Highly refined oil derived from a food (21USC321)

I tapped TJ for my next food-making adventure. When I asked him what food he had been craving, he said chicken wings. Of course, this didn't really fit my desire to make recipes from other countries, so I tried to think of foreign fried appetizers. To me, fried food equals fast food. But apparently, the pace of cooking is an American contribution. Whereas the chicken wings involved marinating them overnight, then throwing them in some oil, the treats I selected -- egg/spring rolls and samosas -- bought me more than three hours in the kitchen. Within 10 minutes of cooking, I had already charred the garlic and ginger, which was foreshadowing of how burnt out I felt after this fryfest.

First, I had to tackle the fillings. While I got the potatoes boiling for the samosas, I worked on the egg/spring-roll fixin's. I roasted the garlic (from a jar) and ginger (fresh, actually), then added the scallions, carrots, and red peppers. Do they look julienned? No? Do I look Julia Child? I thought not. While that mixture was stir-frying, I readied the soy sauce-sugar-chicken broth mix and the Napa cabbage. Yes, that's a lot of extra cabbage, but I didn't mismeasure this time; I just couldn't get a smaller head (I think I will try this baked cabbage roll recipe with the leftovers). In the end, everything combined for the egg/spring-roll entrails.

 

With those fillings cooling, I moved on to the samosa stuffing. The onion, garlic, ginger, and habanero sweated while the potatoes finished boiling. When I added the spices, particularly garam masala and turmeric, the mixture took on that classic Indian-food golden color. A while later, after the potatoes were cooled, I added them, the canned vegetables, the lemon juice, and the coriander. As you can tell from the photo, I need to invest in a masher. 

Luckily, I remembered at the last minute that I needed a rolling pin because I had decided to to make the samosa dough from scratch. I did not go as far to purchase a "pastry blender"; I mean, I wouldn't even cough up $30 for a deep fryer. Instead, I resorted to a trick my mom taught me, flaking in the butter with a fork by using a motion similar to smooshing avocados for fresh guacamole. I wish I had remembered something else she had taught me: Find a place to sit before you start kneading dough for five minutes.

With all the elements ready, it was time to start the assembly line of appetizers. The reason I am referring to the recipe as egg/spring rolls is because I opted to pick up spring-roll wrappers instead of trekking to an Asian market for wonton wrappers (I did have to go into the States to find the former, too, though). In case you're wondering, the basic difference is the shape -- round instead of diamond -- and ingredients -- no egg instead of egg -- thus the use of wonton wrappers for "egg" rolls. The preparation was similar in that I had to get the wrappers wet to make them pliable, then I just folded my rolls more like burritos than origami.

The assembly of the samosas was much slower and messier. The dough is quite elastic, so it was hard to roll it into the 5-inch circles as the recipe demanded. But after stuffing one that was too thick -- and consequently throwing it in the trash because it fell in on the filling -- I realized I needed to get the dough thinner. The other challenge was getting the stuffing all the way into the point of the triangle. In the end, I had a lot of the potato mixture leftover because I wasn't getting them as full as probably could've. But then again, after two hours, my dexterity was diminishing quickly.

TJ arrived home just as I was ready to fry. I was very happy for his help, because with my attention fading along with my coordination, I was afraid I would fall victim to another incident of flying frying, which happened when I cooked the chicken wings the previous week: Both TJ and I got sprayed with hot oil when air bubbles in the skin burst. My face tingled for a while, but the only permanent damage was grease spots on our T-shirts. This time, however, all the samosas stayed intact (which contributes to my suspicion that they could have been fuller), and although some of the egg/spring rolls split, they didn't spew lard across the kitchen.

I skipped the optional dipping sauce and chutney, even though I had planned to at least whip up some type of sweet-and-sour condiment. But following an afternoon in the kitchen, I was just ready to eat. TJ had to settle for simple soy sauce and sriracha accompaniments, which he artfully added to his plate. The other item on the plate is a heap of fried-rice risotto, my own secret recipe (even to myself, because it was pretty much an accident made from leftover ingredients).

Despite my lingering lower-back pain, I am glad that I bore the burden to learn respect for these recipes. I promise to recall this reverence every time I start to feel bad for dropping $4 on a samosa at the Little Italy farmer's market or giving in to high-priced and high-sodium frozen egg rolls.

Accommodations at Las Vegas were omitted as obsolete (28USC111)

Here's a word problem for you: If, as according to Google Maps, Las Vegas is a 5-½ hour drive from Tijuana, what time would TJ and Kim have to leave Tijuana to be able to spend 10 hours on The Strip and still be back in their own bed by 11 p.m. Saturday night (yes, they are old)? 8 p.m. Friday night, you say? Seriously? When it's pretty clear we can't stay awake past midnight and, therefore, shouldn't be driving a car past then? 

Apparently, you aren't a member of Spirit Airlines' $9 Fare Club, which allowed us to buy plane tickets to Sin City for 1 cent each way, meaning we had to pay only for taxes and fees, about $40 apiece. So TJ and I woke up at 4:30 a.m. Saturday morning (which is pretty easy when you go to sleep before 10 p.m.; we're old, remember?) to catch our flight in San Diego at 7 a.m. After the hour-long flight and a bus ride, we were on the Old Strip, at Fremont Street, by 9 a.m. The overhead light show wouldn't start for hours, so the street was pretty desolate, but that also meant there were plenty of open slot machines. We had our way with some one-armed bandits while we waited for some gaming lessons to begin. After we got schooled in roulette -- don't bet on individual numbers unless you have a seat at the table -- and blackjack -- don't buy the insurance when the dealer might have a blackjack -- we caught another bus to the main Strip. We trekked all the way from Treasure Island to Tropicana, stopping every once in a while in a casino to beat the heat and press our luck. Then we headed east from Las Vegas Boulevard toward the Hard Rock Hotel and Casino. Actually, we didn't realize the Hard Rock was out Harmon Avenue; we were hunting for the Hofbräuhaus, which we had seen in a tourist magazine that had a section on Oktoberfest activities in Las Vegas. The beer was expensive, especially considering you can get free ones by pumping quarters mindlessly into machines, but we got to see a bunch of guys, bachelors probably, get paddled by wenches; for fair measure, a woman was publicly embarrassed as well, when the entertainment asked her to put the end of a Ricola-horn, otherwise known as an alpenhorn, in her crotch as he played it. This foray into this overpriced façade was mainly for my benefit. The replications on The Strip -- the Eiffel Tower, the Statue of Liberty, the Colosseum, etc. -- are a bit overdone and overwhelming to me, and their believability does not rely on an abundance of beer. Plus, I'm not much of a gambler. I don't mean I don't like to do it, I mean I am bad at it, so I didn't want to spend all our time losing money. As was expected, much of my day was spent being a gambling groupie, watching TJ lose our money. Despite the earlier lessons, TJ and I never got up the nerve to sit at a table. The smallest minimum bet we saw was $5, which seemed like a lot to risk when beers at the Hofbräuhaus cost $1 more. The highest-stakes game TJ played cost $1. He didn't win, but it was worth it, I guess, to feel like he had time-warped back to the era of The Joker's Wild game show. The key component to Las Vegas, of course, is its allegiance to excess, like having an unnecessarily large slot machine make people feel better about wasting money. Some other A-list extravagances that we saw were the poolside tables at The Tank in the Golden Nugget, where you can also ride a waterslide through a shark habitat, and The Lion Habitat in the MGM Grand, where you can wait in a line under two big cats in order to get your photo taken with one of their cubs.

And then there are the culinary indulgences. We knew about popular steak-and-eggs breakfasts, all-you-can-eat buffet lunches, and prime-rib dinners, but we weren't prepared for this offer: "Over 350 lbs. eats free." Apparently, you step on a scale to prove that you deserve the quadruple bypass burger, with four beef patties and all the fixin's, gratis. Comparatively, our food made us feel like lightweights (pun intended). We had hot dogs piled high with accoutrements from the 30-item condiment bar at Binion's; mine had green onions, roasted red peppers, tomatoes, bacon, spicy mustard, and cheddar cheese. Not so excessive for noon, but at 9:30 a.m., it seemed a bit exorbitant for a breakfast. Dinner was a pretzel, giant of course, with not one, two, but three dipping sauces and a wurstsalat (sausage salad), which was basically a bowl of the most delicious bologna ever.

Even with all the enticements, we didn't even come close to crossing the spending limit we had set for ourselves. TJ spent $102 but won $151.70, putting him $49.70 ahead. I spent $54 (plus $10 for a bad gamble on bus passes) and won $21, putting me $43 down. So our net gain was just over $5, which is not bad for a 10-hour shift, at least to someone who is unemployed. But the biggest gain of the day was the fact that TJ was not nearly as blinded by Vegas' bright lights as I worried he might be, so I didn't have to give him this gambling-addiction brochure that I had picked up -- just in case.

Monitoring the level of coupon inventories in the hands of coupon issuers (7USC2016)

Someday, the television shows Extreme Couponing and Hoarders will combine forces to feature a person who stocks up on Groupons, and despite appearances, I’m desperately trying to NOT be that person. I’m not making my case very well, because before I had even arrived in Tijuana, I already had bought five deals in San Diego. To be fair, three of them were weekend activities, which TJ had tasked me with cultivating; I tell myself that I was just planning in advance, but even this is a bit much for my brand of obsessive-compulsive organization (to my knowledge, there is no show highlighting this disorder -- yet). But I can find solace in the fact that, although I've only been in town for less than three months, we've already managed to redeem those three activity Groupons (the other two, for meals, are pending because of San Diego Restaurant Week).

TJ had told me that he wanted to try to deep-sea fishing, so when I saw a Groupon for a five-hour tour, I snatched it up. Our trip left from Dana Point, north of Camp Pendleton, where you can also catch a ferry to Catalina Island. The deal from Dana Wharf seemed especially good because it included lunch and a free clinic on deep-sea fishing (but we did have to pay for our own fishing licenses, $14 each, and rod rentals, $12 each). However, we missed out on most of the clinic because we were intimidated by the number of children surrounding the crew.

In the end, we didn't really need the clinic. Contrary to my visions of desperately pulling on rod to reel in a marlin, we were angling for reef and bottom feeders, which requires a technique much like lake or pond fishing: You attach a sinker and some bait (anchovies instead of worms), feed out the line to the right depth, and reel it in slowly to create motion to attract a fish. About the only difference to me was the lack of a bobber to show you when you got a bite; instead, you just felt for a pull on the line or watched for a bend in the pole.

Between the two of us, we caught about a dozen fish, mostly mackerel, throughout the day. But we threw them all back, partly because they weren't long enough to be legal catches but mainly because the amount of meat wasn't worth the cost or effort of cleaning. TJ did hook one fish, a barracuda, that might've made good eatin', but it got tied up in the anchor of the boat, so the crew had to cut it loose.
If you did manage to land a big one, like the guy perched (get it, perched?!?) next to us who got a pretty large sand bass, the crew will clean your fish while you wait during the ride back to port. For the rest of us, it was just a fun show, and for the birds, it was a full smorgasbord, as the roly-poly fish heads and guts were tossed overboard. It goes without saying that the best seats for the show are in front of the cleaner.
Our next Groupon activity was entering a CityScape Adventure. In these "urban races," according to the sponsor, participants untangle a "web of 12 puzzles and challenges in a citywide race to the finish line." I was hoping for something like the Washington Post Hunt crossed with The Amazing Race, but instead, we basically paid for the privilege of taking weirdly posed photos of ourselves in downtown San Diego. For example, unless you didn't know the meaning of "planking" or "vintage clothing," it wasn't too hard to figure out the puzzle for these two photos.

Some photos were more "challenging" because you had to get someone to take the picture, like this one of us leapfrogging in front of the Midway, or get other people to be in your picture, like this one of us in front of the jukebox at Tivoli Bar & Grill. Incidentally, the use of smartphones is encouraged, and we did have to log into San Diego's free wifi with our iPad Touch to find a jukebox nearby. It was only luck that this bar, the oldest in the Gaslamp District, had all-day happy-hour specials, even on Saturday.

We did manage to find out a little more about San Diego as we strolled around. At Kansas City Barbeque, we snapped a picture of the piano that was used in the "Great Balls of Fire" scene in Top Gun (although TJ is supposed to be acting like he is singing and playing "Ebony and Ivory"). And we learned about the singularly-named artist Wyland, who has painted murals of marine life around the world, including this "Whaling Wall" (get it, whaling wall?!?) on the side of the San Diego National Bank.

We also found out a little more about ourselves. After this event, I have to admit that I'm not cut out for The Amazing Race. There was only one true "challenge," the classic horseshoe puzzle, and I started to feel frustrated after only a few minutes. But the biggest challenge for us was our discomfort with bugging people. We didn't even bother (get it, bother?!?) to finish one of the clues, which required us to get three strangers to act out "See No Evil, Hear No Evil, Speak No Evil." Instead, we threw in the towel after about three hours (for the record, the winning team, who clearly ran, finished in 57 minutes) and headed back to Tivoli's, in an attempt to assuage our guilt for all these outsiders rudely horning in on what is clearly a neighborhood hangout. Oh yeah, we also went back for poutine, deep-fried pickles and other unhealthy food from Montreal's, which maintains an independent kitchen within the bar.

Our last weekend deal was a 1-½-hour kayak tour of Mission Bay with Hike Bike Kayak Sports San Diego. Owner David guided us through the channels, showing us marine birds, sea lions, starfish, and garibaldi, California's official saltwater fish (not to be confused with the state's official freshwater fish, the golden trout). An Ironman triathlete (at least according to the tattoo on his calf), he also gave us some tips on where to run and bike in the area and what to see up the coast. We got some lunch across from Belmont Park in Mission Beach before following his suggestion to drive up the coast through Pacific Beach to La Jolla.
I have no weirdly posed photos of us while kayaking, because I didn't take my camera, fearing that it would fall in the water when TJ and I inevitably miscommunicated in our tandem kayak and flipped over. As it turned out, we made a pretty good team, and we vowed to explore the area further in a rented kayak. We were a pretty good team with fishing, too, with me getting fish on the hook and TJ getting them off (he still has fish-blood on his shirt), so we'll do that again as well. But as for the CityScape Adventure, well, let's just say I'd rather pay to fly back to DC next summer.

Independence of the users and owners and operators of the bulk-power system (16USC824o)

In my old age, I am becoming a cross-breed of agora- and claustrophobic, the kind of person who can't be bothered by negotiating compacted crowds in expansive spaces, especially when it involves finding a parking spot. So when TJ suggested we check out Tijuana's festivities for Mexican Independence Day, I wasn't immediately on board, especially because it meant I would have to forgo our planned pizza night, which was to include a tryst with my new lover, Netflix.
But, because I love my husband more than video streaming, I relented. At first, I was hardly impressed by the set-up at the traffic circle known as The Scissors. Officially, the structure's name is Monumento Mexico, but it is also called the Iron Monument, for the material of the two blades, and the Monument to the Californias, with one blade as Baja and the other the U.S. state. The plaque says one blade represents the colony and the other liberty, giving the sculpture its other nickname: Independence Monument. All in all, it was a fitting spot for the main stage of the celebration, but I was more interested in what lay in the surrounding streets.

As always, I was attracted to the food. We took a swing around the entire grounds, to check out the offerings, before stopping at what seemed like the most family-run operation. Our first pick featured one main meat: shredded pork. TJ took the torta, while I opted for two tacos. Somewhat satiated, we played -- and lost -- a few rounds of the gambling version of Mexican bingo, kind of like the Keno form of American bingo.
Luckily, we held back enough pesos to afford a second round of food. For this turn, we found huaraches, a sort of open-faced burrito built atop a sandal-sole-shaped masa base. This time, there was a variety of meats, so I switched from pork to beef, with carne asada. TJ decided to go vegetarian and selected huitlacoche, or corn fungus, which tastes similar to portabello mushroom. We washed them down with agua frescas, in two of the colors of the Mexican flag: jamaica red, for the blood of the rebels, and horchata white, for the unity of the army. The third color -- green, for the hope of the country -- was represented with limon agua fresca.
By the time we had finished eating, the entertainment was in full swing. The band Aguacaliente was drawing a crowd, partly because of its smooth music, but also because of the smooth moves of their accompaniment: the Tecate girls. A good show deserves some good chow, so we sought out some dessert. I couldn't pass up what appeared to be butterscotch pudding in a plastic cup, actually flan-like jericalla, which Tim held as I tried to capture the signature Tecate sway on the big screen. Not one for sweets, TJ de-kerneled an ear of corn that had been coated with butter and hot sauce.

By the end of our third course, the grounds -- and more importantly, the porta-potties -- were getting packed, in preparation for El Grito, also known as the cry of Dolores, named for the village in Guanajuato state where a priest called on his congregation to revolt against colonization in 1810, leading to the first battle of the Mexican War of Independence. Each year in cities across the country, the speech is replicated, with the mayor or other official honoring war heroes then leading the audience in shouts of "¡Viva México!"
The outspoken padre, Miguel Hidalgo y Costilla, became known as the father of the country, so his likeness has been cast in numerous statues, including this one by Tijuana's Palacio Municipal. The next morning, we caught a glimpse of a parade passing by Mexico's main man as we headed to the backed-up border (because of a scaffolding collapse the day before). Apparently, some Mexicans celebrate their independence by liberating lower-cost items from American Wal-Marts.