FOOD FRIDAY: What could you not really eat this week?
Indignity Vol. 4, No. 197
FOOD FRIDAY DEP'T.
Feeling Like Chump
FOR TUESDAY DINNER I decided on a pair of lamb chump roasts. I was all too aware of the sinister word magic hovering around the choice, but the roasts had been on sale and the internet told me the chump cut should cook reasonably fast and without much fuss. Wednesday was going to be a heavy writing day no matter what, so Wednesday would be for tossing the pork shoulder into a Dutch oven and not thinking about it at all. Tuesday night was chump night.
The lamb chumps were small enough—a pound and a half each—not to need the roast beef treatment of getting near done in a low oven and then finished in a hot one. I heated the oven to 425 and put the two hunks of meat in a roasting pan, with some salt, pepper, rosemary, and olive oil on them.
How long would they need to be in there? The target for medium rare lamb seemed to be 125 or 130 degrees, and a chump in a hot oven was apparently going to get there in about half an hour.
The problem was knowing when they'd reached the right temperature. I have two kitchen thermometers and I don't trust either of them anymore. The one designed for this task was the wired probe thermometer, where a probe in the meat in the oven is connected to a little digital readout box on the counter. I've had it forever and the box has been rickety for years—if I jostle it, it switches to Celsius—but now the wire is all beat up too, and the readings seem sluggish or erratic lately.
The alternative was the folding instant-read thermometer. This one is a Thermapen, the brand you're supposed to use, and it stinks. I was so excited to get my first Thermapen—to finally be armed with the best tool for the job instead of cruddy little slow-moving analog thermometers—that it took me years to understand that I hated it. I was constantly jacking it open and shut, fussing around in search of some magic angle where it would reliably turn on and show me the temperature, thinking in the back of my mind that some oafishness of mine was preventing me from vibing with the good thermometer.
Eventually, I realized that I'd gone from wiggling the Thermapen two or three times to wake it up to wiggling it 10 or 12 times, and sometimes it wouldn't come around even then. This was no way for the finest thermometer to be! So I sent it back to the company for repairs, and I got back a message saying they couldn't fix it, along with a brand-new version, for only the cost of the repair fee. A triumph! Except in very little time I noticed I was yanking this one open and shut over and over to try to wake it up, too.
With two inadequate options, all I could do was use both and hope they canceled each other out. I stuck the meat in the oven with the wired probe in one chunk and started keeping an eye on the readout. Then I got distracted between trips to the kitchen, and by the time I got back the display was up to 129.
In the background, I was hearing that results from the first states to close the polls were not what the results would have been if the news were going to be extremely good news. I got the Thermapen and yanked it around till it turned on, then stabbed it into the meat. I saw numbers up in the 140s, terrible numbers. Maybe I'd stabbed the thermometer too far, past the middle of the meat? It didn't matter: both readings said to stop roasting. Either the time had come or the time had already come and gone.
I let the roasts rest while I pulled together the rest of the meal. Out the corner of my eye I saw the wired probe, still in there, send its reading up into the 130s. Nothing I could do about it but start carving. The lamb was—pink. The correct shade of medium-rare.
I sliced it all up and filled a serving plate. I got through two modest pieces—tender, delicious pieces—before my stomach finished knotting itself up with dread.
WEATHER REVIEWS
New York City, November 7, 2024
★★★ The air conditioner groaned and slowly roused, summoned to duty out of season against the sticky, stuffy morning air. Litter and drifted leaves lay in the street, uncollected. Wind whipped new leaves out of the trees and sent them sharply toward downtown. The sun was too far gone toward winter to come within dozens of yards of touching Central Park South between the avenues, but far above and ahead a crane sparkled on a glowing translucent building top. A little whirlwind of filth spun in the street by Grand Army Plaza. A restaurant dining room looked dim and close despite its wall of windows hanging open to the street. Toward 3 o'clock the air had developed a gentle but noticeable bite. From the uptown bus, the brightness was now even further off, deep inside the Park. Off through the trees, rowboats piled the Lake. In the 5 o'clock hour, with a crescent moon in the sky, it was time to put on a jacket; in the deep nighttime of 7 o'clock, it was time to button the jacket and brace against the chill.
PENNY FOR YOUR THOUGHTS DEP'T.
CAREFUL AND NOT-SO-CAREFUL readers of Indignity are by now abundantly aware of our not-so-new TIPS AND DONATIONS button, which enables monetary expressions of gratitude, atop or alongside readers' monetary expressions of anticipation and support via PAID SUBSCRIPTIONS. As not-so-careful stewards of our publishing technology, we keep overlooking and/or forgetting that the TIPS AND DONATIONS function includes a sort of hidden comment feature, through which readers may write a specific message to go along along with their implicit message of support. Below, we present a compendium of comments delivered with generous contributions, for which we are ever grateful.
“Love your stuff! Keep up the great work!” —Owen P.
“Thanks, Indignity Personnel” —Thomas T.
“I wish it were more. Your writing is an amazement. Thank you.” —Tracey M.
“For using "hella" even though I don't think you're from the East Bay, CA” —JLC
“I really hope you have some sort of stats on which of these buttons performed best” —John S., referring to the assortment of tip/donate buttons presented in Indignity Vol. 4, No. 159:
JOE MACLEOD
John S., thank you, and that's a capital idea! We are hard at work trying to figure out if we can match the donations to the buttons and we will report in full if we are successful! More remarks inspired by that Mr. Wrong button-palooza column:
“Love this tip concept because its completely riidicukous yet also makes total sense given. Dont at me. I wrote this on my iphone. But $5 default? Too much. Make it a buck.” —John D., who tipped a buck. Thanks! Coincidentally, the next tip was for $5, from "John F.D.," huh! Thanks, John F.D.!
“Very convincing! I like it that you write the way people talk.” —Mary Ann C.
"yep. it was worth it.” —Amara P.
“Thank you INDIGNITY for teaching me how to use the tip thingy on Ghost!!!!" —M.
“Thanks for the smiles!” —Deanette B.
“omjeeeeeez I tip everybody for everything. When I put a check in the bank I always as for $50 or even $100 cash in fives because I tip so effing much but in all this time I never thought to tip my writers. Thank you, I love Indignity.” —Ellen L.
The amount of this tip, offered without a comment, is being revealed owing to the novelty of the amount. Thanks! $4.78, from Brad L.
This donation comment was inspired by Indignity Vol. 4, No. 167, Amy Wax Used Her Words: “Enjoyed your article about Amy Wax and Penn. Frustrating topic. Expertly explained. Hope you're doing well.” —Kristian R.
We also have remarks inspired by the Pandemic, and to a lesser degree, Cheez-Its: “thank you for knowing Covid isnt over. “Good work on Covid and the Cheez -its!” —Mark M.
Here are comments about the Indignity Morning Podcast! “Always enjoy listening, even though the news is so consistently grim. “Thanks for persevering through the construction noise, I appreciate your efforts.” —Thomas T.
“The Indignity morning podcast is the best podcast EVER. I'm extremely thankful for Indignity, and for all you do! “Thank you so much for Indignity and all its parts!!! “Oh my gosh, I couldn't not tip you guys today--it was like an extravaganza podcast!!🤩 —Roxy C., whose emoji inclusion of
summarizes how Indignity feels about this whole experience, and all our readers. Thank you for reading and supporting Indignity!
One more gratuity, "This Just In"-style: “For helpful strategies for avoiding the sadness and anger and helplessness” —Thomas T.
EASY LISTENING DEP'T.
HERE IS TODAY'S Indignity Morning Podcast.
Tom Scocca
Click on this box to find the Indignity Morning Podcast archive.
TOM SCOCCA
ADVICE DEP'T.
GOT SOMETHING YOU need to justify to yourself, or to the world at large? Other columnists are here to judge you, but The Sophist is here to tell you why you’re right. Direct your questions to The Sophist, at indignity@indignity.net, and get the answers you want.
SANDWICH RECIPES DEP'T.
WE PRESENT INSTRUCTIONS in aid of the assembly of a sandwich selected from Bridal Chef, published by Brandt & Cordes in 1911, now in the Public Domain and available at archive.org for the delectation of all.
EGG SANDWICH
Chop hard boiled eggs, not too fine, mix with mayonnaise dressing, spread on lettuce leaf and place between two thin slices of buttered bread. Deviled ham mixed with the eggs and mayonnaise is also good.
If you decide to prepare and attempt to enjoy a sandwich inspired by this offering, be sure to send a picture to indignity@indignity.net.
MARKETING DEP'T.
We are down to—
TWO
REMAINING
COPIES
of the second printing of 19 Folktales, only just barely still available for gift-giving and personal perusal! The daylight is vanishing and so are these stories!
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