Copilots & Homies

A little German proverb for whoever may come across this page: All has an end, except a sausage. It has two. Yes, German in all its brilliance. Wurst, wurst, wurst, wurst wurrrstttttt!!!

Tried my hand at making panikeke lapotopoto. It didn't fare well. For the panikeke, at least. For those unfamiliar, panikeke lapotopoto are Samoa's pancakes; instead of your plain ol' stack of hotcakes you can get at any diner of the I-5, these magic little buggers are like slightly obese and robust hush puppies. That's what they're supposed to be, anyway. This was the second time I would make them, sans-homie Em, She was there for the first bake-fest that turned out "alright-y" batches. But I went at it alone today and I nearly killed my tastebuds. Rule No. 675: Never go at anything alone without a homie. Even homies need to abide with safety precautions. Let me just spare you the agonizing details and skip to the end: the burned. In hell fire and grease, they burned. But here I am, munching on them, dunked in butter, some in jelly and some lucky ones in nutella-anything to revive the taste buds once more-leaving greasy fingerprints smudged all over...

And here we are. I tried to tap into my inner Samoan Betty Crocker skills and whip out a batch of delicious paifalas (half moon pies with a pineapple filling). A staple in my childhood diet, paifalas were a treat best served with a side of vanilla ice cream (but I try to be open-minded and allow all varieties of ice cream to join in the fun). My fondest memory of devouring one of these came during a muggy Samoan night when my Bobby Flay of an uncle, who had just gotten home from a laborious day, came into the kitchen and enlisted all of the cousins and I to help make them. Even though it was a hot summer night, that little kitchen  churning out more heat than a sauna, we kept at it. Because we were children. And our sweet tooth didn't allow for breaks in case the paifalas would cease to exist the second we left to get some air. So on that wooden picnic table, fashioned as a dining table, in the kitchen we sat as our poor little 1950s oven  made magic. In that cramped little r...

Yes, this is a post about soccer.  This morning I woke up with hope. Today was the day Sepp Blatter's miniature stature would stand next to the man, the legend, that is Manuel Neuer; he'd be sweating in his little gray suit as Manu brought home the Ballon d'Or, the most prestigious award in football, next to the World Cup of course. But alas, as Thierry opened the seal to that God forsaken envelope and announced Cristiano Ronaldo, I lost my faith. A fellow homie and I had a discussion via Facebook. Comments were made. Memes were posted. Manu's integrity and talents were being questioned by the said Messi-lovin' freak; I had to protect those dear to me. Homeboy had an amazing year: he helped die Mannschaft win the World Cup, redefined as a sweeper keeper, got the approval of Dirk Nowitzki (hello!!!!), with Bayern he won pretty much every award and I think I forgot to mention that HE WON THE WORLD CUP! Is it beacause he's relatively new and his rapt sheet ...

Disclaimer: No drugs were used during this trip.  For someone who has lived in SoCal for more than half her life, today was, shockingly, the first day I've ever made it outside the boundaries and cruised onto the beauty that is the Pacific Coast Highway. The spontaneous trip led for some laughs, some scares and some very shitty karaoke. And I cannot stress how much good company is for an adventure. The homies and I started our day by fulfilling our typical Basic White Girl needs with our Starbucks, then made our way to Encinitas for some long walks on the beach (while covertly sneaking peaks at the poor surfers..with their tight..wet..suits...PraiseCheezusHallelujah), tackled a grand staircase that rivals the ones from Harry Potter and overindulged in overpriced gelato. We did some shopping at some not so thrifty thrift stores (help us out Macklemore, we could not find one damn fur coat for $20 in a sea of Hawaiian Shirts) and got our fix of cheap books. But the highlight was the...