Baker's Delight -- Blondies!

So, it's that time of year again when the weather is getting cold and the urge to bake overcomes me. And this time, the new thing I'm obsessing over are ... blondies! My old college buddy, Cin, and I were reminiscing about the special cookout events our alma mater used to hold, and how blondies were always present at them. Both of us admitted that, before attending college there, we had never heard of the term before. For me personally, being the brownie aficionado that I am, I at first viewed them with suspicion. Blondies are supposed to be like brownies, you see, but minus the fudge! Did not sound appealing to me AT ALL. But then I ate one and, try as I might, over the years they grew on me.

As for Cin, she's against all things chocolate. Yeah, I can't explain it either. So blondies are right down her ally! And it got me to wondering: what the fudge are blondies even made of? I mean, what if not chocolate? Well, once I found out, it became my mission in life to make them!

And make them I did, I'm happy to say. It took me a couple of tries to perfect the recipe, but I think I got it just right. I've made a batch for the family get-together 2 weeks ago, and to rave reviews. I even made a batch for work, also to great fanfare and applause. Well, yes ... I exaggerate. But people liked 'em, I think!

The Great Coffee Experiment

Coffee. I don't like it. Never have, and doubt I ever will. Sure, the older members of my family all drank it. And like any good kid worth his curiosity badge, I took it upon myself to sneak in a taste or two when no one was looking. Yet, although the smell of coffee brewing in the morning was always a wonderful thing, unfortunately the taste of it on my tongue left a lot to be desired. It always tasted like burnt popcorn kernels, to be honest. Blech!

David 2.0 -- The Bulkening

Back in December of 2004 I weighed 230 lbs. I had always been a skinny kid in life, staying that way up to and straight through college. The genes were in my family, after all. But then I started working for a living, and that 9-5 lifestyle wreaked havoc on my eating habits. From 1998 to the end of 2004 I had really let myself go.

Then, inevitably, I had a health scare in early 2005 at the age of 28, and completely changed my life around. I was dead serious about it all, too, as chronicled here on the Bimillennial Man in this 5-part series. Many of you already know the story. I lost a total of 62 lbs by September of that same year, weighing in at 168! A weight I had not been since my early years in college.

Recently a family member thought it wise to attempt to school me in proper protein intake. See, I now weigh 188 lbs. But it's not what you think! That there is 20 lbs of muscle I've put on--and relatively recently! As in the past 2 years, recent. And the way I did it was by lots of carefully planned exercises, and of course by properly monitoring my nutritional intake. Key among this was keeping track of my protein intake. I changed my diet for possibly the fifth time in as many years (it's a constantly evolving/revolving engagement, eating healthy) and really made sure I was getting a lot of protein the healthy way. Protein that would fuel those workouts of mine.

You be the judge of the results I achieved (click on the pics for larger versions):

168 pounds, versus ...

... 188 pounds. Fight!

The first pic was taken back in October 2005 when I was only 29; while the one at the waterfall was nearly 8 years later at age 36 (almost 37), taken this past July. Now, even though I am 20 lbs heavier in that second pic -- do I look it? Do I look like I let myself go? No. And yet, I'm 188 lbs there. How? And could I get bigger? The short answer to the last is: no. See, I wasn't trying to bulk up. I didn't want to look like a roid head, or even a bodybuilder or bouncer. No, all I wanted was a lean, healthy look. A slim but powerful build, if you will. I valued running and other aerobic exercises more, after all, than just lifting weights like most guys are obsessed with. But yet, I couldn't deny the health benefits of having more muscle than fat on one's body. The cardiovascular benefits alone were worth it. But in my case, it also provided for a faster metabolism and more efficient sugar absorption by my cells.

And it worked! My blood results when I see the doctor don't lie! But this family member decided to tell me that taking too much protein is not good for you. I told her that I monitor my levels very closely with both a calorie tracker and nutritional index app on my phone, which I use to log every single meal I eat during the day and break down the numbers for me. I know the formula by which a man translates his body weight into the total grams of protein he should be ingesting while keeping to a regular workout routine. I know all these things, and have been taking care of my body for 8 years now.

So when people like my well-meaning family member try to give me advice on something I already know a lot about, and have been doing for years, I say: thanks, but no thanks. I got this. You do you, and I'll do me. I've been my own best advocate for as long as I can remember.

How about you? Do you have any well intentioned nosy bodies in your family? You love them, don't ya? But sometimes you just wish they'd mind their beeswax, amirite?

Top 10 TV Crushes Of My Youth

Crushes are a beautiful thing. Not full love attractions, nor down and dirty lust obsessions, crushes are as every day essential to a healthy lifestyle as yoga or eating oatmeal. As children, a crush can be the first sniff--a whiff, if you will--of what love might be when we grow up. As adults, however, crushes are often casual and entertaining; something frivolous to pass the time and keep our libidos running. You may even share them with your significant other, or with complete strangers as I did here in this blog entry a few months back. Sometimes, even, a crush might become a true love connection. That cute girl who works down at the bookstore whom you've been crushing on for months now, might just someday end up being the mother of your children if only you would work up the courage to ask her out for coffee sometime. Or, in tragic cases, a crush might turn into an unhealthy connection and land the crusher flat on the "Go To Jail" space in this monopoly game of life we're playing.

But for the most part, yes ... that which we crush on is not meant to be taken seriously. We have them, we cherish them, we learn from them, and we move on. Now, while I've certainly gone on and on here on The Bimillennial Man about who my crushes have been of late, I thought I'd take a step back and re-examine all the ones I've had leading up to today. Scratch that. Such an endeavor would take far too long to write up. On second thought, how about I just narrow it down to celeb crushes? Women most of you are probably already familiar with. Hmmm, still too broad a selection? Okay, okay -- I got it! How about we narrow the criteria down to only actresses--television actresses at that--who I've crushed on up until the very cusp of puberty? In other words, those little boy crushes that we all find so adorable and endearing? Nothing wrong with that, right? I mean, awwwww!

So, okay then. Here we go. The following are a list of my top 10 tv actresses from a favorite sitcom or show of mine ranging from the late 70s, which is when I was born, until the cutoff point of 1990, which is the year I started high school and crushes took on a whole 'nother level of urgency and angst.

Dipping The Pen . . .

So, I'm leaving the subway this morning and stopping off for my typical breakfast pickup at the cafe across the street from my office, when I run into a co-worker who's been making googly eyes at me for some time. She mouthed the word "hello" as our eyes met, and then proceeded into the establishment with me following behind. Shit, I think. I need to get in and out of this place and make sure I don't get cornered into a conversation! Which I manage to do, pick up my order, and hightail it out and to my desk on the 6th floor in record time.

Later, as I go to refill my 1-liter water bottle at the office break room, I run into her again. Ugh! I always run into her there. And it's always awkward. She gives me this smile, and looks at me expectantly as if waiting for me to say something. And I never do. I'm actually rather brusque with our interactions, to be honest. Moreso than I need to be, perhaps. In other words: more standoffish than is normal even for me. Which, if you know me, is pretty damn harsh.

Here's the deal with this person: I don't know her from Jane. She works in the same office as me, sure, but we're from completely different departments and, therefore, have zero business-related interaction with one another. I also get the impression that she's not the one to usually make googly eyes at anybody, and keeps to only a small circle of her own colleagues. Just as I do. So it's actually pretty interesting that she seems to have zeroed in on me. I do absolutely NOTHING to warrant this attention, mind you. I don't flirt, I don't ogle, and I barely say more than a few words in greeting (enough to be polite).

Oh, I guess you should know one other piece of this equation that should be fairly obvious by now if you've been paying attention: I'm not interested in her. Not just because of recent personal circumstance (which is a pretty big reason all of its own, no doubt), but also because ...

I'm just not attracted to her. At all!

The Fading Years ...

I went shopping at Costco yesterday to stock up on some very essential household items. While I was in the huge walk-in freezer section, I came across an elderly lady staring intently at the skim milk pallet in the corner. She was a little bitty thing, wearing dark wraparound shades and peering very closely at the milk as if studying the cartons for signs of disease or whatever. So I walked over and asked her if she wanted to know the expiration date, but she replied that she was looking for a container with no dents on it. LOL!

Anyway, she seemed to be having trouble lifting the gallon jug of low-fat, so I grabbed it for her and asked her if she had a cart. After I placed it in the bin for her, she called me a "dear" and explained that she had a bad shoulder. I told her it was my pleasure, wished her a good day, and carried on with my shopping.

These encounters always remind me of my sweet grandmother, whom I love above all other people in this world. She raised me after my mother died when I was 9, and although she was very lax in the discipline department, she taught me all I know about compassion, caring, and understanding. I am the empathetic fellow some of you know today because of this woman.

Top 10 Things About Me You Don't Need To Know

Just decided to have some fun and do another revealing expose into the type of guy I am. I've done this type of listed revelations thing before on the blog, of course. Most notably here, here and here. But, this one will be a little different. In this one, I will list only those odd quirks of mine that are not necessarily positive or attractive qualities to have. Or which might, at the very least, constitute as surprising even to those folks who know me well.

Sounds like loads of fun, eh?

Die, Summer, DIE!!!

Oh yes! We're finally here. Labor Day weekend. I never thought I'd see you.

If you don't know by now, I hate Summer. It just really annoys me. I don't have anything against sunshine and doing outdoorsy things. It's just that, to me, summer time in a big city blows. If I lived out in the countryside, fine. That would be different. But summers in New York City is when you see the worst of humanity.

Blurred Lines

As any of my friends can tell you, I'm not big on current music. My musical tastes tend more toward dated tunes from the 60s and earlier. Of course, I do also have a huge 4-hour long playlist of nothing but 80s chart toppers--but generally speaking it takes me a long time to get into anything new and popular.

So when I heard someone on tv mention this song "Blurred Lines" from Robin Thicke (featuring T.I. and Pharrell) as being the number 1 track of the summer, I just had to listen to it and find out what all the fuss was about.

Sometimes ... What's The Point?

No, I'm not depressed or at a low point in my life. I'm not going emo on you all--ha!

But, seriously, I was wondering ... just what IS the point to a few things in life. What is the point when these things almost always end up in disaster?

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.

A Bad Case of the Doldrums

I haven't dropped off the face of the Earth.

I'm just taking an extended breather from the blog. I see I missed the entire month of July without posting anything. Whoa! And was about to miss out on August as well. My how time flies! I knew I was going take a few weeks off, but somehow life got in the way and a few weeks ended up being nearly two months!

Well, the bad news is: I'm not ready to return today.

The good news? I will be returning. Fairly soon.

I can feel the energy to write slowly coming back, and hope to have some content coming up in the next few days (or week). I'm also aware that I haven't been keeping up on reading your blogs as well. Actually, that's not true. I do read all my favorite blogs early in the morning right before I start out for work. I just never have the time to leave a comment. I will remedy that shortly as well. Or try to.

In the meantime ... Yes, I'm doing fine. It hasn't been an easy summer for me, but I'm still alive and surviving. Maybe I'll delve more into that in a later post.

Hope you all are doing just as well, if not better. How have your summers been? No, really, tell me in the comments section. I want to know, dammit!

Model Spotlight: RIYA RAY

Yes, it's true. I have a thing for Middle Eastern and South Asian beauties. What can I say? It's no secret . . . everybody knows. A while back I posted this spotlight on the Persian/Dutch model, Asal Soltani. This time I move on over to the sub-continent to introduce Ms. Riya Ray. She's someone who, like Ms. Soltani, also perfectly exemplifies my personal litmus test of physical beauty.

In other words, I think she's pretty damn hot! Oh yes I do, indeed. I think she's a big deal, actually. Rising up through the ranks rather quickly. I've seen her in a few rap videos and a commercial or two, but she's also done quite a few magazine covers as well and has wrapped up production on a couple films she has roles in this year. Here are some of my favorite photos of Ms. Ray:

Breathtaking. Resembles Kim Kardashian
a little here, no?

That come hither stare gets me
EVERY TIME! Rawrrrr!

Beautiful long, dark hair compliments an oval,
angular face. Gorgeous!!!

That sweet, girl-next-door look.
Nice dress!

Those eyes!!! (faints)

Riya Ray is a Bengali gal who hails from Assam in northeast India. She's based in the States now, but still has strong roots in her hometown and visits every chance she gets. She's also not a fan of the "size zero" trend in modeling, and feels models should be allowed to show their curves. And although she's a naturally slim gal herself, I must say Riya definitely does have the curves where they count!

Just more proof that Indian women are super fly in the summer time! Or any other time of the year, for that matter. My own opinion, of course (heh, heh). Don't hate me if I just happen to be right.

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:

Happy Father's Day, Mom.

So, today is Father's Day. Happy fun times to all the great dads out there, whoever you are.

As you all probably know by now, I did not grow up with a dad in the picture. Sure, the man was alive and living in the same city, but he wanted nothing to do with raising his sons. So my mom raised us alone until she passed away when I was 9 years old. We moved in with my mom's sister and their mom after that--so, in other words, with my maternal aunt and grandmother who shared an apartment.

Mom, Grandma, lil brother and me (right).

Grandma and auntie raised us for the next 12 years or so until I graduated college and moved out on my own. All three women shaped me into the man I am today. They were my rock, my guidance, and my heart. They protected me when the world was fearful, sang to me when my heart was sad, and taught me life's stern lessons whenever I thought I had it all figured out. They also taught me that one does not need a father to make it through life, and that women are to be respected and praised for all the hard work and sacrifice they bring.

Pumpkin picking with Auntie, baby sis, lil bro, and me (right).

So I never cared that my father was not around -- but it would have been nice if he were. He never taught me how to be a man: how to carry myself, how to fight and stand up for myself like a man should. Never taught me how to drive, or dance, or tie a tie, or shave, or even how to fix a damn flat tire! I learned all these things on my own or from the women in my life. Needless to say, I have a low opinion of men. Yet, I strive all my life to make myself the kind of man I would have been proud to call my father when I was younger.

How fucked up is that? I was, in essence, my own father. But honestly, that role was filled by three others. And if they happened to be women, who cares? They were the best damn father a boy could ask for!

Happy Father's Day mommy, auntie, and gran'ma. I'm more of a man today through your love and support than I could have ever been learning from my real dad's example.

College grad with baby sis (left), Grandma, and Auntie.

Miss Crush 2013

Over the many years I've been writing this blog (since 2008, to be exact), every now and then I embarrass myself by posting who I'm currently crushing on in Hollywood or the music biz. So now it's that time to do it again for 2013. Yes, yes ... never mind the fact that we're only halfway through the year. Pesky details! I'm going to do it anyway, and there's nothing anyone can do about it.

But before I do, a little refresher on all the Miss Crushes of years past. It's a high honor on the Bimillennial Man, don't you know?

Can You Hear Me Now?

You know, I know I'm going to take some flak for this, but I'll come out and just say it: I'm not all that disturbed by these recent NSA Prism revelations. Yes, I'm serious. I know, I know -- the U.S. government has been tapping into our mobile phone and e-mail content. Oh. Mah. Gurd!!!!

Really?

And???

How is this news? I've always figured my conversations, emails, and Facebook doings were being monitored somehow, somewhere. This blog, too, in fact. It's probably all being filtered through some government data analyst's server farm buried deep in the Black Hills of South Dakota. But do I think anyone cares about what I have to say or write? Hell no! I say: let them do all the snooping they want. Do you really think I'm dumb enough to put out there anything incriminating or of a threat to national security? Do I honestly believe anyone in the higher echelons of our cloak & dagger shadow government agencies actually cares about my Game of Thrones musings, or latest Facebook rant on men who carry around large shoulder bags?

Please, grow up! I don't exactly know why everyone's so surprised by these revelations. Or so afraid all of a sudden. Surely you couldn't have been that naive all these years, right?

Didn't think so.

Is it wrong that our privacy and basic liberties are being trampled upon? You damn right it is! And I'm mad as hell about that. Because if they can do this, then what's next? Don't answer that! It's scary as hell.

Look, ever since I first logged on to this here Interwebs of ours back in September of 1994 (when we were still using Mosaic for access, and the World Wide Web was in its infancy) I've done so with the express paranoia that some super AI or think tank out there would be eavesdropping, just waiting for certain keywords to pop up in all that digital noise and send the black helicopters out to pick me up in the middle of the night. So I just made sure I never put anything out there I wouldn't want my closest friends or family members finding out about. Plain and simple.

If, however, you're one of those pseudo anarchists who uses Facebook as a soapbox to rave about how badly you want the government to implode under an onslaught of a thousand terrorists' dirty bombs--well then, Jethro, you might want to keep you ears peeled for those super silent helicopter blades approaching your bunker.

I hear Guantanamo ain't so lovely this time of year.

Episode 30 Discussion: "Mhysa"

It is with heavy heart that we come to yet another close on an exciting season of Game of Thrones. *sigh* They go by so quickly! I can't believe I'll have to wait another 10 months to see this saga continue. What will I possibly watch in the meantime? I've soured almost completely on True Blood, which was always more Lisa's show. I'll still tune in, I'm sure, but I don't expect it to be much fun.

Anyway, so how did the season 3 finale fair? After last week's "Red Wedding," can any episode following it possibly compare?

The answer is, of course: no.

But you know what? While "Mhysa" may not have been the big bang season finale many have come to expect from this show, I thought it was one of the most fulfilling and well-constructed episodes ever. It's probably this book reader's most satisfying showing, in fact, because it felt like a lot of murky plotlines were aired out and clarified to those non initiates out there who might be having a difficult time understanding what the point of all this is. See, what everyone needs to keep in mind is that Season 3 only encompassed the first half of Book 3, A Storm of Swords. Next season will cover the rest of the novel and escalate quite a few of the different plots wavering around as of this latest airing.

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.

Episode 29 Discussion: "The Rains Of Castamere"

Hoo boy!

This one was a doozy. It's the episode I've been dreading ever since day one of this show's airing. It's the point when, in the books, I almost gave up reading the whole damn series. And even more than a decade later, I still get uneasy thinking about what happened. To be honest, it's probably also why I haven't re-read these books in all this time. Some things are just too traumatic to live through again, even if it is all just fiction. And fantasy fiction at that!

But before we get to all of that, some quick thoughts on what transpired before the Lannisters--as they are wont to do--paid their debts back to Robb Stark and Company:

I absolutely loved Bran "warg"-ing into Hodor to shut the big oaf up, and then into his direwolf, Summer, to come to the rescue of Jon Snow. Fantastic! And it's about damn time they made it clear to those non-book readers just what the hell is up with Bran and his wolf dreams. Yes, like Orell the Wildling, Bran can also project his mind into animals. But unlike Orell or any other warg beyond the Wall, Bran can also project into a human being's mind as well. Uh, I don't recall this being an impossibility for other wargs in the books. As I recall, it is difficult to do, but not impossible. It's just something that most wargs know not to do, because the practice has some potentially horrendous risks.

Rickon Stark's parting was well overdue, and yet wonderfully acted. That scene almost made me cry. I don't know about Osha taking him to Last Hearth---home of Jon Umber, aka "The Greatjon". That particular detail was different in the book. But I think the end results will be the same. Rickon doesn't get a whole lot of mention in the book series, which is a shame.

The excursion into Yunkai by perhaps the most kick-ass variation of the Three Stooges ever was a big highlight of this episode. Not only was the action edge-of-your-seat worthy, but the choreography was superb! I loved watching Daario and Ser Jorah lay waste to wave after wave of guards coming at them, but the best was Grey Worm. Oh man, this guy was AMAZING! He truly made the Unsullied proud on that night. You know, for a group of ball-less wonders, they actually do live up to their fearsome reputations, eh?

I'm really enjoying how well the Arya and Hound scenes are being portrayed. Very, very close to the books for now. And while Sandor Clegane does have a point about the young lass needing to grow a pair if she is to survive in this harsh world, Arya was quick to demonstrate why she's not the shrinking violet her sister was. Knocking out that poor pork peddler a second time seriously impressed the Hound. And when the right time came, he conked her on the head in kind so as to perhaps save her from the fate her oldest brother was having dished out to him at the Twins.

Speaking of which ...

"The Lannisters send their regards."

*sigh* It is with such heavy heart that I had to sit through this scene. The entire episode my stomach was turning into knots, knowing what was to come. I kept checking the clock to see how much of the episode was still left, because I just knew they were going to save it for the very end before the credits roll. But when the melody to that now infamous Lannister song, "The Rains of Castamere," finally started to play in the banquet hall, I was a nervous mess! Which is strange since I knew damn well what was about to transpire. And yet ...

Anyway, I won't rehash the whole ordeal. If you saw it, you know what happened. And you also know how depressing it was. Oh, and Lord Roose Bolton is an asshole! As is Lord Frey, but that comes as no surprise.

However, since I'm not a mind reader, I would like to read your thoughts in the comments below. After all, this is why the post is called a "discussion."

So, go on. Discuss! How did this episode hit ya? Square in the nuts, or be ye cold and merciless like the Unsullied? The comments section is also the place to ask all your questions, and I will do my best to answer them. This is a very pivotal moment in the entire series, so I wouldn't be surprised if some of my readers have a lot to get off their chests.

Have at it, then!

P.S. -- Here's a consolation video the folks over at The Second City put together for those book readers and show watchers alike who may have just come to the disturbing realization that George R. R. Martin is one sick and cruel bastard!





They're equal parts wrong and right. But I won't tell you which is which. I can be cruel too, see? Mwa-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha! (Don't worry, there really are no spoilers if you've watched the show up to last night's episode.)