Tag Archives: lists

jeff bezos doesn’t want me to watch movies; or, the 2017 mcpolish movie list

29 Jan

I think the best word to describe my movie watching in 2017 would be “anemic.”

I had some substantial meals in there—The Last Jedi, the Ken Burns Vietnam documentary, for example. But when a list of only 11 contains almost a third of Netflix and Lifetime holiday movies* (yes, they count), there are clearly some essential movie vitamins and minerals missing here.

I can make you all sorts of promises that I’m going to up my movie game in 2018, but almost a month into the year and it’s not looking likely. There’s hope, of course, as there are a quite a few movies out currently that I want to see.

But let’s be real—getting out to a movie, while I love going, requires carful coordination these days, thanks to Baby McSwedolishan not being old enough to A) attend R-rated movies, 2) not being old enough to watch himself, and III) his general lack of sleeping through movies like he did as an infant. Also, he hogs the popcorn, so going to the movies with him these days is just not enjoyable.

You know what, though? I don’t want to be one of those moms who blames her lack of social life and movie cultural knowledge on her kids. And if I’m really being real, Baby McSwedolishan is not to blame. Jeff Bezos is.

I love Amazon as much as the next person who has fallen under their dreamy 2-day delivery spell—despite that they are often lying liars who lie about when a package was delivered, and yes, I will call customer service every damn time this happens—but they have played an enormous role in my lack of movie watching. Where they could be a huge boon to my movie consumption they are more often a hindrance—either Prime doesn’t have the movies I want to watch, or they do, but I can’t rent it, I have to buy it for $15.

For God’s sake, Bezos, get it together. Why would I want to buy a movie I’ve never seen?

Sure, I’d pay the same to see a movie I’ve never seen in a movie theatre. But for the cost of a movie ticket, I also get surround sound, recliner chairs, and a screen the size of my house. You know what watching a movie at my own home doesn’t include? Surround sound or a screen the size of my house. It does sometimes include a recliner chair, I’ll give you that.

So no, I don’t want to pay the same amount to watch a movie online as I do to watch a movie in a theatre, simple as that.

I guess we’ll see what 2018 will bring by way of movie watching, though neither my bar nor my hopes of busting this year’s number are set terribly high. Jeff Bezos, you can change that. Be a helper, not a hater, Bezos.

In the meantime, and in at least an effort to queue up some worthwhile films, do you have any suggestions for movies I should see, dear Interwebers?

*And it’s safe to say that that number is actually higher, because I know there are other holiday films I watched throughout the season that I forgot to write down though does it really matter because let’s be honest after awhile they all blend together anyway.

Movies I Watched + 3 takeaways from each

January 1, 2016-December 31, 2017

  • Joy*–1. Robert DeNiro and Isabella Rosselini are in this movie? I had no idea!; 2. Jesus Christmas, Robert DeNiro and Isabella Rosselini’s characters are awful people in this movie; 3. I should watch more QVC.
  • Hidden Figures*–1. God, I love Octavia Spencer; 2. I want to watch this movie 100 times; 3. Why don’t people dress up more for work today? They really should, it adds an air of elegance.
  • Pride & Prejudice (the Colin Firth 1995 version)*–1. Holy Mother of God, I don’t know who is more annoying, Mrs. Bennet or Lydia Bennet; 2. I’ve always liked Colin Firth, but I understand now how he came to be the hunk that he is; 3. Lydia is played by the woman who plays Saffy in Ab Fab, and I like her MUCH better as Saffy.
  • Becoming Warren Buffett*–1. Warren Buffett essentially had two wives at the same time; 2. I find his friendship with Bill Gates kind of brodorable; 3. Warren Buffett seems like a relatively happy, normal guy for being a billionaire, but I also get the sense that he can be a real asshole and crabby sometimes.
  • Legal Eagles*–1. There’s something very jarring about 80s movies, like half the plotlines never get fleshed out, or maybe some of the key elements get left on the cutting room floor; 2. Robert Redford is goofy in this movie, but it works; 3. Seriously, what is up with Daryl Hannah? She is the most emotionless actress I’ve ever seen.
  • Wonder Woman*–1. So good. SO GOOD! 2. Is the guy who played Steve supposed to be like a new, young Matt Damon? Because he kind of looks like a new, young Matt Damon. 3. I think there should be a Wonder Woman 2.)
  • A Christmas Prince–1.Yes, Netflix holiday movies totally count. 2. So many plot holes. So many. 3. But who doesn’t love a good cheesy holiday film?
  • Naughty & Nice–1. I quite like Haylie Duff. 2. Why are all these cheesy holiday films suddenly casting wooden, expressionless male leads? 3. Again with the plot holes.
  • A Christmas Note–1. Meadow! From the Sopranos! Now in Holiday movies! 2. Wait, the husband isn’t dead? 3. Sisters forever!
  • The Vietnam War (Ken Burns & Lynn Novick)*–1. This was incredibly hard to watch at times. 2. All 20 hours were worth it. 3. The lies from the government were/are absolutely astounding. Like, mind-blowingly inconceivable and terrible.
  • The Last Jedi*–1. I love BB8. By far my favorite character. 2. I keep calling this movie Return of the Jedi in my head, which is obviously not correct. 3. How did I not catch on to the whole “Luke using the Force” thing when Kylo Ren was trying to blow him up? Well played, movie people. Well played.)

*Denotes recommended movie

 

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things i’ve been meaning to tell you: october 2017

11 Oct

ONE: I have some terrible news.

Remember how I was gloating over my awesomeness of keeping a whole one New Years Goal? That I was making ice cream like a champ, and hadn’t missed a month because I’m totally awesome and an ice cream rock star?

I didn’t make a new ice cream flavor in September.

I KNOW. I FEEL THE HORROR, TOO.

Sure, September was a shitshow of a month, and packed to the gills with our anniversary, Baby McSwedolish’s first birthday, buying a house, selling a house, moving, and driving to Baltimore for a friend’s wedding, all of these things taking place within two weeks of each other.

But that’s no excuse! Because what about those first two weeks of September? Where the hell was I then? I couldn’t have whipped up a quick batch of something to stay on track? I’ve failed you, Interwebs. And even worse, I’ve failed myself.

I may never recover.

Meanwhile, I’m taking suggestions for a flavor to make for October. And don’t you dare say anything involving pumpkin.

TWO: I went to my 20-year high school reunion last weekend. That merits a post of its own, one that I may actually get to at some point. But for now, I’ll just say that it was in all honesty a very good evening, and I truly enjoyed talking to my former classmates. Way more than I generally enjoyed talking to them in high school. Not that I didn’t enjoy talking to them in high school (I generally did, I think? Hard to say, high school was 20 years ago, my friends, and I can’t even remember if I brushed my hair this morning*), but you add 20 years to a person’s life, and they’re bound to be more interesting now than they were then out of the sheer increase in number of days on this planet.

THREE: Have you seen the show Finding Your Roots on PBS? I caught it the other night, and it’s fascinating. I’ve learned all sorts of things about random celebrities, for example, Fred Armisen is not a quarter Japanese, he’s actually a quarter Korean, and there’s an entire museum in Tokyo dedicated to his grandfather. (Why in Tokyo and not in Seoul, I’m not really sure. I may or may not have tuned out for part of the show.)

It’s this exact sort of randomness that I love about PBS, you guys. Seriously. I can’t get enough. PBS is amazing.

FOUR: Since we moved** into a home that has more than one bedroom, Baby McSwedolish now sleeps in his own room.

And it’s terrible.

Not for him, of course, but for me, because every time he whines or cries in his sleep (which he does with surprising frequency. What, exactly, is he crying about in his dreams? He’s a baby. The worst thing in his life is a full diaper or not being allowed to poke the dog in the eye.) it’s amplified by the video monitor that sits on Swede’s nightstand. It used to sit on my nightstand, but that wasn’t working out very well, as I’d lie in bed and stare at it at 2 o’clock in the morning, which, in case you didn’t know, is not conducive to sleeping well. So now it’s out of my reach but it’s still loud when he cries, and my heart breaks even though he seems entirely unbothered by it because he doesn’t even wake up and sweet Mother of God, I should probably just turn the volume on the monitor down for the love of all that his holy and decent and accept the fact that my baby is growing up and clearly doesn’t need me anymore. 

I may need a nap.

 

*Chances are slim.

**More on that later.

 

 

things i’ve been meaning to tell you: august 2017

10 Aug

One: Have you ever noticed that the women on the storytelling shows on NPR all sound the same? I’m sure that they’re all different people, and not just one woman who has lived a thousand lives and has the stories to show it. At least I’m pretty sure.

They all have a mildly self-deprecating tone when they share their stories, as if they’re not sure they should be telling a story, even though they think they should be telling a story, and their voices always have just a bit of scratch to them, as if they’re getting over a cold. And when they laugh it’s never an outright laugh, but more of a held-in, half-laugh-is-the-audience-laughing? kind of laugh. Their creaking-door voices and half-chuckles all blend together to my ears, I cannot tell them apart.

I don’t know if the same holds true about the male storytellers. I don’t know that I’ve heard enough of them on storytelling shows, to be honest. But I’ll keep my ears open.

Two: As I’ve expressed to one and all, I love the Great British Bake Off. Love it. I was talking with a colleague recently, who said she thought it was kind of cheesy, and that the drama over the baking was a bit silly. Which kind of befuddled me, because you guys, that drama is baking itself! Baking is Dramatic! Especially in a tent!

But I realized something: what makes the GBBO so alluring and enthralling is it speaks to my perfectionist side. (And yes, I have a perfectionist side.) (It’s not my best side, to be honest.) (Which drives its perfectionist self absolutely nuts.) To enjoy baking, or even just watching the baking process, you have to have at least a sliver of perfectionism in you. It’s too precise a process not to. And that’s why the natural drama of baking plays out so well on this show for its bakers and fans alike. (You don’t need manufactured drama. All you need is the nail-biting moments of contestants crouched in front of their ovens, counting seconds that could make or break their bake.) If you don’t have a bit of perfectionism in you, or if you don’t allow it to show its face and shake your hand every once in awhile, then I can understand why it all might seem silly. I don’t agree, but I can understand.

Three: During Amazon Prime days in July, I scored a Kindle Fire for $30, because my old, regular kindle crapped out on me after four years. I didn’t particularly want a Fire, because let’s be honest, the last thing I or the world needs is another device that links me to the distraction that is the Interwebs, but I did particularly want to not pay a lot of dough. And a regular, just-for-reading Kindle was like, $100.

ANYWAY, along with my Fire came a renewed subscription to the Washington Post—because this is a Jeff Bezos world and we’re just living in it. I had, for reasons unbeknownst to me, let my WaPo digital subscription lapse, and now, with this renewed access, I’m remembering how absolutely wonderful this newspaper is, and how much I absolutely adore reading their food section, particularly their Free Range On Food weekly live chats.

Their food section and staff are inspiring! And it makes me nostalgic for cooking dinner for myself, my friends, and eventually my Swede in my little apartment on Connecticut Avenue, with its two inches of counter space. And simultaneously makes me appreciate my current kitchen, with is six inches of counter space and a dishwasher.

Four: There’s a sign at my library underneath the directory that reads simply, Welcome Home.

Nailed it.

Thank you, sign designer.

 

checking in

12 Jul

It’s July, which by my math and calendar* means we are more than halfway through the year. Which means that seven months ago we all lolled about on our couches in a fog of cheese and leftover cookies and made a bunch of promises to ourselves, the universe, and our dog that we vaguely intended to keep, though in the far corner of our brains knew would be packed away like so many boughs of holly by February 5.

So! How are those New Year’s Goals** working out for you? Has anybody actually tackled any? Have any actually lasted beyond Martin Luther King, Jr.’s birthday?

Ahem.

waves raised hand wildly

Yes, actually, I have. And yes, actually, they have.

And yes, I’m totally tooting my own horn.

(toot! toot!)

How can I not? It’s not every year—or any year, for that matter—that I can actually say I have successfully completed or am successfully in the process of completing my New Year’s Goals. Or completing anything, really. (What? Mine is a world of inspired intentions.) So I’m going to celebrate the shit out of these.

Goal 1: Make one new ice cream flavor a month

What’s the point of having an ice cream maker if you don’t actually use it? Ever since I received this kitchen appliance two Christmases ago, I’ve had a steady stream of homemade ice cream go through my kitchen, much to Swede’s happiness. But this year I felt like I needed to expand my ice cream horizons, and put some of my Pinterest pins to the test.

And now this poor ice cream maker doesn’t know what’s hit it. Entirely possible I may blow out the motor by August.

I’ve made seven new flavors so far this year (I made two in March, because it was my birthday month and…well, it was my birthday month is the best reasoning I can come up with) (then again, do I really need a reason to make two new ice cream flavors in one month?). Some were better than others, but even the ones that were only meh were still good.

January: Red velvet ice cream with a cream cheese swirl

February: Brown sugar bourbon ice cream

March: Creamsicle ice cream; lemon mascarpone ice cream

April: Baklava ice cream

May: Mint chocolate chip (such a classic flavor, yet one I’d never actually made)

June: White chocolate blackberry

Our favorite has been the brown sugar bourbon flavor, with the lemon mascarpone a very close second. Tell your friends.

 

Goal 2:

<crickets>

<twiddles thumbs>

Huh.

Totally thought I had accomplished one of the other goals on my list.

No?

Okay! Just the one goal then. But! That’s one more thing I’ve done/am doing. Let me just extend my Go Go Gadget arms and pat myself on the back again.

Well done, me.

 

So as to be completely transparent, you should know that for this one goal I can claim as successful (so far), there are at least 63 that have been failed somewhat and terribly.

Write how many words a month on the novel I’ve been thinking about for 10 years? Okay, I’ve written some. I’ll give myself partial credit.

Exercise how often? Huh. Not so much.

Make fresh pasta using the pasta maker we were given at our wedding shower two years ago? Actually, I attempted that one, only to have the motor on our KitchenAid mixer burn out. We have the parts to fix it, we just…have yet to fix it.

But that one! That one goal! I’m totally making it on my ice cream goal!

I encourage you all to look back at your own statements of intent, your New Year’s Goals, or whatever you want to call them. Did they fall by the wayside? Are they even valuable or interesting goals to you anymore? If they are, restart them. Give them a go. See how far you get. If they’re not, screw ‘em. Don’t waste your time busting your ass toward a goal you couldn’t give a hoot about. What’s the point in that? If there’s something more intriguing you want to work toward, why aren’t you doing it? Do it! Do it now! Because that’s the thing—no one says your yearly or monthly or daily goals have to start the first of the year. There are 365 days in a year, you guys,*** and any day, any day at all, is a good day to start.

*You may want to double-check me on that one. Math and calendars have never been my strong suit.

**I call them goals because resolutions are just asking to be broken.

***Seriously, check me on that one.

things i’ve been meaning to tell you: march 2017

14 Mar

One: Yesterday I turned 38. I don’t put much stock in numbers, and to be quite frank for the past few years I’ve had to stop and think when someone asks me my age because they all seem to blend together and I can never remember if I’m 36? 38? 34? 37? I’m somewhere in my 30s, right?

Anyway, so far 38 is treating me pretty well, and like when New Year’s rolls around, at my birthday I like to take a moment to reflect on the past year, and look forward to the year ahead. Set an intention, if you will. And this year’s intention?

To have more fun.

Don’t get me wrong, I have a crapton of fun on the daily. I can’t not, living with my Swede and Baby McSwedolish, and The Beasts. But why shouldn’t I have more fun? What’s stopping me?

Nothing. Nothing is stopping me, except maybe myself sometimes.

And that is just dumb.

I can’t predict what sort of shape this additional fun will take, because it could be anything. I think going grocery shopping is fun. I think writing in this little corner of the Interwebs is fun. Singing showtunes on a beach is fun. Whichever form of fun strikes me, I will throw myself into it wholeheartedly. Because life can really suck the life out of you sometimes, with worry, and bills, and not having a trust fund so you have actually be cognizant of income and work or make compromises. But that doesn’t mean you can’t have fun, it doesn’t mean I can’t have fun, while dealing with all of those things, and not let them suck the life out of me, amirite? Because none of us are getting out of this thing alive, and this isn’t a dress rehearsal.

So ratcheting up the Fun Factor sounds like a pretty good idea to me.

Two: I’ve developed a strange obsession with The Wheel. I’m not entirely sure when it started, but almost every night at 6:30 pm, Baby McSwedolish and I tune in to see if someone will actually solve the final puzzle, even after they are given RSTLNE. (Success level: sporadic.)

How is it that Pat and Vanna are unchanged after 30 years on the air? What does Vanna do to keep her arms toned now that the turning of letters has been eliminated, and they’re all touch screen? Has anyone ever actually won the $1 million? Or is that just a tactic they’re using to make it all the more exciting, since the whole “shopping the rooms with your winnings” is a thing of the truly distant past?

Three: Of all the things I make that are amazing*—pot roast, cupcakes, brownies, the list goes on—the one thing I haven’t yet mastered is soup.

I know, right? Soup, for God’s sake! How hard is soup?

Apparently quite tricky, if you really want something that is restaurant quality. For me, at least. I’ve gotten a better in my efforts recently—in part because I’ve actually tried following recipes and quantities and not just dumped in stuff that has a higher solids to liquid ration and then wonder why everything comes out more like a stew than a soup—but it’s never quite as good as you’d get at a restaurant or Mariano’s soup bar.

So the other day while I was at the grocery store, I bought a whole magazine about soup. I’m not kidding. There are at least 100 recipes in there, many several of which look incredibly tasty, and by God I will master the making of soup! Or at least one soup recipe! I’m not asking for much here, people. Just one go-to soup recipe!

Mark my words.

PS—I am having a wild love affair with cream of mushroom soup lately. And if that’s wrong, I don’t want to be right.

Four: For my Chicago readers: Do the female weekend anchors and weather women on NBC 5 have a uniform? I’ve been watching a lot of news lately (a lot) (thank you, nursing time), and I swear these women are all wearing similar dresses. Or perhaps they have three or four styles of dresses in certain colors that they’re supposed to wear. Or maybe I’m just imagining it. But am I on to something here?

And before you get up in arms about, “McPolish why are you focusing on their looks?”, I’m not trying to make their looks a Thing. I’m asking because they are stylish dresses and I want to know where they got them. Also, because if there is some sort of uniform style going on, if they Obama-d their wardrobes to decrease the number of silly decisions they have to make in their lives, then my hat is off to them, because that’s just plain smart, and Well Done, You, NBC Female Weekend Anchors.

 

*Yes. I said that. Yes I did.

 

 

a new normal, part 1

1 Mar

When Baby McSwedolish was first born, people would often comment on how much our lives must have changed now that there was a baby. A baby! So many new and different things with a baby!

And it’s true! SO many new and different things with a baby!

And surprisingly, or maybe not, so many things have stayed the same.

Change, big change, like having a baby, or adopting a dog, or buying a new couch, can be hard. Getting used to new routines is difficult for people (me) sometimes. But I’ve found that when I step out of my own way for a moment and really look at my new normal, the comfort of my old ways is still there, mingling with the new ways, all of it mixing together to create a hodgepodge of life.

Because that’s what life is, a hodgepodge.

Here, a few examples:

Things That Have Stayed the Same

One: I still hate getting out of bed in the morning. Yes, it is absolutely brilliant to wake up to the sound of sweet baby coos and goos. And I never really understood the feeling of wanting to burst and cry with happiness at the same time until the first time I peeked my head over the bassinet and Baby McSwedolish locked eyes with me and then smiled and laughed as if to say, “Oh it’s YOU! I KNOW you! I’m so glad to see YOU again!” It is a daily shot through the heart and gut of pure, unadulterated bliss.

But in the five minutes before I peek my head over the bassinet, when I have poked at the off button on my alarm, and I have stumbled out of bed, go to the bathroom, brush my teeth, I still resent the ever living fuck out of every single person on the planet. I resent Swede for still being in bed, I resent Juniper for still being in bed, the cats are awake with me but I always resent them, just even more. The bus driver cruising the bus down Michigan Avenue? He’s a jerk as well. At that point in the day, I resent Bob Mariano, the CEO of Mariano’s grocery store, which is not only my happy place, but sells some of the best bacon I’ve ever had. I’ve never met him, but he still is a target of my ire. Because that’s how it is those first five minutes. That has not changed.

By the time I put my contacts in I’ve forgiven each and every one of you (you’re welcome). And by the time I poke my head over the bassinet and Baby McSwedolish bestows upon me his gummy smile, my ire is long gone, and the world begins to make sense(ish) again.

Two: I am still inordinately fixated on poop. I thought Swede and I talked about poop a lot when we got the dog. Now? Now sometimes it feels like the only thing we ever talk about. Because now there are two beings—the dog and Baby McSwedolish—whose poop we have to be conscious of. Are each of them pooping daily? Is it normal poop? What color was it? Was it a lot or a little? Did it explode in an inappropriate location?

Since we were so fixated on the bowel movements of our dog, it wasn’t a terribly big change to incorporate a fixation on the baby’s bowel movements as well. And you know, just like at the vet, when we take Baby McSwedolish to the doctor, they ask a lot of questions about his pooping regularity and consistency as well. So the poop aspect of our lives, while it has increased, has also remained relatively unchanged.

Three: I still think about time management way more often than I’d like, and I still utterly fail at it on the regular because I want to Do! And See! And Be! Everything. Before Baby McSwedolish graced us with his presence, I like to think that I’d gotten pretty good at managing my time, and making room for all the things I needed and/or wanted to do: work, freelance work, badly frosting cakes, hanging out with Swede & Friends, writing this blog, writing a book, cooking amazing three course meals, showering. Some days I worked my time management skillz better than others (some days: See: utter failure, as mentioned above), but every day required a thorough briefing in my mind about what needed to happen that day, and how I could make it all happen, even if, when looking at the To Do list, there was no way Jesus Christ Himself, who can literally perform miracles, could ever accomplish everything that was on the list.

And I still do it. I still make preposterous lists of things to accomplish in one day. I’m not entirely sure why, but I do, and it feels good, and just like before Baby McSwedolish came along, some days I’m better at saying to myself, “Well, you got one thing crossed off your list of 50: YOU PUT ON PANTS!! Congratulations! You are AMAZING!,” than others.

I’m not saying that this is the best way to handle time, I’m saying it’s how I handle it. And I’m not saying I handle it very well, or even very badly, I’m saying that my high expectations of myself are still there, post-baby, though perhaps a little mellowed.

 

 

Despite being someone who does not always embrace change easily, I’ve found lately that I like the new, and I like the old, and I like it all mixed together. I quite enjoy my little hodgepodge and it regular irregularities. I like these things that have stayed the same yet are tinged with a new hue because there’s another person in our household. I didn’t know these new colors could exist, and yet, here they are.

 

things i’ve been meaning to tell you: february 2017

8 Feb

One: Why is damn near impossible to find a face lotion that is A) cruelty free, 2) has SPF, and III) doesn’t cost an arm and a leg? I don’t think this is terribly too much to ask. I’m just trying to keep my skin, the animals, and my wallet as safe as possible. If anyone has any suggestions, please let me know. Seriously. And for the record, I’ve tried the Yes For fill-in-fruit-or-vegetable here ones, and I don’t care for them because they’re so damn thick I look like a lifeguard from a bad 80s movie.

Two: The other day I had an epiphany when hearing the song Hook by Blues Traveler. The chorus, the hook, if you will, is “the hook brings you back,” NOT “the heart brings you back,” the latter of which I thought were the lyrics for the past twenty-odd years. Why? Hard to say. But the song makes so much more sense now!

In other news, I still have no clue what the shit Eddie Vedder is actually saying in the song Yellow Ledbetter.

Also, this reminds me that I still really love the band Better Than Ezra.

God, I love 90s music.

Three: Baby McSwedolish’s godfather Wild Turkey Dave gave us an Alexa, and one of my favorite features is you can ask her to play lullabies, and she magically emits a station that is full of sweet songs to soothe Baby McSwedolish. There are some classical hits, some songs that are calming, some songs that have become favorites (such as Return to Pooh Corner by Kenny Freaking Loggins).

And then there are plinky-plinky lullaby versions of…Guns N Roses’ Sweet Child ‘O Mine. As well as Journey’s Don’t Stop Believing. And Bette Davis Eyes.

WTF?

It’s not a little disconcerting, to be tidying up the kitchen, listening to the coos and whines of your baby as he tries valiantly to not put himself to sleep, and you’re ignoring him and humming along and then you stop and think, “Wait, what am I humming? What are we listening to? Is that Lullaby Shakira?”

And it sure it.

And it’s not a little fantastic. It’s amazong.*

Four: One of the things I managed to accomplish on my maternity leave, besides becoming inordinately annoyed by certain TV theme songs, was making a cheesecake.

It wasn’t just any cheesecake, mind you, it was a cheesecake that I’ve been wanting to make for nine years.

NINE. YEARS.

It’s this cheesecake.

It has always looked very involved and mildly intimidating to me, but I decided that it was time to just buck up and do it A) Because for God’s sake, did you not read the part about NINE YEARS? And 2) I could make it for the 2nd Annual Friendsgiving, which means that if it sucked or I screwed it up royally it really wouldn’t matter because everyone would be drunk by the time we got to dessert anyway.

Ta da!

Thankfully I didn’t screw it up, and everyone else thought it was a resounding success.**

I thought it was only okay.

The cheesecake itself, and the chocolate ganache topping were extraordinary, I will give the recipe that. But the part that I was most excited about—the pistachio crust—was a huge disappointment to me. It wasn’t really connected, so to speak, to the rest of the cake. You just sort of set the cake on top of it. It would be better, IMHO, if it were baked in, and thus intertwined with the cake, and further thus wouldn’t break off in chunks and go skittering across your plate like candy. (Delicious pistachio candy, but candy nonetheless.)

Now that I’ve made this cake once (NINE YEARS!) and know just how involved it is (and it is on the medium side of involvement, and also requires quite a bit of fridge space to chill the cake and ganache), I’m ready to make it again, this time with a few tweaks to see if I can’t take it from great to Magical by my McPolish standards.

(And sadly, I don’t have any pictures of the cake, but I’ll do my damndest to get some next time.***)

*Amazong—adjective. A step above amazing. Tell your friends.

**Entirely possible they were lying. See aforementioned Drunk by Dessert.

***Look for said photos sometime in 2025.