Orange-Clove Chocolate Chip Cookies

Today at work girl scouts, those sugary little fairies disguised as elementary school kids, were selling cookies inside the store. Sweetly, they smiled, tempting each passing customer or employee to fall into nutritional sin. Needless to say, I bought two boxes. I think I was even a bit below average in this respect (2 customers bought 25 boxes each.) I shared the cookies with my coworkers (mostly out of fear that I might eat them all myself) and one friend declared that thin mints are "the best cookies ever". I was offended. Another coworker took up the fight, insisting that orange-chocolate-chip cookies are the best.

Not to be outdone by adorable little pixies in merit badges, I thought I'd take up the challenge:

Orange-Clove Chocolate Chip Cookies

I started with Smitten Kitchen's recipe for chocolate chip cookies, and added orange zest and juice. I love the combination of clove and orange, so I added a bit of cloves as well. Allowing the heat from the melted butter to caramelize the sugars is a tip I learned from Cook's Illustrated and it never lets me down. I've got environmental objections to brown sugar, so I substituted the brown sugar with raw cane sugar and added a little molasses. (Brown sugar is just the same high-processed, environmentally damaging white sugar with the added processing of making it brown. Using fair-trade, evaporated organic raw cane juice lends a more mellow sweetness and is friendlier to the planet and the people who harvest sugar cane.)

Adapted from Smitten Kitchen

2 cups all-purpose flour
1 teaspoon baking soda
1/2 teaspoon sea salt
3/4 cup unsalted butter, melted
1 and 1/2 cup raw cane sugar
2 tablespoons molasses
zest of one large orange
1/4 cup orange juice
1 tablespoon vanilla extract
1/2 tsp ground cloves
1 egg
1 egg yolk
2 cups semisweet chocolate chips

Preheat the oven to 325°F (165°C). Grease cookie sheets or line with parchment paper.

Sift together the flour, baking soda and salt; set aside. In a medium bowl, cream together the warm melted butter, sugar, molasses, cloves, orange zest and juice. Beat in the vanilla, egg, and egg yolk until light and creamy. Set aside in a warm place for 20-30 minutes to allow sugars to caramelize.

Mix in the sifted ingredients until just blended. Stir in the chocolate chips by hand using a wooden spoon. Drop cookie dough one tablespoon at a time. Cookies should be about 3 inches apart.

Bake cookies for 10 to 12 minutes, or until the edges are lightly toasted. Cool on baking sheets for a few minutes before transferring to wire racks to cool completely.

The end results are lovely, but mine are a little flat, so I upped the baking soda from the orignal recipe's 1/2 tsp. I also think they could go with a pinch more sea salt but I like my cookies on the saltier side.

If it's war they want

So if you've read the news lately, or even if you just have a facebook account, you probably know why The New York Times is calling Republicans out for declaring war on women.

Republicans in the House of Representatives are mounting an assault on women’s health and freedom that would deny millions of women access to affordable contraception and life-saving cancer screenings and cut nutritional support for millions of newborn babies in struggling families. And this is just the beginning.

A declaration of war is an apt and amusing way to describe the right's recent obsession with de-funding Planned Parenthood, WIC and early childhood nutrition programs. These cuts, it seems, are made necessary by the literal wars declared on Iraq and Afghanistan.

I'd like to quote one the Republican's own back at them: Bring it on.

Fellow women (and those who would fight on our side) if Republican declare war on us and our bodies and our children, we must respond with our voices and with our votes. I don't know any women who would actually have sex with Republicans but I strongly encourage any who would to reconsider that, too. Not that sex should be considered a political act, but, given that a state of war has been declared, I just don't think fraternizing with the enemy is such a good idea.

My generation, especially, is often complacent, quick to forget that the rights we enjoy were hard-won by our mothers and their mothers. These rights were not always ours and they can be taken away if we allow them to be. Our political and personal power stems from the basic right to determine what happens to our bodies. Every woman, regardless of her economic situation, should have access to health care, contraceptives, and the proper nutrition for our babies before and after they are born.

They can say that women's health isn't a fiscal priority in a time of war, and what do we say in response? Bring. It. On.

Academic advice & secret societies

My dilemma about studying abroad may not appear to be a dilemma at all, on the surface. I understand that going abroad is a rare opportunity, one that will improve my language skills and practical understanding of the culture of Morocco, and that I am very, very lucky to even have the possibility of going. It's also the only way for me to earn my degree in 2011.

Here's the thing; I haven't been unemployed since I was 18. Even that was just for most of a summer. I work. It is what I do. It is how I survive, how I remain independent. Not having a job for 3 months (especially having to give up my current job which I love) and having no certainty of any job (or, for that matter, any money) when I come back is terrifying.

Other cons:

-The Moroccan dialect of Arabic is not widely spoken or understood outside of Morocco, and is not my first choice of dialects to learn.

-The program involves a 3-month home stay with a family. While I appreciate my previous homestay experiences, the idea of spending so long in one family's home seems overwhelming and frightening.

-It is expensive. Very expensive. Lotsa expensive. Plus airfare, plus travel expenses, plus no ability to work while I'm there. Eeeesh.


So what do you think, should I go?





In only sort of related news, when I got home tonight I found a fancy envelope from the "Golden Key International Honour Society" letting me know that for only $80 I could become a member of their society, apparently something I qualified for due to "academic achievement". This is my standard response to any invitation to join a society:

To Whom It May Concern,

Thank you for your invitation to become a member of GKIHS. While GKIHS sounds like a prestigious and ancient society, I have to be selective about my society membership, due the volume of invitations I receive. Please answer the following questions about your society, and return by mail in the enclosed envelope before 3/15 for priority consideration.

1. How secret is your society?

a.) Top
b.) Less secret than before that hack pulp writer outed us
c.) What society?
d.) We literally admit any one who pays us $80

2. How much behind-the-scenes control do you have over global events?

a.) We control the weather
b.) We control international finance
c.) We control the media
d.) We control your mind

3. Who is the celebrity face of your society?

a.) A former President
b.) Tom Cruise
c.) Grand Dragon __________________ (Insert name here)
d.) The Pope

4. What is your society's beverage of choice?

a.) Blood
b.) Wine
c.) Kool-Aid
d.) All of the above.

5. How much animal sacrifice, in general, does your society require?

a.) Constant
b.) Every meeting
c.) Every full moon
d.) We require human sacrifice.

Thank you again for the invitation, and I look forward to hearing from you. Due to the volume of invitations to secret societies a personal response may not be possible if your society is not selected. Good luck!

Sincerely,

Kelsey

Ugly Oats and Star Wars cookies

Mark Bittman has a great column on McDonald's new oatmeal:

Read it before you eat.

When I read stuff like this (The "oatmeal" has 21 total ingredients and more sugar than a Snickers bar. No joke.) I think about all of those people who angrily post comments on the White House facebook photos of Michelle Obama. Usually these are along the line of "She needs to lose weight before she tells me what my kids can eat!" (Usually this is coupled with a livestock-based epithet.) As some one who has just woken up to the realization that I'll need to wear a bridesmaid's dress in about 2 months, I've decided to do a better job of watching what I eat. This means, for example, that instead of eating 5 of the Star Wars cookies I just baked (and several spoonfuls of dough) I get to have one. It means that, despite the recent realization that my history research paper (10 pages) my final English paper, my Arabic final, my Arabic portfolio and presentation, my applications for 3 different grants for study abroad and my Dear Mr. President book will all need to be finished up in the next 3 weeks, I'm probably going to make a better effort to get outside and jog a few miles a day. I'm tired just thinking about it. (If you don't hear from me until the 15th, I'm not dead, I'm just swamped.)

Anyway, I guess what I mean to say is that no one thinks it's easy to make the right food choices or to stay active. It isn't easy. The First Lady isn't trying to tell us what to eat or what to feed our kids, she trying to make it easier for Americans to make better choices. Why people are so threatened by that- especially when faced with the deceptive practices companies like McDonald's regarding their so-called "healthy" options- is beyond me.

And with that, I give you Star Wars cookies:



The recipe is straight from Smitten Kitchen and, sadly, they do not look so pretty frosted with my from-scratch vanilla mint butter-cream or (for the Darth Vaders) bittersweet chocolate.

Goodnight, all.

Love, too, is a thing with feathers

Any one from UBS knows I ripped off the title for this entry from the marketing slogan our store used for Valentine's day. But if there's a more appropriate source of Valentine's Day-related inspiration than an advertisement, I can't think of it. Anyway, this line was pasted around my store for the last few weeks (it's a reference to Emily Dickinson's "hope is a thing with feathers", but, hopefully, not intended as a dig at the poor old spinster.) I don't mean to be a complete cliche by choosing this to frame my rant about love, but I suppose it was this slogan, more than anything, that's had me thinking about the absence of romantic love in my life.

My life is good. I'm doing well in school, I've got a job I enjoy, I'm looking at only a few months until Africa and graduation. I am steady and sane and, other than the insomnia, pretty healthy. I have a lot to be thankful for. So when Valentine's Day rolled around, I really didn't feel so bad about not having a boyfriend. I looked up the other day and realized almost every one I know is in a couple. Sisters, roommates, friends, even those who are (forgive me) usually as bad as I am at love are not only in relationships, they're happy and making it all look as easy as breathing. And, much as it pains me to admit, just as necessary.

I have a friend who has often given me advice in this area of my life, and he would tell me it is because I care too much. This is his nice way of saying "don't act so desperate, silly". He's probably more right than I want to admit. There are days (like today) when I feel not just unwanted but unwantable. And then, just when I'm really starting to get excessive in the self-pity, I remember New Year's Eve.

Maybe it was the champagne. Maybe my friends put him up to it. Whatever the case a nice, good-looking, apparently sane man decided to spend a good part of the night kissing me. It was the first time in.. well.. longer than I'd care to admit.. and it was fun. A little scary, a little intense, but mostly fun. When we parted ways at the end of the night he didn't tell me he'd call me or try to act like any of it meant anything (he lives far away) but he did tell me that he wanted me to know I was attractive and sexy and totally desirable. (This is maybe the part that, especially after watching this week's episode of 30 Rock, makes me wonder if he was put up to it by my dear friends.) And yes, the independent, Elizabeth Cady Stanton-tattooed feminist in me knows that I don't need a man to tell me I'm sexy to feel sexy. I don't. But, especially when it has been years since a straight man who is not one of your married or taken brother figures who HAS to call you pretty because mom will ground him otherwise, it is really nice to hear.

So thank you, Stranger, for the fond (if hazy) memories that remind me on nights like tonight to put down the ice cream and stop feeling sorry for myself. I do believe that I will find love (or that it will find me) when the time is right. And there are nights like tonight (or weeks like this week) when the loneliness seems like it's bigger than all of the blessings I should be focusing on. But these nights (and weeks) will pass. I will sleep (or not) and tomorrow I'll drink coffee by myself and watch the other people in a coffee shop or walk home alone in the moonlight with my headphones on and remember that being alone has its upsides, too. I'm not sure what the marketing department at UBS was getting at with the whole feathers thing, but if they mean that love is fragile, flighty, impossible to catch, (and sometimes eats your small pets) well, I guess I agree.

Happy Valentine's Day, from Emily and I.

Have I mentioned that I love Paul Constant?

So, for those of you who don't live here, The Stranger is by far the only good alternative weekly in Seattle. Paul Constant writes their book reviews and he is going to be at my bookstore tonight (interviewing author Jonathan Evison about his new bookso if you live in the city and aren't busy tonight at 7, get to University Books.) Needless to say, I'm as nervous as a schoolgirl on prom night. I'm even (sort of) dressed up. Paul Constant may be more of a local celeb than the kind that require their own bodyguards to fend off paparazzi, but I'd take him over Brad Pitt any day of the week. Besides being a critical genius, Constant is also a surprisingly nice guy. A few years back he wrote a feature on shoplifting at bookstores that rubbed me the wrong way, prompting me to send a heated (and more than a little shrill) email. Not only did he respond to my email and apologize for what he'd said (even though he hadn't actually meant it the way that I'd taken it) he posted my email on Slog to let other readers weigh in. Super classy. I was especially impressed given that The Stranger often has a tone of somewhat snarky superiority. It wasn't that he just gave in and said I was right and he was wrong (we both were a little of each) but he demonstrated a willingness to listen to my objections, address them, and apologize for what he concluded were genuine mistakes. That, my friends, is a real man.

While we're on the subject of books, I thought I'd take a minute to eulogize the late great Borders bookstore. (My friend and former boss Peter does a much better job with this, here so you should read that, if you only have time for one sad lament about Borders.) While the final dying gasps may be yet to come, yesterdays announcement of chapter 11 and the attending closure of 200 stores (including store 50, my old DC store) seems to be the sad final throes of a company that started dying years ago. Finding out that store 50 is closing is like finding out the family now living in my childhood home is having it demolished. I applied online at Borders a few weeks before I moved to Washington, DC, and I remember the hiring manager called me the very next morning. He hadn't realized I was still in Seattle and so he called around 9am his time- 6 am for me- and was incredibly gracious in his apology once he realized this. He said I should call him to schedule an interview once I was in town, and then followed up with another call the day I arrived in DC, just to make sure I still wanted a job. One of the best choices I ever made was to accept that offer.

THe DC Borders was where I learned almost every job skill I have. I made friends who still feel like family. I had a boss who pushed me to go back to school at a critical time in my life, when I otherwise might have remained stagnant. I took on my first shoplifters in this store. I learned about books in a city that demands more of its booksellers than probably any other place in the country. I learned more in my year at that store and in that city than I have in any single year of college. We are scattered now, the old crew of that store, some still in the district, others following families and opportunities across the country. Right now, I would give anything to have a few hours back there, at the bar across the street, raising our glasses to the good old days and to absent friends. To my Borders family, past and present, thanks for the memories.

I suppose a big chain store closing isn't as tragic to most people as, say, the death of the lovely local shop Twice Sold Tales. While I agree that the independent bookshop has a personality and community roots that a big box just can't rival, Borders was so much more, to me, than the suits who ran the company and placed so much importance on store-to-store uniformity. Borders will always be about the friends I met there, and about the great books and even greater love of books that brought us together. RIP Borders.

I guess I ought to spend the rest of the day working on homework. Hopefully that will be enough to distract me from the twin threats of overwhelming nostalgia and intense anxiety about maybe meeting Paul tonight.

Dalal al-Sabagh

She was 23 years old when they shot her. By some accounts she was on her rooftop, hanging her wash. When CNN ran the story, they mistook her surname as "Shihadeh", and I had to wonder if the reporter was confusing her name with the word "شهيدة", which is the feminized version of the word for "martyr".

Dalal al-Sabagh's story gets translated into English only at the end, and, even then, poorly. She lived in Jenin with her three children. Her oldest child, Ahmed, was 4 when his mother was killed. Mumen was 3. Hiba, her daughter, was 40 days old. On March 9th, 2004, she was shot and killed by "random" fire by Israeli troops. Initially the IDF denied responsibility, and by the time the truth was known the media had moved on to the death of Islamic Jihad and Hamas leaders. A search of LexisNexus for all major news outlets for the entire month of March brings up only two articles, BBC transcripts of Israeli and Palestinian radio broadcasts. A few lefty, pro-Palestine blogs spoke of her, but, by and large, her life and death went without notice by much of America.

If you look at the article on CNN.com, a few things should stand out. The article's subject (right above the headline) is "Palestinian militants". While this might initially have been due to the denial of responsibility by the IDF and the accusations made, it was 7 years ago, and neither her name nor the cause of her death was ever corrected by CNN. The New York Times mentions a raid on militants in Jenin from the 9th of March, but only in the context of how it will negatively affect peace talks.

Does it matter how the media remembers Dalal al-Sabagh, or, more accurately, how they forget her? I think, as I read so much about Wafa Idris, as I sift through the pages and pages of intimate details reported about her, I can't help but notice that Palestinians who take up arms (or strap on explosives) are spoken of in English-language news, while those who die hanging their wash, or riding their bikes, or even protesting peacefully, are rarely mentioned.

So while I study Wafa Idris, while I try to understand the desperation and the anger that led to her death, I will also remember Dalal al-Sabagh. It won't bring her back, or help her three children who have to grow up without her, but it feels like the least any of us can do.