The Latte Manifesto

I Moved ABBA’s Pianos

The Arbiter — Sat, 20 Feb 2010 22:19:14 +0000

Many years ago, one of the more entertaining aspects of my job involved sorting email submitted by visitors to a company’s website. Here’s a gem that starts out as a request for project financing, but quickly becomes the best resume, ever:

The project I am working on would establish a one square kilometer “Tequila Park” in Tequila, Jalisco, Mexico that would process as many as two thousand Guest Worker applicants per day, five days per week.

I probably know more about Guest Worker programs than everyone in Washington put together…as I myself, over fifteen years, have been one…as a merchant seaman in four merchant navies, a film crewman in Australia, a bush ranger in old Rhodesia, where I supervised 20 African riflemen & another dozen support staff…as a tally clerk in Cape Town, as a newspaper editor & piano mover in Switzerland, warehouseman in Berlin, longshoreman in Hamburg, teacher of English & piano mover in Sweden (I moved ABBA’s pianos) a front-loader driver in London & oil refinery worker in Antwep. I would be happy to send more details if [your company] would be interested in handling the direct deposit accounts of some millions of Guest Workers in the US. Hoping to hear from you, I am, Yours sincerely, ————- ps. If you Google “The Shakespeare-Cervantes Code” by Yours truly, you may find two, Five Star reviews.

Passion Fruit Lime Bavarian

The Arbiter — Mon, 13 Oct 2008 19:52:32 +0000

This was delicous. As with the banana cream pie, the recipe is from Tartine. I’ve decided to make all the recipies in the Tartine cookbook. Unless they require nuts. Nuts, as a rule, do not belong in my food. Especially desserts. I’m looking at you, oh rock-hard, bitter walnut, merciless destroyer of delicate cookies and dental work. As with all rules there are exceptions. If the nuts have been prepared in such a way — finely chopped, toasted — as to no longer deliver a hideous violation of texture and flavor, that may be an acceptable scenario. Nuts are also perfectly fine to eat by themselves. I will bake you anything you want on your birthday, but if the recipe contains inappropriate nut usage, expectations should be managed.

Ceci n’est pas The Latte Manifesto

The Arbiter — Tue, 25 Mar 2008 00:34:31 +0000

I changed themes this weekend and in the process overlooked some important details. Such as: I’ve never edited CSS before. I managed to figure out some small changes, but a couple of big issues have eluded me. For instance, you may have noticed the lack of a header. You know, the thing that would tell you that this is THE LATTE MANIFESTO and IT’S NOT ABOUT COFFEE. My dear friend and host Jeemy is going to fix things up, and that means I have to change themes again, to one that is not so woefully out-of-date that not even his technical wizardry can mend it. And so, to the three friends who may read this frequently enough to notice, thanks for bearing with me.

Banana Cream Pie ala Tartine

The Arbiter — Sat, 22 Mar 2008 22:35:02 +0000

My dad loves banana cream pie, Tartine’s recipe is perfection, and so I made this during his last visit. The key layers, from bottom to top: - flaky pastry crust - dark chocolate - caramel - pastry cream - bananas - whipped cream - chocolate flakes

Why Yes, I Know a Little German

The Arbiter — Sat, 22 Mar 2008 22:04:57 +0000

I don’t remember why I decided to make German chocolate cupcakes. The cake part was easy enough. Caramelizing condensed milk for the frosting takes at least an hour, so I tried a shortcut using the microwave. This seemed to work, but when I added the chopped pecans and shredded coconut, the mixture quickly turned into clumpy, crumbly gorp. Delicious, but would not stick to the cupcakes. Luckily, I had some homemade caramel stashed in the fridge (from the banana cream pie ala Tartine). I molded the gorp into perfectly-sized disks by pressing it into the same mini muffin tins I’d used to make the cupcakes, then adhered the disks to the cupcakes with a dollop of caramel. The result was so lovely I decided to pretend I meant it that way all along. (photos courtesy Kimmie Sue, click to embiggen)

For immediate release: Help Raise PP Awareness

The Arbiter — Mon, 18 Feb 2008 21:22:59 +0000

A devastating new aliment is plaguing the dance community. Perineum particulitis, more commonly known as PP or “dandruff ass”, is the result of deeply embedded microflakes of thong underwear. The primary symptom is the shedding of thousands of infinitesimal pieces of panty material over the course of 24-72 hours. Researchers believe that these tiny bits of thong fabric are created by extended periods of intense friction, most likely due to vigorous booty shaking. PP is often found in people who also suffer from pneumosparklyosis, aka glitterlung. It is suspected that high-glitter environments are especially conducive to prolonged thong-wearing and hip-popping. To raise funds in support of those who have been stricken with PP, the newly formed Foundation for Abrasive Taints is selling red, lace-patterned THONGSTRONG rubber bracelets. All proceeds will fund research into the causes and prevention of PP, as well as the manufacture of high-durability thong panties and other PP-related products. You can help FAT’s research efforts by taking a few moments to complete the following survey: 1. Have you ever experienced PP? 2. How many times? (For each incident, list brand, style, material and color.) 3. Would you consider wearing a custom-fitted device to prevent PP? 4. Would you prefer that the device be made of metal, plastic, or a biodegradable substance? 5. How much would you pay for this device? ($10 or less, $10-$25, $25-$50, over $50) 6. This device comes with a set of microwavable, freezer-safe storage containers with matching EZ-snap-tite lids. NOW how much would you pay? Submit your survey answers along with your name, age, race, annual income, home, business and e-mail addresses, all phone numbers, top five hopes and dreams, high school yearbook photo, social security number, mother’s maiden name, town in which you were born, first pet’s name, favorite color, length of longest relationship, and who you’re voting for, to: thongstrong@pacbell.net Thank you for your support! THONGSTRONG!

Lucky

The Arbiter — Sun, 10 Feb 2008 05:07:48 +0000

This morning I went to the lab to have blood drawn for a series of tests that check for coagulation problems. It was 10 in the morning, and as required, I hadn’t eaten since about 7pm the night before. Mike, an obese man with a habit of laughing raucously at his own bad jokes, spent nearly 45 minutes on my paperwork, during which time I developed a migraine and an acute feeling of persecution. The lab tech was a friendly, notably homely Indian woman named Lucky. Her accent was almost impenetrable. As she assembled the 12 or so vials that she was about to fill with my blood, she said, “I like your face.” I panicked and could not manage to return the compliment, instead stammering out a weak thank you and then something idiotic about how I try to smile as much as possible, which is not at all true. I like to think that if I had been in my right mind, I would have replied graciously, perhaps appreciating her name, or her lab coat. “I like your face.” What an odd thing to say.

TONY’s Excellent Drag Queen Reportage

The Arbiter — Sun, 24 Jun 2007 17:48:41 +0000

“My unique style combines aspects of gut-as-glamour, dapper dandy, and trannie realness with a strong relationship to color—and a love of spandex and sparkle.” – Glenn Marla, Miss Lez 2006 full article “When drag first started, it was dangerous: You’d be scared when you saw a drag queen. That’s what I’m trying to get back to. When I create my work, I say ‘What about me is the thing I don’t want the world to know?’ And then I say, ‘Okay, that is what this piece is about.’ So they turn out to be about things like the time my ex-lover stuck crystal meth in my ass while I was sleeping.” – Taylor Mac, Uberglam performance beast full article

Imagined Correspondence

The Arbiter — Sun, 13 May 2007 05:48:49 +0000

Several years ago I met and became friends with a nice young lady. Let’s call her Carrie. The friendship ran an average course; we had a few dinners, yakked on the phone, stripped down to panties and had tickle fights (that last one only in my then-boyfriend’s imagination). We didn’t have quite enough of a bond to sustain a longer-term friendship, and eventually we lost touch. But, even after our friendship had long faded, every few months I’d get a little “Carrie update”, via an e-mail sent to a large group. This didn’t bother me at all — seems reasonable to alert friends and family to certain interesting personal accomplishments, and I assumed my inclusion on Carrie’s mailing list was a harmless oversight. A few months ago, this infrequent and innocuous correspondence took what I considered to be a rather unpleasant turn. Carrie began sending mass e-mails on more frequent basis, regarding her status as a published author. The publication which had deemed her writing so worthy was in fact a website. Let’s call the site “Misty Christy”. Misty Christy was not a site I’d heard of, and further investigation led me to discover that anyone can join their “vibrant community of genuine, interesting women” with “reasons to connect.” They invite contributions that are “inspiring or silly. Around here, anything goes.” (Oh, Web 2.0 exuberance, is there any business model you can’t rationalize?) Carrie was soon bestowing upon her entire address book a stream of breathlessly excited e-mail communiqués about her Misty Christy articles, how to find them, corrections to previous instructions about how to find the articles, apologies for all the e-mails, and oh my god are you fucking kidding me with all these e-mails? WE HAVEN’T SPOKEN IN YEARS, LADY. Around the same time, my friend Mark was published in the UK edition of Conde Nast Traveler. He announced it in the following manner:

From: Mark Subject: My article about SF in UK Conde Nast Traveler April 2007 UK edition is out here, so keep an eye on your local international newsstand! xo Mark

Shortly after receiving Mark’s e-mail, I dashed off a mental note to Carrie:

Dear Carrie, My friend Mark has written an article that will be published in the April 2007 UK edition of Conde Nast. He announced this via a single, one-sentence e-mail to friends and family. It was simple and humble. Why can’t you be like that? Hugs, L.

Whatever relief I gave myself via this self-contained chuckle was short-lived. A few days later, the e-mails from Carrie turned into e-mails from lettersatmistychristy.com, big ol’ HTML e-mails with lots of images and lots of links to all sorts of Misty Christy things, each one beginning with the warm salutation: “Hi, youremailaddress, Carrie has written something for Misty Christy and wants you to know about it.” I wasn’t sure just what Carrie had signed me up for — was I now on some Misty Christy marketing mailing list? Were they going to hound me for my “inspiring or silly” stories? I imagined a stream of notices … Hi, youremailaddress, Carrie has changed the category tags on an article for Misty Christy and wants you to know about it … Carrie has done her laundry and wants you to know about it … Carrie has suppressed a fart and wants you to know about it … I went to the Misty Christy site and searched in vain for some mechanism that would allow me to unsubscribe. Being under the impression that if a website gives its members the ability to subscribe others to unsolicited marketing e-mails, they are obligated to give those others the ability to unsubscribe themselves from the unsolicited marketing e-mails. I was honestly surprised to discover Misty Christy has no opt-out. And then, I was honestly royally pissed off. Of course, I got right on the highest horse I could find and wrote a couple of extremely uppity, hotheaded e-mails to Misty Christy. Now, I should have seen this next bit coming … Misty Christy not only denied all responsibility for giving Carrie the ability to spam me, they also TOLD CARRIE THAT I WAS MAD ABOUT GETTING HER ALERTS. Well played, Misty Christy. I was properly humbled. It’s not often that an entire “community of genuine, interesting women” calls me on my misplaced anger. The next day I got a personal e-mail from Carrie (note the sig file):

From: Carrie Subject: sorry Hi L., I got the message from my editor that you wanted to be taken off my email list for Misty Christy. No problem. I thought this might be a fun way to reconnect – sorry. Hope you’re well! Carrie Carrie BoBarrie Freelance Writer for www.MistyChristy.com – “search” my name

Did she really say “fun way to reconnect”?!??! Newly inspired, I fantasized about sending the following reply:

Dear Carrie, How thickheaded of me to not realize that a series of promotional e-mails sent to dozens of people was actually a fun way for you and I, specifically, to reconnect. It’s probably an age thing — I’m still stuck on that old-fashioned custom of sending a personal message, with an inquiry as to the recipient’s well being, and inviting a response in kind. Maybe if I spend more time on the Internets, surfing the various tubes and what-not, I will better understand that “shamelessly spamming everyone I’ve ever met” is the new, fun way to reconnect. So, when you start getting daily e-mails promoting the sites on which MY musings will be published (of course, only if I can pass the stringent, almost impossibly high editorial standards set by most online publications) … well, please just know that’s my way of saying “Hey, long time no see! I hope you’re well. Let’s get some coffee and catch up!” Fondly, L. L. Arbiter Freelance Writer for lattemanifesto.casablog.com – “kiss” my ass

The Devil’s Food Cake Wears Prada

The Arbiter — Fri, 16 Mar 2007 17:07:49 +0000

- Devil’s Food cake (Baking Illustrated) - Coffee buttercream frosting (The Cake Bible) - 2 lbs. rolled fondant, dyed black (The Cake Bible) - Edible silver dust (click to view larger) This was for a pot-luck Oscar party. Other items on the menu: Black Forest Whiticake, Million Dollar Baby Back Ribs, The Good Shepard’s Pie, and Dame Judi Denchiladas. At first, I thought I’d make a Devil’s Food cake shaped like a fabulous handbag, complete with zipper, handle, and triangular Prada logo. I’m usually overly ambitious like this at the outset, and then a few hours later I remember something important, i.e.: I have no sculpting or painting talents. Plus, it’s hard enough making something taste good. (I wonder if anyone tastes the “cakes” from those Food Network competitions. They seem mostly like timed sculpting / painting contests, where the medium just happens to be edible, and I think they use that term quite loosely. The cakes are so heavily coated in fondant, royal icing, whittled candy bits … pretty, but probably tastes nasty.) Speaking of fondant. I wanted a deep black color and soft leather texture. The basic fondant recipe was easy enough. It took an enormous amount of black food coloring to get the depth of color I wanted. This was a little scary, because the wrong dry/wet ratio can mess up the fondant’s texture. Not to mention the prospect of dying my hands and the entire kitchen black. In the end, the most terrifying part was picking up the rolled-out fondant and getting it on top of the cake. As I prepared to lift and transfer, I noticed that I was sweating, my hands were shaking, my heart was pounding, and I was muttering “shitshitshitshitshitshitshitshitshit”. My body was dosed with adrenaline. Because of fondant.