Sankyu

Call Me Betty Crocker-u

You've heard/read the story about the man to whom I promised cookies in exchange for an aikido gi. Well, the day before I baked the cookies, one of the teachers at my schools left me a present. Don't worry, it was the good kind. She and I had talked about our love for all things sugary, and she had bought a few kinds of Japanese sweets for me to try. I was touched, and hungry, so I decided that I owed her some cookies, too.

Baking cookies in something that is supposed to double as a microwave is a little like roasting a turkey on a hot plate, in my opinion. Based on national surveys, both are very difficult. Also difficult is being unable to read the instructions on the microwave/range apparatus. The cookies melted, then they burnt, then they did both.

The first batch was fit only to serve other ALTs who did not care that the "cookies" had the consistency of wet sand and the overwhelming flavor of butter.

The second set fared a little better, at least fit for me to eat for dinner. Then I was out of chocolate.

Eager to make all the Japanese people in my life love me, I stopped by a grocery store on the way home from work one night to restock on chocolate. I chose chocolate bars, which are way less expensive than the tiny bags of chocolate chips. I did feel like I would be judged for only buying six chocolate bars, so I headed to the baking aisle to seem more authentic. There I stumbled upon the cutest little tart cups. Naturally, I thought of the peanut butter cup cookie recipe I had found last semester, and the praise that I would receive when the Nihonjin tasted them.

After three total failures, I succeeded in baking an adequate amount of not-burnt cookies. I packaged up two Ziploc bags of them and devoured the rest. It took me a week to get it right. I earned them. I delivered the cookies with some trepidation, but was met with rave reviews. My guess is that they've never had real cookies before. Someday, young Skywalkers.

Enthused and with renewed confidence, I turned to those cookie cups. Delicious Land, here I come! Peanut butter and chocolate, unite!

Twas not to be, good friends. The recipe no longer can be found on the interweb. Or maybe it can be, but I'm too lazy to go past the first search page when my very specific search terms don't yield immediate results. I did, however, find a recipe for Cream Cheese Cookie Cups, or something to that effect. With lowered spirits but an invigorated craving, I decided to make chocolate and Nutella cups.

I did. And gave most of them away, because they were too sweet even for me. Turns out that one need not add sugar to melted chocolate. Maybe it wasn't as unsweetened as I had thought.

I had chocolate left over, so I bought more cups and cream cheese. Guess what I had in mind. I'll give you a hint: CREAM CHEESE.

It's getting colder here, which in my book means it's time for the legendary Sharon Ryan Citrus Tea. Those of you who visit the Ryan household anytime when the weather is below 60 degrees Farenheit know the tangy goodness of S.R.C.T. I had fully planned on making it a part of my winter here. Then I discovered a horrible, horrible thing about this country.

They don't sell fruit juice concentrate.

I did my research desperately trying to find an alternative. Not the internet, not my mother, and not my brain didst supply a solution for the lack of concentration. PUN! Now in a thoroughly sour mood, I ate a lot of junk food and some Nutella straight from the jar. And no, I didn't even use a spoon. That's how low I had sunk.

Yesterday when at Betsuin Chugakko, I had an adequate amount of free time on my hands. I chose to, aside from research Halloween activities and chatting with Hannah over Gmail, fill the yawning no-citrus-tea abyss. I researched winter beverage recipes, and since I couldn't think of a good reason why I'd want a punch bowl full of grog or mulled wine sitting around with only me to drink it, I settled on eggnog.

Last night I wasn't feeling very well, so I turned to McDonald's for comfort. The Macdo is in the grocery section of a department store, so it was very easy for me to suddenly decide that it was time to pick up the supplies I'd need for aforementioned recipes. Why not use the leftover chocolate with the cream cheese cups? It gave me a great excuse to buy more sprinkles.

So, within the night, I made excellent Cream Cheese Chocolate Cups (C4, if you will) and some kickin' eggnog. Then, because I had the time and motivation, I spent an hour making the tiniest jack-o-lantern in the history thereof. It will be magnificent for the next month when I have to talk about Halloween.

I'm Just That Cool

First off, shout out to Barron C. P, who is on OU's Homecoming Court. For the love of Sweet Peter, boy, leave some for the rest of the male population.

Secondly, shout out to Hannah Rose, who sent me The Thirteenth Tale, thereby making my life awesome. Guess what I'll be doing this weekend.

As soon as it happened I thought, Can’t wait to post this on the interweb.

I was biking to school this morning, speeding and bopping happily to some Robin Thicke. All was going well until I passed a group of junior high students walking in the same direction. I got on the street, pedaled by with my head high and my back straight, and suddenly my sunglasses fell out of the basket.

I stopped, hopped off, and turned around to retrieve the fallen items. The boys at the front of the pubescent herd stared at me. Not sure if they were some of my students, I issued a cheery, “Good morning!” and picked up my shades. Eager to get to school early, I turned my bike around with vigor and force, right into young man headed in the opposite direction.

“Oh! Sumimasen!” I cried, knowing it probably wasn’t as apologetic as I meant for it to be. Then I got on my bike, struggled to gain momentum, stay upright, and get my feet on the pedals…After about three feet I let out a high-pitched “Eeek!” as I bumped into a planter full of dying flowers.

I stopped, readjusted while the junior highers stared (and likely laughed. I couldn’t tell, Robin was singing too loudly), and hopped back on my bike. This time all went as smoothly as a hot knife through butter. I pedaled a little faster, wondering how much of Kameoka’s population would think that foreigners don’t know how to ride bicycles. I decided that it was a fair assessment given my cycling skills.

I smiled the whole way to school, and only almost ran into one other person. It was a good day.