Sushiesque

Tofucken, pt. IV

Dinner. OMNOMNOMNOM

Tofucken, pt. III

Previously: Tofucken and Tofucken, pt. II: form Voltron!

1:15. "Oh my god, Fox has a robot turkey. With a football helmet." I look away from the television.

1:24. We admire the roasted garlic while Fancy pulls the tofucken out of the oven.

After some poking, Fancy declares it done. It'll need to be reheated before serving, but it's done.

We taste some bits plucked off the foil. The tofu exterior is surprisingly springy and breadlike.

"God, it's edible."

1:39. Ryan tricks me into looking at the Robot Turkey of Football. I put my head in my hands.

Fancy puts on the dog show and feeds us some freshly-baked spinach balls that are actually made out of collards.

2:04. We decide to get off the couch, to escape the tranquilizing embrace of Avery Imperial Oktoberfest ("The Kaiser").

"Any cooking I can help with?" Ryan asks.
"You could peel some potatoes."
"Can I peel them on the couch?"

2:30. Snoot arrives, with his person in tow, and molests the cat toys.

4:00. IT IS TIME.

Continued.

Tofucken, pt. II: form Voltron!

Continued from previous post.

12:40. Fancy coats the inside of a turkey-shaped cake mold (discounted at the Williams-Sonoma) with Crazyass Franciscan's tofu goop. This is followed by a layer of stuffing, and then Quorn Naked Cutlets ("Microprotein!" Fancy informs us, "Grown in a vat!"), followed by more stuffing, and then mushrooms: hen of the woods. Not as chickeny as the chicken mushrooms that are sometimes available from the Central Square farmers' market, but still fairly poultryesque and easily gotten from the Trader Joe's.

Ironically, no actual Tofurkey is involved. ("Because it's gross.")

12:48. Fancy covers it with aluminum foil, fills the other mold's other turkey half with water, and it's in the oven.

Ryan attacks the dishes and asks what's in the CD player.

"It's Mahler, because my father's favorite composer is Mahler and I miss him."

1:05. Mahler gets bombastic and we decide it's beer o'clock.

Continued in Pt. III.

Tofucken

In honor of Thanksgiving, we're going to pretend that liveblogging is a real word. And then we're going to liveblog the construction of a meatless turducken, or tofucken. Which is absolutely a real word.

Noon. Ryan and I arrive at the undisclosed location bearing butternut dumplings, delicious, fatty, real duck legs, and salted caramel ice cream, which we sneak into a brutally gridlocked freezer. Our vegetarian friend, codename Fancy McCulturepants, has already combined the following, sans recipe, to make a stuffing: homemade white bread, baby bella mushrooms, white onion, organic celery, vegetable broth, fresh sage, a McCormick "poultry seasoning" herb blend, and a stick and half of butter.

Fancy owns a Thanksgiving apron.

12:20 p.m. Fancy is mixing up some tofu (manufactured in Jamaica Plain and purchased in bulk) with arrowroot, vegetable bouillon, sea salt, white pepper, agar, sage dessing, and barley malt syrup (acquired at a very packed Whole Foods yesterday afternoon) in accordance with a "Thanksgiving Day Tofu" recipe.

"Did you know that I'm actually fucking doing this?"
"Yeah."
"Also, did you know that barley malt syrup tastes exactly like molasses?"
"Why not just use molasses?"
"Probably because crazyass man thinks it's better for me."

Crazyass Man is Brother Ron Pickarski, O.F.M., author of Friendly Foods: Gourmet Vegetarian Cuisine (Berkeley, Calif.: Ten Speed, 1991). Ryan checks the television for football, and we switch to Safari because the latest version of Firefox has yet to make friends with the latest version of OS X.

Lovers, muggers, and thieves

Down by the MIT banks of the River Charles, circa late October.

Little threads are all it takes

Garrett (who allegedly resumed blogging this week) has kindly directed me to a new blog for video game stitchery, Sprite Stitch, which displays some cleverly conceived and skillfully executed work, including Space Invaders and those shirtless men from Contra, with the indispensable Konami code.

Space Invaders by Cross-stitch ninja. Most ninjas can merely assassinate you and creep away into a bamboo forest with making any noise; this one I will not mess with.

Back here, I've posted my 8-bit Nintendo embroidery twice: Link brandishing his wooden sword, with other remnants from my circulation desk days, and six classic Final Fantasy characters, pre-Temple of Ordeal growth spurt. (The latter got me an indierock hug at TT's.) I have since moved on to making miis of political figures and silent movie stars, but I am pleased to see that others are keeping the traditional handicrafts of our people alive.

H.Y.H.O.M.N.B.?

I've created another group blog to neglect:

Have You Heard Of My New Band?

If you are interested in contributing your own fake band names, with accompanying images (or musical descriptions, or imaginary set lists, or easily-parodied Pitchfork reviews) and if we are friends, or internet "friends," or you happen to be John Hodgman, please send electronic mail to thesterileartficialtears at haveyouheardofmynewband dot com. I've set up a flickr group for strangers and clever acquaintances who'd rather not touch blogging software with their bare hands.

The post pictured above was artisanally crafted by recurring character A. C.-M., with a photograph by flickr user a nameless yeast.

Thanks so much to everyone who's contributed so far, and thanks in advance to everyone who eventually gets around to it.

Local flavor

Empty wineglass in bus shelter, Back Bay.

Mini-bottle of Lord Calvert brand Canadian whiskey on outbound platform, Central Square.