Farewell, Johnny Castle (For Those in the Know)

When I was in elementary school, I hear about the "25'ers Club." The nightly news reported on a group of women who had gone to see this movie, Dirty Dancing, 25 or more times in the theater. These women were squandering their money on movie tickets when they could easily wait for it to come out on video. And what a stupid name for a movie!

And then I saw it on HBO.

The sight of Johnny Castle in the employees hangout, his unbuttoned tuxedo shirt and tight black pants got my attention. When he motioned our girl next door to join him on the dance floor, I was hypnotized. When he taught this bumbling watermelon girl the most basic of Dirty Dance moves (you know the pelvic thrust I'm talking about, ladies), it pretty much sent me right into puberty.

The first 10 times I watched that movie, I didn't even know what "knocked up" meant. I thought Jimmy beat the crap out of Penny. I mean, she looked like she'd been beaten when Johnny lifted her up off the floor of Kellerman's kitchen. This movie taught me about virginity, adultery, abortion, lust, the American caste system, and the fact that if you are special enough, you don't have to be super hot to have a super hot guy fall in love with you. It's got to be one of my top three sexiest movies, and there's not even any nudity!

It's incredibly cheesy to the outsider. I'm not here to convert anyone. But there was never a more dashing Patrick Swayze role. Ghost was a pretty good movie. Red Dawn? He's a badass. But I know I belong to a generation of girls who grew up hoping they could have a Mickey and Sylvia moment with a boy from summer camp. We all want a chance to try the lift. We wanted a man who would put his job and reputation on the line to stand up for our honor. This is a sad day for girls who love Johnny Castle. So keep the jokes mum while we mourn the loss of our dream guy.

Not a Matter of "If" But "When"

Much like motorcycle riding, using a mandolin produce slicer is just an accident waiting to happen. I'll spare you the photos of the actual injury. Because, well, there are no photos. I think it's more horrifying to explain the laceration in gory wordage. No, I wouldn't want you to do that to me, so I'll just gloss over the gross stuff, and focus on the funny moments from today.

All I was trying to do was cook bacon, section my grapefruit, cut four days worth of celery and carrot sticks, make 4 salads for my future lunches. Simultaneously. My new mandolin makes it so easy to cut my cukes, I just didn't know how far down it had gotten before the tip of my right thumb became part of the slicing fest. Yes, it came with a plastic guard. No, I wasn't using it. And neither would you. The cucumber was about a foot long when I started. I was hypnotized by the perfect green medallions floating effortlessly into each Tupperware. How could I have known I was down to a quarter inch when magic was happening in my kitchen?! As my dad pointed out later, it takes either a dummy or a kitchen musician to cut oneself with the mandolin. I, the latter, was obviously sucked int0 the beautiful rhythm of sliceyness.

Once I realized the not-so-minor nature of the cut, I walked briskly into the bedroom, told Marky, "I cut my thumb and I think it's bad and I don't think I can look at it," and he jumped out of bed. For a minute or two, we passed from delusion (all it needed was a bandaid), to delusion (maybe we can superglue it), to delusion (I can drive myself to the ER, where they'll just put superglue on it, and it will be a cinch to pull out my insurance card using only my index and forefinger), to the final realization that I was debilitated and Marky had to cancel his client to drive me to the damn ER.

Saturday morning, it turns out, is the perfect time for an emergency in Chicago. Nary a soul was in the ER, and I got right into triage. The first nurse simply dipped my finger in a mild cleanser. When I told the doctor I was the victim of my own recklessness with a mandolin, she raised her eyebrows and practically yelled, "I will always use a guard with a mandolin because of all of the crazy injuries I've seen in the ER from them!" My fault. I admit.

The nurse that gave me a tetanus shot asked what happened. Figuring he'd give me the same spiel, I just said, "Mandolin."

"Really!" He answered, stepping back.

"Oh, is that a sarcastic 'really'? Have you seen a bunch of people like me?"

"I have never seen a mandolin injury!" Fascinated, he pantomimed holding a ukelele and continued, "Now (looking at his hands), were you strumming, or picking when it happened?"

Laughing at this ridiculous idea, I explained to him that there is another type of mandolin, but lacerating one's thumb during a Medieval madrigal would have been far more interesting way to spend a Saturday morning.

The irrigation process should really be called the "irritating process." That's when I finally gave them my man card and asked for the lidocaine shots. Living through the pain of the shot immediately afforded me a fresh new card. What a gruesome experience. I'm not one of those people who hate needles in general. I do however hate large, slow moving, audible needles that shoot out burning substances repeatedly. Soon I was numb, and the doc came back to stitch me up. The lidocaine helped, but I could still feel a little pain when she sewed the flap back on. But I look at it the same way I look at a tattoo. It's a memory, and the pain is part of that memory. I will remember it when I think of carelessly slicing a cuke.

My thumb got a little hat that looks like something out of an L.L. Bean catalog. You know, the snow hat with the little braids coming down from the ear area? I could knit circles (literally) around that sterile white gauze. Imagine a variegated green thumb cozy! If only I had the dexterity to knit, I'd be on it in a heartbeat. Obviously I'm not the first to do this, and I won't be the last. My dad also suggested I market them to the OXO company as a companion piece to the mandolin. I mean, it's gonna happen. You might as well do it in style.

The Bree/Brie Project

After watching Julie & Julia on Friday, I couldn't possibly bring Fritos and onion dip to the party we were invited to on Saturday.

I went to Harvest Time for my usual produce, and there they were. Purple figs in season and on sale! I'm not much of a fig person, but I do have this baked cheese stuffed fig recipe in my pocket. It's ridiculously easy and always a hit at get-togethers. So I bought the figs. We went to Whole Foods to get some cheese, and there I found green figs. We consulted the cheese guy (who whistles beautiful harmonies to the hard rock radio station blaring in the back of the cheese dept), and he immediately suggested brie. Well of course that would work. Brie goes with everything. Last time I made this recipe, I stuck to only very mild white cheeses, and was thrilled when he suggested a stinky blue cheese, and strong smoked gouda. He then admitted that he'd never eaten a baked fig with cheese. I promised to bring him the leftovers. Empty promises. I knew there'd be no leftovers.

You really don't need a lot of cheese to do this. We bought way too much, but can you ever have too much cheese in the house? Side note: Marky and I have cut out dairy (except for the occasional creamer in the coffee) for over a month. The cheese in the fridge is calling to me. All you have to do is spray a cookie sheet with oil, cut each fig in half, scoop the guts out with a melon baller, and place a chunk of cheese in there. Only scoop out a small section. If you go crazy scooping, your fig will disintegrate in the oven, and you want some of that purple color to frame the cheesy goodness. Also, just like filling muffin cups, use a little less than you think you need. These figs can turn into a real mess if you have cheese bubbling over the sides. Aw heck, if you want a crapload of gouda, go for it.

When every fig is filled, place the cookie sheet into a hot broiler, and keep an eye on it. I didn't let this batch get terribly brown. I just warmed them until the cheese melted. If you have a not-so-trustworthy broiler like mine, you could take it a step further and brown the tops with a créme brulée torch.

Try this with your fave cheese. We've also used goat cheese, mozarella, and cheddar. It's a lovely seasonal treat, and a crowd-pleaser.