Hungry Ghost's Daily Diet (TM)

Yes. You might be thinking, Thanksgiving. Oh lovely. Heartwarming gatherings with the family around fireplaces with well-basted turkeys (or Tofurkey if you're vegetarian) in the oven and all manner of stuffing, roast potatoes, cranberry sauce and whatever it is that makes your thanksgiving dinner special.

If you're American and reading this - don't even stop to tell me that T-giving falls in November. Up North, it's a month earlier to give us more time to digest before Christmas falls upon us.

So where was I? Oh yes, you were all thinking of roasted meats and family (roasted metaphorically perhaps?) and such heart-warming things happening at the hearth of the family homestead.

Ya. Ya. Ya.

My thanksgiving tradition, which I rather suspect is shared by many new, newish and certainly disorganized academics across the country, is to sit in the office alone, in my slippers, sipping on oa hot coffee and preparing the annual NCIC application.

etc. etc. etc.

My cup runneth over. With Joy.

Yup, almost every year without fail. NCIC is due on October 15th and every thanksgiving weekend, I'm scrambling to get the application in shape. Will I ever learn? I rather fear not. Mostly because this gives me the best excuse to be cranky and cynical and grumpy about the season.

La. La. La.

However. A bright side, well at least to me. When I'm stuck in the office working on applications like this, I also have a browser window open to OC so I can sneak in the occasional sentence for a new post or answer some comments - Truth of the matter is, I've not been v. good about reading and/or answering comments because it's been a bit busy lately. All the reading to do. All the movies to watch. All the trails to run.

And what does MB do? He passes me two books to read. Sedaris' Me Talk Pretty Soon and The Kite Runner. Now, I have two books sitting at home screaming "Read me!" "Read me!" "Read me NOW!" everytime I pass by the shelve.

I can't. I mustn't. I shouldn't. I won't, but I will even though I have this thingy to write and format.

Add to that, the impending arrival of DC and his SO. On Monday; they'll be staying at my place and I shall be camped out at the office...probably. Oh me, oh my.

In the meantime, the sun that came out on Friday (that'd have been yesterday) has gone back into hiding like a child who's wet its pants and is thoroughly ashamed of doing so. Feckless thing. I'd hoped to get out early, but unfortunately forgot about a meeting (thought it had been cancelled, but it most emphatically had not). In fact, I'd just put down the phone after making arrangements for a movie when the office phone rang - and there they were asking where the hell I was. Oops. It was Friday of a long weekend - who schedules meetings for the late afternoon on a Friday of a long weekend? I ask. Really.

In any case, eventually got out, went home and caught a quick nap instead of doing anything active. Was feeling tired and back not very supple. Anyway, quick nap then dash down to meet MB to go see Gruba at the filmfest - Malaysian flick by Yasmin Ahmad - again, Abidah Noor was in it. Surprising actually. It was an interesting movie, but as MB said, "It wasn't bad - there were a lot of ideas, but would have been better had the director been more focused on a few". Quite agreed really, but also had to say (must. have. last. word.) that the movie poked fun at quite a few sacred cows, but in a mostly gentle manner. Highly unlikely the edition we saw would have made it past the censors - what with all the naked male torsos and a married, Malay woman plucking hair off a divorced, Catholic chinese man's bare torso. Then there were prostitutes and a fun-loving Imam and his naturally loving wife. In any case, I enjoyed the movie for different reasons: It was a quick shot of home, some aspects anyway - the mix of language and intermingling of beliefs. Not to mention the government clerks on the phone exchanging recipies - now that reminded me of my days working at the University.

After the movie, a brisk stroll down to a noodle place as having fed our spiritual appetities, it was time to meet our physical needs. Garlic pea-tops and handmade noodles for two. After which I faded like a 1970s photography left out in the sun, braved the ride home and to bed as Mr. Pepys is wont to say.

The next day (yesterday) - playing with time again - was in the office breaking the back of the application. Well-broken, I finally left with my own back close to breaking and did what Mr. Pepys is wont to do.

I'm going to digress into cooking for a second here, don't care if it's an abrupt segue or not in keeping with the above topics. It's my post, I'll digress if I want to. When it comes to making something I've not made before or not done so in a long time, I generally scan recipies, take note of any tips scattered helpfully in the margins of the page and gaze at any gastroporn pictures for inspiration. In short, I research the topic carefully, digest all shades of gray then plunge in. Not today. No patience, nor do I feel the need to do more research in my non-work life.

Cranberry sauce is required for tomorrow's dinner at PJ's where (apparently) hungry hordes will descend although they've yet to RSVP...ahem. Hello?! In any case, I'm tasked with the Ham. And the Cranberry sauce.

With the ham, I did all the above, did the research, selected the recipie, gazed lovingly at the pictures and then with the wisdom of Solomon, made a decision - wait, would Solomon have looked upon ham as an abomination? I rather fear so. Ah well. Set forth to find a country bone-in-ham, only to find that they're not to be had for love nor money. I certainly wasn't about to set foot on a plane, jet to the French countryside and scour the exant farmhouses for one.

In despair, I wondered what Nigella, the Goddess of the Kitchen, would do, and remembered that Nigella doesn't turn her pretty little nose up at store-bought, prepared, ready-cooked foods if you really, really, really need them. It's Friday, hungry hordes are due Monday, I really need a ham. Done deal. Thank you Nigella.

So a bone-in, spiral, pre-cooked come with it's own glaze (nasty I know) ham was bought, but at least I did brave the neurotic Shaughnessy bitches matrons who think themselves so important, they jump the queue at the butcher's to ask interminable questions about how much 6 cups of stuffing (out of a box at that, but who am I to cast the first stone?) would be on a plate. I'd have thought the answer was obvious. 6 cups out of the box is 6 cups on the plate. But nooooooooooooo, the neurotic Shaughnessy bitch matron had to make imaginary heaps with her hands to show the butcher and make him choose which pile of fingers would most aproximate 6 cups out of the box.

She concluded by saying that "...the contents of the box don't look like 6 cups",

The butcher gently reminded her . "Madam, you have to add water and cook it still, and the bread will swell.."

Shocked, the matron said "Swell?! Goodness. How visceral! I have to cook this?!"

"Well buh-loody yes, Madam. Fresh stuffing doesn't come in a box does it? It wouldn't keep would it? What's wrong Madam? Your cook left you? Or perhaps you're slumming and have delusions of making a family dinner? Yes, add buh-loody water to the buh-loody contents, but do put the contents into a buh-loody pot first - you do know what a pot is yes?" is what I would have said, beating her about the head with a zucchini, but the butcher was far more patient and gentler than me, and sent her way twittering incomprehensibly about cups of water, with some well-placed answers.

Special to MB: I've found a use for the flaccid zucchini in your fridge. Please send by fedex.

But I digress. Back to the cranberry sauce - there were no instructions on the bag of cranberries, just a picture labelled "serving suggestion". So I'm making up my own sauce. Out of the air. I hope it works, because if it doesn't, I'll just have to accidentally drop the jar on my way over to PJ's and we'll all have to make do with canned cranberries, but like in the picture, I'll make sure the berries are organic. Can't do anything about the can though because that's inorganic. Ar ar ar. Chemistry Joke.

So this is what I did. Toss sugar into my wok (this inspired by another recipie from Nigella), heat till just crumbly and almost ready to melt, toss lemon zest and finely shredded ginger into sugar, mix riotously and joyfully (in keeping with the Nigella style of cooking). When the sugary smell of lemons wafts through the kitchen, scoop up handfuls of the cranberries and dribble them into the wok (that's what Nigella would do, yes she would), stir (not with your hands though) until the berries split. Then add water imported from Vichy until the pot turns a gorgeous deep red crimson. Boil until the cranberries are soft and Bob's your uncle.