Saving Teddy

Was over at the old apartment this past weekend (don't ask), and was horrified to discover I had completely left behind an old, dear friend of mine when I moved into the new place.

People, meet Teddy. Teddy, people:

Don't be fooled by that winsome smile; those brown
beanie eyes hold the wisdom of ages.

Teddy and I go way back, you see? Each of us boys were given our own special companion upon completing the arduous journey of being born into this cruel, cold, and, let's not forget, hungry world. Since I was the precious first born baby boy, I guess I justified having a bear as my friend. My brothers each received a ducky and a star-shaped thingy when it was their time. We never did figure out what that star-shaped thingy was. He was weird.

No one puts Teddy in the corner. Except for me.

But, yes, there I am at about 8 months old or so. Mom and I lived out of Grandma's house at the time, and my playpen was set up right smack dab in the middle of the living room. You can see Teddy in the back there with his bib up. Funny thing is, I never went to bed with Teddy. I was the kid who didn't like to have things near him while he slumbered. On the rare chance Teddy crept into bed with me, he invariably wound up in the corner of my room by morning, upside down and with a look of bewildered hurt on his little furry face. With the rising of the sun, however, my temperament mellowed and Teddy and I were the best of friends for the rest of that day.

Around the time I officially entered Big Boy Mode, Teddy and I had a falling out. Don't know what the disagreement was about after all this time. Perhaps I caught him moonlighting with my baby brother, Eddie. The cad! Whatever the cause, I didn't see Teddy again for many long years. Sure, once in a rare day he would turn up whenever my family went through a major spring cleaning fit or similar furniture moving event, and he and I would get to reminiscing about old times. And behind the awkward eye contact and forced smiles we would think about what went wrong with us, and how we might say what we really wanted to say to each other, and all would be well and back to normal again. But then the Nintendo would call to make sure I wasn't getting myself into trouble, and we would make our sad, albeit hasty, goodbyes.

Last I heard, Teddy had been spotted in a bad part of town, seemingly run down on his luck. This was many years ago, in fact. To be honest, I thought Teddy had left this world by now. That is until three Christmases ago, when my sister discovered his whereabouts and brought him in from out of the streets. And unbeknownst to myself.  She gave him a scrub and a place to sleep, and in no time the little guy was back to his old self. Sis presented him to me that Christmas, and we've been together again ever since.

Until I lost him again. Tsk, tsk. Lucky for me, Teddy is the forgiving type. He understood I was going through a very tough time, and tried to give me some space while I sorted things out. He's so thoughtful like that!

The only pipe he smokes now is with a jacket and slippers.

Alas, we are reunited one more time. Teddy's at my new place now, and I must say he really likes it here. There he is checking out a book from my collection before he settles in for the night. Just like old times all over again.

Good to have you back, old chum! You are and forever will be, truly, a boy's best friend.

Tiny Apartment Is Tiny!

Thought I'd finally get around to putting up pics of the new place, since some of you have been asking for them. I don't know why I waited so long to do this, in fact. The state of affairs as of today is this: I've been living here now for exactly 4 weeks, and I'm very glad to have found this place at the time I did, and so near to where I was living before. Because it's a 500 sq ft studio apartment, alas, there is not much to show. But you know what? For such a small apartment, it's actually quite serviceable for one person. Take a look:

A Fry-ful Trip Into The Past

As I settle in to my new apartment, the one thing that still bugs me is coming home from work and having that new paint smell hit me in the face as I step through the front door. I officially moved in 2 weeks ago, but the smell still persists. It was cute in the beginning when the whole experience was new and exciting ... but something needed to be done. So I decided to break in my new kitchen by cooking as often as possible, in the hope that the various food aromas would replace that new paint smell and start making this place feel more like home to me. I grilled marinated chicken breasts one night, made bacon and eggs another morning, prepared a braised beef stew another time, and so on. Slowly I was starting to get this place smelling like normal, but wasn't quite there yet.

And then nostalgia hit. I might have mentioned it here on the blog once or twice, but I have virtually no connection to my Latin roots. My mother was Caucasian, and my father hailed from Santo Domingo in the Dominican Republic. Our father was never around growing up, although he lived in the same city and we would visit his family on occasion. So we were never indoctrinated into the traditional Dominican culture that thrives in northern Manhattan, the western South Bronx, and a large neighborhood in Queens. Our cultural cues came from our mother and, later, her mother and her sister. Which meant we grew up with fried chicken and apple pie, corn on the cob and potato salad (among many other staple Americana dishes). However, my mother did try to assimilate herself into the local Latin American culture here in New York. She spoke fluent Spanish as a second language, and her friends were all Latina. So occasionally she would prepare more traditional Latin-Caribbean dishes which her friends and mother-in-law taught her to make. Us kids hated it. We preferred our hamburgers and sloppy joes, thank you very much.

However, one particular Latin staple we did enjoy was fried green plantains. In Spanish-speaking Caribbean cultures, the dish is known as "tostones." In most Central and South American countries, they are called "patacones." But in my household we simply called them "platanos," regardless of how the plantains were being prepared. However, I do recall my sweet Dominican grandmother calling them "fritas verdes" on occasion. Tostones are typically twice-fried and served as a side dish. Although many people eat them as snacks or, even, as a full meal. I'm guilty of the latter, actually.

The thing is, it's been years since I've had tostones. Well over two decades, in fact! And I've never made them myself. All I had to go on were memories of standing in the kitchen as my mother cooked, which means I had to have been all of 7 or 8 years old at the time. Wow! Still, I'd seen it done often enough, and tostones are actually ridiculously simple to make. And luckily for me, I still live in a part of the city that's home to a pretty sizable Hispanic population. So plantains are more plentiful in the markets here than bananas. They are sold 10 for 1 dollar, in fact. Sometimes cheaper.

Suddenly thinking about my childhood, and about the different ways of making plantains--be they green or yellow (aka, "maduros")--I developed a huge craving for them. It was the weirdest thing, but my body immediately wanted some tostones in the worst way imaginable! So, I decided to give it a try. I thought it would be neat to travel back to my childhood and prepare a dish reminding me of home and my mother, and even my father's family. And as a bonus, perhaps banish some more of that new paint smell to boot!

I went to the supermarket this week and purchased myself all the necessary ingredients for making yummy tostones: plantains, corn oil (I usually only keep olive oil in the house), and a trusty tostonera--that ubiquitous hinged instrument of tostones making consisting of two wooden slabs for which to smash sliced pieces of plantain between. My mother just used a heavy pan with foil on the bottom to flatten each piece atop a cutting board, but I decided to get a little fancy with my bad self!

Since I'm only one person expecting leftovers to spare,
I figured 4 plantains were enough for the task.

 

 

With a knife, make a shallow slit lengthwise down the
plantain, then gently peel apart with your thumb.

 

Cut width-wise into 1- to 2-inch thick pieces.

Fry until darker yellow in pre-heated corn or vegetable oil
over medium heat. Turn over pieces for even frying.

 

Place on paper towels and pat dry the oil away.

 

Flatten each piece with a hard, flat surface. Or use a trusty
tostonera (pictured).

 

Slide flattened pieces back into the oil and fry on each side until
golden brown and crispy.

 

Place twice-fried pieces on new paper towels for drying, then
sprinkle lightly with salt. Serve immediately while still hot.

The end result was a little over-fried I admit, but still tasted exactly as I remembered them. Oh, the memories! Next time I'll fry them for a little less time. I couldn't think of what main dish to have alongside the tostones, though, so I ended up eating them alone. Was quite filling, in fact. And oh-so-delicious! I had around 11 pieces left over when all was said and done, so I wrapped them up in foil and placed them in the refrigerator for another day. They're best served piping hot and straight out of the pan, but I'll reheat them in the oven at 350 degrees F and they should be fine. I hope. *gulp*

Oh, and the house smells a little less painty and more like corn oil and plantains now, which is quite the improvement I say.

Anyway, have you had tostones, or patacones, or whatever you call them in your neck of the woods? You might want to give this recipe a try if you're curious otherwise. And as usual, share your thoughts in the comments below.

Alive and Well, I Am I Am.

Hey everybody! It's me, David Batista. I'm alive! And, more importantly, moved in to my new apartment.

So, you see, it turns out I survived the move. There were half a dozen ways it could have all gone to hell, but miraculously the entire thing from start to (somewhat) finish went as smooth as butter! I'm actually a little astounded myself by how well the process went. My friends attribute it to my super anal planning and organizational skills . . . but I of course assign the credit to where it really belongs, to my friends themselves. They really came through for me and helped me out big time with the logistics of moving so much of my stuff. Six hands are definitely better than two in times like these, and I couldn't have done any of it without them. Thanks, guys!

I will keep this short as I'm still in the process of setting up and/or buying new utensils/furniture/odd knick-knacks for the place. But as you can see I did get my cable connection and setup my home network already. In other words ... There Will Be Internet. Hey, you know--priorities! I haven't completely moved in yet, however. I still need to move some other items from the old place, including all my clothes. Then I can finally spend a night in the new apartment. However, I do have my furniture delivered and positioned where I want it to be. And I even brought linens and stuff! How very domestic of me, eh?

To give you a taste of just how much work has gone into the setup of the new apartment, here is a before-and-after look at the main living space:

My first time seeing the place after its complete renovation.

Picked out the furniture and arranged it all myself.
The difference is like night and day, no?

My friend, an electrician by trade, installed the ceiling fan. While I hooked up the window blinds on all three windows in the room. What do you think? Not bad, huh? The fan is a wonder, making the place so airy and well-lit. I love it! I honestly can't believe how big this studio is, and how perfectly it fits my needs. I lucked out big time, I think. Don't you?

Moving. It's A B----!

So, that time has come.

As much as I dreaded the actual mechanics of it all, I somehow went through the motions and managed to get most of my stuff squared away in boxes and suitcases, and prepared for the big move. Which is tomorrow, people!

Holy shit!

I've rented the U-Haul and have some of the world's bestest friends helping me out. I can't believe that, after nearly 13 years in the same spot, in less that 24 hours I will be moved in to an entirely different spot. Albeit a much smaller spot, and all by my lonesome, but a major change nonetheless.

And how do I feel about it all? A bit depressed, yes. But moreso excited. The prospect of eventually being all unpacked and settled in, of being able to kick my feet back and know that I am in my VERY OWN personal space with no one else to answer to but myself . . . well, I admit it's pretty damn enticing! Probably that sentiment alone has gotten me through the worst of it these past 6 weeks. If I allow my mind to do so, no doubt it would sink into a well of misery and self-doubt. But I won't allow it to do so. I'll keep forging ahead and doing what needs to be done. Even when it seems like one shit revelation follows another, still I'll soldier on.

I'm sure eventually it will all catch up to me, though. One weekend in the not too distant future I will be miserable and reflective on all that I have lost. I will shutter the windows in my new apartment and hunker down on the sofa under a mountain of blankets. And much bad tv will be consumed. And much good wine will be imbibed (I don't do beer outside of social settings).

And then . . . and then I will be better. The sun will still shine and the birds--those blasted birds!--they shall continue to chirp happily outside my windows. And I will one morning find myself expectant, hopeful: reflective on all I have yet to accomplish! For I am only 36 years old, not 66; and the world is yet my oyster.

By the way, what the fuck does this saying mean, anyway? I hate shellfish!

So, this is so-long for a short while, my friends. I will try to establish an Internet connection at the new place as soon as possible, but who knows when next our paths may cross on Blogger? Once I'm settled in, for sure. But whether that takes 2 weeks or 2 months, only the Old Gods and the New can answer.

'Till then, stay frosty.

David J. Batista
Bronx, New York.  May 2013.

No Mas (Game of Thrones Related)

Well, I have decided I had enough of writing reviews of Game of Thrones. Yes, sorry folks (all 4 of you who care), but I just don't have the wherewithal at this point in my life to slave away writing such long, detailed looks into an hour-long television show. It's getting old really fast.

But in fact the real reason is two-fold:

One, as mentioned already, my life is topsy-turvy at the moment. I'm in the process of moving to a new place, and in a few weeks I won't even have cable tv anymore. It might take a week or two to get it back at the new place, and combined with everything else I will need to get done during this time (like, hey, actually moving and getting settled in), I can honestly say that I won't have the energy or time to punch out a super cool, super informative review of this super great HBO show I love so much. Such is life. Don't cry for me, Argentina ... and all that jazz.

The second reason is more disappointing, really, than an actual cause for no more reviews. Simply put, not enough people give a damn this year for some reason. In previous years, my Thrones reviews garnered thousands of unique views on this here blog. That's thousands. Plural! By the third episode of Season 2, my review of the first episode just two weeks prior already had 900 plus unique views. And how about this year? Well, now that the third episode has already aired, my review of the first episode two weeks back has tallied all of . . . 51 views. That's it. My review of the second episode has accumulated only 30. So, combined with my personal life being in a disarray, this added news does not keep me motivated to continue this endeavor.

Sorry, all. I just can't bring myself to do it anymore. I will still watch the show, naturally. But that thing where I spend hours and days writing the words, rewatching the episode over and over, and acquiring screen grabs and what have you? Yeah, no more.

Jaime's distraught over no more reviews on the Bimillennial Man.
Or because someone just cut off his hand. One of the two. 

I would suggest that if anyone has any questions about the episodes as they air, to drop them in the comments section here and I will definitely answer them. But who are we kidding? Let's be honest, no one will. And that's okay.

I'm just saying, though, if anyone wants to . . .

And, one last thing. No, I will not be accepting any guest reviews at this time. That's cool for like one or two episodes, but not for the rest of the whole bloody season. Thanks, though.