So several years ago when I was first introduced to Steampunk I thought it was just delightful. I love reinterpretations of days long past, and I have a little soft spot for the Victorian and Edwardian eras. It was just a fun geek-driven fashion movement then, not the fumbling almost sub-culture it is today. Better yet, not long after having discovered Steampunk, I moved to the greater Seattle area, which teemed with it like a bubbling crucible in a mad scientist's workshop. I dove in head first - bought my goggles (off of Etsy, cobbled from leather and steel and glass, no plastic reworked nonsense here), went to my first Abney Park concert, and invested in a less clubby more traditional corset. I had lists of plans, things I wanted to do, possibilities I wanted to pursue. I liked the military look in Steampunk, and wanted to combine it with something more delicate and feminine to craft a new creature all together.
My initial stumbling block was money. Unless you're a seamstress and crafter, Steampunk is expensive. I am neither of those things, and while they're skills I more or less possess I really don't have the time to apply them nor the tools (not anymore at least). Eventually money was saved, but by that time my enthusiasm had started to wane considerably. I still really liked Abney Park, but I couldn't get into other bands in the genre - I really don't care for Deadly Nightshade Botanical Society as every time I've seen them it feels like they're just trying to be Abney Park with a female frontman. Finally, I began to encounter the snobbery. I wasn't Victorian enough. My ensemble wasn't elaborate enough (though it seemed I could have gotten around elaborate by being thinner and tramping it up). Even all this wasn't that big of a deal, though - sure it affected my enthusiasm but I still deeply enjoyed the aesthetic of Steampunk.
I suspect what finally brought me to the point where I am now is the fact that Steampunk seems to have, well, run out of steam. Locally at least. I volunteered at SteamCon this past fall. It was fun, I'll do it again this fall. However, while at the con, it seemed very apparent to me that people had found their one look for Steampunk, and were done. The utter lack of variety floored me. I worked in the hospitality and green rooms - I met a lot of people. I also lost track of how many people were wearing different combinations of the same clothes.
No one is thinking outside the box anymore. Granted, it doesn't help that the head cheese of SteamCon seems to have a very narrow idea of what "Twue Steampunk" is, but this phenomena goes beyond the convention. It seems, in Seattle at least, that Steampunk is Victorian with goggles and a painted nerf gun, and that's it. More creativity needs to be fostered, but at this point I no longer have the enthusiasm to do it.
Monday, January 24, 2011
Tuesday, January 18, 2011
Professional Jealousy
Oh, look, a blog! And I do believe it's mine! Excuse me while I knock the five inches of dust off my soap box here.
So then. I suppose I should have something update-ish on here about what I've been doing with my life, etc, but I don't feel like it. Not today, at least. We've entered into the time of year in Washington where the weather starts to get to me, and relief isn't due to present itself until April. As such, I'm a trifle crabby. So today I'm going to vent about something.
It seems that a number of my friends and associates in the past four to six months have been blessed with opportunities to work on various projects. This is good. My issue, is that I have been trying to work on projects of similar nature to these people, with no success. I'll give you an example of what I mean.
A friend of mine and I have been working on a comic for a while now. We have 20+ scripts written out, several already drawn and inked, and I've got the website more than half finished. We need more finished comics before the website launches if we hope to maintain any consistency. Fine and good, I'm not in a rush, it'll happen. Where the twitching comes in is that this same friend is drawing another comic, which she started on far more recently that the one she and I have collaborated on, and it's already online. With several regular updates at that.
Now this is due almost entirely to the fact that I moved and the other author still lives in the same town as my friend and can harass her to work on things, etc. Plus, it's easier to have energy for projects if the people you're working with are around to encourage you. Knowing this does not stop me from being a trifle angsty on the subject.
The other situations are all of a similar ilk. I'm happy for my friends, I'm glad they have success, I'm just a little envious of it. Why can't I have success? Why can't any of these things I've put time and energy and my soul into work for me? Why is it just being at the right place at the right time counts for so much more than effort ever will?
And I think that's enough crabbiness for right now. I will go scuttle sideways into the kitchen and make some tea. Tea improves all things.
So then. I suppose I should have something update-ish on here about what I've been doing with my life, etc, but I don't feel like it. Not today, at least. We've entered into the time of year in Washington where the weather starts to get to me, and relief isn't due to present itself until April. As such, I'm a trifle crabby. So today I'm going to vent about something.
It seems that a number of my friends and associates in the past four to six months have been blessed with opportunities to work on various projects. This is good. My issue, is that I have been trying to work on projects of similar nature to these people, with no success. I'll give you an example of what I mean.
A friend of mine and I have been working on a comic for a while now. We have 20+ scripts written out, several already drawn and inked, and I've got the website more than half finished. We need more finished comics before the website launches if we hope to maintain any consistency. Fine and good, I'm not in a rush, it'll happen. Where the twitching comes in is that this same friend is drawing another comic, which she started on far more recently that the one she and I have collaborated on, and it's already online. With several regular updates at that.
Now this is due almost entirely to the fact that I moved and the other author still lives in the same town as my friend and can harass her to work on things, etc. Plus, it's easier to have energy for projects if the people you're working with are around to encourage you. Knowing this does not stop me from being a trifle angsty on the subject.
The other situations are all of a similar ilk. I'm happy for my friends, I'm glad they have success, I'm just a little envious of it. Why can't I have success? Why can't any of these things I've put time and energy and my soul into work for me? Why is it just being at the right place at the right time counts for so much more than effort ever will?
And I think that's enough crabbiness for right now. I will go scuttle sideways into the kitchen and make some tea. Tea improves all things.
Wednesday, April 7, 2010
A pioneer naive enough to believe this...
Due to an intriguing combination of being a couple years older than most of my friends and being the reckless and somewhat headstrong woman that I am, I have often been the first to do things. From having sex to going to college to having children, it was me first. Even with more simple things like hobbies and general interests. I have had somewhat of a pioneering spirit, and perfectly willing to drag people into activities even if they weren't sure they would like it.
Unfortunately, this has had some uncomfortable side affects as well. Being the first person to try something meant that my friends had no idea how to react to my actions. I was who they learned with. This benefited everyone who came after in a given activity, but not me. When I went away to college, no one was real sure how to respond. I wasn't visited until well into the second semester of my freshman year. Everyone seemed surprised that I wanted to make plans with them when I came home for breaks. There was a lot of anger and missed connections that simply were a matter of people not thinking. When the next on the list scampered off to school, these hiccups had been overcome, and we'd learned from our mistakes how to communicate with each other and avoid unintentional insult.
When I became pregnant, I was still pretty young (just shy of twenty), and no one knew how to handle it. People pulled away from me - hell, my male friends stopped hugging me because they were so weirded out by the concept. Ironically, this strange abandonment contributed in ways to me marrying the father of my child, even when I knew deep in the back in my mind it was a bad idea. Yet he was offering to be there for me when everyone else I loved was turning away just because this concept was too uncomfortable, too new, and they weren't ready for it. This is perhaps why it hurt (and continues to hurt) all the more to see them be so easy and accepting with other people's children. They worked through the strangeness with me, which is good, but it also fueled bitter anger when no one else was ostracized the way I had been.
I could go on, but it's going to make me sound more bitter than I actually am. Yes, I do still get sad when I think about some of these things. Depending on the incident I even get angry. I have never been very good about my expression of anger, and as such I have lingering bitterness on a number of issues. It isn't all consuming, and most days I don't even think about it. Truth be told, this strange trip down memory lane is inspired by the fact that an acquaintance is going through some similar challenges.
I think, in closing, I wish that my firsts had been met with more celebration, or at the very least more understanding. In the end I suppose I'll just have to content myself with shaking my head and feeling vaguely superior for having done all of these things before they were "popular".
Unfortunately, this has had some uncomfortable side affects as well. Being the first person to try something meant that my friends had no idea how to react to my actions. I was who they learned with. This benefited everyone who came after in a given activity, but not me. When I went away to college, no one was real sure how to respond. I wasn't visited until well into the second semester of my freshman year. Everyone seemed surprised that I wanted to make plans with them when I came home for breaks. There was a lot of anger and missed connections that simply were a matter of people not thinking. When the next on the list scampered off to school, these hiccups had been overcome, and we'd learned from our mistakes how to communicate with each other and avoid unintentional insult.
When I became pregnant, I was still pretty young (just shy of twenty), and no one knew how to handle it. People pulled away from me - hell, my male friends stopped hugging me because they were so weirded out by the concept. Ironically, this strange abandonment contributed in ways to me marrying the father of my child, even when I knew deep in the back in my mind it was a bad idea. Yet he was offering to be there for me when everyone else I loved was turning away just because this concept was too uncomfortable, too new, and they weren't ready for it. This is perhaps why it hurt (and continues to hurt) all the more to see them be so easy and accepting with other people's children. They worked through the strangeness with me, which is good, but it also fueled bitter anger when no one else was ostracized the way I had been.
I could go on, but it's going to make me sound more bitter than I actually am. Yes, I do still get sad when I think about some of these things. Depending on the incident I even get angry. I have never been very good about my expression of anger, and as such I have lingering bitterness on a number of issues. It isn't all consuming, and most days I don't even think about it. Truth be told, this strange trip down memory lane is inspired by the fact that an acquaintance is going through some similar challenges.
I think, in closing, I wish that my firsts had been met with more celebration, or at the very least more understanding. In the end I suppose I'll just have to content myself with shaking my head and feeling vaguely superior for having done all of these things before they were "popular".
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
Not Growing Old
I have maintained, for quite some time now, that I am not going to die.
I just don't want to. There's too much to do, too much to see, too much promise looming on the horizon of what the world could offer if we just give it a little bit longer.
That said, this also means I can't grow old - I cannot be like Eos's husband Tithonus who continued to age and grow smaller until he became a chirping cricket. In order to enjoy the bubbling, bright future I need a body capable of enduring all it presents to me. My legs must be hale to move me about, my arms must function so that I can bring things in to hold close, I must bend with my lover, I must stand firm against attack, I must persist with beauty and grace, in form as well as spirit.
At the same time, however, I am not preoccupied with youth. The women on my mother's side of the family have a gift for ripening in their middle years. I learned this when I was still a teenager, looking at pictures of my grandmother in her early twenties compared to one of her at thirty-eight. She was a pretty, round-faced woman in her early twenties, but she was stunning at thirty-eight. Her face has lost its' youthful roundness and was defined, and she held herself with far less awkwardness. My mother matured in much the same way, though I did see her lose some of her vivacity when life rather unceremoniously dumped enough strain to break others on her shoulders. That said, she is still a beautiful woman. So with this in mind, I am looking forward to aging a few more years.
After I have reached that point which I have seen in the generations before me, I'm stopping. No more aging, no dying, no growing old. I'm just not going to do it. I can be hopelessly stubborn at times, and I'm counting on that to be an asset to me for once. There is so much in this world! It is so full of marvels and horrors and adventures and a normal lifetime is not enough to experience it all.
On a closing note - I do not like to speak to parties directly when journal-ing, but I feel I must. My love - I hope you understand what I'm saying when I tell you I want to not grow old with you.
- Sway
I just don't want to. There's too much to do, too much to see, too much promise looming on the horizon of what the world could offer if we just give it a little bit longer.
That said, this also means I can't grow old - I cannot be like Eos's husband Tithonus who continued to age and grow smaller until he became a chirping cricket. In order to enjoy the bubbling, bright future I need a body capable of enduring all it presents to me. My legs must be hale to move me about, my arms must function so that I can bring things in to hold close, I must bend with my lover, I must stand firm against attack, I must persist with beauty and grace, in form as well as spirit.
At the same time, however, I am not preoccupied with youth. The women on my mother's side of the family have a gift for ripening in their middle years. I learned this when I was still a teenager, looking at pictures of my grandmother in her early twenties compared to one of her at thirty-eight. She was a pretty, round-faced woman in her early twenties, but she was stunning at thirty-eight. Her face has lost its' youthful roundness and was defined, and she held herself with far less awkwardness. My mother matured in much the same way, though I did see her lose some of her vivacity when life rather unceremoniously dumped enough strain to break others on her shoulders. That said, she is still a beautiful woman. So with this in mind, I am looking forward to aging a few more years.
After I have reached that point which I have seen in the generations before me, I'm stopping. No more aging, no dying, no growing old. I'm just not going to do it. I can be hopelessly stubborn at times, and I'm counting on that to be an asset to me for once. There is so much in this world! It is so full of marvels and horrors and adventures and a normal lifetime is not enough to experience it all.
On a closing note - I do not like to speak to parties directly when journal-ing, but I feel I must. My love - I hope you understand what I'm saying when I tell you I want to not grow old with you.
- Sway
Thursday, January 7, 2010
The importance of Consistency
Good morning, kittens. At least, I hope it is a good morning for you all.
This morning, like every morning, I somehow managed to drag myself out of bed and not only get myself dressed but also get my son dressed and ready for school, and then out the door to his bus. He catches the bus right up the alley from our place. It's fairly convenient.
Like every morning, I walked him to the bus, told him I loved him, and stood there waiting until the bus pulled away. Like every morning, I waved as the bus pulled away, and he didn't look in my direction. He pretty much never looks in my direction - he sits on the opposite side of the bus and tends to look out the window. However, I'll keep waving. Because I know the day I decide not to bother will be the day that he looks, and is crushed because Mama didn't wave.
Raising children is like that. You have to be consistent. You have to keep doing things even when you don't see the point, even if it feels like a waste of time, even if you feel horribly unappreciated. Because the moment you stop, they'll notice, and be devastated. Consistency is also good because it proves to them they can rely on you, and they can trust you. And if you ask me, there are few things that need to be guarded more carefully than a child's trust.
This morning, like every morning, I somehow managed to drag myself out of bed and not only get myself dressed but also get my son dressed and ready for school, and then out the door to his bus. He catches the bus right up the alley from our place. It's fairly convenient.
Like every morning, I walked him to the bus, told him I loved him, and stood there waiting until the bus pulled away. Like every morning, I waved as the bus pulled away, and he didn't look in my direction. He pretty much never looks in my direction - he sits on the opposite side of the bus and tends to look out the window. However, I'll keep waving. Because I know the day I decide not to bother will be the day that he looks, and is crushed because Mama didn't wave.
Raising children is like that. You have to be consistent. You have to keep doing things even when you don't see the point, even if it feels like a waste of time, even if you feel horribly unappreciated. Because the moment you stop, they'll notice, and be devastated. Consistency is also good because it proves to them they can rely on you, and they can trust you. And if you ask me, there are few things that need to be guarded more carefully than a child's trust.
Sunday, January 3, 2010
Location, location, location...
Good morning, kittens. It's another presumably glorious day - I say presumably because it's very early and the day hasn't actually dawned yet. Or at least not enough for me to tell whether or not the day will be glorious.
I have been back in Washington for going on three days now. It has taken me some time to adjust to being here again - my head is still very much in Colorado. It seems that two weeks simply was not a long enough trip to visit with everyone and feel like I'd had my fill. I rather eagerly look forward to going back in the summer.
It did occur to me, however, that it seems I enjoy these people more now than I did when I lived there. This is very likely due to absence making the heart grow fonder, but I don't think that's all of it. I think it's also because I'm happier. I wasn't capable of admiring these wonderful creatures in my life because I was so mired down in worry, exhaustion, and fear. I had to leave everyone I cared about behind in order to realize just how much I cared about them. That, my darlings, is what you call "ironic".
So now I sit here on the edge of the country, in the opposite corner of the map from where I spent my childhood, and I look at not only how much distance I've traveled, but reflect on how much I've changed while doing so. And also on how much I've stayed the same.
And to those who sit missing me, know that I love you. With all my heart I love you. And I will see you in the summer.
I have been back in Washington for going on three days now. It has taken me some time to adjust to being here again - my head is still very much in Colorado. It seems that two weeks simply was not a long enough trip to visit with everyone and feel like I'd had my fill. I rather eagerly look forward to going back in the summer.
It did occur to me, however, that it seems I enjoy these people more now than I did when I lived there. This is very likely due to absence making the heart grow fonder, but I don't think that's all of it. I think it's also because I'm happier. I wasn't capable of admiring these wonderful creatures in my life because I was so mired down in worry, exhaustion, and fear. I had to leave everyone I cared about behind in order to realize just how much I cared about them. That, my darlings, is what you call "ironic".
So now I sit here on the edge of the country, in the opposite corner of the map from where I spent my childhood, and I look at not only how much distance I've traveled, but reflect on how much I've changed while doing so. And also on how much I've stayed the same.
And to those who sit missing me, know that I love you. With all my heart I love you. And I will see you in the summer.
Saturday, January 2, 2010
Motivate me
Happy New Year my freakish darlings.
I'm quite sorry to say that I've been most naughty when it comes to updating this blog. Shame on me. I will endeavor to do better in this shiny and untouched year that is stretching out before us. I will endeavor to do many things better. I feel tingly and full of promise. Which is interesting, because that's not a feeling I usually have at the New Year. I usually sit here going "well, here we go, second verse same as the first".
Now surely this is where you would want to ask me about my resolutions, but I do not believe in New Years resolutions. I do, however, have some goals, a couple are particularly long term, and because of my giving and generous nature I will share them with you.
My first goal, and perhaps my most long term, is 50 pounds in 5 years. By the time I am 35 I want to be in the best shape I've been in for the whole of my adult life. This includes, amongst other things, losing ten pounds a year for the next five years. Why only ten pounds you ask? Because I intend to replace a lot of my weight with muscle. I need to be stronger. If for no other reason than because I don't know how much longer Corwyn will need someone capable of physically restraining him. He's getting bigger and stronger every day, and if he really fought me I probably couldn't hold him.
My second goal is to come up with a way of bringing in extra income while still taking advantage of this time I have to help the children towards independence. I can't hold down a conventional job at this time because of the kids' conflicting school schedules, but we need more income. I have a handful of ideas. I need to begin implementing them. If I can do that, and we can stop worrying so much about income, then I can use this opportunity to restructure things at home and make the most out of this time where Corwyn is concerned.
My third goal (and it applies to the first two, so maybe I should adjust goal order) is to set myself to a schedule every day. Just a list of things to do which I can check off through the day. I accomplish more if I'm kept on task.
My final goal is to take the me that lives in the corner of my mind and shove her out into the light a little more often. You'll know her when you encounter her. She's utterly fabulous.
And that's all for now, kittens. Be good to yourselves, and to somebody else.
I'm quite sorry to say that I've been most naughty when it comes to updating this blog. Shame on me. I will endeavor to do better in this shiny and untouched year that is stretching out before us. I will endeavor to do many things better. I feel tingly and full of promise. Which is interesting, because that's not a feeling I usually have at the New Year. I usually sit here going "well, here we go, second verse same as the first".
Now surely this is where you would want to ask me about my resolutions, but I do not believe in New Years resolutions. I do, however, have some goals, a couple are particularly long term, and because of my giving and generous nature I will share them with you.
My first goal, and perhaps my most long term, is 50 pounds in 5 years. By the time I am 35 I want to be in the best shape I've been in for the whole of my adult life. This includes, amongst other things, losing ten pounds a year for the next five years. Why only ten pounds you ask? Because I intend to replace a lot of my weight with muscle. I need to be stronger. If for no other reason than because I don't know how much longer Corwyn will need someone capable of physically restraining him. He's getting bigger and stronger every day, and if he really fought me I probably couldn't hold him.
My second goal is to come up with a way of bringing in extra income while still taking advantage of this time I have to help the children towards independence. I can't hold down a conventional job at this time because of the kids' conflicting school schedules, but we need more income. I have a handful of ideas. I need to begin implementing them. If I can do that, and we can stop worrying so much about income, then I can use this opportunity to restructure things at home and make the most out of this time where Corwyn is concerned.
My third goal (and it applies to the first two, so maybe I should adjust goal order) is to set myself to a schedule every day. Just a list of things to do which I can check off through the day. I accomplish more if I'm kept on task.
My final goal is to take the me that lives in the corner of my mind and shove her out into the light a little more often. You'll know her when you encounter her. She's utterly fabulous.
And that's all for now, kittens. Be good to yourselves, and to somebody else.
Sunday, October 25, 2009
The Dreaming
Halloween is almost upon us, and I find myself involved in the Little Red Studio's Halloween show entitled The Dreaming: An Erotic Haunted House. Now, despite the title, it's not actually a haunted house in the more traditional sense. It's a performance, and the space is certainly haunted, but...well, here's the write up:"Step quietly inside a young woman's dream and experience the erotic through her eyes. Seductive and surprising, sweet and terrifying, The Dreaming is Halloween as only Little Red Studio can offer. Join us for Little Red Studio's 2nd Annual presentation of Seattle's only erotic Haunted House."
My role in this production is that of a ghost - I decided on a Hollywood Golden Age starlet who had od'ed on martinis and sleeping pills. I stagger about in a white satin night gown and matching robe, my martini glass still in my hand, drunkenly berating the pretty guests and flirting with every decently attractive male that passes by. It's by far too much fun. I wish there had been enough time and resources to construct a second outfit for the show - I would enjoy switching up characters. I may still attempt to dig through my closet and find something, though I have an issue with white. As one may well imagine, I don't own much white. My first ghost costume was pieced together over the past few weeks by raiding every Goodwill in a ten mile radius and ordering from clearance sales online. As I told a friend, I don't even own white underwear!
Well, my wardrobe aside, it's a fantastic show, and if you're anywhere in the Seattle area, or even western Washington, I highly recommend seeing it. The Dreaming will run every night through to Halloween, two shows a night.
- Sway
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
Other People's Children (And the problems they present)
So earlier today I stood on the sidewalk at 5th and Walnut, impatiently waiting for my daughter to get home from school. I figured it would be your average day - she and her friend Didi would bounce off the bus, run ahead, and Didi would steer the conversation towards boys while Fiona would just be happy to have a friend to talk with. Imagine my surprise when instead, a sobbing child ran off the bus into my arms, clinging to me with miserable desperation. Didi followed her off the bus murmuring, "Fiona, I'm sorry." My daughter just continued to cling to me, and we walked back towards my car.
Once her friend had left, Fiona tearfully informed me that Didi had scared her by yelling at her. Wanting to be reasonable, I asked why, and couldn't get more than a choked "I don't know" in response.
My daughter is young for her age, very sensitive. She's so much like her mother that my heart breaks for her. I remember those years of my life - crushed by even the slightest rejection or disappointment. I still cry in the face of significant disappointment (I've just learned enough self control to do it when no one's looking). My first impulse is to tell her that she shouldn't talk to Didi anymore, but I know that's not right. They need to work out whatever this is on their own. I can't protect her from every slight, and I shouldn't. The girls are at the age where children really start to pick up on casual cruelty, and I can't very well tell Fiona to avoid all the other children in her school to avoid getting her feelings hurt.
I do intend to tell her that she doesn't have to put up with it - she doesn't have to boycott her friend, but she does need to say that she won't let Didi treat her that way. I hope I can present it in a way that sticks.
This would be why, with maybe three exceptions, I don't like other people's children.
Once her friend had left, Fiona tearfully informed me that Didi had scared her by yelling at her. Wanting to be reasonable, I asked why, and couldn't get more than a choked "I don't know" in response.
My daughter is young for her age, very sensitive. She's so much like her mother that my heart breaks for her. I remember those years of my life - crushed by even the slightest rejection or disappointment. I still cry in the face of significant disappointment (I've just learned enough self control to do it when no one's looking). My first impulse is to tell her that she shouldn't talk to Didi anymore, but I know that's not right. They need to work out whatever this is on their own. I can't protect her from every slight, and I shouldn't. The girls are at the age where children really start to pick up on casual cruelty, and I can't very well tell Fiona to avoid all the other children in her school to avoid getting her feelings hurt.
I do intend to tell her that she doesn't have to put up with it - she doesn't have to boycott her friend, but she does need to say that she won't let Didi treat her that way. I hope I can present it in a way that sticks.
This would be why, with maybe three exceptions, I don't like other people's children.
Sunday, October 11, 2009
Oh. My. Cod.
I wanted to begin this with some clever Captain Hook reference, but I just wasn't feeling as inspired as one would have liked.
This is actually a combination of two or three other recipes. I took what I liked, discarded what sounded boring. And here we go!
3/4 cup white miso
3 tbsp sugar
1/3 cup mirin
3 tbsp unseasoned rice vinegar
1 1/2 tsp grated ginger
2 tsp sesame oil
2 lbs cod fillets or fillet pieces
Combine all ingredients (except the cod) in a small saucepan. Whisk together on medium heat until well blended and sugar dissolves. Remove from heat, allow to cool. Refridgerate for a couple hours to make sure it's cold, then add the cod. Marinate for 24 to 48 hours.
Scrape excess marinade from the cod fillets, and arrange on a greased, foil-lined baking sheet. Broil six inches from heat for 7-10 minutes until browned.
I served this with sugar snap peas and udon noodles tossed with no more than a teaspoon of sesame oil. I encourage you to be creative.
Enjoy!
- Sway
This is actually a combination of two or three other recipes. I took what I liked, discarded what sounded boring. And here we go!
3/4 cup white miso
3 tbsp sugar
1/3 cup mirin
3 tbsp unseasoned rice vinegar
1 1/2 tsp grated ginger
2 tsp sesame oil
2 lbs cod fillets or fillet pieces
Combine all ingredients (except the cod) in a small saucepan. Whisk together on medium heat until well blended and sugar dissolves. Remove from heat, allow to cool. Refridgerate for a couple hours to make sure it's cold, then add the cod. Marinate for 24 to 48 hours.
Scrape excess marinade from the cod fillets, and arrange on a greased, foil-lined baking sheet. Broil six inches from heat for 7-10 minutes until browned.
I served this with sugar snap peas and udon noodles tossed with no more than a teaspoon of sesame oil. I encourage you to be creative.
Enjoy!
- Sway
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