how to: red dyed eggs

Thanks to The Crafty Crow for the link to the refrigerator magnet game tutorial! They’ve got lots of links to great projects for kids – definitely worth a peek.

Since we’re high on tutorials…. I’ve been meaning to write about the red eggs we passed out for Bee’s man yue or “full month” celebration, which Chinese people celebrate for a couple of reasons. First, it is the end of the mother’s period of resting, known as zuo yue zi, when mothers are supposed to rest and eat all kinds of restorative food. And second, in the days of high infant mortality, one month was considered to be the point at which babies were out of danger. So we essentially celebrate the baby’s introduction as well as the mom’s re-introduction into society. Red eggs, or “hong dan” are often passed out to guests at these celebrations.

I thought it would be fun and easy to make our own eggs to pass out. Here’s how to do it, in case you ever need to make some for your baby’s man yue.

Hard boil some eggs. I usually buy large eggs for eating, but for this project, I used jumbo eggs. The larger size, suggesting abundance, seemed like an appropriately Chinese symbol for the abundance of good things that I wish for Ms. Bee (hey, we’re a superstitious people). Start the eggs in cold water over medium heat until they reach a boil. Turn off the heat and keep covered in the pot for 10 minutes. My mom claims that they’re easier to peel if you add vinegar to the water, but I didn’t do that. In fact, because I didn’t run the eggs through the cold water, they were impossible to peel, but I was convinced that the heat would help the dye adhere, so I was kind of stuck here…

Mix 1 cup of water with food coloring and a couple tablespoons of vinegar. I used gel food coloring, which I bought at the cooking store, which is more concentrated that the liquid kind you buy at the grocery store. Carefully lower a few cooked eggs into your solution and stir them around, making sure they are submerged. I did this while the eggs were still hot, and although this makes it harder to peel the eggs later, for some reason I believe that it helps the shells absorb the dye. Use a spoon and some gloves if you don’t want your hands and nails to be dyed in the process.

I left my eggs in the solution for a minute or two. The longer you leave the eggs in the dye, the more color they will absorb. As you take them out of the dye, you can set them back into the egg case, so that you don’t get dye everywhere.

Let cool and your eggs are ready to show off and pass out. I found this chicken basket on the street a few weeks ago – isn’t it just perfect?

Here’s a little tip I unfortunately didn’t think about until it was too late. Don’t use the bowl that you made for yourself in ceramics class during college, because the dye will stain it no matter how much you(r mom) scrub(s) it afterwards.

And then you’ll feel like this:

“And then you’ll cry!!” as Otis likes to say.

 

wanna be my neighbor?

And now, just a little break from all this serious talk about birthin’ babies.

Our friends and back door neighbors are sadly moving away and putting their house up for sale.  We live in the Elmwood neighborhood of Berkeley, which is pretty desirable – not many houses go up for sale around here.  We know most of our neighbors, have good friends on the street, and there are multiple block parties each year.  They will be talking to a broker very soon (later this week) so if you or anyone you know are in the market, you’ll save some money if you get to them before the brokers do.

They have a 3-bedroom, 2 bathroom, one-story house with shingles.  There is a spacious master bedroom in the back, with a sitting room outside of it which has french doors leading to their cozy backyard.  Two smaller bedrooms run along one side of the house.  We have spent many happy afternoons hanging out in their comfy home and backyard.  I’m not sure of its square footage, but it’s a good size for a young family (they have two young children who are friends of Otis’s).  Their house is on Bateman Street, between Woolsey and Prince Streets, and it is a very quiet street with little traffic, and there are two parks within a block and a half.

Feel free to email me if you have questions or you can email Meg directly at megjayATgmailDOTcom.  You’ll at least have fantastic back door neighbors, and I promise not to walk around naked.

 

otis’s favorite joke

me: “gwong pi gu” (going bare bottomed)
Otis: “grrrrumpy!”

Get it?  It’s a bilingual joke!

Speaking of bilingualism, our friends at Z Recs are doing a special series on foreign language educational materials, and yours truly has done a guest post reviewing a Mandarin learning DVD here.  So if you’re in the market, or thinking about introducing a new language into your household,  check it out.  They’ve covered a lot of different materials.

 

a quick picture and story before i go

The other day, we were all at my grandmother’s house, gathered around their large, circular dining table, ravenously eating our lunches. My grandmother, who often becomes very busy during mealtime, monitoring everyone’s intake to make sure that you eat just one more piece, or remembering yet another thing that we need at the table, suddenly got up and made for the kitchen.

Lots of under breath speculation swirled around the table. What is she doing? What could she possible need now? Why is she so busy? Oh, she must be getting a soda!   We’re a nosy family, you see, and would not rest until we had an answer. With the mystery solved, we returned to the business of finishing our lunches and discussing Otis’s every move and utterance (not my hobby, of course)

We all nearly jumped out of our seats when, minutes later, my grandmother yelped and sputtered, “PahhhhhhhhhhhHHHHH!”

My grandmother had gone to the refrigerator seeking a bottle of cold, refreshing water and had sat down, twisted off the cap, and had taken an enormous swig of … cooking wine! Which, strangely enough, was in a small, plastic bottle with a paper label, just like a bottle of water.

Consternation erupted from everyone at the table. Ma, if you want something to drink, tell us and we’ll get it for you! You don’t have to get it yourself! And WHO put that cooking wine in the fridge?? Frowns and stern looks everywhere, but soon, everyone started staring intently at our food, trying our best not to laugh out loud, for fear of incurring the wrath of the boss of the Chinese mafia.

I feel very sorry for my poor grandmother, who will soon be going in for cataract surgery. But I saw a bottle of alcohol in my mother’s cabinet this morning, and I promptly fell to the ground, laughing. Then I said “cooking wine” to my mom, and she promptly fell on the ground, laughing. And still, no one in my family can figure out how that bottle of cooking wine ended up in the fridge.

And last but not least, for you Otis whores out there (really, just F):

I’ll see you soon!

 

our winner is….

Nicole! (uh, you have read her blog, right?)

Thank you for your comments. It makes me so happy to see emails from friends, new and old. I gobble them up and am greedy for more. It’s like kisses from babies – you can never get enough.

New York City report to come after I come home. xo.

 

five years

five years ago, we were not yet married.
five years ago, we did not have a baby.
five years ago, we did not own this house.
five years ago, we were living in new york.
sometimes five years seems like a long time.

 

how unoriginal of me!

I just found this article in the NYTimes, about artists who make artworks every day (just like me, in theory!).  There’s even someone whose website is collageaday!

 

Cookie Monster Searches Deep Within Himself

Oh man, this is genius.

I found it via Daddytypes. Read it?

 

not-so-repressed rage incident # one million

Otis and I went to go pick up F, who had the goods with him (precious, life-saving cold medicine for O, who is sick again). We were driving home in pretty slow traffic, trying to get off the highway, and we signalled and changed lanes so we could get to the exit. As soon as the light blue Lexus SUV saw that we were coming into his lane, he zoomed up and leaned on his horn, clearly mad as all get-out. Then he sped into the next lane, charged up and swerved into my lane so that he could DRIVE ME OFF THE ROAD. I’ll admit I’m not always the best driver, but there was plenty of room and he was just pissed that I wanted to get into his lane. Then he continued to swerve all over all the lanes, without signalling, to end up in the fast lane, which ended up stopped anyways as we passed by him. By the way, this man was also WEARING A NECK BRACE. Hm, I can only imagine that he got that as the result of some other shithead maneuver. Although I wonder if he was also a little mad because when he was driving by, he might have noticed me doing my imitation of a man in a neck brace trying to turn his head.

 

berkeley bowl

Have you heard of Berkeley Bowl? It's a supermarket we have here, one of my favorite places to shop (besides Trader Joe's, of course), and it's excellent for produce. Their offerings are varied enough to be overwhelming. Why offer just green and purple grapes when you can offer 8 different kinds? Apples in different varieties AND sizes. Asparagus with the ends left on OR cut off. It's nuts. And the people who shop there are nuts too. They are aggressive and intent. They use their shopping carts as weapons, ramming them into you to make way in the crowded aisles while purposefully avoiding eye contant. Even when you have a baby whose tiny little hands are hanging off the sides. Yet I go back.

I stopped there on our way back from Napa, while Otis was still napping in the car with F. This woman rammed her cart into me because HELLO? She couldn't care less where she was going, she was too busy looking at the mushrooms. I must have looked a little shocked from the impact, and probably a little annoyed. She said, "Uh, sorry." But then, as she drove by me, she leaned in and said, "But not THAT sorry."

Then I kept seeing her REPEATEDLY during the rest of my visit. I hate that ugly orange sweater shrivelled up crazy lady. Before we officially moved into our house, an acquaintance told us that he believes Berkeley is a city of "repressed rage", and we agreed with his insight then. And sometimes, it's not even repressed.