BanApple Sur-pies: the Ultimate College Dessert

College is not generally a time of great culinary advancements, but today, history was made and what might just be the ultimate college dessert was born:

Part bananas foster.

Part apple pie.

Part bread pudding.

We call it… BanApple Sur-pies

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“Well…it looks good in person.” -Master Chef Josh

You too can recreate this marvelous delicacy if you have….

Ingredients:

  • 2 forgotten and almost brown bananas
  • 1 green apple you stole from the caf last week
  • 4 slices gluten free bread (or 2 slices of regular, not oddly-small bread)
  • enough cinnamon for two people to complete “ye olde cinnamon challenge of 2010”
  • enough honey to compensate for the lack of actual sugar
  • several tablespoons zero-calorie, low-fat (preferably diet) water
  • 2-3(ish) tablespoons of the coconut oil you also use as makeup remover

Materials:

  • A stove and sink (preferably in the dorm common area so you can make use of whatever utensils you find lying around)
  • A frying pan (preferably your own)
  • At least one fork (I had to eat with a knife…) and a knife (two if you do not have enough forks)
  • spatula

Bonus Resources:

  • The hunger of a student deep in the “sophomore slump.”
  • The blind determination to make something, anything edible by combining the remnants of groceries found in your dorm.
  • A partner who understands that “sprinkling” is different than indiscriminately “dumping” when it comes to spices.
  • Whipped cream…which by a terrible tragedy arrived too late to be included in this first attempt.
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“It’s starting to look like something!” – Sous Chef Me

Directions:

  1. Slice the bananas. Eat a few when your cooking partner isn’t looking.
  2. Spread coconut oil in the frying pan and allow to melt over medium heat.
  3. Place banana slices in pan evenly and allow to sizzle for 1-2 minutes. Turn your face in despair as the bananas become mush instead of beautiful golden crisps.
  4. As you do so, mix water, honey, and a little cinnamon together in a cup you found left behind (#finderskeepers).
  5. Flip the bananas over as best as you can and allow the other side to fizzle for another minute or so.
  6. Drizzle the water mixture over the former banana slices. Panic at your inability to drizzle. Give up and just dump it.
  7. Look at the weird banana soup you just made. Disgusting. Consider using the sponge you found in the sink to soak up the liquid. Decide that’s a bad idea. Use bread instead.
  8. Tear the bread into bite-size pieces. Really tear that bread. Take out your anger on the bread. That bread is your midterm and you are going to destroy it.
  9. Toss the bread remains into the frying pan with the weird banana soup. Poke it with the spatula to see if it moves. Now stir it all together.
  10. Rejoice with your (optional) cooking partner when the mixture starts to look more like bread pudding than throw-up.
  11. Accidentally dump more cinnamon onto the mixture. Have the cinnamon confiscated by your partner. Compensate by adding honey when he isn’t looking.
  12. Hmmmm….stare together at your shapeless creation. Turn down the heat. Both you and the food need to chill out.
  13. Think with regret that you could have made apple pie. Decide to add chopped apple to your banana no-longer-soup. Close enough.
  14. Before mixing in the chopped apple pieces, fry them in a tablespoon of coconut oil (enough to remove waterproof mascara) on the opposite side of the pan.
  15. Now mix them in with the banana stuff.
  16. Garnish the mixture with more cinnamon and honey until it looks and smells like it will taste good. Believe me, you’ll know.
  17. Scoop onto a plate and call your roommate. Beg her to bring whipped cream for you to put on top. Lament when she is off campus.
  18. Make puns to revive your spirits.
  19. Look with yearning and pride at your creation.
  20. With or without whipped cream, enjoy your finished “BanApple Sur-pies” with whatever utensils you have on hand. Or, if it comes down to it, your hand.
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We were a little afraid to try it…but it was sooooo worth it.

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It ended up being so good, we were in anguish when we dropped a single piece. (Also that girl with the meme-worthy face is 100% not me….)

#WriterGoals by Homer, Odysseus, and Ryanne

Yes, my title is a hashtag. Sometimes I like to break the trend of ordinary prose. Sorry not sorry. Ironically, however, this post is based on writing standards set waaaaaaaay back in the days of Homer. In reading through The Odyssey for my university’s honors institute, I realized two things: First, listening to Chopin’s nocturnes whilst reading makes even the most boring of passages intensely moving. For real, I felt tears coming when Odysseus’ men were turned into pigs. Thanks, Chopin. Secondly, although Homer (whether of not you believe in him or think he was a group of poets or whatever new conspiracy is floating around in the literary community) does tend to be a bit- well- wordy in his accounts of first the Trojan War and then the homecoming journey of Odysseus, he is a master at his craft and the fact that philosophers and students alike have been studying his epics for thousands of years ought to be proof of that. Further evidence for this mastery is in his recognition of the key components of good writing/story-telling: truth, reason, and beauty.

He says in Book XI lines 363-369:

“‘Odysseus, we as we look upon you do not imagine

that you are a deceptive or thievish man, the sort that the black earth

breeds in great numbers, people who wander widely, making up

lying stories, from which no one could learn anything. You have

a grace upon your words, and there is sound sense within them,

and expertly, as a singer would do, you have told the story

of the dismal sorrows befallen yourself and all of the Argives.'”

In this instance, a king is praising the eloquence and clarity of Odysseus’ account of his journey, but more significantly, Homer is, through this character, identifying the essential components of writing worthy of enduring esteem. Such writing, first of all, must feature truth. When Odysseus concludes his tale, the first remark that the king makes is regarding the verity of Odysseus’ words; they are not fantasy, at least in the context of this epic, and thus deserving of serious consideration. But does all writing need to be true then in order to be great? The Harry Potter geek within me screams “NO!” in answer to this and, actually, the fangirl part of me is correct. C.S. Lewis believed strongly in fiction because of its seemingly paradoxical ability to convey truth. Take his most famous series, The Chronicles of Narnia, for instance. In any given library, these would be shelved with other works of fiction and probably even among children’s fiction. However, it is impossible to read these wonderful books without coming away having learned from them lessons of sacrifice, morality, family, forgiveness, and, consequently, truth. Good fiction always centers on truth.  Whether this truth is found in the form of a universal theme such as what it means to be a man or even a real event such as the an ancient war, if you dig deep enough as a reader or write well enough as an author, some aspect of truth will always be found at the core of a truly great piece of literature.

Continuing on, the king praises the sensible nature of Odysseus’ words; he does not use more than necessary. Bored readers might argue that Homer is not exactly concise, but when one considers the vast amount of mythology, culture, character descriptions, interactions, geographical courses, and rituals that are woven together to create the intricate tapestry of this epic, it becomes a wonder that such a magnificent story could be consolidated into a mere twenty-four book poem. This often unappreciated conciseness is vital to truly great writing. Of course, as the saying goes, “even Homer nods”, and some passages, such as the listings of over 600 Achaian ships in The Iliad are arguably a bit much, but considering the wealth of information and the overall complexity, this is certainly excusable.

Finally, Odysseus’ (and Homer’s) words are revered as beautiful. Being originally poetry sung by roaming bards, it is probably a no-brainer that The Iliad and The Odyssey are considered among the most beautiful pieces of literature. In this passage, great writing is described as having “a grace” and being crafted “expertly, as a singer would do.” Both poetry and prose must have a flow, a grace like the one here described. In music performed by a singer, every note, every inflection of the voice, every tiny breathe and consonant must be purposefully employed in order to convey the message of the song. In the same manner, a great writer must choose his or her words with purpose; not a “jot or tittle” is thrown in carelessly in attempt to meet a word count or appear more intelligent to the ignorant reader, but rather, each phrase is composed like a line of music, thus appealing to the reader’s deepest sense of beauty. Of course, one might debate that “beauty is in the eye of the beholder,” but regardless of personal opinions of individual readers, by combining intentionality with artistry, a level of universal beauty, such as that achieved by the enduring works of literature, can be achieved.

To summarize: Many truths. Very clear. Much beauty. (Sorry, breaking the flow of my prose again. At least it was not a hashtag this time.) This passage in The Odyssey was one of those passages that make me gasp “Ah-ha!” aloud in the middle of the library. It made me race to the nearest computer to jot down my thoughts and publish them to my blog in the unlikely case that one of my readers may find inspiration in them as I did. This passage made me take a step back and reevaluate myself as a writer, but it also gave me a renewed passion as it guided me toward the path of truly great writing, that which is truth-centered, focused, and beautiful.

A Dash of Color

When we think about books, especially about what type of books we prefer, we tend to categorize them into genres, time periods, literary movements, etc. Today, during a visit to the library, my school librarian commented that The Maze Runner and Divergent are silver. This seemed a completely logical statement to me and I added that I needed a silver book as ebony (such as the works of Charles Dickens) was too deep a tinge for the moment. Then, I realized: books truly can be described simply through colors (and the occasional pattern.) This sounds whimsical, but to any serious reader, whimsy and sense are actually quite similar.

Anyway, my thoughts took the loveliest turn this evening as I considered which of my favorite books are best represented by which colors and I came to some entertaining conclusions. For example:

 

Anne of Green Gables– a pale, minty green speckled with purplish flowers

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Gone With the Wind– vibrant Scarlet, like the character, tinged with emerald

The Mysterious Benedict Society– cream with splashes of navy

The Picture of Dorian Grayreddish mahogany

The Hunger Games– bronze

Harry Potter– fiery orange like the Weasleys’ hair

The Fairy’s Return and Other Princess Tales– blush pink and crystal

Pride and Prejudicepastel rose-pink with traces of green

Little Women– indigo with feathery white patches

Charlotte’s Web– cornflower blue

The Phantom of the Operadeep purple with silver linings

The Illustrated Man– blend of deep colors, like a sleeve tattoo

Those are just a couple; my mind has been a flurry of titles and hues all night! It amazes me how many pictures authors can create through words, evoking memories of color and texture with only black words on a white page.  And now my mind is turning to music… just imagine all the shades painted within the compositions of Chopin, Bach, or Grieg! But I’ll save that for another time. For now, I’m going to enjoy some “silver” reading.