It's About Time!

I've noticed something. The number of hits I get on my blog correlates rather closely to the time that I post the post (and if I have anything that might get me a weird random link from a Korean Art Gallery website). Also, I'm apparently a big hit in Russia. And qualifying that statement, over almost ten months I've had over 40 Russian views. That's more than Ecuador, South Korea, Singapore, the Phillipines, Canada, Germany, Great Britain, Malaysia, India, and France combined (which combine for somewhere around 29 hits). In the past week I have hat more Russian hits than US hits (by one). Apparently Russians like plums. That's still 656 less total hits than the United States, but you have to start somewhere, and Super-Stardom in any country is really all I ask for.

But here are my observations.

Optimal Conditions: Posting in the late afternoon to early evening, September through May, including pictures of cute animals (possibly Korean), and preferably with a topic related to dating (8 of my top 10 posts are related to dating. #8 and #9 are not about dating, but are still interesting. They also have half the views of my #1 post, Crossed Signals).

Sub-Optimal Conditions: Posting late at night or early in the morning, Year-round, discussing anything other than dating (exceptions clearly stated in the above paragraph), without cute animal pictures.

I'm going to go out on a limb and say that low viewership is not because people don't care. There is enough ebb and flow regularly to cast doubt on the idea that people don't care what I have to say, and enough evidence to support my present assumptions. I'm pretty sure that everyone cares. It's a timing thing. Not that I measure the value of my thoughts and opinions based on the number of page views I get on any particular post. That'd be ludicrous. At the current rate, I'm going to need to post twelve 20-view posts before the end of October in order to get 1000 views in one year.

There's only one option. I'll have to do a "Return to Dating Week" Week. I've wanted to hold off, but it might just be time. Soon. Very soon. Probably to kick off the new scholastic year. Get everyone pumped for another round of discouragement, lack of success, and the possibility of winning (What did I just hear? Matt's going to compare Dating to Quidditch!?).

So to end this post, I will follow advice I recently gave a friend.

Wagon Wheels or Wooden Wheels?

Today is Pioneer Day. I have fond memories of Pioneer Day as a child. Well, not really, because I didn't even know that it was a real day for the majority of my early life. We sang pioneer songs in Primary growing up, but I don't think I thought too much about why. They were even favorites from time to time in Family Home Evening (unlike my college Home Evening Group, everyone in the family picked a song to sing at the start of FHE. Everyone. So, 6-7 songs to start the evening. If we did that now, most people would probably groan a bit and then never come back to Home Evening, thus causing me to fail at my calling as Group Leader). The Oxcart, Pioneer Children Sang as They Walked, and I don't remember singing any others. 

Little side note: Whenever we sang The Oxcart we would all get on all fours (I don't think Ma ever did, but the chilluns, definitely) and move around like slow oxen. This would generally result in minor head butting, slightly tackling, and otherwise trying to knock over the other "oxen" on the trail. Not a very pioneerish thing to do, but fun nonetheless. I'll have to teach that to my children some day.

Anyways, back East, Pioneer Day is not a recognized holiday. In fact, Utah is the only state that formally recognizes it. But wherever there are LDS people, there is Pioneer Day (though generally, unless there is a large population of Utah Mormons in your Back-East congregation, it slides by pretty much under the radar).  As a youth, I just thought it was an arbitrary day that the ward would have a cook-out, celebrating pioneer ancestors (of which I have a few) and their contributions. Imagine my surprise when I found out that it was actually the 24th of July and marked the day that the first pioneers entered the Salt Lake Valley after traversing over 1300 miles (in oxcarts. Oh, how slow. They're pulled by an ox, of course, you know). 

Now, in order for the LDS folk and all other folk that came out West to start new lives to have done so probably required a great deal of faith. Whether they traveled the Mormon Trail, the Oregon Trail, the Santa Fe Trail, or any other trail, it required them to pick up everything and head in the opposite direction of civilization. I don't mean to offend any folks from out here in the West, but very little of the region is hospitable for flourishing human colonies. The word desert comes to mind. And yet they were driven by something greater than themselves, knowing that it would not be an easy life. And then (speaking now of the LDS pioneers pretty exclusively) once many of them were established in the Salt Lake Valley, they received calls to colonize other even less hospitable plots in God's Rock Garden. 

They faced immense physical and spiritual challenges as they managed to eek out a living in the dry and barren land. And yet, somehow, they did it. They overcame challenges, turning the desert into something slightly less deserty. At least there's grass and a handful of trees (where people live).

Lots of folks today face similar challenges in terms of enormity. Most people probably aren't lugging a handcart across 1300 miles in unfortunate weather. I haven't been called recently to turn barren ground into a thriving community (Literally. Figuratively? I think that's what most mission calls are). But the struggles in our lives oftentimes seem as insurmountable as the Rocky Mountains (though from experience they are not insurmountable, in point of fact). The world is no less difficult now than it was then. Only the nature of our challenges has changed (and it hasn't really changed all that much). We have our challenges, our obstacles, our temptations, our fears, our hesitations, our insecurities, and all of them aim to force us to stay put, to try and convince us that moving forward will not bring us to a better home. They point out all the desertification that is waiting for us over the mountains. And if we face those challenges, if we arrive in those deserts with that faith and hope in a better world, nothing can stop us from making it so.

Pioneers are not limited to those that crossed the plains in wagon and handcart [or train, after 1869 when the first transcontinental railroad was finished with the driving of a golden spike, thus unifying East and West at Promontory, UT (Which is still pretty deserty, though if you live in Utah and have never been, it's worth the drive into nowhere at least once. The trains are cool. You also learn that there were like a half-dozen golden spikes, along with several silver ones, and they removed the golden spike immediately to prevent theft)]. Women and men of courage have consistently and bravely gone into the deserts of their lives to bring about a better world. These people have worked, and continue to work, in all aspects of life, from the sciences to the arts and everywhere in between. The world is not perfect, but it is brighter today because of the hope that people placed in the possibility to make life better. My life is better because of these pioneers. 

So remember your pioneer forebears, whether they crossed the plains or not, and live your life to give their lives greater meaning. They believed the world could be better. Honor their sacrifices and make it so.

Explanatory Note: For many years there was hot debate inside the Fife Household as to whether or not the wooden wheels or the wagon wheels of the oxcart creaked as they rolled along. While the official lyrics in the Children's Songbook say "Wooden," I would still contend that "Wagon" is an acceptable adaptation as well. Same number of syllables, same meaning, both applicable to travel by oxcart, and both creak. I will sing "wagon wheels" until my dying day.

Plum Brake

Today, with the remaining viable plums left in my plum bowl I ventured forth to make plum bread. Did it turn out as good as the pies? Let's find out.

First off, here is the recipe that I used. Someone's mother-in-law clearly has access to plums consistently enough to have a recipe for turning them into bread. Not that I mind. I'm really quite grateful.

Once again I found myself staring down at a bowl full of plums with a knife in my hand and an empty measuring cup beside me. However, gather one cup of chopped plum is much easier than gathering five cups, so that part actually went by much faster today (it still remained the longest part of the process).

Luckily I didn't have any issues with the recipe until I got to the next step (Not step 1 of the recipe. I'm quite capable when it comes to preheating ovens). It told me to toss the cups of juicy plum chunks with a tablespoon of flour. Unfortunately, flour turns into a paste when it hits liquids, and plum juices are no exception. Tossing was out of the question. Maybe the mother-in-law uses magical flour, or she uses less juicy plums, but I had to stir to coat the chunks in flour, and even then, it was still pretty much just plums lightly touched by flour goop.

Thankfully that was the only trouble I ran into. If you notice, the recipe asks for 1/3 cup of plain yogurt. Seeing as how Smith's only sells plain yogurt in a large tub, clearly more than 1/3 cup. As I sat looking at this recipe the other day, I got to thinking (A dangerous pastime. I know). I figured that the yogurt probably simply served as a moistening agent. Since I wasn't going to be eating plain yogurt for funsies after finishing with this recipe, I decided to gamble. And by gamble, I was pretty sure it would work. I just got a large thing of strawberry yogurt and used that instead, giving the bread a slight hint of strawberry. And when I say bread, it really is more of a cake, but bready enough to count as bread. Now, I wanted to know that this bread included strawberries, but unfortunately the pink of the yogurt didn't come through in the batter. So what did I do? Yeah, I added food coloring (Rose Petal Pink, if you must know).

In hindsight I would have nixed the parchment paper lining my pan and would have been fine with non-stick spray. I feel like contact with the metal of the pan helps crustify the sides of the bread, and that didn't really happen with the parchment paper. Even I have to learn things sometimes.

The bread in the oven. Very gloopy.

Yeah, I might have stuck my phone briefly into the oven to get a close-up of the bread goop (with brown sugar topping). Not the wisest choice I've made, but far from the worst choice. All's well that ends well.

As you can see, the sides didn't crust up like normal bread, but that didn't stop it from tasting good.

I probably could have let it cool longer, but I get antsy. For my haste, a corner broke off, but I guess that was a sign that I should sample it immediately.

Verdict: Tart but not overpowering. Soft, delicious, a hint of strawberry, rose petal pink, and the crustiness of the top (with the brown sugar) more than makes up for a lack of crustiness on the sides. Another baking experiment to throw into the success pile.

And "Brake" in the title is the combo of Bread and Cake. Sorry if you were confused all the way to the end.

Plumpy and his Sugarplums

Earlier this week I was visited by a man (well, more troll, really) that has not been seen in years (due to unexplained actions taken by Hasbro in the year 2002). Now, I did not see this fine fellow at my door, but I reaped the rewards of his tender care of the oft-hated Gingerbread Plum Trees. Plumpy (from the board game Candy Land) dropped off a large quantity of plums on my doorstep.

Naturally my first reaction was "Yay, plums," followed quickly by a "Oh, plums," followed almost immediately by a "What on earth am I going to do with all these plums." I am a man of some small reputation, and I assumed (and possibly could have been told by a certain Alpine Court dweller, though it's impossible to say) that I was supposed to make something with them.

Not wanting to simply dive in and start plumming it up, I turned to internet research and my taste buds. I ate one of the plums, and gee willikers was it sour. I thought, "How can this be? I squeezed it, it was soft but not mushy, resistant but not firm. A perfectly ripe plum should not be this potent." I needed a recipe that would temper the power of the plums, but not eliminate their wonderful plumminess.

I decided to follow this recipe. But Hazelnuts? Really? I'm a man who does not simply have hazelnuts sitting around my apartment (though I wish I did). Further research revealed an intriguing possibility. One comment said that they had used oatmeal instead of nuts in order to appeal to the children. I decided I would attempt it.

First I had to decipher the ingredient list, but luckily I am at least as intelligent as the person who put it together, because I quickly saw that it was divided into the different aspects of the pie. Crust, then streusel topping, then plum filling. Knowing the power of my plums, I also slightly increased the amounts of cinnamon, lemon zest, and sugar added to the various parts. More lemon zest? Yes, I just love lemon zest, and lemons have a different potency than plums, so it works in my head (and in practice)

Using these million tiny plums, the hardest part was collecting 5 cups of sliced plum. Many of the plums were overripe, others under, and some had wormy issues, but I slowly accumulated the proper amount. Knowing that the sugar concoction mixed with the plums would draw out the juices of the plums and create an intriguing glaze, altering some of the sourness, so I did that part first and let it sit for a moment. The crust was much cake-ier than normal pie crusts, but it was easy to work with, so I accepted that. The recipe also called for a 9-inch pie plate. I have one, but I wanted to try something else (based on another comment). I took my 8 6 oz. ramekins and pressed the crust into them. Then I filled them with filling and covered the tops with streusel. Baking them at the same temperature, I began checking on them at about 20 minutes, and they were done around 26 minutes.

Here are the pies straight out of the oven. The streusel topping had browned a bit, as well as the exposed edges of crust. Some of the filling had overflowed (and it was deliciously caramelized). The crust also baked much cake-ier than a pie crust, but I found that I enjoyed it immensely in these little personal pies that I had created.

Here is a close-up of one of the pies (or tarts if you are more comfortable with that designation). The oatmeal in the streusel topping worked brilliantly, giving it a hint of nuttiness without nuts.

This is an empty dish. I ate one (well, by now I have actually eaten more than one, but I had to test before giving half of them away). The smears on the plate are from the overflow that I gathered up and ate as well.

All in all, I would say that this was a most successful adventure. I still have plum bread to experiment with, but I am looking forward to that (it only requires one cup of sliced plums, so that means a fifth of the labor). The end result: A tart but not overwhelmingly sour cinnamon plum dish with a zesty, cake-y crust and toasted oatmeal streusel topping. Served hot with a bit of vanilla ice cream and you have yourself a tasty treat.

I never asked for plums, but I accepted them. When life gives you sour plums, rely on the internet and your intuition and gutsiness to create something delicious with them. No guts, no glory.

Jumanji

I was in a vehicle with a man named Chris today after watching my baby bird spread his wings and fly, and at one point we talked briefly about dating. It comes up from time to time. In fact, in my case it comes up in conversation more when I'm not doing it than when I am.

Dating (and Life) is like Jumanji. I think many of us remember that wonderful film, starring Robin Williams and the little monkey boy. For those of you that don't, check it out. The premise of the film is that there is this sort of evil game that has ended up in little Alan Parrish's hands. It's a jungle safari themed game that brings your rolls to life in terrifying and dangerous ways. Ranging from the semi-harmless (monkeys that hijack police vehicles, throw knives, and loot stores) to the creepy (giant bats, spiders with bodies the size of bowling balls) to the terrifying (A man-hunting lunatic, flowers that shoot poison darts and eat cars, being trapped in the deep jungle alone as a small child), the horrors only end once the game has been completed. Once someone's game token reaches the center and that person says "Jumanji" everything disappears and you carry on with life.

Once you go on a date, your in. No backing out. No saying that you don't want to play the game. Sorry, but you started, so you have to finish (or get killed by the crazy jungle hunter). You put your peace on the board, and they're stuck with like magnets or microchips or something. You can try to pull a Sarah Whittle, but one way or another, you'll go back to the game. It's your own fault, really. You heard the beating of the drums, you let curiosity get the better of you, you didn't read all the instructions first. You started playing, and you're in for life. Or until you win.

And isn't that the saving grace of it all? You can win. You can reach the center and shout "Jumanji" (or in this case, "I do" or an equivalent mode of acquiescence). In order to win, though, you're going to have to roll. There will be monsoons. There will be stampedes. There could be crazy man-hunters (I've known a few in my day). However, if you try to cheat at the game and drop the dice just so in order to roll an 11, you will turn into a monkey-child. I've seen it. It's possible.

So take heart [Yeah, Matt, take heart(s)], there is an end. But you have to play the game to win. I guess there are alternatives, like mail-ordering a spouse, but the only way to truly win is to have played. And if you need a place to date, my little couch is always available. I'm not using it at the moment.

On a similar note, I plan on "Jumanji" being the last word I say as I depart my mortal frame.