dizzying circles (not unlike carousel rides on the gyrating ponies).

I got an internship offer from the Center for Public Integrity...I really want it...but at the same time it's scary accepting it. It's ending my endless unknown.

I have come to a point though, where I must accept that there are things I know for sure. I find comfort in saying I'm unsure of everything...but I'm breaking down. I am, indeed, sure of a few things.

I want my own place.
I want it on or off of New Hampshire Ave.
Somewhere between the old Black neighborhood and the new Gay one.
I want hardwood floors and stainless steel.
I want passersby to admire that candlelight coming from my bedroom windows.
I want the summer night calm to drift through them and rock me to sleep.
And in the winter, I want to find comfort in hot chocolate and homemade quilts.
I want a cat.
A ginger one...or maybe bleu.
I want friends to visit for dinner parties and drink too much wine.
I want to listen to weird music...because it makes me happy.
I want to be with him.
I do.
I want to walk down the street and feel like the flyest, most swagger-having bitch in the city.
I want the breeze to flip my bangs just right.
I want rain boots.
I want to wear dresses and feel like a flower.
I want to fall asleep in the middle of a field without a care in the world.
I want to leave this place...without anyone knowing, yet trusting me to trust myself.
I want to make my family happy.
I want money to never affect my mood. ever. again.
I want to show my friends that I care, even if it's not the way everyone else does.
I want to be OK with the mistakes I've made.
And stop reciting bullshit to make myself feel better.
I want to know me. love me. and want me.
I want a bike...and I want to rarely ride it.
I want to be a hipster...and have hipster friends who drink PBR and play outside.
I want to know I'm on the right path.
I want to know I'm a good person.
And I want everyone else to know that, too.
I want to go to concerts and art shows.
I want to get in really good shape.
I kinda want to henna my hair.

I think I'm done. (writing, not wanting)

Peace.

--TR

He Took the Words Right Out of My Mouth...

...I love college and Asher Roth is so cool.

I'm no music lover but this song is too awesome to not share with everyone I know. It honestly had me hooked after the intro and the first four words.



I heard it in Up Against the Wall of all places. I'm NEVER in there. I was walking in and it was just starting. I feel like I was destined to hear it. I was swept up in a bubble to stupid excitement...over a song.

But yeah, do I really have to graduate?

I feel the way our friend David should have felt after his dad told him it wasn't "going to be forever."

"What do you MEAN it's not going to be forever??? NOOOO!!!"

I still got 2.5 semesters left. I'll be making the most of them.



Check out BowlingStone for more info on this guy. I can't pretend to know anything about music so I'll leave it to the experts.

Good Days

I love good days.

I figure if I call them as soon as they are recognizable, you know like put it down in writing or tell enough people, it will be harder (hopefully nearly impossible) to ruin them.

I'm having a good day.

I just spent too much money at Gap, but the amount I saved outweighs all of that. New clothes are usually part of a good day. But a crazy African made it better.

Setting: Chinatown Metro Station...boarding Greenbelt. This 6-4, 270 lb, salt and pepper, ebony man is nearly screaming (you know the African-loud, not yelling, just loud) in the girl's face about the wonders of real estate. It's obvious doesn't know her. Typical D.C. Bizzare as Hell.

He ends up in my car and I'm crossing my fingers that I'm not the next target of his lectures. I luck out, this young black guy with a shaven head gets the blessing. Whew.

"I am African. Can't you tell?" he starts out. He holding on to the poll, standing. The train hasn't even left the station yet but he was born to have this conversation.

"I am old, 61" he said. His hair looks like snow on black wool. It's beautiful. "I am a LION!"

I'm a lion, too.

"I came to buy America!" I crack a smile. He's serious.

"So son, Baracko, tell me what you think about Baracko." The younger man is paying attention, but the African man doesn't give him any time to respond if he wanted to. His own mention of Obama got him too riled up. I love Baracko, too.

"AH-MER-EEE-CAAAAAAHHHHH, I LOVE YOU!!" He says it from his belly, where it really counts.

I'm cracking up, and I'm not the only one. Some hard asses are keeping straight faces like this cat is annoying them. There is nothing annoying about him though. He's refreshing. I should go around screaming how much I love this damn country too. I do love it, afterall.
"Does anyone have the time? The time, anyone?" is his next inquiry. I think he'll finally let someone respond. I hope someone responds.

"It's 2:48," yells out one girl.

"Your sister, or girlfriend, is beautiful," he said, referring to the young woman sitting next to her. "She can come back to Kenya with me, if she ever wants to go for free." El Oh El. This chick is 1/3 his age...and he's semi-serious.

Too bad it was time for me to get off. I picked up my oversized Gap bag and stepped off, reluctantly. Those were the best two metro stops of my life.

I love D.C.

The Very First Taste...

So I've decided that I'm going to stop procrastinating on this whole blogging thing. 

I've been thinking about what I would write about in one for like two years and at some point (this point) I have to say "You know what Traver, you're a chicken. Just jump in." So I'm jumping.

Busy day today, probably shouldn't be surfing the web or on Fbook, but I'm doing both. I saw that two of my friends on Fbook had become fans of BANANA IN PYJAMAS (misspelled on purpose...I guess it's the European version...they get everything late). But yeah, checked out the theme song on YouTube and happened to stumble across this...

I like to credit this programming for why I'm so smart today, no joke. Ah, the memories. Barney ( I was going to be one of those dancing/singing kids...I knew if I tried out I would make it, I was so much cuter than those kids on TV) Lamb Chop's Play Along (ask me where I learned you can only fold a piece of paper 8 times) and OH The Magic School Bus (shrinking down to take a journey up a human nose, I was there.) 

Anywho, the dry cleaners is calling me. (The $50.51 bill, not so much.) But the job fair is tomorrow and I guess not only pain, but money also, is beauty... something like that. PEACE!