Nikki McClure calendar

ACT ONE
(my parents' house in Canada)December 26th :: I'm lying on my old bed in my parents' house, away from New York. I receive an email from my roommate, Dory. "I put the mailbox key on your key ring. There's some Chinese food in a tupperware that I forgot to throw out. I left the 2009 Nikki McClure calendar on the table too. Happy Boxing Day!" Oh wow. A brand new Nikki McClure calendar for 2009? I can't wait.

ACT TWO
(my kitchen in Brooklyn)December 30th :: I'm rushing to assemble a dinner in honour of a visiting friend. People are supposed to arrive in 20 minutes, and I still haven't made the fried bananas or finished the soup. Then my eye is caught by our old calendar on the wall. And yes, there just as she promised is the new one, sitting unopened on the table. I jealously reach for it, but then just as quickly stop myself. I can't yet. It's not even New Year's Eve. Dammit. I return to stirring the soup, wondering if a peek would mean a curse on 2009.

ACT THREE
(my living room)January 1st :: I'm handing out hot chocolate to the small handful of friends that decided to take refuge in my apartment from the brazen New Year's Day winds. The conversation idles between various topics, and I'm cross-legged on the floor scratching my cat. Without explanation, I jump up and dash across the room towards the kitchen. Inquisitive cries follow me down the hall. I call from the kitchen, "It's time to open the calendar!" More confused statements from the living room. I emerge from the hallway triumphantly holding the Nikki McClure 2009 calendar. "I've been wanting to do this for a week now." And like a kid show-and-telling a coveted possession, I turn the cover for all to see the proud month of January.

CONSUMED: my kitchen, Brooklyn

Fth floor

It usually takes a while for visitors to understand the numbering system in my apartment building. For reasons unknown to me, the floors are labelled according to letters where A is the first floor, B the second and so on. The problem is further confused by the use of numerical floor signs on the landings. Except for my floor. And who knows if it was intentional; it's still brilliant.

CONSUMED: my apartment; Brooklyn

brunch party

Consider an excerpt from the carnage that was the brunch party that Dory and I hosted on Sunday:

• 4 dozen eggs
  
• 1 pound of coffee (maybe six or seven 12-cup pots?)
  
• 2 litres of milk
  
• 30 waffles (one-third of which contained squash... mmmm!)
  
• 4 litres of juice
  
• 1 packet of bacon
  
• 1 packet of tofurky sausages
  
• 6 bananas
  
• 15 mushrooms
  
• 1 loaf of braided rosemary bread, baked by Dory

Sincere apologies to anyone who is reading this and wasn't invited. Know that we were limited solely by the size of our apartment, and not for lack of wanting you there. Because we did.

CONSUMED: my apartment; Brooklyn

apple pie

I used to bake a bunch. I don't really remember why (it's not like I was cooking for an especially appreciative crowd), but I did. Cookies, cakes, loafs. Then somehow, I stopped. More recently I've picked up a signature dish: zucchini bread. And that's all I make.

So when an out-of-town friend suggested that we make pie for an impromptu stay-in Hallowe'en dinner (using apples from the Union Square farmers market... oh stuffwhitepeoplelike, eat your heart out), complete with ginger whipped cream (whipped by hand, thanks to my stubborn insistence), I think I've found a new favourite dessert.

CONSUMED: my apartment; Brooklyn

++++++++
Today marks the first day of NaBloPoMo. I pinky-swore with Emily and Dory this past week to adhere to the simple rule of daily blogging during the month of November. I think I have a one-up on them because I already blog daily during the week.