On our camping trip when I mentioned that no deodorant seems to do it for me anymore (I’ve read that extra stink is yet one more symptom of peri), my son and daughter-in-law were like, “Oh, you need salt stick deodorant. It’s great.”
I was skeptical but they declared up one side and down the other that yes, it totally works, so I ordered it.
Day one, I was careful to follow the instructions exactly. (You know, in the name of scientific experimentation.) I wet the tip with tap water, twirled it all around my pits (the stick feels like plastic so this seems as pointless as rubbing a wet spoon in your pits) and then waited a few minutes before getting dressed so it’d have time to thoroughly dry.
After a long hot day, the verdict … [drumroll] …
NO STINK.
I sniffed and sniffed and sniffed.
NOTHING.
The next morning, I wore it to go running, and again, nothing. WHAT THE HECK.
One of my husband’s friends said he puts it on at night after showering and then is good to go the next day (and his work involves hard physical labor), and my husband has started wearing it now, too. At the end of each (hot! humid! August!) day we check in with each other. “How do you smell?” I’ll ask.
“Fine,” he says. “You?”
“Like roses!” And we both shake our heads, happily bewildered.
Note: If I apply it sloppily, or if I wear it all day and then go play Ultimate for a couple hours, I’ll notice a mild funk, but it’s not even close to the level of stank I’d get wearing regular deoderant.
Other notes: It doesn’t leave a residue film on the skin, nor does it stain the clothes. There is zero scent. It’s not an antiperspirant. Don’t apply immediately after shaving — any small knicks, even invisible ones, will burn. It lasts for an eternity (or thereabouts). But most important: it works.
***
Have you seen The Rescue (Disney Plus), the documentary about the soccer team that got trapped in that cave? My cousin and his wife suggested we watch it, but I hesitated, worried I’d feel like I was drowning the whole time. But then a couple weeks ago we finally took the plunge (ha) and watched it for our family movie night. WOW. What an amazing story.
That was incredible, my husband kept saying. I had no idea that’s what happened!
Me neither. (And I did not feel like I was drowning.) Highly recommend.
Photos of real women and real bodies always give me a jolt.
Not until I see them do I realize how starved I’ve been for honest images.
A feast for the eyes. I love it. photo credits: Hobbs Photography. (Click here and then scroll down for the BEST partner photo ever — cracks me UP.)
***
Did you get to hear the Fresh Air interview in which Cory Silverberg talked about their book, Sex Is a Funny Word, about how to talk to kids about sex? Silverberg’s perspective was refreshing and insightful. I kept finding myself nodding along and then thinking, Oh, now that’s a good way to approach it!
A few of my takeaways… *Make conversations about sex less about reproduction (this is the default way we usually teach it) and more about gender and relationships.
*Refrain from spinning the tale that sex is a wonderful thing because for many people it’s a mix — bad, disappointing, mediocre, acceptable, good — and not everyone learns to enjoy it, and that’s okay.
*One of the main (and often untalked about) reasons that adults have such a hard time talking about sex is because of their own unprocessed trauma.
*When it comes to sex, power is at the core. Because children don’t have much power, and because they’re used to this (which makes them easy targets for sexual abuse), power/consent/relationships cut to the heart of sex education. Anatomy is important, but these issues go much deeper.
I was so taken with Silverberg’s ideas that I ordered the book. I’ll keep you posted!
***
Sunday morning, my parents sent me this song with the subject line: Your Sunday Morning Song.
And it was perfect.
***
I hate shopping for makeup — there are too many options and everything costs way too much money — but I wanted a good lipstick so a couple years ago I forced myself to stop at the Belk makeup counter in the mall. After much testing and deliberating, I finally selected a plum lipstick for almost fifty dollars (gulp).
Fast forward to now, my beloved lipstick has worn down to a nub. Thankfully, the label hadn’t worn off, though, so I could still identify all the necessary information for getting a replacement. This time, I checked Amazon before trucking all the way across town. Wouldn’t you know, they had the same lipstick but for a fraction of the cost, whoop-whoop.
And now my lips are red again.
***
Our friends are visiting from New York and the other night, over plates of pulled pork and stoplight salad, they told us about one of their friends, Laura, who has won The Moth Story slam — twice. A couple days later, they sent us an email with the links to the winning stories.
The second one (it’s just the audio) was so well-woven I actually got goosebumps. Her story-telling reminds me of good stand-up — not the sloppy trails to nowhere littered with cheap jokes, but the smart ones that take you on a meandering journey with lots of surprise vistas and a final destination (like this one and this one).
It is soooo well done, slow-paced, thoughtful, beautiful, informative. There is a ton of history (which my husband appreciates) and a whole heck of a lot of good food. The host, Stephen Satterfield, is a marvel to behold with his probing questions and slow smile. He digs into hard issues with grace and an unflinching honesty. And he listens. I mean, seriously. How often do you see a TV host practice quiet, prolonged listening? Just watching him is an education in itself.
It all started when a friend posted a photo of his wife’s tiramisu on Facebook. I inquired after the recipe (as one does) and when I saw that the filling was just eggs, a little sugar, and mascarpone (no whipping cream?!), I was intrigued. It sounded simple, like actual food — eggs, cheese, coffee, and booze. So naturally I had to make it.
I had some expired crème fraîche culture packets stashed in the freezer from whoknowswhen — and mascarpone is just drained crème fraîche — so I whipped up a batch (see yesterday’s YouTube video) and then turned right around and made the tiramisu.
I thought it was delicious but no one else seemed too keen. The alcohol is too strong, they fussed.
Two tablespoons of rum and it was too strong? Geez.
But then I mentioned the tiramisu at work and one of the bakers got all excited. I make tiramisu, she said, and then in once forehead-slap second I recalled a small but mighty fact: she’s Italian. (While pounding butter blocks and glazing pastries, she’s regaled me with the most marvelous tales of her family basement stuffed to the gills with gallons of homemade wine, ropes of garlic and onions, and the huge Parmesans her uncles buy from a wholesaler.) We promptly launched a recipe comparison and, much to my delight, my recipe was almost identical to hers.
Except! *her proportions were scaled up, since she made a bigger pan *her recipe called for mixing the alcohol into the pudding and dipping the ladyfingers in just the espresso (I dipped the ladyfingers in a rum-espresso mix, no alcohol in the pudding) *she used 1 cup — one CUP — of alcohol *she used brandy instead of rum
So I made another batch of mascarpone and then another tiramisu, this time with brandy mixed into the filling (but just a half cup, since I’m modest like that). It was better. The alcohol was stronger, yes, but it felt less bracing and more cohesive. Perhaps the fat from the eggs and cheese had tempered it somewhat?
Still, no one in my family much cared for it because: Alcohol. And my mom was like, Raw eggs, Jennifer? Which made me laugh because she basically raised me on ice cream made with raw eggs (and then later it occurred to me that tiramisu is pretty much just a cheesecake version of eggnog but minus the nutmeg).
I made a bowl of tiramisu with the excess
So after I ate my fill, I passed the bulk of it off to a friend. She texted later, “That tiramisu was the bomb!!!!” and when I followed up to see what she thought about the alcohol (more? less?), she said, “I liked it, but a little less booze would be ok.”
So there you go: if you like booze and coffee, then I expect you’ll like tiramisu. If you don’t, then you won’t. End of story.
P.S. I didn’t take any cross-section photos of the second tiramisu but here’s a photo of the first one:
Note that a bunch of the espresso settled to the bottom. This was, perhaps, because my layers of pudding were too thin and didn’t create a sufficient barrier. With the second tiramisu, I made more substantial pudding layers, which omitted the soggy bottom.
Tiramisu Adapted from a mash-up of recipes from Grace and Maria.
*I never measured my mascarpone: I just made 1 quart of cream into cheese and then used that. *Three double-shots of espresso were sufficient. If you don’t have an espresso maker, just use really strong coffee. *I used Balocco Savoiardi Ladyfingers — Amazon sells a big bag which makes enough for a double batch of tiramisu. *Make sure the espresso is cool — otherwise the ladyfingers will disintegrate.) *I used a small rectangular pan (maybe 7×11 inches?) and it overflowed, so go with a 9×13 pan, or a large springform pan.
1 pound mascarpone, approximately 4 eggs, divided ½ cup sugar, divided ½ cup brandy 1 ¼ cups espresso, chilled about 30 ladyfingers (approx 300 grams) unsweetened cocoa, for dusting
Beat the egg whites, gradually adding ¼ cup of sugar, until stiff peaks form. Transfer to another bowl and set aside.
In the same mixing bowl (no need to wash it), beat the egg yolks and the remaining 1/4 cup of the sugar for 3-5 minutes, until fluffy and light in color. Beat in the mascarpone. Fold in the eggs whites. Stir in the brandy.
Quickly dip the ladyfingers, one at a time, in the espresso and arrange them in a single layer in the bottom of the pan. Dollop in half the pudding and spread it smooth. Repeat with a second layer of espresso-dipped ladyfingers and the remaining pudding. Dust the surface liberally with cocoa powder and transfer to the fridge. Allow the tiramisu to chill for at least 12 hours before serving. (You can eat it right away but the ladyfingers may still have a bit of a crunch to them; after 12 hours they should be completely soft.)
Tiramisu lasts in the fridge for dayssssssssss.
One more thing: I sent some of the tiramisu (from the second batch) in to my Italian co-worker.
Here are some clips from her texts: There’s something about the cream that’s pretty different from mine but that may be because it’s homemade mascarpone. And, The cream is a bit more sweet and rich than what mine turns out to be. And, I also use significantly more alcohol. She thought the coffee should be stronger, but when I told her how much I used, she said maybe I just needed to dunk the ladyfingers in the coffee a tad bit longer. Also! I really like it and I’m quite picky with my tiramisu.
