Notes from Tom

Background information:

1.  I am from Westminster, Maryland, which is about 40 minutes outside Baltimore, and is the town where the Ravens hold their training camp.  People in Westminster are VERY into the Ravens.  Many of these fans go bananas on Facebook griping about Shittsburg and giving the play by play of each game.  It gets pretty annoying.

2.  My brother is one of these fans.

3.  I like to torment my brother.  So does my sister.  We will, on occasion, bomb his Facebook page with tormenting comments, which usually elicit some response from him like, "Well, if it isn't my bitchy sisters."  He especially likes it when we call him Darryl, which is what he was almost named.

4.  I think Tom Brady is handsome.

5.  On Sunday, Jordan's Facebook status read, "Tom Brady's a punk!"  Today, after the Ravens lost to the Patriots, Jordan's Facebook status read, ". . .he's still a punk."

6.  The Super Bowl is on February 5, Jordan's birthday.

This afternoon seemed like the perfect time to bomb ol' Jordan's page again.  We took turns posting some handsome pictures of Mr. Brady to Jordan's page.*

I just love the internet.  Think about how long it would have taken to harass little Jordy-Pooh without the wonders of Google and the book of faces!

*Matt would like me to note that he had no part in this torment.

Candied Bacon Ice Cream

So, this one time, when I was 15 and Jordan was 11, we were standing outside in my grandma's driveway, and Jordan was bugging me.  So I cooly (at least it felt cool at the time, like everything when I was 15--rainbow nail polish, Calvin Klein t-shirts, and the crush on that one-eyed Jehovah's Witness) sauntered back to the house, saying, "Well, that's fine. I'm just gonna go get a bowl of Cinnamon Toast Crunch."

After I took about six steps, Jordan realized what I knew already: that there was only enough Cinnamon Toast Crunch for one more bowl.

So he ran.

And so did I.

And we met at my grandma's storm door, wrestling away, fighting for the last bowl of tasty, delicious, brand-name cereal.

But here's the thing.  Jordan's big.  Like 6'5".  And I'm not slight by any means, but even at those ages he pretty much owned me physically*.  So we wrestled and fought.  I might have thrown a knee or accidentally bit him.  But he was winning.

And then my elbow went through the door.  Through it.  Like glass everywhere through it.

Mmm hmmm, we broke Grandma's door.  Shoot.

The cut I had was so deep that I probably should've had stitches, but we didn't roll that way in our family, so I got a bandage and some ice and I cried.  I cried partly because I had a cut on my elbow that was about 1/2" deep and it hurt like a sombitch.  But mostly I cried because, as I nursed my wounds, I looked over to see that jerk of a brother of mine sitting at the table, eating the last bowl of Cinnamon Toast Crunch.

Now, 15 years later, I have sweet revenge, because I discovered David Lebovitz's (I bow to you, Mr. Lebovitz!) recipe for Candied Bacon Ice Cream.  And it's pretty much the greatest thing that's ever happened.  And it tastes like the breakfast that they would serve you on a farm in heaven.  Except better.  Because there's whiskey in it.

And bacon.

 Candied bacon that is basically like caramel corn bacon.

Every bite tastes like the best breakfast you've ever had.  Except that it's ice cream, so you can totally eat it whenever you want.  Does it get any better than that?  Nope.  I pretty much just want to make buckets of this ice cream and then run up and down the streets of Savannah sharing it with everyone.

Except for Jordan.  I kind of hold a grudge.

*Which is totally why I resorted to evil mind games.  I'm good at them.  Just ask Matt.  Or my students.

David Lebovitz's Candied Bacon Ice Cream

For the candied bacon;
5 strips bacon
about 2 teaspoons light brown sugar

For the ice cream custard:
3 tablespoons (45g) salted butter
¾ cup (packed) brown sugar (140g), light or dark (you can use either)
2¾ (675ml) cup half-and-half
5 large egg yolks
2 teaspoons dark rum or whiskey
¼ teaspoon vanilla extract
optional: ¼ teaspoon ground cinnamon

1. To candy the bacon, preheat the oven to 400F (200C).

2. Lay the strips of bacon on a baking sheet lined with a silicone mat or aluminum foil, shiny side down.

3. Sprinkle 1½-2 teaspoons of brown sugar evenly over each strip of bacon, depending on length.

4. Bake for 12-16 minutes. Midway during baking, flip the bacon strips over and drag them through the dark, syrupy liquid that’s collected on the baking sheet. Continue to bake until as dark as mahogany. Remove from oven and cool the strips on a wire rack.

5. Once crisp and cool, chop into little pieces, about the size of grains of rice.

(Bacon bits can be stored in an airtight container and chilled for a day or so, or stored in the freezer a few weeks ahead.)

6. To make the ice cream custard, melt the butter in a heavy, medium-size saucepan. Stir in the brown sugar and half of the half-and-half. Pour the remaining half-and-half into a bowl set in an ice bath and set a mesh strainer over the top.

7. In a separate bowl, stir together the egg yolks, then gradually add some of the warm brown sugar mixture to them, whisking the yolks constantly as you pour. Pour the mixture back into the saucepan.

8. Cook over low to moderate heat, constantly stirring and scraping the bottom with a heatproof spatula, until the custard thickens enough to coat the spatula.

9. Strain the custard into the half-and-half, stirring over the ice bath, until cool. Add liquor, vanilla and cinnamon, if using.

10. Refrigerate the mixture. Once thoroughly chilled, freeze in your ice cream maker according to the manufacturer’s instructions. Add the bacon bits during the last moment of churning, or stir them in when you remove the ice cream from the machine.

Oh, What Happened?

Okay, so I have a quick minute here to share something kind of fantastic with you.  Grandma and I have a big list of errands to tackle on my last full day in the ABQ (I mean, I haven't even met a meth cooker yet), so I can't share too much right now.

BUT!  I was just showing her how to use the scanner (why are scanners so awesome?) and we used this as our first picture.

Oh yes, that's me and my kid brother Jordan circa 1985.  And it makes me very, very happy.  I don't think kids get much cuter than Jordan was.

But time has been cruel, hasn't it?

Shoooooot.

What Is Normal, Anyway?

Take a quick look at my brother's Facebook profile picture.

And at my sister's.

(She's the one on the left.)

And tell me I'm not the normal one.  Or at least the closest.

Happy weekending, y'all!

Serial Killer Whale

A phone conversation with my brother, Jordan:

Me: Oh man, did you hear about that whale at Sea World who killed that woman?

Jordan: Yeah man. And that whale has been involved in the deaths of like three other people, too.

Me: Really?

Jordan: Yeah, saw it on the news.

Me: It's a SERIAL KILLER WHALE!

[silence]

Me: Did you hear me? I said, "It's a SERIAL KILLER WHALE!" I feel like you're not acknowledging how funny my joke was just now.

Jordan: Yeah, I heard it.

[more silence]

Even though this was over the phone, I know the face he was making. It was this one.

And that's part of what brothers are for, isn't it? To tell you when your jokes aren't funny--or at the very least to refuse to laugh.

My Brother Jordan

During our first decade together, my brother and I had an antagonistic relationship. He was four years my junior but almost always as big as me (and could really pack a punch!--I remember a chicken fight where I ended up with a bloody nose), and for a long time I resented that he'd robbed me of my only-child status.

We tormented one another in the usual ways: stealing each other's stuff, copying what the other would say, looking at the other one too long. I was really mean to Jordan when we were kids.

I stole his beloved blanket, Woobie, and pretended to sell it.

The day he got a fish hook stuck in his face (after practicing casting in the driveway), I insisted on taking pictures of his hookeye before I would call our mom to tell her what happened. For years later I referred to him as "Hook," and used the pictures as blackmail.

I would paint his nails and dress him up in tutus, opening him to ridicule from his friends and from our uncles (who were only five years older than me--they're the ones who taught me all of these malicious tricks).

But then something happened. Something named Chloe.

When I was fifteen and Jordan was eleven, our sister Chloe entered our lives. You may remember that we'd had a family meeting to decide whether we should get a dog or a baby and we unanimously decided on the dog.

Chloe's arrival turned our worlds upside down. We'd recently moved from South Florida to Maryland, and Jordan and I didn't know many people. All of a sudden we were allies instead of enemies, and we joined forces to torment Chloe (and our parents).


There were still plenty of times that I didn't like Jordan, and probably plenty more that he didn't like me. Let's be honest--Jordan was annoying and I was a bitch. But as we got older we really did begin to enjoy each other's company more. We would make videos to mail to our friends in Florida (the one that really sticks out in my mind featured a 12-year old Jordan in a curly rainbow wig doing a dramatic lip synching to No Doubt's "Don't Speak"), and we would dare each other to do reckless things around the house (many of which involved trees, roofs, and trampolines, and many of which ended in trips to the hospital).

As I've gotten older, I've really started to appreciate Jordan. Nobody can make me laugh the way that Jordan can. We suffered through childhood and adolesence and our crazy parents together, and we understand one another in a way that nobody else does.

Tonight I was on the phone with Jordan, shit talking several of our family members and laughing hysterically, when the conversation took a turn for the worse.

J: Oh man, that was one of the most retarded things I've ever done in my life.
M: What'd you do?
J: You wouldn't believe me if I told you .
M: Yeah I would. Tell me!
J: So, uh, I'm sitting here, right. And I have a beer in one hand and my phone in the other. I reached back to pull up my pants and I poured beer right down my asscrack.
M: I'm putting this on the blog!
J: Oh man, now it looks like I've crapped myself. Right down the crack of my ass, too. Like a funnel.

I love this kid. But what kind of big sister would I be if I didn't share his beer-down-asscrack foibles with the world?