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L.O.L.
The best of Caturday 2010…
Waldo!
The cats were not impressed by the dog.
I hate Waldo.
Spreadsheets. Synergy. Jargon.
HALP.
The cats turned three and four.
KITTEN PICTURES KITTEN PICTURES KITTEN PICTURES
Haters gonna hate.
We realized Ralph looks just like Toothless from How to Train Your Dragon.
Aaaahahaha.
PUT ME DOWN.
AND one and two and three and four AND...
VODKA ME.
You can see every Caturday ever here.
Just try it.
Taste and texture.
These are the two most common complaints I hear regarding tofu aversion. More specifically, “It tastes like nothing” and “It feels like a mushy spongey deathblob.”
Touche. I see your valid complaints and raise you one airtight, logical retaliation.
The first thing I tell people when they tell me they don’t like the taste of tofu is that it really has no taste. At all. Much like other tasteless proteins such as chicken, turkey and egg whites, tofu will take on the taste of whatever seasonings you use.
I know what you’re thinking… “NO. I like chicken. Just chicken.” And I hope you’ve repented for that lie you just told because… you are a liar. You do not like chicken. You like salt and fat and spice and whatever else is on it. I promise you this.
So if you don’t like the taste of tofu, the blame, I’m afraid, falls on you, for you have failed to properly prepare it. It’s gonna need some salt, some fat and some flavor either in the form of spices and herbs (fresh or dried) or simply by way of prepared sauce such as a salad dressing or teriyaki sauce. You know. The same shit you’d put on chicken.
As for texture, here’s the thing… Tofu in its “raw” form a mushy blob. There is no way around it. Some weirdos (like myself) don’t mind this and will eat cold, mushy, wet, blobby tofu right out of the container. If this is not your thing, there are several modes of preparation that can make it less blobby:
OR… You can embrace tofu’s funky texture and feature it rather than fight it.
Examples:
Tah dah. There you have it. Tofu is not so bad.
Fig, pear, peanut butter.
New Year’s Eve is a lot like Valentine’s Day. It’s one of those holidays where bitter single people say they hate it, couples go out and fight and happy single people get obliterated and make out with strangers. I would consider myself a happy single person this year.
Watch out, world.
Since all my out of town friends bailed on our big NYE reunion in Charlotte (jerks) and none of my Charlotte friends want to do anything with me (jerks), my friend Adrian is going to visit and do stupid things with me (and bring me a croissant). It’ll be great.
If I’m feeling feisty, I will wear this:
Yep yep yep
And if I’m not, I will be in sweatpants with a bottle of champagne in each hand. Only time will tell…
If you have big plans to drink champagne by the bottleful (with a straw) this Saturday night, then we have much in common, you and I. We will also likely share in the cold, cruel embrace of a brutal hangover. Should you find yourself in the fetal position trying to figure out how to get Harris Teeter to deliver Hot Pockets on Sunday morning, perhaps try this quick breakfast (or lunch, depending on when you wake up) instead…
Easy.
Cure what ails ya.
| Fig Pear Skillet Toast |
You could also top this with maple syrup or honey, but I think the natural sweetness warmed fruit is enough. Whatever floats your boat, you drunkard.
Do not drunk text.
You are (a) beautiful (sandwich).
“It’s easy to convince yourself it’s too cold to go outside. But really, once you get out there and build up some heat, it feels right nice,” said my 88-year-old Granddaddy Wewo, leaf blower in hand.
We were outside clearing up the front yard under the direction of Grandmother Hedy who, it bears mentioning, was laid up in the hospital not one week prior. “I’d climb up on the roof myself if the neighbors wouldn’t make such a fuss,” she said. Despite a lifetime of US citizenship, the German native still has the slightest accent, most noticeable when she says things like “Val-mart.”
Get it, girl.
I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, I come from a long line of feisty go-getters. Stubborn over-achievers might be a better way to describe it, depending on who you’re asking. (If you ask any of my [two] exes, they will refer you to the latter definition.)
Awesome.
Mammy and Wewo
I was recently out for a beer with some friends when one said, “Katie, when I first met you I thought you were so sweet and then…”
“And then you got to know me?”
“Well. I mean… No. You’re just kind of feisty.”
Damn right. It’s in the blood.
Other eccentricities I blame on my gene pool include:
Speaking of accumulating stray animals… This is happening:
Not my cat! Not my cat! Abort! Abort!
I’ve been feeding this stray cat (who I have named Mochi) since I moved in in June. Now it’s cold out and I can’t stand that Moch-Moch is out there in the freezing temperatures so I made him a box. Stick a fork in me. I’m done. There is no hope for me. Call off the suitors and order me a slanket (and maybe one of these). My future is set in stone.
ANYWAY. The point of this rant is that I took Wewo’s advice and got my ass bundled up and out on my bike this afternoon after a lovely lunch of tofu sandwiches with Mitch-Mitch, who is back from Christmas in Florida with her family.
Litterbox in the closet. You know it.
I pedaled around town and eventually spent the afternoon holed up with coffee and yoga lit…
AH!
Teacher training starts next week and I might be simultaneously very, very ready and very, very uncertain of what I’ve gotten myself into.
But (wouldn’t you know it?) today’s readings in Yoga Anatomy had a little answer for me…
“In spite of how it feels when you inhale, you are not pulling air into the body. On the contrary, air is pushed into the body by atmospheric pressure that always surrounds you. The actual force that gets air into the lungs is outside of the body. The energy you expend in breathing produces a shape change that lowers the pressure in your chest cavity and permits the air to be pushed into the body by the weight of the planet’s atmosphere.”
Wait. What?
Think about it this way… You know how people always say love finds you when you least expect it? Or a job offer comes when you stop looking? I think a lot of things in life are that way. I think that maybe everything we need always surrounds us. We need only expend a little energy readying ourselves and opening ourselves up to possibility in order to permit the weight of opportunity to be pushed into our lives.
So really there’s no sense in me fretting over this experience or trying to force it into something I want it to be or think it should be. I’ve already committed. I produced a slight change in shape–in the shape of my schedule and my finances and my mental stability–to permit this into my life. Now all I have to do is breathe.
Chestnuts!
… in a 400-degree oven.
I know I said I wouldn’t tolerate anymore holiday bullshit around these parts, but when I spotted Italian chestnuts at the grocery store yesterday, I couldn’t resist.
Roast me.
Aside from the song, I knew little of chestnuts prior to my trip to Europe in 2006. While there, I gallivanted about:
Munich
Vienna
Prague
Berlin
Amsterdam
Dublin
London
Apparently wearing the exact same thing every single day and caring naught about this supposed fashion violation. I had bigger concerns like not missing flights and not getting robbed and not running out of money and drinking local beers in every city.
I know a lot of people like to flit about Europe in the summer, but having done it in December I must say I recommend aiming for a similar itinerary. That continent does Christmas right–from Germany’s Christmas markets to Vienna’s light displays, the whole thing just felt so very… authentic?
Tio Pepe!
Vienna's lights. Amazing.
Maybe it’s just the old-world allure or the haughty satisfaction one gets saying, “Well when I was in… [insert European country here].” but it would appear from afar that everything is better overseas. Including the holidays.
So along with this authentic European Christmas spirit came the chestnut vendors, setting up shop with their elaborate roasting carts along the winding cobblestone streets in each city.
Nuggets.
I ate a whole lot of them. A whole lot. At first it was for the novelty of it, but eventually the warm, nutty, slightly sweet, starchy nuggets became something I craved on a cold night wandering the streets into the wee hours of the morning.
In preparing them at home, I’ve found that they never taste quite as good as they did that December. Isn’t that always the case? They’re a little harder to open, a little dryer, a little less thrilling. Which, truth be told, is a bit how I feel these days. A little closed off, a little too serious, a little boring.
At the time, I remember wondering when my European trip was going to change my life. I kept waiting and waiting to get that feeling that it was the most significant thing I’d ever done. After all, that’s how most people (and movies and books) describe such an adventure. But it never came. In the end, it was just a really good time while it lasted and then it was over.
Looking at it now from this slightly more adult angle, I guess it did have a profound impact on how I operate. Maybe it’s just that the trip itself is less powerful as an isolated event than it is when comparing it to my current state of affairs. It took time and distance to see what it really meant. And that, I think, probably applies to most life events.
| Roasted Chestnuts |
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Hello, vegetables.
I swear if I hear one more Christmas song I will murder a kitten. Strong words, I know, but they are for a strong emotion. I truly cannot handle one more carol or silver bell or bow or candy cane or any such nonsense. I think it’s the whole working at the mall thing that’s got me on edge this year.
You know what this means? No way in hell I’m finishing the rest of those 12 Days of Cookies. Sorry, Charlie. Maybe next year.
Nope. No baking of Christmas cookies will occur today. Today I am off with zero work or family or friend obligations. So far I have made great use of my time by doing 2.5 hours of yoga, eating lots of vegetables and sitting around in my pajamas.
WHATEVER.
One upside of Jesus’ birthday is the addition of family to my otherwise family-less routine. Though they drove me straight to the bottle (and I drove myself thousands of miles up and down I-77 to see them and then return to work) this past week, I wouldn’t have had things any other way.
Emotions were high this holiday season. My brother hosted for the first time (and decided to add a new puppy to the mix). My mom’s mom was unexpectedly hospitalized, sending her down here a full week early. My sister had to cancel her post-Christmas trip to Europe for reasons I will not explain and was in quite a state. My dad has some kind of something going on at work. And I am me. Enough said. It was like a perfect shitstorm of tension ready to snap at any minute. Were Christmas 2011 a guitar string, it would’ve been pulled taut enough to strum.
Luckily, we are a rather jolly bunch and managed to pull through with only minor (emotional) injuries. To get an idea of where I mesh in this bunch, this is what Christmas dinner looked like:
Meat Station
Yep. Yep yep yep. Because everyone needs steak and ground beef and cocktail wienies on one plate.
It’s safe to say I’m the adopted one. And I’d believe it, too, if I didn’t work just like my dad, laugh just like my mom, drink just like my brother and look just like my sister (at the right angle). Nope, I’m afraid I’m all in with this family and my genetic makeup was simply a misfire. I’m glad they keep me around anyway, what with all my liberal leanings and “weird food” and new age bullshit, because I’d be lost without them. Plus, I like to think it builds character.
Vegan salted caramel blondies
One of my goals for this year was to actively enter cooking/baking contests. Since I like to do things at the last possible second, I decided today to enter my (in)famous I Hope You Die/Salted Caramel Blondies in Saveur’s Home Cook Cookie Challenge. Voting ends, uh… tomorrow.
The back story on these bad boys is one part culinary acumen, two parts cuh-raaaaaaazypants and a dash of karmic luck. Mental instability breeds mad baking skill in my house, and I like to think a nice healthy dose of rage and heartbreak can produce impressive (albeit unexpected) results. These blondies were one such pleasant surprise.
I decided to enter the Saveur contest here in the 11th hour because the current leader has just under 300 votes. Surely we can trump that. Also the prize is a $500 Sur la Table gift card and momma needs a new oven mitt.
SO… if you’d be so kind… head over to Saveur and vote now, please. You don’t have to register or sign in or do anything (other than accurately type out the CAPTCHA code, which, let’s be honest, is sometimes kind of challenging).
I gotta say, I like the look of my recipe under the Saveur masthead.
Ooooooh
Let’s make dreams come true…
VOTE FOR MY COOKIES HERE, Y’ALL. Thanks!
PS – Please believe I’ll have a sweetass thank you giveaway if I win.
Monkey bread
“I NEED A PLUNGER.”
I woke up on my brother’s couch, dog barking and dad yelling. A very merry Christmas, indeed.
Things started off traditionally enough–monkey bread, grapefruit and the Alabama Christmas CD–and then… shit just got weird.
Looks innocent enough...
Aw, Scout.
This is the funniest Christmas of my life. The youngest one here is 24 years old and still we have piles and piles of ridiculous toys. So far, the following hilarious things have happened…
Scout (the new puppy) got me alcohol.
Thank you?
This fish is swimming around the house.
HAHAHA
My sister got me a Weaz yoga mat.
AAAAHAHAHAHAHA.
Grandmother and Granddaddy sent dad an empty picture frame. No glass or anything.
Hahaha?
Dad’s entire stocking was full of nothing but a sack of grits.
Look at this face.
Ralph and Weaz got me this.
Obviously.
I no longer have to scrape my windshield with a Trader Joe’s gift card.
Ice scraper glove. Brilliant.
I cannot even handle it.
I’m gonna go practice on my Weaz mat and torment poor Scout with the clownfish…
Feliz Navidad.
If my hair has taught me one thing, it’s that if you try to fight it, it will fight back. I’ve found that Christmas is this way, as well. So I’m applying everything I know about curly hair care to make this damn holiday bounce and shine like a frigging show horse’s mane. Mostly this involves doing absolutely nothing. Just as I do not brush or style or cut or sometimes even wash my hair, I am not planning or organizing or expecting anything out of this holiday. It’s working.
This has been hands down the least traditional Christmas of my life and I kind of love it. Ever since I decided to not care about anything that’s happening ever, things got pretty great. It’s my first Christmas away from my childhood hometown. I haven’t been to yoga in days. I still don’t have all my presents (it’s 10pm Christmas Eve). And I am drunk.
Yup.
Also, for starters I spent Christmas Eve Eve eating Mexican food and cupcakes.
Ole?
Cuuuuupcakes.
Then I spent Christmas Eve at the mall stress eating candy corn.
Whatever, Christmas.
Leave it to Mitch to bring candy corn to the store on Christmas Eve.
And then tonight my family ate Christmas Eve dinner in a restaurant (in 26 years, this has never happened) and shopped for last-minute supplies at Target at 9pm.
Really?
But at least some things never change. My brother got a dog so we’ll have a black lab to ogle on Christmas morning.
Scout!
Dad just set up the luminaries (“STOP AT TARGET! I NEED PAPER BAGS AND KITTY LITTER!”) and we’re starting our annual viewing of National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation.
“And when Santa squeezes his fat white ass down that chimney tonight, he’s gonna find the jolliest bunch of assholes this side of the nuthouse.”
Happy holidays from Ralph.
A very merry Catmas eve to you all. The stockings are hung by the litterbox with care and the cats have been anxiously awaiting Santa’s arrival because they know they’ve been really terrible this year and aren’t so sure he’s coming…
Is he here yet? Is he here yet? Is he here yet?
I mean, he totally knows when you’ve been bad or good and considering the cats have done nothing but drink and be hungover all year, I’d say things aren’t looking so promising on the present front.
It's not alcoholism if you pour it in a glass.
HOTPOCKET ME.
I suppose only time will tell. Well. Time and me. I’ll tell you. They’re getting a new scratching post, a can of food, treats and a new damn water fountain because I’m sick of them drinking out of the cup on my bedside table. Weaz might get a wheel of cheese.
Me? I get cats.
I wrapped myself. There's a poop in the litterbox.
Check ya later. I’m off to work…
Vegetables.
Last night I decided to leave my brother’s house at midnight to trek back home so I wouldn’t have to fight rush hour traffic on my way to work this morning. I considered this an excellent idea until I hit standstill traffic not two exits from his house. I still have no idea what happened but I sat there in park for a good bit plotting out how I could maneuver myself into the fetal position in the driver’s seat when suddenly everything just started moving again.
This is one of countless irrational things I’ve done in the last 72 hours. Watching the news this morning, I was reminded of some of my irrational fears, as well…
AH!
The list goes on and on.
I’m off to work. Take pity on my pant-folding soul this holiday season. Do the retail employees of the world a huge favor and be nice to us. While you’re giving us attitude and destroying our perfectly folded piles and shopping for your families, we wish we could be with ours.
So many cookies.
Here’s the thing… I am crazy.
I like to think I’m pretty laid back and easygoing but really I am type A to a fault and maybe a little bit OCD. I need everything in my life in order and on a schedule or I go completely batshit crazy. If I make a plan (and I always make a plan) for things to go one way and they go another, I shut down. This is perhaps how I end up losing it so frequently. My brother says I manufacture stress, just pull it out of thin air. This is true. My sister says I’m dramatic like Kim Kardashian. (My ass is too small for this to be true.) I think I just like to know what’s going on and when. Also I am controlling.
Can you tell the holidays are going well?
The thing about my family is that they refuse to tell me what’s going on when. When I asked my dad for a holiday itinerary he said, “You know me better than that.”
So here I am buzzing around like a lunatic trying to figure out how to spend time with my family but still (selfishly) do everything I want to do on a normal day off. These two plans are not meshing well.
Anyway, I had decided before this holiday season got under way that I would be the calm one, the positive one, the happy one. Instead I’ve been the craaaaaazy one.
Cookies cookies cookies
So. Here we go. I will calm my ass down and just go with the flow like I set out to do from the beginning so my family doesn’t try to have me committed.
Mitch said she’d get me a hot pink straight jacket.
I hope there are cookies in the psych ward…
These cookies come from Angela at Oh She Glows except I used sweet potato puree instead of pumpkin. Of course I did.
Yeah.
Day 1: Gingerbread cookies
Day 2: Mint chocolate-dipped shortbread
Day 3: Toasted coconut biscotti
Day 4: 11th hour PB apple cookies
Day 5: Apple sugar cookies
Day 6: Lemon blueberry cookies
Vegan lemon blueberry cookies
I realize it’s the opposite of Christmas comfort food but… the lemon-blueberry taste combo just never gets old. (You may recall I made blueberry lemon cupcakes for my birthday back in the summer.)
Oh summer, how I miss you and your heat and lack of holidays and abundance of free time…
Happy birthday to me.
That was the week of my breakup and I was a hotass mess. I tend to create the very best baked goods at such moments. It’s kind of like how the physical stress of yoga drives you into this state of mental clarity. The mental stress of life in general seems to drive me into a state of culinary clarity. I can see it now…
How One Girl Lost Her Mind and Found Herself in the Kitchen: The Katie Levans Story
You’d all read it, right? I suppose you already are… Done. Find me an agent.
WHAT am I talking about?
Cookies.
So lemon-blueberry anything is the shit. Period. (Mitch says “period” almost any time she speaks a sentence with a period at the end. She’s like a telegram.) So when I decided to make lemon cookies as part of the 12 Days and I also had freeze-dried blueberries on hand, I knew exactly how that story would end.
Yes, please.
I used a basic vegan lemon sugar cookie recipe and added my blueberries. A note about that damn recipe: I don’t know who decided to call for 1/3 CUP lemon zest, but it is not possible to get that much. I used as much was available from the four lemons I used to get the required 3 tablespoons of lemon juice. It would take approximately one million lemons to make 1/3 cup lemon zest, give or take.
I have big plans to make a lemon cream cheese frosting and turn these babies into little sandwiches. No I will not save you any.
Don’t EVEN steal my book idea, you jerks. I’ll write the proposal. One day. Maybe. In my “free” time. When I’m not busy self medicating with cookies.
Day 1: Gingerbread cookies
Day 2: Mint chocolate-dipped shortbread
Day 3: Toasted coconut biscotti
Day 4: 11th hour PB apple cookies
Day 5: Apple sugar cookies
Vegan apple sugar cookies
Since I don’t have a baby or even a baby bump (thank god), I feel the need to update you guys on the status of my boots with the fur (with the fur)…
Cost: $30
Days worn since purchase: all of them
Days paired with Apple Bottom jeans: none of them
Manly professionals I look like while wearing them: construction worker, lumberjack, rapper
Number of handstands done in them: at least 20
Number of dogs walked in them: three
Number of compliments received while wearing them: countless.
Distance jaws drop when complimenters hear they came form Forever 21: to the floor
In honor of my boots, Apple Bottom jeans and a rare successful shopping purchase, I made these apple sugar cookies.
Cuties
I used Katie’s classic healthy sugar cookie recipe, but I added:
Simply follow Katie’s recipe as is but stir spices into the dry mix. I rolled out my dough and cut circles with a drinking glass (who needs cookie cutters?) and then pressed apple rings filled with brown sugar on top.
Now turn around and give that big booty a slap.
Day 1: Gingerbread cookies
Day 2: Mint chocolate-dipped shortbread
Day 3: Toasted coconut biscotti
Day 4: 11th hour PB apple cookies
Cookie cookie cookie
If you’re thinking, “Ain’t no way Katie’s gonna bake those 12 days of cookies…” then you know absolutely nothing about my stress baking habit.
Yesterday I:
All I know is, “it’s Christmas and we’re all in misery.”
I'm gonna start smoking. (No I'm not.)
So please believe I got up this morning and baked the shit out of some cookies. Not 90 minutes after I awoke, this had happened…
Yep.
Apple cookies, blueberry lemon cookies and banana bread cookies comin’ at ya…
But first I’m gonna go do yoga for, like, three hours. WHATEVER.
Stop. Do not inhale me.
Remember back in October when I was going to stop inhaling my food without chewing?
No? It went something like this…
“For the most part, I’m still eating the foods that I know are right for my body, but I know I’m not eating them in a way that honors the immensity of even having access to food at all. Eating is a big deal. Having food is a big deal… Food should be celebrated. I think a lot of the degradation of my eating habits was going from having someone to cook for… and cook with… and eat with every single night, to… living alone without a kitchen table. Yeah, that pretty much sums it up.”
I’ve mentioned before in passing that I am an emotional binge eater. I first identified it in college but it started way back in childhood. I remember standing in a dark kitchen after dinner while the rest of my family watched TV methodically moving hand to mouth, hand to mouth, hand to mouth shuttling Teddy Grahams or pretzels or whatever I could find straight into my face. It is always triggered by stress for me.
Technically, binge eating is classified as an eating disorder not otherwise specified (EDNOS), as in: an eating disorder that is not anorexia nervosa or bulimia. More specifically, binge eating involves recurrent episodes of overeating in the absence of inappropriate compensatory behaviors. This means you binge on an outrageous amount of food (usually eaten rapidly, alone and at night) and do not follow up with self-induced vomiting, over-exercising or intentional starvation.
Quinoa, white beans, spinach, brussels
So you’re probably thinking, “Uh. Everyone binge eats.” Absolutely. Most people do. It is the most common “eating disorder” in the United States. But I’m not talking eating a burrito with your friends after a night of drinking. There is a marked feeling of complete loss of control followed by shame and guilt.
SO… Personally, I’ve identified that I will binge when:
I got my binge episodes under wraps a few years ago when I started officially studying nutrition but in the last four months of madness have noticed myself moving back down that path. (It probably comes as no surprise that dietitians have some of the highest rates of eating disorders when compared to other professions.) It’s funny to be exhibiting behaviors for something you’re studying in class, but it also makes it easy to squash them.
How Can I Stop Binge Eating?
More important than tricking yourself into stopping a binge habit is to identify what is really triggering it. Odds are it has nothing to do with food at all. Keeping a journal of when you binge, what you eat, how you feel when you start and how you feel afterwards (especially the next morning) is a good way to pinpoint what is setting you off.
So… the reason I’m revisiting my post on intentional eating is that I find it closely linked to my successful control of binge eating. If I rush through my meals during the day and don’t appreciate the food I’m so lucky to have, I’ve found that I am more likely to lose control late at night. In an effort to prevent this before it becomes a problem, I’m making sure that I am intentional about what I eat and when. This means that I sit down at a table, eat mindfully, drink water and express gratitude for what’s in front of me. I think everyone should do this regardless of your relationship with food.
There are a whole slew of disordered eating patterns that are not anorexia or bulimia that I don’t think people even identify as being abnormal, such as exercising to compensate for a large meal, constantly being on a diet, an obsession with only eating “clean,” “pure” foods and, of course, binge eating. It’s totally common to exhibit these behaviors and most are easily remedied if only you are able to identify the problem. Hopefully this post will shed some light for people who don’t even recognize what they’re doing.
Smoothie bowl w/PB, oats and soymilk creamer
I forgot to make cookies yesterday.
This is a lie. I consciously chose not to make cookies yesterday because I wanted to go out with my friends instead.
Right?
So. School ended. I have “free” time, but really I’m working and freelancing writing and pretty much haven’t really had a day off yet. Nevertheless, I’ve managed to get into the following shenanigans I’ve been since Wednesday:
Dream It, Do It bar crawl
All mine.
Dogsitting
80s cover band at Amos' South End
Mitch defended her thesis on Wednesday (rockstar) so that night we went on a bar crawl to celebrate. I made us matching DREAM IT DO IT tshirts because every day during our semester from hell we’d be running around in a frenzy in the morning and she’d yell on her way out the door, “Katie, if you can dream it, you can do it.” We did it.
That night I also turned in my second piece for Charlotte Magazine and on Thursday I filmed my second segment for A Healthier Charlotte. Dream it, done.
Coming to a food channel near you hopefully one day maybe.
Now I’m late for work again because I am blogging. The Internet will be just fine without me, but I love it so much.
(Speaking of… Do you have the new Facebook timeline yet? It’s awesome.)
"My body just needs yoga," says Weaz.
Happy third-to-last Caturday of 2011, beefaronis.
I trust you are all diligently making your Christmas lists and checking them twice by this stage in the holiday game. Not us. Nope, the cats and I have yet to purchase or request a single Christmas gift. Nothing like a little last-minute frenzy to get us in the holiday spirit.
Know why we haven’t done anything Christmas-y? Because we hate Christmas. Because we’re too busy. Because we’re on the Internet all the damn time.
Refresh. Refresh. Refresh.
This blog’s not gonna run itself, you know?
We decided that all we really want for Christmas is money, which is not Christmas-y at all. But seriously. Seriously… it’s all we need. I told my mom she could present it to us in a dramatic Publisher’s Clearinghouse-esque ceremony with balloons and a giant check if she must.
If I get gifts that are not money, please believe I will sell them for money so that Ralph and Weaz and I don’t end up on the streets in January.
Hobo Ralph
You better believe it.
This is in the bathroom. (Lighting.)
Bet you thought I didn’t have a cookie for today, didn’t you? I hope you bet a lot of money because I got billz to pay, ya heard?
Of course I have a cookie for today. It was just cranked out in the last 30 minutes of the day because I was too busy working and hanging out with my mom and dogsitting these nuggets:
Not cats.
I’d love to take the time to rant on about hilarious entertaining things but I’m really busy watching TV and loading the dishwasher and microwaving things just for fun and fully extending my arms in the shower without hitting a wall. It’s a beautiful thing.
This is a play on traditional peanut butter chocolate no-bake cookies that my mom used to make all the time when I was little…
| 11th Hour PB Apple Cookies |
And with that, I’m going to watch TV until my eyes bleed. If you would like me to watch your pets (and you have cable, internet, a shower that doesn’t suck, a washer/dryer and a well-equipped kitchen), you just let me know… I’ll pay you.
Day 1: Gingerbread cookies
Day 2: Mint chocolate-dipped shortbread
Day 3: Toasted coconut biscotti
Lupie's vegetarian chili
At surface level, Charlotte is a little lame on the vegetarian food front. You can count our meat-free restaurants on one hand, after all. Luckily, vegetarian restaurants aren’t the only places that can serve vegetarian food (imagine that), and a number of Queen City eateries offer up traditionally meat-centric entrees that are surprisingly devoid of dead animals.
In fact, I just wrote a blurb for Charlotte Magazine on three surprising vegetarian dishes served at non-vegetarian restaurants. I won’t give away all my goods (it’ll be in the February issue) but… I’ll tell you I ate lunch yesterday at Lupie’s Cafe.
Questionable.
This place is in my hood (keyword: hood) and I’ve been wanting to drop in since June but I couldn’t decide if I’d get a great meal or get shot. So… I took a man with me. Good thing, too, because I did get accosted by a drunk (it was 3 o’clock on a Wednesday) gay hairstylist by the name of Arthur who insisted on cutting my hair. Don’t worry, I totally got his digits.
Anyway, word on the street is the vegetarian chili at Lupie’s is kind of a big deal, and since it’s only one of two vegetarian items on the menu, I had a pretty easy decision to make. I was a little nervous about the five (count ‘em !!!!!) exclamation points following the word “HOT” on the menu, but I was on a mission so I threw caution to the wind and went with it.
Verdict? I like it. It’s like… legit chili. The vegetarian chili I make at home is all peppers and corn and, you know, vegetables. But this is all soy crumbles and beans served with cheese and raw onions. I’m pretty sure you could feed it to a carnivore and they would be none the wiser.
Also, not so spicy. Trust me, I’m weak.
Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to make an appointment to get my hair did by my new friend Arthur.
Vegan spiced biscotti with coconut glaze & toasted coconut
Have you had coffee yet today? (Yes, obviously.) Good. Get some more.
You’re gonna need it to soften up this biscotti because if you try to eat it on its own you will shatter a tooth. Promise.
I know I’m making these sound really unappealing but I’m pretty sure the whole point of biscotti is that it’s purposely too hard to eat as a cookie, which is why it pairs perfectly with a hot cup of coffee for dunking. (I almost said “hot cup of joe” and now I want to hit myself.)
If, for some reason, you do not have coffee readily available (where are you that this is even possible?), you can use the biscotti as a self defense weapon. A weapon of minimal destruction, if you will. I don’t think you could kill anyone with it (a ninja could, though… a ninja would make nunchucks out of them) but you could cause some significant swelling and bruising. I’m just saying.
Little weapons.
ANYWAY. I wish I could tell you how I made these but it was one of those three-hour ordeals with lots of substitutions and slip ups and eyeballing and all that good stuff. So I owe you one coconut biscotti recipe. I’ll work on that.
In the meantime, I used this recipe as a starting point and launched into a cloud of frenzy and flour from there. So, unfortunately, there is no way for me to possibly recap it.
I owe you one biscotti recipe.
If you’d like to try one, though, you can come on over any time between now and when I die because I’m pretty sure the biscotti won’t get any staler than it is this very moment. Just give me a heads up when you’re on your way over so I can let my ninja know I need them back.
Day 1: Gingerbread cookies
My current favorite breakfast
Let me clarify: I hate (most) breakfast foods. Breakfast itself–the act of breaking the fast–I love/need/crave/etc.
When people invite me to breakfast (I say this like I get lots of breakfast invites; I do not), I try to convince them to push it back to the brunching hour so I can be assured the restaurant will be serving the lunch menu by the time we arrive.
Can you blame me? I mean, consider the cast of breakfast characters…
Despite hating breakfast foods, I’m not the kind of person who can run on coffee alone. Speaking of… what is wrong with you people? Do you not wake up every day feeling as if you ran three days ago and haven’t eaten anything since? I certainly do.
So what do I like for breakfast? My morning meal must fit the following criteria:
This yogurt oat bowl thing.
Vegan mint chocolate dipped shortbread
This is for your own good, guys.
Buried under emails and magazine covers and infomercials telling you to:
“Melt Fat INSTANTLY!”
“Avoid Winter Weight Gain!”
“Don’t Look Like Santa this Holiday Season!”
Don’t you kind of just want someone to tell you to eat a cookie? Let me be that person…
Look, it’s not as if I’m over here laying on the couch with a tray balanced precariously on a newly formed potbelly eating cookies a dozen at a time. But I’m also not skipping meals and doubling up workouts to build up a cookie calorie allowance. That is crazy talk.
I’m eating like I always do, working out like I always do and eating cookies when I damn well please. I’m studying to be a dietitian, yes. I consider the consumption of holiday cookies to be an integral part of a diet that is both healthy and sane. And delicious.
Hello, lovelies.
For these cookies, I used a recipe from Versatile Vegetarian Kitchen, which, interestingly enough, uses oil instead of butter. Traditional shortbread is one part sugar, two parts butter and three parts oat flour. I wish I’d known that going into this because there are no oats to be found in my shortbread. Nevertheless, these mild, buttery, crumbly, melt-in-your-mouth delights serve as a perfect vessel for shuttling mint chocolate straight to your face.
Dunk us in coffee! Dunk us in coffee!
Of course I neglected to measure anything when I made my mint chocolate dip. It went something like:
Heat chocolate chips and peppermint extract over a double boiler. As the chips start to melt, add milk 1 tablespoon at a time until a desired smooth consistency is achieved. Dip cookies in. Leave to set in fridge (or eat immediately, no one’s looking).
Now. If you’ll excuse me, my four outdoor strays and two indoor idiots are attempting to host a battle to the death… on opposite sides of the window…
Day 1: Gingerbread cookies
Vegan gingerbread cookies. Yes yes, y'all.
In honor of the holiday season and the 12 pounds I usually gain eating all the cookies I want… I’m going to eat all the cookies I want. Just in case you would also like to eat all the cookies you want, I’ll be presenting 12 Days of (Vegan) Cookies for your food gawking pleasure from now until Christmas Eve.
Why no cookies on Christmas day? Because Jesus hates cookies. He told me so. Plus, Santa eats them all the night before. Duh. Jerk.
SO. Let’s kick things off with an oldie but goodie that you probably don’t even realize is delicious…
Gingerbread cookies.
Who likes gingerbread cookies? No one. Seriously. I’m not talking gingerbread, here. I’m talking gingerbread cookies. Big difference. Gingerbread is what you enjoy slathered in frosting while you whisper sweet nothings to your Starbucks peppermint mocha latte (extra hot, ya jerks). Gingerbread cookies, on the other hand, rank right up there with fruitcake for most people. I mean, people bake gingerbread cookies and then shellac them and hang them on their Christmas tree for decades. No? Just our family? Ok then.
Not these cookies, though. No, sirs and madams. These cookies are the shit. Trust me. Mitch and I just ate four of them.
Do not shellac us!
As I tend to do around Christmas cookie time, I defaulted to Martha for this recipe and then veganized it for my dear cow- and chicken-loving coworkers.
Tater’s Substitutions for Martha’s Giant Gingerbread Cookies:
They came out perfectly. This is why I bake vegan. Because, yes, you can get great results with minimal substitutions and, no, eggs are not that important. Plus, I like for everyone to be able to eat my goods. If I were surrounded by Celiacs, I’d bake gluten-free, too. I just hate that feeling of not being able to eat something I’m offered (because it has meat in it) so I try to avoid putting others in that situation when I’m baking for a big group.
So when people ask, “Why bake vegan if you’re not vegan?” My response is: “Why not?”
I hope my coworkers are ready to eat some damn cookies.
Day one... check.
Let food be thy medicine.
Welcome to my first day “off” of the holiday season. It was filled with bad choices and butter. Allow me to explain…
5am – Wake up. Ignore sore throat and go to Hilliard Studio with nine other lulus anyway. (We roll deep.) Have ass beaten into the ground. Proceed to team breakfast at Caribou and team meeting at the store. We’re a team, you see.
9am – Return home. Fret about what to do with all this free time… Immediately start cleaning the house.
11am – First bad decision: Go to the mall.
11:30am – Second bad decision: Enter Forever 21. You are 26 years old. Get over it.
2pm – Walk out of Forever 21 with 13 items. NOT including…
This. But I wanted it.
But definitely including THESE:
Boots with the fur. (With the fur.)
3pm – Commence baking frenzy.
Gingerbread cookies and shortbread.
6pm – Try on Forever 21 goods for Ashley and receive prompt feedback that just about everything needs to go back. Sigh. I’m keeping the boots.
Of course I spent my free day:
Can’t win ‘em all, folks.
One of my very best decisions of the day, however, was kicking off my 12 Days of Cookies feature to run from now until Christmas Eve. Gingerbread cookies and mint chocolate-dipped shortbread cookies comin’ at ya… You’re welcome.
I’m keeping the boots. Kiss my ass.
Photo: Wanda Koch
Money and time.
Those are the excuses I give when asked why I won’t commit to yoga teacher training.
I was actually enrolled in a program two years ago. But then I uprooted my life and moved. I thought I’d just commute back to do it, but then I went back to school and got really busy. I found a new studio and a better program here and thought I’d do that instead, but then I blew through my life savings to pay for school. So I thought more jobs might make things better, but then everything just got worse and I got crazier and my whole life fell apart and now I’m even busier trying to pick the pieces (and myself) up off the floor. And the whole time I’m thinking maybe next year… maybe next year… maybe next year.
So last week when I tossed my “money and time” excuse at one of my teachers, without hesitating she shot back with: “That will always be your excuse. What else you got?”
To be perfectly honest… I got nothin’. I’ve got a broken heart that will not heal. I’ve got regrets about the past and a paralyzing fear of the future. I’ve got an empty bank account and a surplus of neurotic cats. I’ve got a whole lot of anxiety and, consequently, a newly acquired wine habit. I’ve got an impossible schedule, unrelenting guilt and incapacitating doubt.
And all of that, I think, makes this the perfect time to throw myself into something that makes me feel so challenged and so powerful and so vulnerable and so alive as yoga.
So it’s on. It is so on.
Oh you got a fire and it’s burning in the rain
Hoped that it went out but it’s burning just the same
And you don’t look back, not for anything.
You can read my yoga rants from over the years in my yoga archive. There will be plenty more where that came from… Training starts January 6. Mitch is doing it, too. Of course.
Whatever, Shamrock Shake.
What do Shamrock Shakes even taste like? Mint? Who knows.
Hang on. Let me Google that for you…
Yes, mint.
Here’s a thought… How about a mint chocolate shake that’s green from spinach, not dye and that comes around more than once a year? Done and done.
Mint chocolate green smoothie
I made this using my standard green smoothie recipe minus nut butter and cinnamon and plus 1 capful of peppermint extract.
Refreshing and not from McDonald’s. Win win.
Hers and hers coffee and green smoothies
Mitch and I are officially in a committed relationship. Since we live together, work together and enjoy each other’s company when drunk (and drink frequently), we spend an outrageous amount of time together. We decided to go ahead and legitimize it with a Facebook relationship status. It had to happen.
I mean, this is how the weekend has gone…
Friday 9pm: Mitch returns from Florida. We immediately go to the bar to celebrate the Beards BeCAUSE finale… I won MVG (Most Valuable Grower).
And I didn't even grow a beard.
Friday 1am: Swear up and down that we are going to yoga at 7:30 in the morning.
Saturday 8:30am: I stumble into Mitch’s room to announce we’ve missed our class. “Let’s walk to Starbucks!” she exclaims with far too much enthusiasm. Braless but bundled, we wander over to our friendly neighborhood Starbucks.
Saturday 9:45am: Hyped up on caffeine and a cold-weather walk, we dive straight into a living room workout. Yep. Side by side. In pajamas. Doing Physique 57.
Saturday 10:15am: “Oh shit! We have to be at work in 45 minutes!” Commence mad dash to shower, dress, pack lunches and make smoothies.
Saturday 11am: Stroll into work, matching coffees and green smoothies in hand. Promptly ridiculed by coworkers.
Saturday 11am-5pm: Work. Together.
Saturday 5pm: Impromptu trip to Marshalls where we wasted 30 minutes of our lives trying on clothes that we ended up abandoning on a rack where they don’t belong (for shame, we work in retail…) when we saw how long the line was.
Saturday 7pm: Supposed to be studying. Mitch walks into my room, pours two GIANT glasses of wine, declares “Whoops! More in there than I thought…” And then we practice our mirror dancing. She dances. I mimic. Truth.
Saturday 9pm: Head to a neighbor’s housewarming party. Together.
Sunday: Work. Together.
It’s a little ridiculous, really. Good thing we don’t hate each other.
Ralph loves setting goals.
Happy TOOMUCHCOFFEE Caturday.
Holy canoli. I am seriously tweekin’ over here.
Guess what happened to the cats this week? Dun dun DUNNNNNN…
GROO
MER
Ralph came back looking significantly worse than she did when she went in and not at all like a lion.
Mangyass cat.
Who did this? An intern?
Stop. I'm embarrassed.
I should’ve known something was up when I picked them up and they were all, “Oh, uhhhh… we were supposed to charge you $XXX but instead we’re just charging you $XXX (less). Why? Uhhhhh, just because.”
UM. IS IT PERHAPS BECAUSE YOU MUTILATED RALPH RALPH?
Je.sus.
At least they both came home in stupid bandanas. A snowman for Weaz and a present for Ralph.
So dumb.
I’m off to buy Ralphie a full-body wig…
Pecans from Levans Farm
My granddaddy grew up on a farm in west Georgia. Though he spent most of his adult life away–first overseas in the Air Force and later working for Sears in the Tower in Chicago–he always knew he’d come back and build a house on his family’s land. Over time, a lot of the acres were sold, but the spot he’d staked out as a kid remained in the family’s name. So once he’d retired (and after a few years living down the street from us in Illinois) he and grandmother packed up and headed back down to Georgia to build the house they’d always wanted, where they’d always wanted. They were well into their 70s.
We had this kitchen table. I think it dates back to someone like my great-great-great grandfather. It’s the table my dad grew up eating on. It’s the table I grew up eating on. And now it’s at my brother’s house. Covered in pecans he picked off the ground (you guessed it) at Levans Farm.
When my parents were around my age, they bought a black lab. Cowboy was their first child, and eventually their real children would learn to stand using him as support. We always had black labs. First Cowboy (who we called Bo), then Gunnar (who died young due to cancer) and finally Clancy (who my parents just put down last month). In my 26 years, I think I’ve only had one Christmas without a black lab present.
My brother decided the holiday just wouldn’t be the same so… He bought a puppy.
Nameless puppy. Loves doughnuts.
My first nephew. Yes.
EEEEEEEEE
It’s funny how things go full circle.
I can't stand it.
Lovely.
The Internet is a big place. It’s kind of like… ice cream with stuff in it. Ice cream on its own is not so bad, but you know your spoon is in there just digging around for the cookie dough chunks and brownie bits and chocolate chips and shit. You’re in there like a damn archaeologist trying to unearth the good stuff, all: “Why… WHY did I not just order a large cup of cookie dough chunks?” Am I right or am I right?
But then if you did order a large cup of cookie dough chunks you’d be like, “Ugh. I’m gonna vomit. I wish I had some ice cream to dilute this dough…”
And that, my friends, is what the Internet is. It’s a whole lotta plain ol’ vanilla and precious few cookie dough chunks. But you need that sea of ice cream to make it all the more exciting when you happen up on a chunk.
The following are some of my favorite chunks:
And the five blogs I read every single day:
You can find a lot more chunks on my blogroll. What are some of your favorite blogs?
Smoothie with coconut cake. Yep.
What a day. What a day. My grandmother is in the hospital. She will be just fine, no doubt. I come from a long line of of very tough women. You know my amazing great grandmother (and middle namesake) Granny Ruth once fell and broke her hip and forgot she had her Life Alert necklace on so she dragged herself across the yard and into the house so she could call for help? Yep. That’s where I get it.
I had a very surreal moment when my mom told me the problem and it was exactly what I studied in medical nutrition therapy this semester… cholecystitis. With much authority, I rattled off symptoms and surgeries and diet therapies. I pulled out my reference book and read more. It made me suddenly feel very adult and very with it, like maybe, just maybe, I have learned something in this program I hate so much. It was weird but welcome.
This is how I feel about school.
Yes, I really do have a WTF? stamp. Doesn’t everyone?
It’s finals week and I didn’t have a test today so I spent the day… studying. Duh. I also did two hours of yoga (mmmm), ran a bunch of errands and delivered thank yous…
Coooooookies
[If ever you thought about doing something nice for me, do it. I seriously deliver on thank yous. They usually involve baked goods.]
Now I’m fretting about taking the cats to the groomer tomorrow.
Yep. It’s happening… Ralph and Weaz are both getting lion cuts tomorrow. I’m hyperventilating–partly because it’s going to be so so so so so so so so so so so so so funny to see Weaz’s stupid face balancing atop her naked little body but mostly because transporting them in the car is very traumatizing for me. I’ve never had to move these beasts by myself and I am fuh-reaking out. Seeing them in even the slightest bit of distress sends me into a tailspin of crazy. It’ll be quite a spectacle. If you’re anywhere near my house tomorrow morning, which you shouldn’t be because that is creepy, you should stand in the street and watch it all unfold. Tears will be shed. Human tears.
Charlotte is little.
I wrote this back in July, two days after my breakup. I posted it and quickly pulled it down. Not because it’s out of line or even about my personal life, but because it originated from a source of such raw pain. My motivation in reposting it now is not about what I said (even now it doesn’t make much sense) but how I said it. The roundabout wording and disjointed thought process came from a girl who was lost, confused, afraid and very much alone.
I wish I could tell this girl she is going to be just fine. That it will be hard… so hard. That each day will feel worse than the one before until finally, finally one night she’ll lay down to go to bed and realize she didn’t cry that day. That she’ll make brownies and friends and big plans for the future. That there will be other men and they will be wonderful. That she’ll build a desk and a table and a life by herself and for herself. That in just five short months she will feel what she so meekly asked (who? God?) to become… That she is radiant and rare and precious. And that come hell or high water (or both), she is more capable than she realizes.
7/6/11
Today I am a sad little pile of blah. I’m stronger than this, I know, but even I’m succumbing to emo songs like this one that opened up my yoga class this morning. Good and miserable. That’s how I like to start my day.
Then there’s this one that I don’t even think played today but resonates in my head anyway. Don’t listen to it. It’s straight miserable, I’m telling you.
This one’s not doing me any favors.
What am I talking about?
Right. So…
In my moping, I was thinking about what people do when they’re sad and I think that usually they ask god (or the universe or their parents or whoever they look to for guidance) to make it right.
There’s too much violence here… make me a peaceful world.
There’s too much hurt here… make me a compassionate world.
There’s too much hate here… make me a loving world.
But it seems to me we might get a whole lot further making the same demand in a different way.
Make me peace. Make me compassion. Make me love. Maybe start with ourselves and the world will follow. You know, what Michael said.
What am I talking about? No one knows. More importantly, where’s the food? I appear to have listened to a lot of music today. I’m supposed to be studying for a final.
Anyway, let’s grow ever more tangential…
I didn’t follow that Casey Anthony case. It was too much of a spectacle to me. I think people got caught up in the thrill of it like it was some kind of sporting event and forgot the life lost and lives involved. At any rate, I heard what happened. Everyone in the world did. So people are mad, right?
There’s too much injustice… make me a just world.
We could try to fix the whole world, which seems like a big ol’ job to me. We could complain and condemn and demand justice. Or we could start with ourselves. You’re mad about that verdict? Good. If you have kids, love them more. Take care of them and make them safe and teach them to do the same one day. If you don’t have kids, find some who need you. Give them your time and your energy. Take care of them and make them feel safe and teach them to do the same one day. If violence begets violence then surely love will beget love.
I guess my point is that you (I) can’t control the world or what happens to you (me), only how you (I) react to it. So instead of asking for something to make it right, ask to be something instead.
Right. Make me radiant and rare and precious, a bringer of joy. Make me a rainbow. (Name that song?)
Spicy black bean spinach tacos in baked shells
For my final project in my nutrition education class, we had to identify a barrier to health and create an instructional video to incite behavior change in spite of that barrier. People tell me all the time that eating healthy is too expensive and too time consuming. As one who is both broke and busy, I get it. I really, really get it.
But I also know that with a little creativity (and education), healthy eating can be affordable and accessible to anyone.
So I decided to address this issue by creating a healthy meal using ingredients purchased exclusively at my friendly neighborhood Dollar General.
Cheap and easy. Just like Ralphie.
I ended up making spicy black bean and spinach tacos with roasted sunflower seeds in baked corn tortilla shells.
I’d never made anything remotely resembling this, and I think you can tell in the video that I was legitimately surprised by how good it was. I hope it shows that you can find healthy food in unlikely places and that it doesn’t take a lot of culinary skill to turn it into an impressive meal.
I’m really proud of this project. Check it out:
Vegan sweet potato raisin biscuits
If I had to pick one food to define my childhood, it would be biscuits. Biscuits were our weekend tradition. At the holidays, beaten biscuits are still the star of the show. Hell, I even ate dog biscuits. I’m serious. My mom had to lock the cabinet so I’d stop. Another story for another time…
Saturday mornings started slow and steady with a sizzle of bacon and the scent of coffee wafting up to my room. Some weekends we had pancakes, other times waffles or even cinnamon buns. But most of the time mom made biscuits. I remember dad ate his with sausage and jelly. I found this an odd combination. Me? Butter and cheddar. Have I mentioned I had a fat kid phase?
Biscuit time.
I’d scurry downstairs in an oversized t-shirt, always the first kid up and never wearing pants. (My distaste for pants dates back to infancy, I swear.) I’d snag the comic section from dad’s pile of papers and assemble a plate of biscuits, butter and cheese. I’ve told you I was a chunk up until freshman year of high school, right? Right.
I miss those Saturday mornings. These days I wake up early, rush to yoga and head straight to work. So last Sunday when I made the coconut chai cake, I decided to take advantage of a few free weekend hours and make biscuits. A throwback to the good ol’ days.
Biscuit cutting is so satisfying. Just me? Ok.
These biscuits are not the biscuits of my childhood. First of all, they’re fat free. Second of all, they contain fruit and a vegetable. Who does that?
I used Susan’s pumpkin raisin biscuit recipe but subbed in sweet potato puree because, you know, my name is Tater.
They turned out really nicely, especially when topped with peanut butter and pears.
Pears, peanut butter, sweet potato biscuits.
I put a bunch in the freezer so I can whip up a Saturday morning biscuit feast any time a craving hits. But, as it turns out, what I’m craving on Saturday mornings isn’t biscuits at all. It’s dad reading the paper. Mom in the kitchen. The sound of Saturday morning cartoons and kids in the background. It’s that feeling of having nothing to do, having everything you need and knowing everyone you love is right there with you.
Also… butter and cheese. I’m craving that, too.
TLT salad - tempeh, lettuce, tomato, BBQ hummus dressing
Sometimes I have these really stupid ideas.
I don’t mean the kind I write in my idea book… which exists.
Yep.
I use that mostly for drawing pictures of Weaz and writing down song lyrics I like.
Mumford & Sons, "Winter Winds"
I mean the kind of stupid ideas that I don’t even realize are stupid until I’m up to my eyeballs in some kind of disaster that never needed to happen. The other night, for example, my brother and sister were tailgating the ACC championship here in Charlotte. I only live two miles from Uptown so I decided it’d be an excellent idea to avoid gameday traffic and parking and just ride my bike. Looking like this, mind you:
Alright, Katie.
I left around dusk, which was my first mistake (of many), with a candy cane tea in my hand, which was my second (of many more).
The ride really isn’t bad, but about halfway there I realized that the ride back in the dark would be a problem. A big one. I convinced myself I’d just put the bike in my brother’s car and ride back with him. But that would mean having to stay the whole time. If you know me, you know I don’t like the feeling of being trapped somewhere without an exit strategy. This was no good. No good at all.
I got myself to the heart of the gameday hullabaloo and promptly turned around to go back home, texting my brother to fill him in on the situation. To which he responded simply, “Idiot.”
I made it home just in time for the sun to set in the dusty wake kicked up by the fastest orange beach cruiser you’ve ever seen. I lived to tell the tale and will not do it again.
So to counter that stupid idea, here’s a great one:
GOOD IDEA.
| Deconstructed Vegan BLT |
I love you.
You know the best part about this brilliant idea of mine? It turns out it wasn’t even my idea. Of course not. Nope. After I thought about it for a bit, I remembered quite vividly seeing a BLT salad on Jessica’s blog (only my favorite blog on the Internet). So consider this a vegan adaptation of someone else’s brilliant idea. I can live with that.
Stock it.
Since perishable fridge and freezer foods are not really my area of expertise right now, let’s talk pantry staples…
A friend of mine emailed me over the weekend with the following conundrum:
Picture this: I trek all the way across DC to Trader Joe’s to go
grocery shopping. I meddle through the aisles picking up the
necessities, a few things I really want (usually nuts). You know, the
usual…
Imagine my dismay when I return home with not a single fucking meal. I
picked up apples, avocados, tangerines, lemons, almonds, trail mix,
pizza dough (not frozen), mozzarella [OK SO THAT'S ONE MEAL], and on I
go.
I need cooking suggestions. I am contemplating building a Weekly Menu
of sorts. This is where you come in.
If you can and/or want to be involved, I am TERRIBLE at building a
meal and even worse at making sure it’s nutritionally non-deficient.
Since I love my friend and don’t want him to die (and I also love his boyfriend and don’t want him to die at the hands of my friend in the kitchen trying to make a meal out of tangerines and trail mix), I sent him the following:
How to Stock a Vegetarian Kitchen
A stocked vegetarian pantry
And that’s that. To see the rest of my kitchen, you can watch my Tiny Kitchen Tour:
And juuuust in case anyone is keeping score, my mom was right again. Regarding yesterday’s power outage… My mom told me to just push the little red reset button on the outlet and I laughed at her on my way to buy ice for the cooler (because that’s a smarter idea?) and said my apartment is too old and doesn’t even have those buttons. This morning after discovering my breaker box behind a picture I hung myself (yep) and flipping every single switch in the boxes outside too (sorry, neighbors) to no avail, I came back inside to discover that, yes, there is a little red button on an outlet in the kitchen. I pushed it. It worked.
That puts us at lifetime tally of about Mom: 1,003,548,279,000, Katie: 0.
You were lovely while you lasted.
“Good thing I went grocery shopping today,” I grumbled, throwing perishables into a cooler filled with ice. “Good.fucking.thing.”
This is what happens when you blow a fuse in the kitchen and it takes you a solid 12 hours to figure out where your fuse box is (outside? really?) at which point it is entirely too dark and scary to venture behind the presumably spider-filled bush that’s blocking it so instead you drive to the 24-hour Harris Teeter and buy three bags of ice so you can load all the crap you insisted on buying today (even though you definitely didn’t need to go grocery shopping at all) into a cooler that, thank god, you didn’t give to your brother three days ago like you said you would.
Good work, Weaz.
At least I ate the world’s biggest, most glorious salad ever today. Romaine, walnuts, feta, olives, yellow pepper, carrots, tomato, homemade honey mustard, homemade baked tortilla chips. Because tomorrow it will all be destroyed.
RIP
Not only did I buy a bunch of groceries today, oh no, I also prepared a bunch of food for the week. Lentil soup. Rice. Roasted broccoli. Sweet potatoes.
So prepared. So futile.
If you need me I’ll be eating one dozen Trader Joe’s mini ice cream cones before they melt.
And these cookie dough balls.
Everyone stores emergency cookie dough balls in the freezer, right? This, my friends, is an emergency.
Ikea timer... not helping.
Ah, coffee. I can’t think of a food more powerfully unifying and aggressively divisive as this humble bean.
It’s a reassuring constant that no matter where you go in the world, coffee will be there, intricately woven into the social, agricultural and political fabric that defines a country and its people. Coffee is universal in its presence in cups across the globe but unique in its preparation from country to country, household to household and person to person.
Even in my short and sheltered life, I have somehow managed to carelessly flit about at least a dozen countries, and in each one coffee was a big deal but in very different ways.
I sipped cafe con leche during merienda at tiny streetside tables in Spain. Espresso in cramped cafes crowded with businessmen in Italy. Instant Nespresso in a hammock in Nicaragua. Cappuccinos on my way to class in Chile. And, uh, tea in the United Kingdom.
Coffeeeeee
Here in the States, our coffee culture has gotten straight up out of hand. It’s all triple-venti-sugar-free-skinny-soy-caramel-macchiato-no-whip-extra-hot, and it is ridiculous. When I hear someone order coffee extra hot, I want to smack them. I’m sorry if this is you but… seriously? What does that even mean?
Me? I like espresso with one cube of sugar. Black coffee with a splash of soy milk (iced or hot… and a standard degree of heat will suffice, thank you). And if I’m feeling feisty… a soy latte.
The point of this rant about coffee is that I’ve been using a French press at home for the last couple years and I have never felt like I’ve really perfected the art.
I know what you’re thinking, “What the hell? The title of this post implied that she had the secret to perfect French press coffee. I cry foul!”
I know. I’m sorry. I don’t have the answer. I mean, I know that the grounds should be coarse. That the water should be poured just before boiling. That it should steep for about five minutes for a nice, robust brew. That the coffee should be poured into the milk and not the other way around. Nevertheless, I’ve never been impressed by my coffee brewing skills.
So. Whose got the insider scoop on what it takes to make a perfect cup of French press coffee?
Again, I know what you’re thinking. “Google it, you idiot.” But I did. And everyone says to do it differently. So if you’ve got a method you swear by, do tell.
In the meantime, I’m gonna take down my third cup of mediocre coffee this morning. Onward and upward.
Coconut chai cake with spiced glaze
I had the weirdest dream last night. It involved two men (who I’m very much interested in in real life) fighting over me. (And no, not these two. But yes. I’ll have one of each.) If this is what happens when one goes to bed at 9pm, I’ll do it every night. Except I woke up spooning Ralph and being spooned by Weaz. It was all very depressing.
So since I had a granny night, woke up in the middle of a catwich and skipped yoga, I figured I’d round out the trifecta of lame with a morning of nonstop baking. It’s what I do.
To understand why I made this coconut chai cake today, you have to understand that once a month every month I am convinced I’ve gained 10 pounds. As it turns out, I am just female. Anyway, the shifting size and shape of my body coupled with a nice big dose of hormonal cuh-raaaaazy pills is enough to make even a pro-intuitive eater, anti-dieter, and lover of all things deep fried, bake a fat-free cake. It happens to the best of us.
Hello, lovelies.
Avoiding fat is illogical for a whole lot of reasons, including the fact that vitamins A, D, E and K require it for absorption. But once a month every month there is simply no room for logic in my life, what with my expanding body and all taking up extra space and all… Logic be damned; I just want my pants to fit.
So against my better judgement, I made this damn cake.
I actually love Susan and her Fat-Free Vegan Kitchen despite my vehement opposition to a diet completely devoid of fat. I find that her recipes are easy to follow, always turn out great and the “light” nature of them nicely complements the far denser foods I usually eat. Plus, they don’t taste fat-free. That’s what really counts.
Pear, peanut butter and coconut cake.
Since high school my eating habits have ranged from extreme restriction to excessive night binges to an obsession with only the “purest” of ingredients to where I am now, which I like to think is a nice healthy balance of eating for pleasure, eating for health and eating ethically without being a complete asshole about it.
Sometimes this means pizza and wine at 3am and sometimes it means fat-free cake at breakfast. Balance, y’all. Balance.
Burrito bowl
Let me paint you a picture…
It’s 9 o’clock on a Saturday night. I’m in bed. With what would best be described as a “self-help” book. I spent the evening at Starbucks with my roommate who waxed on poetically about the ideal study environment the same way I can only assume a 90-year-old woman would react, saying, “Isn’t this just great on a Saturday night? Quiet. Nice lighting…” We sipped on decaf tea while she wrote a paper and I worked on not checking Facebook. We have big plans to go to yoga ass early in the morning.
We are not cool. Not at all.
Yesterday I was driving home and squealed (really) at the sight of a Chipotle under construction not one mile from our house. I don’t know what came over me at that moment, the last time I ate at a Chipotle or why I was so elated, but I hadn’t stopped thinking about it since, so that’s where we went for dinner.
I got the salad bowl and Mitch got the burrito bowl, which, as it turns out, are the exact.same.thing:
Only she had more rice and I had more lettuce.
The highlight of the night was definitely watching Mitch awkwardly approach a table of innocent diners and offer them our leftover (unopened) guacamole because she didn’t want to throw it away. They didn’t want it. She had to throw it away.
Then she got belligerent and threw our food on the floor.
RAAAAAAAWR
Now we’re just eating salted caramels and watching this. Over and over and over again.
Pretty standard.
We forgot to make the bed.
Well. I’ve been bustin’ my ass all day since 6:30 this morning to get in enough hours to finance the cats’ organic food habit only to come home and find them passed out in my bed. Actually, Weaz was on top of my pillow.
Bring me a grape.
Seriously though? You jerks can’t even make the bed for me?
I will do no such thing, says Ralph.
HAAAAA
This week Weaz and I built a table. She then proceeded to sit on top of it.
I do what I want.
After “assisting” me by actually doing nothing but staring at me like this:
Hey.
She demanded vodka for her efforts.
Please, may I have some vodka, please?
Please?
No, Weaz. Just… no.
Muesli and coffee.
Ikea is where dreams go to die.
You’ll find them huddled in the corner with a plate of Swedish meatballs hyperventilating under a pile of brilliantly designed but cheaply made imports and mumbling, “Where is the exit? Where is the exit? FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, WHERE IS THE EXIT?”
I went to Ikea today.
It was a poor life choice.
All I wanted was a slipcover for the little couch my cats have destroyed, but knowing myself better than to assume I could get in and out of that labyrinth with just one item, I recited the following pep talk in the car before entering:
“Don’t be stupid, Katie.”
It (kind of) worked and I decided against buying this broccoli.
Someone buy me this.
Surely someone will buy me that.
I did manage to find what I was looking for in the discount pile. A mere $10 for the slipcover I sought. This is the closest I’ve ever come to being successful in Ikea. Of course, when I got it home I realized it was for a different couch and was also (you guessed it) final sale.
So. If anyone has a Karlstad and would like my $10 slipcover, it’s in the trash outside my house.
At least I also got my car washed today, which felt very productive indeed.
Best.carwash.ever.
Now–GUESS WHAT–both my siblings (count em… one, two) are in town tonight and we’re going out.
Hold on to your butts.
VEGETABLES.
“Do you guys know what a cooter is?”
This is how my medical nutrition therapy professor started class tonight. She went on to say…
“I had this patient who had half of his face shot off trying to eat one.”
Uhhhhhh.
“He was driving along and saw one dead on the road so he took some of the meat and took it home and ate it.”
UHHHHHHHHHHHHMMMMMMM.
“He came back later to get more but another man was there and they got into a fight over the cooter meat and he got shot in the face over it.”
I CANNOT MAKE THIS SHIT UP.
As it turns out, this is a cooter in North Carolina:
COOTER.
I’ll have you guys know that I braved a Google image search of “cooter turtle” for that photo. Don’t worry, it’s TSFW (totally safe for work).
According to Wikipedia (where I source all my information, thank you): “Pseudemys is a genus of large, herbivorous, freshwater turtles of the eastern United States. They are often referred to as cooters, which stems from kuta, the word for turtle in the Bambara and Malinké languages, brought to America by African slaves”
This is absolutely the most valuable thing I have learned in the last three years.
Tonight I turned in my last big project of the semester.
BAM.
It was a case study for a 29-year-old patient suffering a gunshot wound to the abdomen. He was probably trying to eat cooter.
It was a most glorious occasion that I celebrated by splitting a bottle of wine at my new favorite neighborhood bar. I feel like once you know the name of the bartender, you’re totally in (and an alcoholic). Unfortunately, this particular bartender does not give a shit about my existence unless I am with a certain friend of mine who happens to look just like Zooey Deschanel. It’s a tough life she has. At least I get free drinks when I’m with her.
Because this keeps popping up every month…
Boooooo.
Chickpeas, broccoli slaw, marinara, feta
Hello, world. Did you miss me Twitterbitching about traffic on my way to work this morning? [Me neither.]
I feel saner already. And just so we’re clear: there is nothing wrong with social media. Lord knows I love me some Facebook. Nope, unfortunately, as it turns out, social media is in the clear and there is just something wrong with me. (Lovely.) It’s just that I feel completely unstable and anxious and strangely isolated to be in constant contact like that. Not healthy. I have enough instability in my life as is at present, thank you.
I think what I’ve realized is that I’m at this point in my life where I’m trying to figure out who I am and what I’m doing and it’s kind of hard to do that when you’re busy telling everyone else who you are and what you’re doing. At the end of the day, these forms of social media aren’t really there as a tool for two-way communication. It’s more like a megaphone than a walkie-talkie, more for scrutinizing others than improving ourselves. Even when you’re “talking” to someone else, at some level you’re motivation for doing it in a public arena is so everyone else will see it. That’s the point, right? Otherwise, you would’ve just called.
So anyway, there is a serious Katie-to-Katie conversation that needs to take place, if that makes any sense, and I’m not making any great strides in personal growth and development if I’m publicly putting my shit on blast.
That’s what the blog is for. Winky face.
So I’ve discovered bagged broccoli slaw and my life will never be the same. I use it for everything. Last night I sauteed it with artichokes and chickpeas and topped it with a cheese-like nooch sauce. Amazing. Today for lunch it’s playing the role of pasta with a mix of artichoke hearts, chickpeas, marinara sauce and feta. (Some tempeh or nuts would also be lovely.)
I’m talking bagged broccoli slaw, canned artichokes and chickpeas, jarred marinara sauce. It took me all of 30 seconds to throw it all in a container and another two minutes to microwave at work. Oh yes you do have time to eat vegetables. Give it up.
In December??
SEVERAL THINGS.
Did you know you can grow strawberries in the Carolinas in December?
ME NEITHER. A guy from a nearby farm showed up in my office with a whole truckload of these beauties, and you better believe I bought a whole bucket just for me and no one else.
NOPE. All mine.
It’s like a little bite of summer. Except… I’m actually still walking around in a t-shirt most of the time so summer isn’t too sorely missed… yet. It will come. I am a walking sack of miserable depression in the winter. Just you wait.
Ehhhh
Now that I have my hipster camera phone app, I look edgy and mysterious, right? Not like I’m standing in the bathroom at work taking pictures of myself? And don’t you like how the fade totally washes out any imperfections? This is why people use these things, you realize.
Lame ugly picture of pizza?
Yep.
No! It’s my-life-is-so-much-cooler-than-yours pizza.
Duh.
So I’m 1.5 hours into my no Facebook/Twitter deal and, as you can probably tell, it’s going very well… These are the things I would have shared had I been able to:
Right now I’m supposed to be working on a case study for a 29-year-old patient with a gunshot wound to the abdomen, but all I can think is: “WHAT am I doing with my life?”
It’s at moments like this that I threaten to quit everything in my life and go on The Bachelor. Don’t even test me.
See ya, social media.
“Miss Katie,” said a little blonde girl, hand on hip, “you are [sassy snap] workin’ it today.”
“Miss Katie,” says another, “your hair is so silkyyy.”
I could get used to this working with kids thing…
For the last three months I’ve been working with a nurse at a local elementary school to facilitate their fourth grade Nutrition Club. The last Wednesday of every month is definitely my favorite Wednesday of the month.
I know a lot of people my age don’t, but I happen love kids and actually have quite a bit of experience working with them, but I still wasn’t quite sure what to think going into the experience so I Googled this:
Seriously though. I had no idea. Can fourth graders read? Hell if I know. (Turns out they can.)
I read up on learning theories and stages of development and all that textbook stuff that never really applies in real life and felt fully prepared to school the group on health and nutrition.
I came at them hard with some pretty dense material on carbohydrates and protein and fat and insulin and antioxidants and things that should have been way over their heads. But, surprise surprise, they shot back with questions about lycopene and diabetes and why, pray tell, cranberries can be classified as fruits if they don’t have seeds. (They do.)
I was so impressed by their interest in the topics and their (almost excessive) engagement in discussion about said topics. It was great.
So to celebrate out last meeting of the year, we had a little snack party with two dips–one sweet one savory–and a little trick up my sleeve.
Partay
You see, the students had already told me they hate hummus. We had a lengthy discussion about my love for chickpeas earlier in the fall and they were almost interested until I told them they’re used to make hummus. They weren’t buying it.
So for the snacks at the party, I knew exactly what to do. We had roasted red pepper hummus with carrots, celery and peppers and cookie dough dip with apples, pretzels and graham crackers. Both were made with chickpeas. Only one was consumed. But still, my point was made when I announced that the secret ingredient in the cookie dough dip was… dun dun DUUUUUN… the dreaded chickpea.
“See?” I said. “It’s ok that you guys don’t like hummus, but that doesn’t mean you don’t like chickpeas at all. Sometimes you just need to serve a food in a different way to get used to it. You never know what you’re missing.”
Success.
I can assure you they didn’t miss a single drop of that cookie dough dip. They were scraping the bowl clean. And one little girl, I kid you not, looked up at me and said with her cookie dough dip-covered face, “Miss Katie, my favorite thing about Nutrition Club this year was learning that chickpeas exist.”
My work here is done.
We also played beer pong.
No.
We made our own “sodas” with sparkling water and 100% juice.
Make your own soda bar
One boy said it tasted like toilet water. You win some, you lose some.
Aw
I wish I could stay forever, too.
They made me a big ridiculous card with the following highlights:
“Dear Katie, you spent one hour to come and teach us health. Now I know how to make a smoothie! Thank you so much. I’ll stay healthy!”
“Thank you for helping us learn about health and nutrition. We should try to study to be a dietitian.”
“Dear Katie, thank you so much for helping us in health. Now candy is not my favorite food. You took your time just to help us and I thank you a lot for that. You are a very successful person and I will miss you a lot.”
Aw. I suppose if I can teach just one child that chickpeas exist, then I’ve done my job here on earth.
Speaking of chickpeas, I was eating a heaping bowl of them (with wild rice, kale and artichokes) when I decided I’m taking a break from social media for December.
[gasp.]
I know. I know. What will I do with my time? Hopefully lots of things.
I will still be blogging (probably at an even higher frequency now), and both my Twitter and Facebook accounts will still exist, but I won’t be on them. I blocked my Facebook wall so no one can write on it, but I’m leaving Twitter up and running so it will continue to autopost blog updates.
It’ll be good. I really need some real in my life.
Plus, like I told the kids… You never know what you’re missing.
See ya when I see ya.
The table is still standing.
Tonight I ate deep-dish pizza overnighted from Chicago while watching the Biggest Loser make-over special and the Victoria’s Secret Fashion Show back-to-back. It wasn’t until I’d had my second post-pizza cookie (and two brownies, too) that I thought, “Things have really gotten out of hand over here, Levans.”
There was vodka, too.
This vodka is straight outta 1979.
Weaz has a problem.
I don’t know where this ridiculous girl came from, but I like her.
Anyway, there is something at once oddly satisfying and blatantly disheartening about eating a buttery crust buried under two inches of straight up CHEESE while watching people lose 100 pounds and/or strut around in underwear weighing less than 100 pounds. This is my life.
But it’s not like I was sitting around doing this nonsense on a Tuesday night for no reason. Oh no no no. Tonight was a damn holiday. Tonight Mitch and I christened the new table. Actually… Well. I guess we ate on the couch while watching our shows. BUT we did set the food on the table long enough to take a picture of it.
Tah dah.
Rachael, my fellow Chicagoan, sent the pizza as a thank you for watching her dogs last week, and it made the perfect centerpiece for a little mid-week (is Tuesday “mid”?) mental escape.
Yep.
I needed it. Because you know what I realized today?
(Other than that there is a hipster camera app for Droid. Did you notice? You bet you did.)
I realized that next semester, which was supposed to be a whole lot easier than this semester, is actually going to be a whole (whole) lot worse. I had to put together my availability schedule for my two jobs and… let’s just say I dry heaved at the sight of it on paper. I’m not kidding.
Shit’s about to get REAL up in here.
I paid for this.
The heart truly knows no joy like walking into your evening vitamin metabolism class and being informed that it’s the last class of the semester. I almost cried tears of pure joy when I saw the professor evaluation sitting on my desk. Instead, I got a little excited and spilled a cup of water I had balanced precariously inside my purse and proclaimed, “Aw shit, my water broke.” Heads snapped in my direction and my only friend who actually caught the joke said, “You carry it well.”
I’m pleased to report (and certainly hope it doesn’t come as a surprise) that I’m not even a little bit pregnant. Do you see how much vodka I drink? I mean, are you kidding me? Not even a little bit pregnant. For this I’d like to thank all the men who will not even go so far as to call me. Thanks for helping me fight the good fight against unplanned, irresponsible pregnancy. Carry on, soldiers.
And that’s the last time I’ll make a broken water joke. Take a deep breath, mom.
Tonight I built a table. This is what happens when I get, like, 15 minutes of free time. Can’t sit still. Can’t do it.
Yikes
I turned in two papers today–count ‘em… one, two–and I feel like the weight of the world (or at least of a good 300 pages of research material) has been lifted off my back. As a result, my appetite made its triumphant return today after about a month of stress-induced sustenance via coffee, vodka and pretzels. I’m pretty sure my body had entered serious survival mode for a while there, but I assure you we are back on track. I’m like a ravenous little badger today.
So I ate a whole lot of food and built a table. Ah, to be free…
Weaz supervised the process, which took me one viewing of Chicago, an episode of The Sing Off and a couple glasses of wine–or about three hours. It was not pretty, but I got it done.
Approved.
Mitch called and told me I had to stop because her man friend was going to come do it for us. To which I responded: “I’m having an “I Don’t Need a Man” moment. I’m building the shit out of this table.”
And I did.
I did notice an awful lot of “extra” pieces–screws and such–by the end so… I don’t know. We’ll see how this goes.
What's going on here?
Somewhere between eating pizza and taking sake shots at 3am and currently nibbling a gingerbread man (thanks, Caitlin!) while sipping candy cane tea, I wrote a 10-page paper on the clinical complications associated with Wernicke-Korsakoff and the independent and concomitant roles of malnutrition and excessive alcohol consumption as a trigger for the syndrome by way of thiamin deficiency.
2am Pizza and Sutter Home White Zin Minis
3am. Sparkling shiraz and candy.
WHAT. Whatever. No one cares. My professor probably won’t even read it.
[You might wanna skip this.]
Basically, the deal is this: Thiamin (vitamin B1) is an essential vitamin, which means we can’t synthesize it in adequate amounts in our own bodies so we have to take it in through food. Thiamin plays an important role in the breakdown of carbohydrates by functioning as a coenzyme for three enzymes responsible for carb catabolism and is also vital for the synthesis of myelin, which is the protective sheath around our neurons. Deficiency leads to severe complications in the central nervous and cardiovascular systems, among them Wernicke-Korsakoff, a combination of two syndromes characterized by confusion, ataxia, vision complications, memory loss, confabulation and hallucination.
Demand for thiamin increases in the presence of excessively high carbohydrate intake because, simply put, you need more thiamin to make it possible to break down all those carbs. Since alcoholics ingest a lot of carbs (I wouldn’t know…), they are a high-risk population for Wernicke-Korsakoff. WK can be treated with thiamin supplementation but, unfortunately, some 90% of cases go undiagnosed because 1) the symptoms look a whole lot like plain old drunkenness so alcoholics experiencing symptoms are dismissed as just having hit the bottle again, and 2) there just aren’t great methods of testing for diagnosis.
Anyway, my position on it was to examine whether or not the complications associated with WK are a result of pure thiamin deficiency from malnutrition associated with alcoholism (alcoholics don’t eat very well, in case you didn’t know) or if alcohol itself plays a role in preventing thiamine transport, absorption and metabolism.
It’s a little of both.
I can’t believe I had to stretch that out into 10 damn pages…
[Stop skipping now.]
Have I lost everyone yet? Good. Here are some less impressive things about me buried underneath this gibberish that makes me sound intelligent.
You should know…
It's just such a THRILL.
Stick it to the man.
Uhhhh.
Last night I had plans to get drinks with Mitch. We’d both been doing school work all day and had been texting back and forth for hours about getting sufficiently slammed. It was one of those “aw shit, girl, it’s so on” kind of days that you just know will turn into one of those “BEST.NIGHT.EVER.” kind of nights. You know the kind. Heels. Lipstick. Whole shebang.
Thirty minutes before we were supposed to head out, she called. She had a boy-related duty to tend to. Had to meet The Mother. Big step, big deal. I got it and told her it was fine.
I tried to pretend like it really was but really… I was alone on Thanksgiving. It was a little bit nice but mostly miserable. I felt abandoned and like I needed to seriously reevaluate my life. I needed to feel like someone gave a shit about where I was and what I was doing. And just as I was about to start moping, she chimed in…
“NO. I mean, I will go meet her but… I’m hanging out with you tonight. I went into this day with this intention to be deliberate with you. You are important to me. You are going to be in my life for a long time. Like, sitting together in rocking chairs long time… Is that weird?”
No. That’s not weird at all. I need that.
So we went out. We drank champagne until I was sufficiently drunk enough to eat my weight in oatmeal cookies and she went off to meet her boy’s mom. It was a win-win for all parties involved. I don’t have a lot of girlfriends I can depend on. So it was big.
So tonight when I was up to my neck in research for a 10-pager that’s due on Monday and a friend of mine called at 11pm saying she needed some support, I paid it forward and took her to the exact same bar, ordered the exact same drink and told her the exact same thing Mitch told me last night:
You are important to me. I want you to be my friend. I am here for you no matter what.
Pizza and wine in paper cups. Duh.
We drank way too much champagne and wine and sake and ate way too much pizza and stayed out way too late.
My paper isn’t done. I won’t be rested tomorrow. I probably won’t make it to yoga… But whatever. It was one of the best nights I’ve had in a long time.
In the last six months I’ve had a lot of moments where I really needed someone. Just needed someone to be there for me. It doesn’t always happen and that’s ok. I mope around on the internet and we all get along just fine.
But maybe the reason no one is ever there for me is because I’m never really there for anyone else. I’m too caught up with my own problems. It’s rare that I get to be that “someone” for someone else because I get so wrapped up in my own issues and needs.
I’ve found, though, in the last two nights, that standing in as support is as meaningful for the supports as it is for the person who needs it. To get to be support for someone else. To forget about yourself for a little while. That is a beautiful thing.
I’ve said before that I don’t like to ask for help. I think I’ve got it all covered. I’m good. I’m Katie (fucking) Levans. I’ve got this. But the reason I don’t tell people I need them is because I don’t ever want to give them that power to be able to say, “No, I can’t be there for you.” Because it hurts. I also rarely say, “I’m here for you” because I don’t want to give anyone else the power to say, “I don’t need you.” Because that hurts, too, in a different but very painful way.
But that’s a lose-lose. It’s time to be a little bit more vulnerable, I think. To lay it all out there. To live just a little bit. With pizza and champagne and late nights turned early mornings. It’s in the Girl Code, y’all.
Article 9, Section 7: You will drop anything and anyone when your friends need you. Period. Champagne and pizza are required.
“You’re a human being, you live once and life is wonderful, so eat the damn red velvet cupcake.”
Tia's kind of a cat...
Happy post-Black Friday Caturday!
Ralph is still recovering from yesterday’s shopping rampage. Rumor has it she put some old lady in the hospital over a steeply discounted iPhone… I’m not talking because whatever I say can and will be used against her in a court of law. I know nothing.
She wouldn’t tell me what she got everyone for Christmas but I found an Urban outfitters bag full of ironic coffee table books so…
Haha. You have to be smart to get it.
She got another pair of red Toms, too. She now has 37.
Speaking of hipsters… Weaz got her first Instagram portrait courtesy of Mitch’s iPhone…
I look so good blurry.
I know, I know. I’m just bitter that I don’t have Instagram on my Droid so Weaz has to deal with looking like this:
Why do you have to be so lame?
I didn’t get much quality time with the cats this week because I was dogsitting at Rachael’s house…
Gabby!
Gabby is 18 freaking years old and in better shape than Ralph. Sure, the scent of her breath signals that she’s rotting from the inside out, but homegirl can still ball. She’s awesome.
I missed not waking up to this little face today…
I miss you.
Needless to say, the cats hate me for spending time with the dogs. I made it up to them with a Thanksgiving feast of turkey shreds (WITH CHEESE).
And suddenly I am forgiven.
Off to work… got you THIS:
My mom sent me this.
Snack time.
This morning I was up bright and early to open the store at 6:30am for Black (fucking) Friday.
It wasn’t bad at all, actually. I totally volunteered myself for the early shift. The way I see it, Black Friday crazies have all been up since, like, 3am. Around 4am at the Doorbuster Sales, fueled by coffee and flying high on hit after hit of materialism, their spirits are soaring. But come noontime when the caffeine starts to wear and the spirits start to wane, they start to get a little bit tired. A little bit hungry. A little bit cranky and unreasonable.
I didn’t want to be there to see the shift so I volunteered myself for 6:30 to 12:30. Brilliant.
Of course.
My roommate–who will henceforth be known on the blog by the name I really call her, Mitch–came dressed as a turkey and made me a pilgrim hat out of construction paper. Perfect. You bet we work and live together. Just can’t get enough.
In (dis)honor of the biggest shopping day of the year, I bought absolutely nothing. In fact, I did the complete opposite…
I got my library card.
BAM
It’s official. Charlotte and I are now in a long-term relationship. I hope she likes cats…
I’ve decided I’m going to learn French. I can’t decide if it’s because there are lots of French exchange students on campus and I want to be cool like they are or if I want to know how to actually say French culinary terms or if I just want a reason to go to France but… I’m doing it.
Cwa-sawnt.
Unfortunately, my neighborhood library branch is the smallest and illest equipped of them all, so the only language instruction books they had were for:
So I got Italian.
Italian is easy because I already speak Spanish–Does this make me sound cool? I certainly hope so. That was the idea.–and get this…
CASSETTES.
I’m probably the only person in the world who, when presented with cassettes responds with: “OH MY GOD YES.” But it’s perfect, you see, because the CD player in my car is broken and for some reason no one will ever understand, this vehicle built in 2003 also still has a cassette player. Game, set, match… Volvo.
Because I have time for this.
I also picked up Poser because I love a good yoga book.
Having trouble controlling your spending this holiday season? Repeat after me:
I have everything I need. I have everything I need. I have everything I need.
Now go get your library card.
Pumpkin green smoothie
It is now a surprise to no one–thanks to my public internet moping–that I am alone for Thanksgiving. It’s not so bad, really…
Sure, I laid in bed and cried for two hours yesterday. And then cried some more when my mom called to see if I was crying. And then cried some more at 1am when I was driving back and forth across town (I’m dog sitting) to check on my cats and then check on them again because my roommate informed me that she was concerned she’d left a candle burning and that the cats had surely perished. They didn’t.
The whole day I felt like I was doing a lot of giving without receiving (which is fine), like I was getting bailed on left and right, like I was setting expectations that were falling short and like I just wanted to be with my family.
Anyway, I’m happy to report I got it all out of my system. I let myself play the victim and feel sorry for myself, as if I were at the mercy of others’ decisions, when really… I put myself in the situation and could get myself out. Once I got over the fact that this holiday was shot, I decided I’d just be grateful for a day off, for beautiful weather, for some time to myself and for plenty of time for yoga.
Today I feel fantastic. This is what I did…
In the span of about 14 hours, I was in yoga for 3.5 of them. It was a beautiful thing.
Steamy.
You bet I drink coffee in hot yoga. It’s fine. All told, I also had three coconut waters, two Ultima electrolyte mixes, two Pedialytes and plenty of water. Don’t you worry about me and my dry ligament. It’s on the mend…
I wrote a 20-page lit review on high-fructose corn syrup.
Disgusting.
You bet I want to stab my eyeballs out. I have to write the conclusion for another 10-page paper, write an entire other 10-page paper (topic as-of-yet undecided; due Monday) and make a nutrition-related public service announcement video and then you can stick a fork in this turkey-like semester because that mofo is DONE, son.
That turkey analogy is the closest I will get to anything remotely resembling a real Thanksgiving today. That’s not true. I made the cats their tri-annual (birthday, Thanksgiving, Christmas) turkey dinner. And by “made” I mean I opened a can of turkey shreds with cheese…
WITH CHEESE
Gross.
Other than that I haven’t eaten pie or stuffing or mashed potatoes or… anything, really. I had a fantastic green pumpkin smoothie with oatmeal cookies crumbled on top, at least three coffees, a Pedialyte, a Vitamin Water and MORE PRETZELS. (As you can tell, my appetite has been shot for about three weeks.) I’m about to go pickup some kind of anti-Thanksgiving takeout like Indian food or something and drink copious amounts of wine.
On a far more grateful note…
Thank you for reading my blog and not judging me (too harshly) for my antics. Thank you for supporting my haphazard philanthropic efforts. Thank you for sharing your stories. Thank you for sending me support. Thank you for spreading the word about this silly little place to your friends. Thank you for praising the cats. Just… thank you.
Who knew?
I feel like if someone had told me Pedialyte was this delicious, I never would’ve gotten this dehydrated in the first place.
Then again, I probably would’ve started using it as a cocktail mixer and that would’ve landed me exactly where I am today… hobbling around on a dried up ligament. Gross.
My leg is doing much better now that I’m a hydrating machine. I kind of hate it though. You know how frequently someone with half a bladder has to pee when consuming enough water to sustain life? A lot. A whole lot. It’s disrupting my usual routine of Facebooking for eight hours straight without ever having to stand up. I could get a catheter or something…
I’m feeling particularly sorry for myself today because I just now realized I want to be home for Thanksgiving and it’s a little late for that now, isn’t it? My sister’s going to her boyfriend’s house. My brother’s going to see our grandparents in Atlanta. My parents are in Illinois. I am moping around Charlotte eating pretzels like they’re going out of style.
These pretzels are makin me thirsty.
Last year I made an epic vegan Thanksgiving.
WANT.
But that’s not my life this year. And it crushes my soul a little bit. But it’s ok. It’s ok. Moving on…
I don’t know why no one thought to alert me of the existence of Marcel the Shell sooner, but now that I know… my life is made. Nothing can bring me down from the giddy high this little nugget gives me.
Know what I wear for a hat? A lentil.
Want to see my playlist?
I made it myself.
I have no real music of my own. In fact, almost all of my music is really Stew’s, which is irritating, but… it’s still so good. I’ll give him that. So here we go…
Banana cookies galore.
The other day I stopped by Caitlin’s house carrying a paper plate overflowing with baked goods. Three different kinds, in fact.
“What’s going on?” she asked. “Don’t you bake when something has gone terribly wrong?”
That’s why my to-do list looks like this:
Amber is my cat dealer. I needed a hit...
A list of grad papers followed by:
Sounds about right.
DO YOU SEE HOW THIN THAT LIST IS GETTING? Oh sweet baby Jesus, I can taste the freedom now. And it tastes like brownies.
In the next 48 hours I will:
It’s so on.
I actually feel really (really, really, really, really) good about… life… right now. The weather is gorgeous (75 degrees and sunny, swoon). My work is almost done (so close). My leg is slowly but surely healing (I’m a hydrating machine). I sent my first (tiny) assignment to Charlotte Magazine yesterday (which is such a bigger deal to me than I will admit). I’m working on handstand (and if you knew how much I fear being upside down, you’d know that this is big).
Lovely.
I feel very calm. And in control. And I think this stems from two things:
It’s Thanksgiving week so it makes sense that I’d be more cognizant of the good things in life, the things I’m so grateful for.
I’ve also been working internally on identifying when I play the victim (which is often) and consciously trying to avoid that mess. Call it what you will–an excuse, a defense mechanism, a trap–it’s not who I want to be. My focus, then, has shifted from feeling sorry myself with all I have to do and instead feeling empowered that I have to do it all because I can and, more importantly, because I chose to.
Bam.
Vegan salted caramel blondies
Yesterday I learned to use iTunes. It was a momentous occasion just 11 years behind schedule. I never claimed to be cool, guys.
It’s not that I don’t like music. (So go ahead and put that music-is-my-oxygen lecture back in the pocket of your skinny jeans and just calm F down; you’re fogging up your fake hipster glasses with your hyperventilating.) I just don’t like change. So, as I’ve stated before, back when iPods came to replace CDs, I said, “No, thank you.” Plus, I was on a PC up until two years ago and I was using Windows Media Player. Don’t judge me. And I like to think I do my part to support the music industry by dating musicians. You’re welcome.
I’m proud to report that my beloved CDs and I have fought the good fight for the last decade, but after about a year of a broken CD player in my car and having to endure the likes of “Hey Soul Sister,” anything by Nickelback and autotuning so aggressive and overpowering that I’m not entirely sure a human ever sang the song in the first place, I simply cannot take it anymore.
So I made a playlist.
Exactly.
I still don’t know how to actually buy music (how do I do this?) so all I have is my brother’s library (99% Jay Z and a little bluegrass) and my ex’s library (100% Prince). But I did learn a little secret for getting songs that I am absolutely certain is illegal so I’m not even going to say I’m doing it because I picture a team of bazooka-wielding music piracy cops smashing through my windows to arrest me. “But I didn’t know it was illegal!” … “Yes you did. We read your blog. Perhaps now you’ll stop oversharing like your mom asked you to do years ago. By the way, we know you’ve been stealing internet for the last six months… And can we take a picture with Weasel?”
Anyway… I’ve been keeping a running list of songs I like in anticipation of this day.
Yep
I have listened to my playlist one thousand times and am very pleased with myself.
So pleased, in fact, that I remade the infamous “I Hope You Die” blondies just to get the recipe right this time and celebrate my accomplishment.
| I Hope You Die Blondies (Salted Caramel Blondies) |
So damn good.
Am I really as bitter as the story behind these sweet blondies makes me sound? God I hope not.
I don't really hope you die.
Vegan black pepper brown sugar cookies, yep.
I learn things the hard way. I like to think it’s less an innate character flaw rooted in unfaltering stubbornness and more my selfless desire to give as many people as possible as many chances as possible to say, “I told you so.” I know how they love to say it.
If ever you have wondered the following things:
I have your answers: nope, sweet Jesus yes, jury’s still out, like rabid pitbulls, NOT EVEN CLOSE, negative and YES, respectively. How? I learned all these things the hard way.
Did you know you can be so dehydrated your ligaments start to dry up? Me neither, y’all. Me.neither.
We’re not positive since my “consult” consisted of me laying on their living room floor for approximately eight minutes, but Caitlin’s Doctor Husband Kristien seemed pretty confident that a “dry ligament” (ew.) is what’s causing my elusive leg pain.
“I have no idea what could have caused this,” I say, eyes shifting tellingly from my empty coffee cup to my empty wine glass. “I drink plenty of fluids.”
I know I know I know. I know that I’m studying nutrition and I know that water is important for, um, everything and I know that I practice hot yoga, like, seven days a week but… I still don’t drink water. CONFESSIONS OF A WATERPHOBE.
I just don’t like it. You know why? It dates all the way back to 1989 when my doctors thought I had cancer but really I had a urachael remnant but either way half of my bladder had to go so I had to pee all the time and it caused me great stress and anxiety on planes and in cars and mostly just all the time so I learned the art of not drinking unless absolutely necessary. There’s also the fact that when I got cats they kept putting their stupid paws in my drinking cups. So then I got water bottles but I don’t like cleaning them out and when I don’t they get moldy and I unknowingly keep drinking out of them until I discover, with great horror, that they are full of mold and that creates an even stronger water aversion. So then I buy water when I need it but that is ridiculous and expensive and unnecessary. So then I’m like, “Well, this vodka will have to do.”
I know. I won’t say any more because I hate me right now, too.
The point is… I have learned the hard way that I actually do have to drink water.
I know at least six people who will be calling to say I TOLD YOU SO in 5… 4… 3…
Another thing I learned the hard way today is that, no Katie, you cannot just “eyeball” measurements when baking. Cooking, maybe. Baking? Never.
Those seemingly flawless stacked cookies were actually sprawled out on the baking pan creating a bubbling sheet of molten dough. I think it had something to do with too much butter, not enough flour, but who cares? They were salvaged. I let them cool and then cut out nice little circles. No harm, no foul.
| Black Pepper Brown Sugar Cookies |
HAHAHA. Looking at the recipe again, I see that I used 1/2 a cup of flour, not 1.5. Very good.
As always, do as I say, not as I do.
I’m off to drink some Pedialyte…
You forgot Caturday.
No I didn’t.
I bet you guys thought I forgot Caturday, didn’t you? You know how I know? Because I’ve received tweets and emails and phone calls and Facebook messages to the effect of: WHERE THE HELL IS CATURDAY???
Maybe the cats died. Maybe I just like to keep you on your toes. Maybe I was at work. You’ll never know.
But don’t worry, guys. Ralph has got this one under control…
SUPERRALPH
You wanna know the real reason there was no Caturday this morning? Because Ralph was drunk.
D-R-U-N-K
Look at that asshole. She claims someone roofied her at Butter but I know the real truth. She stole two bottles of Ashley’s wine and watched Lifetime movies with a tube of cookie dough in her hand. I don’t know where she learned these habits.
Only after drinking the two bottles of wine and syphoning out the last of the cookie dough did she proceed to Butter to shake what her momma gave her. (I am not her momma.) The bouncer gave me this picture from the security camera…
I FUCKING LOVE BEYONCE
We’re staging an intervention tonight.
Weaz is feeling emo about it.
No one understands me.
So there you have it. Caturday for November 19, 2011. Never a week missed since 2009.
PS – I bought a journal this week. I thought it might help me curb my internet usage if I could just write down my thoughts instead of tweeting and/or Facebooking them. So far this is all I’ve done with it…
Weaz does love TV.
Siddhartha spinach salad. Fern (Charlotte, NC)
You know those mornings where you hit the snooze button nine times (three times for each of your three alarms, duh), walk outside to find the temperature has dropped 40 degrees overnight (literally. 75 degrees to 35 degrees.), scrape frost off your windshield with Trader Joe’s gift card (with a zero balance) and speed off to work with your new, never-been-used reusable cup still on top of the car, totally unbeknownst to you until you reach stop sign numero uno of the drive and it flies off the roof into the intersection ahead and you have to shamefully step outside to pick it up while neighbors and passersby stare at you with a look that screams, “Get it together, girl”?
Me.too.
WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS
Surprisingly none of this bothered me because I was feeling all recharged from my selfish night in and my no-yoga-because-I’m-injured morning, and I decided I’m going to pretend like my life is all unicorns and glitter until it actually is. Namaste, bitches.
I had a great day at work because I decided I was going to. Pretty simple, actually.
I am done with my graceless heart
So tonight I’m gonna cut it out and then restart
Cause I like to keep my issues strong
It’s always darkest before the dawn
My leg is in terrible shape so I gimped around the floor and made everyone feel the gross creaky thing my shin is doing. It’s… gross. I sat down for two damn minutes in the last 30 minutes of my shift and was ridiculed mercilessly by my cruel and heartless coworkers. Then they photographed me like some kind of zoo animal and told me to get back to scrubbing the floors with my toothbrush. Jerks. (Not really. They’re some of the best people I know.)
Cats!
It’s a really tough job. Really.
I’m not sure what I’m going to do about this leg situation other than ice it and complain. Try to stop me.
I lucked out with a dinner out with my friend Ashley who is in town interviewing at the hospital. I used my new favorite restaurant as leverage to convince her to move here…
Three sisters cakes
Mmmhm.
Ashley's pumpkin salad
OM burger
Ashley pulled a Katie and got a salad with a veggie burger on top. I pulled an un-Katie and got mushrooms. What? I don’t even know. The spinach salad with roasted mushrooms and tempeh and pears and candied pecans was just calling my name. I hate mushrooms but I loved that salad. Surprise.
Alyssa, the brilliant mastermind behind Fern’s kitchen door, tempted us with some insane desserts but we passed. She sent chocolate bark out anyway.
God I love that place.
I appreciate all the feedback on yesterday’s rant. I hope it comes across that I’m not as miserable as I sound. Like most of us, I’m just in a period of growth and change and there’s a lot to take in and analyze and, in my case, overshare on the internet with thousands of strangers. It’s what I do. I’m glad to hear it resonates with some people.
After dinner Ashley looked at me and said, “I wouldn’t tell you this if I weren’t your friend so just think about how many other people are thinking it and staying quiet but… your blog really changed my life. Like, changed my life. I’ve been meaning to tell you since May. I wrote it in my planner.”
What do you even say when someone says that to you? “Thank you” was all I could think of in the moment.
So. For all you silent lurkers who feel like you’re in the same sinking boat, just know we’re all in it together. Let’s not take it too seriously, though. This is just life. It’s beautiful and hilarious and frustrating as hell. Let it unfold.
As Florence would say, “What the hell, I’m gonna let it happen to me.”
Shake it out, y’all. Shake it out.
Pear + cinnamon + sharp cheddar = yes.
“I’m just… exhausted,” I said, voice cracking under the pressure of a dam of tears about to burst. Normally I would never (ever ever ever) cry at work but… I work at lululemon and if there’s one thing we love more than black stretchy pants, it’s a damn good cry.
We had a conference call this morning. I sprawled out on the floor–coconut water on one side, coffee on the other–wondering why I had to come in early for this mess and hoping my new prone position would hide my eye rolls as sunshine and butterflies spewed from the receiver.
Voices from across our region–some I know, most I don’t–started to chime in to share why life was oh so beautiful and perfect on this glorious Thursday morning that, from my vantage point anyway, was rainy and gross. Plain and simple.
I listened to the voices talk about their great morning workouts and the sun shining through their windows and their steaming cups of home brewed coffee, and followed each statement with a silent, “I hate you and your perfect life.”
I was bitter. I wanted to work out and sit in the sun and sip coffee. Instead I was laying on the floor in the mall, unshowered and completely uncooperative, wishing I were still in bed. I haven’t been sleeping. Haven’t been eating. Haven’t been studying. I was in no mood.
I did actually listen to the call because I wanted to make sure I was positive it was a complete waste of my time. And just when I thought I was sure to win my own internal bitter battle, something actually resonated. In fact, it echoed right off my hollow, angry, Grinch-y heart and snapped me back into reality. And it came from my very own boss… right there in the room with me… probably wondering why I was sprawled out on the floor.
She’d just taken her daughters on their first (that they could remember) flight and wanted to repeat a phrase I’ve heard a hundred times over: “You have to put your own oxygen mask on first before you can help anyone else.” But this time I actually heard it.
I laid there on the floor for a few more minutes and then slowly and deliberately sat up, reached for the phone and blurted out to the dozens of strangers something to this effect:
“Hi. This is Katie in Charlotte. I’m really excited today but anyone in the room with me right now wouldn’t know it. I’m sprawled out on the floor. Literally. I’m laying on the floor. But I am excited today because in the last four days I’ve raised $1,000 for this charity I think is really important. But I don’t look excited right now because I’m exhausted and I think that if I would take time to put my own oxygen mask on first… Sometimes I just think about how much greater my capacity to help others would be if I would just take care of myself first… That’s all.”
You’d have to understand our company and our culture to understand that that wasn’t really a strange thing to say on such a call, just that it was strange for grumpy Katie to say it.
Afterwards I sat down with my boss and begrudgingly admitted that I’m breaking down. Again. To which she responded (in so few words): “You have to take care of yourself. You have to ask for help.”
Normally I would protest. Normally I’d say I’m fine, that it’ll pass, that I can handle it. (Just ask my parents. You’d sooner find me face down in a gutter, homeless but full of pride, before I’d willingly ask them for help.) But this time I get it. This time it’s not about me and my limitations and what I can or can’t do. It’s about my potential and my capacity to give and what I can or can’t do for other people if I don’t take care of myself first. And that’s a whole lot more important to me than whether or not I get eight hours of sleep a night or not.
For me, “take care of yourself to take care of yourself” doesn’t resonate. “Take care of yourself so you can take care of others” does.
So, in a small but meaningful first little step towards taking care of myself, tonight I did the following perfectly selfish, unnecessary things:
Skipped class. Whoops.
Took the longest, hottest shower my water heater would allow.
Bought myself some sweatpants and slippers that I’ve been wanting for, oh, three years now. The too-big kind that my mom is always telling me to pull up. $6 at Marshall’s. BAM.
Not lululemon. Blasphemy.
Organized my accessories drawer that has been driving me batshit crazy for six months….
Pretty.
And ate 1000 of these ginger-orange chews.
The peppermint ones are better.
I’m the kind of girl who thinks she doesn’t need anyone or anything. You realize I don’t even own a brush, right? I can get by with very little. But sometimes even a too-proud minimalist like myself needs some help. My desire to do everything on my own all the time is really just a defense mechanism. If I don’t ever have to say to someone: “I need you and I need you now and this is why…” then no one can ever let me down. I’m noticing now that in relationships and potential relationships and friendships and everything that this lack of vulnerability makes me completely unapproachable.
I need to take care of myself, yes, but also need to be willing to let other people take care of me, too.
I hate this, but I get it now.
AH!
When I set out to raise money for Beards BeCAUSE this year, I just wanted to help. My mom has always told me that when you’re sad and lonely and in a general state of blah, you should do something nice for someone else. My two primary coping mechanisms are avoidance and displacement. In this case, I applied both. I decided I’d avoid my own problems by directing my energy towards someone else’s. It seemed logical.
At the time, I didn’t think I had a strong tie to the cause but I knew it was a worthy one, and I also knew Scott and Jared personally and wanted to help them out with their mission. Plus, I love beards.
What I’ve learned over the last month and a half–and in the last week especially–is that this cause is so much bigger than that, so much bigger than me, and that (like it or not) I do have a strong tie to this cause. We all do.
One in four women will be a victim of domestic abuse. One in four. That is ridiculous. Unacceptable. Disheartening.
By participating in Beards BeCAUSE I’ve been exposed to the raw truth of real suffering. Though the outlet is lighthearted–beard growing, beer drinking, fundraising–the organization’s mission is heavy and their actions deliberate. In hearing from victims, caseworkers and policemen who deal with domestic violence, I now better understand the gravity of the problem, the breadth of its reach and the reality that it’s not going away any time soon–a fact that leaves me feeling frustrated and overwhelmed and, in all honesty, angry.
But what I’ve seen in the last six weeks–through the kindness of strangers–is that there is great power within each of us (and especially all of us collectively) to make a difference. To cultivate love where there is none. To create hope where there is none.
I cannot thank you all enough for your support (monetary and otherwise) of this cause. The way I see it, my role in all this was simple: draw attention, spread the word, be a voice. You all–the bakers and crafters and bidders in the auction; and the eaters and drinkers at the bar–are the ones who gave selflessly of your time and energy and skills and money. And for that I am very, very grateful.
Together, in just four days, we have raised $1,000 for Beards BeCAUSE to put an end to domestic violence. (The grand total from the auction was $801.50 and my tips from the bar brought in $186, which I filled in to $200 for a nice even $1000 total.) Way to go.
But we’re not done yet. Oh no… There are still three more weeks of fundraising left to go.
Still want to donate?
You can do so through my participant page here.
To the auction winners…
Thank you for your patience with the logistical problems. I’ve been at my other job all day, computerless and phoneless, and am emailing everyone right now with instructions on how to proceed with payment. Thank you all!
This is a pear.
Hello, nuggets.
What a day. What a day. The bake sale is in full swing and I cannot tell you how thrilled I am to see all the bids coming in. I’m so thrilled, in fact, that I have spent the better part of my day constantly refreshing the page to watch the numbers change. Very productive…
Thank you, thank you, thank you to everyone who has donated, bid and helped to spread the word. The auction will close at 10pm EST and I fully expect to see some last-minute bidding wars erupt. Can’t wait. Scoot your booties on over and find something you simply can’t live without. (Ralph and Weaz are not up for grabs, sorry.) It’s a wonderful cause.
When I wasn’t busy obsessing over the auction, I took a hot minute to venture to the health clinic upstairs to find out why my right leg feels like it’s going to straight up snap in half every time I take a step. They ruled out shin splints, stress fracture and (they think/hope) blood clot, but three doctors and two nurses later, all I walked away with was a prescription for 12 Advil a day (a day??) and instructions to carry on with my life.
This does me no good.
They were all very perplexed by the whole thing and even busted out some reference books (this always makes me feel good when my doctors are essentially paper-Googling my problems) but concluded nothing. I’ll keep you posted because I know you’re all just dying to know what it is. Secretly I hope I’m having a delayed growth spurt so I’ll finally gain that extra inch necessary to qualify for America’s Next Top Model so that I can bitch slap Miss J in real life and not just inside my own head. (I AM NOT SERIOUS.)
Now I’m off to chug a(nother) soy latte and write a paper on the bioavailability of vitamin B12 in novel vegan sources. Partay.
Go buy something awesome.
[Shameless plug.]
These are my items in the auction:
TODAY
Thank you for visiting my online bake sale/auction. Bloggers (and non-bloggers) from all over the country have offered up some serious baked goods (and some seriously gorgeous non-baked goods, too) to drive funds and draw attention to this very worthy cause. I hope you’ve all come hungry.
All proceeds raised will go directly to Beards BeCAUSE to benefit the United Family Services Shelter for Battered Women.
The auction will be open from 10am EST to 10pm EST.
Never participated in an online bake sale? Let’s break it down…
How to Bid
Thank you so much for stopping by! I am so grateful.
Sincerely,
Katie
Or... I Hope You Die Blondies
I can safely say that I have never wished death upon anyone. That was, of course, until today when I saw a picture of my ex with his new girlfriend. (At which point I promptly deleted my Facebook account.) It’s not like I’m proud of this little lapse in my sanity and humanity, but come on, guys. Come. on. She was holding a pumpkin. A pumpkin! Everyone knows fall is my favorite season, a right that is protected in Girl Code article 13, section 9, which clearly states: No future girlfriends may be photographed carrying hallmark produce representative of former girlfriend’s favorite season. Um, hello. Everyone knows this.
So. As you can see, I lost my mind today. At first I thought: Bitch, I hope you die.
And then I thought: Well that’s not very nice at all… You realize you’ve been seeing someone else for months now, right? You silly hypocrite.
And then I thought: NO MORE THOUGHTS. JUST BAKE.
And this is what I did. Things were going very well. I was heating butter for my blondies and gathering goods for black pepper brown sugar cookies, banana bread and oatmeal cookies (What? A PUMPKIN, GUYS. Stop judging me.) when all of the sudden…
Karma, ya betch.
Since when can Pyrex dishes not be heated on the stovetop? Since always? Oh ok that’s cool.
So there I was standing in the middle of my kitchen, shards of glass all around me and butter running down the stove into a pool on the floor when I realized… I need some wine.
I bet you thought I was going to realize something like: “This is silly. Let’s just clean up and go to bed.”
BUT NO. When life gives me pictures of exes with new girlfriends lemons, I will give life a big fat lemon drop martini straight to the face (because apparently I’m a bartender now).
So I chugged some wine, pulled up my big girl pants (or perhaps didn’t judging by the picture), cleaned up my disaster and carried on with the task at hand, this time subbing oil for melted butter since that didn’t go so well the first time.
Deal with it.
What I was left with was this:
Blondies?
Still not willing to admit defeat, I trimmed off the charred edges and was left with a perfectly gooey, sticky, sweet-but-salty little bite. A small victory.
I also made a miniature mint chocolate cake for dinner.
Whatever.
Girl Code article 1, section 1: You can eat whatever you want.
Fake it til you make it.
I’ve never experienced domestic abuse firsthand. I’ve been a bystander, unfortunately, as neighbors go at it on the other side of a shared wall, a scene more common than most of us would like to admit. I’ve learned to distinguish between an inanimate object hitting a wall versus a fist hitting a wall versus a body hitting a wall and when it’s time to call the police (which is an acquired skill I could’ve done without acquiring).
In my own homes though–growing up and as an adult (is that what I am now?)–I’ve never seen anything remotely close to resembling violence. My whole life I’ve been surrounded by strong, honorable men. My grandfathers and uncles and dad and brother and boyfriends (all two of them) would never (ever ever ever) lay a hand on me but would seriously (I am not kidding) murder anyone who did. But I do have friends who’ve been (or currently are) in ugly situations and their hurt is very real and their worlds are very dark.
So when people ask me why I’m raising money for Beards BeCAUSE to end domestic abuse (I prefer “abuse” to “violence” so as to not discount the non-physical damage done verbally and mentally), I suppose the response is twofold:
So last night I bartended to raise money for Beards BeCAUSE to benefit the United Family Service Shelter for Battered Women here in Charlotte.
Sweet Tater Behind the Bar
When putting this together I decided I’d go big or go home so I reached out to one of the city’s most popular restaurants where you’ll frequently find a two-hour wait on a Tuesday night. For some unknown reason, Cowfish was kind enough to let me behind their beautiful (and rather large) bar to make the fundraiser happen. I think it had something to do with the fact that I neglected to tell them that I had never bartended before. Details, shmetails…
Cowfish
Signs on the bar and everything
We all know I like to drink a little bit lot but I can now confirm that a love for vodka does not a bartender make.
I don’t know if maybe Cowfish had a whole lot of faith in me or if they just couldn’t wait to see me fumble my way around the free pours, but there was no training whatsoever going on. This was a straight up birth by fire, my friends, starting with the complicated fancypants cocktails ordered by… my friends.
Thanks a lot, guys.
I wasn’t really on my own. No one would be foolish enough to give me full reign behind a bar like that. Oh no no no. I had the support of Jen, one hell of a bartender and (I’d argue) the most patient person in the entire world.
Thank god for you, Jen
With Jen’s coaching and a little guesswork, I now know how to do the following:
Make fancypants cocktails
Work that archaic computer system
Serve giant onion rings...
... and salad.
Keep track of tabs
And clean up.
Watch out, Vegas strip. I’m comin for you…
By the end of the night I had:
Seriously. I feel like my right shin is going to snap in half. Bartending is like an endurance sport. Tip big, y’all. Tip big.
PS – This is what I look like at the precise moment of realization that I have probably ruined an entire bottle of wine:
Aaaahaha
PPS – I only served one minor and I’d totally do it again. I mean, her ID looked fully legit and a I knew that tequila would pair nicely with her macaroni and cheese… (That didn’t happen.)
I'M KIDDING DON'T SUE ME
All told, it was a wonderful night. An enormous thank you goes out to:
I was telling my roommate when I got home this morning that everyone who came out last night (with the exception of Brittney) I’ve known for less than six months, which is exactly how long I’ve been living here in Charlotte. And it was this humbling realization that made me feel like I’m really at home here, like this is mine and I built it myself. And that, my friends, is a pretty big damn deal for the girl who a few short months ago couldn’t even get out of bed.
THANK YOU
If you’d like to donate to Beards BeCAUSE, I’d love for you to do so on my page here.
Also, don’t forget this Wednesday…
Mile 1 motivation.
So I put a dent in my vitamin B12 paper, threw my cares to the wind and went to the bar with my roommate, some girls from work and a new friend I picked up at Starbucks not two hours prior. I do that.
We drank and talked and ventured into such standard bar topics as boys, religion and food ethics… at which point Ashley declared herself a vegetarian for the remainder of our time living together.
Shook on it and everything.
I told her this meant she had to throw out the turkey she brought into my house (the nerve!). She agreed and asked if her beef bouillon cubes had to go too. Yes, Ashley. Yes they do. [Update: She just texted me to report that she almost ate a pepperoni but realized it wasn't made of vegetables. This is going to be slow going...]
I had a beer and a vodka soda.
And waffle fry nachos (sans chili cuz we're all veg now)
Did you know you can make nachos out of waffle fries? Me neither. But Ashley did. And she was so excited about those vegetables.
VEGETABLES FOR LIFE
After destroying some drunken boys in a game of basketball, we headed home where we decided it’d be a great idea to have drunken craft time. Glitter included.
We made signs for Thunder Road Marathon and vowed to wake up early and watch them run by our house.
OH MY GOD GLITTER
I ate pretzels and cheese while we worked…
Hey, you wanted to know EVERYTHING, right?
We made two signs. One that said: Don’t poop your pants. And another that my mom is going to be so very furious about but that went over well with the runners at mile one…
Good advice
Yep.
This is what happens when you let two girls from Ohio and Illinois drunkenly make signs to be held at a marathon in the conservative south. No matter. Everyone loved it. And… we were right next to a fire eater so we were pretty much the best cheering section those runners saw all day.
At least I don't eat fire, mom.
We were happy to be of service.
This was my first time spectating a marathon and I’m happy to report that it is awesome. Have you ever read “How to Ruin a Marathon“? Do it right this second. It’s so perfect.
“That’s why I like to start off my training day bright and early with a full breakfast of espresso, some diet pills, and a small bag of rock candy. It keeps me edgy and volatile when I’m in the thick of disrupting a tight race.”
L.O.L.
Seriously though, you marathoners are incredible machines. For example, Adam decided he would run Savannah last weekend and then just, ohhhh you know, run a second marathon in seven days with Thunder Road this morning. Alright then. No big deal.
Way to go, you runners. I will never be one of you but while you’re carb loading and sleeping and training and all that, I’ll definitely get drunk and do yoga and make you motivational signs.
This is my life.
I’m going to be honest with you… I have not been eating well (or kind of at all) the past couple days. I attribute this to an extreme level of stress coupled with an extreme lack of sleep. I am in a perpetual state of motion right now and apparently don’t have time to notice the most basic physiological cues of exhaustion such as hunger. I’m running on coffee and vodka and, no, I do not condone this lifestyle.
Nevertheless, when I do eat, I make it count with whole foods, lots of vegetables, fat and the occasional cupcake. Breakfast was PB&J toast with coffee (above).
Lunch was this cool power meal pack that comes with a big ol’ tub of greens, dried cranberries, chickpeas, bulgur wheat and dressing. I added pretzels, a cheese stick and sparkling water.
Power Meal Pack
I got the Power Meal with a free coupon from Earth Fare and while it’s not something I’d usually buy (because it’s just as easy–and cheaper–to assemble on your own), at this point in my life this is exactly the kind of thing I need. Speed greens. I’ll take it.
I found this cupcake and ate half.
I bounced from meeting to meeting yesterday afternoon–one with A Healthier Charlotte to discuss some potential collaborations and another with Cowfish to work out logistics for my charity guest bartending stint Sunday night. I picked up my first story for Charlotte Magazine this week, too. Things are happening, y’all. They’re happening.
I drank a beer with Blair of AHC, ate an apple in the car and threw down some rice cakes with hummus and pickles when I got home.
This is an apple.
I know it's weird.
Dinner just was not on the agenda because I spent four hours on a Friday night researching the bioavailability of vitamin B12 in plant vs. animal food sources.
Ack.
So I wrapped up my work, had a PB&J rice cake and and headed to the bar to pretend–for at least a few brief hours–that I am a normal 26-year-old.
Dinner of champions?
(I am not normal.)
My intake doesn’t end here (neither of food nor beverage), oh no.
To be continued…
God, is that you? It's me, Weazus.
Heeeeeey, kittens. Happy Caturday from the past… It’s Friday night (early Saturday morning?) and my roommate is singing “feelin’ like a star, you can’t stop my shine” across the hall and we’re running out the door to the bar because that vodka’s not gonna drink itself, you know, and I know I won’t get Caturday up on time in the morning because I plan on going to straight to cheer on the Thunder Road Marathoners and then straight to yoga (still drunk, I presume) and I just don’t want you all to miss out on these gems.
Mmmmhello.
The cats spend most of their time laying around seductively. It’s true.
Look at these fools.
Oh. Hello.
Not so much what I want waiting for me at the end of the day but… I’ll take it. They’re good cuddlers after all.
Bring me my vodka.
I miss when Ralph looked like a lion.
That’s all I got. My roommate and I have been drinking all night and then came home to make motivational signs for the marathon tomorrow. The runners will be passing by our house bright and early so we’ll be out there with coffee and fleece blankets and a little mile one motivation…
Alright then. See you in the morning.
Pretzels. Cheese. Tiny ice cream cone. Duh.
Would you like to know the only thing I’ve learned in class so far this week? Good because here it comes…
Bats are the only mammals other than humans that perform fellatio. You’re welcome.
Try to figure out how that relates to nutrition. I dare you.
This fact makes me very uncomfortable not only because we almost had to watch a puppet demonstration and a video but because I like to think that all animals are just completely asexual, especially my pets. This would explain why my female cat who I watched birth five babies is named… Ralph. And why my first cat Gracie… was a boy. Gender neutrality, y’all. As far as I’m concerned, my pets do not have genitalia at all. Sure, Ralph was pregnant and all, but everyone knows that was immaculate conception. And you know that that means? Baby Weaz is Jesus… Baby Weazus.
I guess that’s not really the only thing I’ve learned this week. It’s just the only thing I retained, apparently. Again, you’re welcome.
I’m doing other academic things, too. Lots of them. I saved all of my big papers and projects for the last three weeks of school. Good for me. Three research papers requiring 20 citations each didn’t sound so bad until I printed out my 60 sources… It’s pretty bad, y’all.
Yes.
In honor of this ridiculous time in my life, it has been an odd couple of days of eating.
The day started off innocently enough with a vitamin C tablet the size of my head (generously donated by my roommate):
Plop, plop... fizz, fizz.
I am sick (because this is what happens when you kiss people who are sick… WebMD it), but there are few things 1000mg of vitamin C can’t cure and I’m happy to report I feel just fine today. Sort of. I have no appetite. None.
I took my sweet time making a smoothie for the road because when I don’t feel so good the entire world stops rotating long enough for me to make a smoothie. Surely my bosses know this because no one said anything when I strolled in 30 minutes late. (PS – I let my roommate try it and she said, “YOU MEAN TO TELL ME THERE ARE VEGETABLES IN HERE??”)
Smoothie on the way to work
Thank god I had the foresight to plan ahead and roast an acorn squash Sunday night because it was easy to stuff on the fly on my way out the door and made a lovely centerpiece for lunch at my desk.
Acorn squash, quinoa, feta, tapenade, roasted broccoli
I look forward to the day I am not eating all of my meals out of tupperware. They should really sponsor me. WAIT. They should… I’ll get Weaz on that right away.
Mint tea
A rather angelic cheese stick.
As the day wore on, my 1000mg of vitamin C wore off and I started to drag. But come hell or high water… or mild illness, I’m at Wednesday night yoga every week.
I had a snack before I left because I knew dinner wasn’t gonna happen on any grand scale afterwards.
Rice cake, PB, pumpkin, cinnamon, maple syrup
And I was right. By the time I got home around 10pm, dinner was not happening. So I assembled that lovely plate of cheese and pretzels and baby ice cream cone above and then ate trail mix in bed.
From Tropical Foods
Probably didn’t need chocolate-covered coffee beans before bed. Live and learn.
Oh shoot. Maybe I also had a glass of wine on my way out of the yoga studio. You heard me. I can’t help that I practice in the best studio in the world where people hand you glasses of wine as you’re trying to walk to your car. (Calm down. It was a tiny glass. And was shared. This is probably how I get sick…)
Easy flatbread pizza
I think we all know how I feel about Sandra Lee. If not… The woman is a nut job. And an alcoholic. Plus, is it not a little off putting for a woman to match her kitchen (which is a different color every day, mind you)? It is.
Still, we can’t deny the fact that Ms. Lee got one thing right: Every meal should end with a cocktail. No wait… That’s true, but what she really got right was that it’s ok to use pre-made foods as shortcuts. Sometimes.
The other night I got home late and wanted good food (namely pizza) but didn’t want to put forth any real effort (especially in the dishwashing department). So I dug out some packaged gems:
And made my own little 15-minute flatbread pizza.
Sandra Lee approved.
I’m actually a little concerned that this was one of the best things I’ve “made” in a long time because I didn’t really make anything at all. I just assembled. This does not speak highly of my cooking skills.
For people who are intimidated by cooking, this style of assembling foods in ways that taste good is a great start. It gets you in the kitchen, gets you comfortable cooking and gets you ready for bigger, better things… like making your own dough and your own tomato sauce.
Until then, rely on the packaged stuff. Ain’t no shame.
| Easy 15-Minute Flatbread Pizza |
I want this again.
This is a perfect single serving pizza. The crust is thin and crispy but holds the weight of a mountain of veggies with ease. I might just have another one tonight…
Muffins with almond butter and grapes
I do a whole lot of driving these days and one thing I have learned is that Charlotte drivers are vicious. Do you know how many times I have to merge before I’m safely cruising down 77S? Five. Five times. Do you know how hard it is to merge when people are doing everything in their power to ram their giant SUVs into your face? I sure do.
All this time I’ve been spending in the car lately (two hours on an average day, 1.5 on a good one) has led me to a few realizations:
I do the premature exit in real life too (sounds like a sexual disfunction but is not, I promise). If I know something is coming up in my life–especially a change–I slam on the breaks and slide on over into the slow lane so I can safely stew and fret and mull over every possible move prior to said event occurring so that I am fully 100% undeniably prepared. It’s maddening. And boring, really. This is why I didn’t register for classes last week when I was supposed to (wasn’t done fretting). Why I can’t seem to cash in my $400 flight voucher (can’t overthink it enough). Why I fear change in general.
I’d like to think I’m cut out for the fast lane–flying by the seat of my pants, throwing caution to the wind… breaking rules. But I’m just not. Slow and steady wins the race, right? So long as it’s not on I-77, in which case slow and steady dies at the mercy of an angry soccer mom in a Hummer.
Anyway…
I was having one of those EVERYTHING-LOOKS-TERRIBLE-ON-ME-AND-I-THINK-MY-ASS-IS-EXPANDING days, which is a sure sign that I am mentally ill (this is how Joshilyn Jackson describes skinny girls who think they are not skinny in this amazing letter and I love it) and that I’m having a girl moment. When all else fails: NEUTRALS. Neutrals and a belted skirt.
Tah dah
Breakfast was two muffins with almond butter and grapes. And two cups of French press coffee with rice milk at home.
Lunch:
Lentils, quinoa, kale and sparkling water
This cheese stick.
Snacks:
I had two apples (one around 11am and one around 8pm), grapes and a soy latte (at 5pm, which explains why I am awake at 2:30am…).
x 2
These are grapes.
Bag lady. Late for class. Always.
Dinner:
This perfect cupcake
Just kidding. I split that cupcake. I also split a trio of dips with pita chips–tzatziki, hummus and baba ganoush, an amazing vegan sushi roll, a cheese plate and a gyro that we somehow thought was made with falafel but was definitely made with lamb and was, therefore, not consumed.
But, yes. For a hot second I had lamb in my mouth. IN MY MOUTH. It was weird and horrible. I knew it immediately, promptly spit it out and got a very good laugh out of the whole situation. (Vodka helped.) It really, really looked like falafel, y’all.
While I’ve never had any doubt about being a vegetarian, 10 years without meat can sometimes leave you wondering: “But… what if I miss it and don’t even know it??” Let me tell you… I do not miss it. Weird. So weird.
In my decade of vegetarianism, I have unwillingly almost consumed animals on three other occasions:
But not better than Grandmother Betty's.
One of my favorite things about being southern is being southern but not really being southern. I was born in Kentucky but raised in northern Illinois by parents who were born and raised in small-town Kentucky and backwoods Georgia. I grew up just outside of Chicago but we ate grits and drank sweet tea and (much to the delight of my friends) my parents said “y’all.”
I feel like this “biculturalism,” if you will, affords me a sort of dual citizenship. I get to pick and choose what I like about each region and apply it to my identity and abandon the rest. From the Midwest it’s all cornfields and cumulous clouds and crisp fall mornings. Down south it’s yes ma’am and no sir and family and tradition and cornbread.
Hey y'all.
My Grandmother Betty makes the best cornbread I’ve ever eaten in my life, and I’ve mentioned before here that I suspect it is most certainly made with some sort of animal fat in an iron skillet older than this fine country we call home. Some things I just choose to ignore.
While I can’t replicate Grandmother’s cornbread (even with the recipe it wouldn’t be the same), I did find at least a suitable stand in earlier this week.
This recipe is a vegan adaptation of Bittman’s cornbread from How to Make Everything Vegetarian. (This is the best cookbook I own.)
| Better’n Granny’s Cornbread |
|
Sing me home, cornbread.
For the record, cornbread is to be salty, not sweet. If you must have sweet cornbread (there is something wrong with you and) you can add 1 tablespoon of sugar to your dry ingredients. Don’t do this.
Extra Hour Muffin-cake w/PB and an orange
Sharing the following may throw me into the line of fire for saying I have no time to do anything ever, yet somehow managing to read about food all day. It’s fine. I’ll use the same defense I keep in my arsenal for when people tell me the food I eat is too expensive for my budget:
Some people like expensive clothes. Some people like exotic vacations. Some people like fancy cars. I like food so my money goes there.
Likewise, some people like watching TV. Some people like playing videogames. Some people like taking naps. Me? I like reading about food so my time goes there.
Here’s what I’ve been up to this week:
The Invention of the McRib (Chicago Magazine): “Most people would be extremely unhappy if they were served heart or tongue on a plate,” he observed. “But flaked into a restructured product it loses its identity. Such products as tripe, heart, and scalded stomachs are high in protein, completely edible, wholesome, and nutritious, and most are already used in sausage without objection.” Mmmmm, sign me up.
The Gift of Food (NPR): “Lasagna or carrots, rice or bread, cinnamon rolls or salt. It doesn’t matter what you bring. It is the act of bringing sustenance or sweetness that communicates caring — and something larger. It cements our bonds, the chemistry of flour and eggs, butter and sugar making not just a cake, but a community.” Perfect.
Supersized Portions and Social Status (NPR): Apparently the Napoleon complex doesn’t just manifest itself as an obnoxious bright yellow Hummer or a protein powder-snorting meathead… When people feel small (figuratively, as in “without power” or “inadequate”) they are more likely to order super-sized portions.
Jello Art (WFAEats): Artist Carla D’Tapiero uses an unlikely medium to create her masterpieces. Delicate flowers are suspended in a familiar wiggly treat creating edible art.
Happy Birthday, Red Solo Cup (NPR): I hope frat boys everywhere are throwing keg parties across the country to celebrate the Red Solo Cup, which turns 75 this year.
I Want to Cook but… I’m the Guest (NYT): A reader laments her sister-in-law’s lame holiday cooking and asks if it’s ok to insist on cooking if you’re not the hostess. Thoughts?
Florida Prisoner is an Idiot (Orlando Sentinel): This is an incredible display of idiocy (and absurdity) at its finest. 34-year-old Eric Harris is serving a life sentence (FOR SEXUAL BATTERY ON A CHILD) and has decided to sue the state prison for “cruel and unusual punishment” for feeding him too many soy-based products, which he says are making him sick. Excuse me, sir. I hope you choke on your soydog and die.
25 Perfect Pies for Fall (Bon Appetit): Two words… crack pie. Two more words… you’re welcome.
NYT Vegetarian Thanksgiving 2011: Every year The New York Times puts together a flawless collection of gorgeous vegetarian-friendly Thanksgiving dishes. They add a new recipe every day. I can’t even handle the suspense.
So that’s what I do with my life. Here’s what I’ve been eating…
But first… may I just say… I hate documenting my food for the blog. There. I said it. I find it horribly boring and uninspired. Whew. OK then. I’ll do it for a few more days and then NO MAS (“no more” en espanol… gotta use that degree sometimes, y’all).
For breakfast I had my extra hour muffin-cake with peanut butter and an orange.
On the way to work I had a vega shake that made me want to vomit.
Bleh
I ate an orange while I was working…
Booooring
And then I ate a late/weird lunch of: green beans, kale, nuts, masala burger, peanut sauce with pretzels and cheese.
Weird.
And then coffee with soymilk to survive the rest of my shift. I found this chocolate peppermint cookie unattended in the back room so I ate it. I hope that taught someone a lesson.
Coffee. Is it more exciting if I call it cafe...?
When I got home I drank a glass of wine (or three) and ate carrots while I made dinner…
Hello.
These are the last two not the only two.
Dinner was a sparkling water that I got suckered into buying on sale at Earth Fare when I ventured in to buy the cats’ expensive freaking cat food (You heard me. I shop for the cats at Earth Fare and myself at Trader Joe’s. I’m also thinking about getting them health insurance…) and lentil walnut soup with a piece of the world’s best cornbread (or three).
Impulse buy.
Oh, and roasted broccoli, too.
So very perfect.
Cornbread is a touchy subject down South and no matter who you ask they say their grandmother makes the very best cornbread in the world. Well, I hate to break it to all your grandmothers, but I made the best cornbread in the world last night. Just not better than Grandmother Betty’s. So there’s that.
Then I rounded out the night with a peanut butter chocolate eyeball (or three).
Pan's Labyrinth. Anybody? Anybody??
I really do hate doing this. Soak it up, y’all. Soak it up.
Tempeh, tapenade, cheese, hummus, pickles
Yesterday’s food was brought to you by: Trader Joe’s. It’s ridiculous, really. Please don’t tell me Trader Joe’s is in some way destroying the world because it is my sole grocery store right now because it is CHEAP but still sells organic. Actually, does anyone have a strong opinion on TJ’s either way? I’m sure they are doing some major things wrong that get people all riled up… like supporting factory farmed produce that is raping the Earth and homogenizing our food supply… Do tell if you’re into that (and educated on it). But they do a whole lot of good, too. I haven’t looked into it. I’m sure someone will educate me…
Anyway, for those who missed it, I’m documenting my food for one week and one week only. Here’s day two…
Smoothie bowl with walnuts and iced coffee
Tempeh sandwich with carrot sticks & almond butter
Carrot ginger soup, quinoa, tofu, cashews
Snickerdoodle coffee with soy milk
Pretzels on the way to the bar
1 Mich Ultra at the bar with my brother
Midnight snack: carrots, cheese, pretzels, almond butter
I know what you’re thinking: WHEN DOES THIS FOOL MINDLESSLY BINGE EAT LIKE THE REST OF US?
I do. Believe me. I am a stress eater and used to have a lot of trouble with binge eating at night (I’ll devote a full post to this soon), but I identified that habit and have been able to squash it for the most part.
Last night I kept it together with a snack on a plate but still went back for a bowl full of leftover almond butter cup filling. Who keeps bowls of leftover almond butter cup filling in the fridge? I do. Obviously. I made those suckers like TWO WEEKS AGO but ran out of time or chocolate or something and set the extra filling aside to be used at another time. That time was last night at 1am…
I used dried apricots as a vessel whose sole purpose was to transfer that buttery, sugary goodness straight to my face.
Mmmmhm
Nope, Weaz should not be on the counter.
There you have it. Some notes…
Extra hour? Muffin time.
Let me paint you a little picture…
I’m seated on a stool at the kitchen counter, pot of French press coffee to my right, muffins cooling on the stove behind me. Ralph is asleep in my bed, Weaz in Ashley’s (inappropriate, Weaz… inappropriate). Sun is streaming in through the big window over the sink and I’m chatting with one of my best friends in the whole world (perhaps trying to convince her to move to Charlotte when she’s done saving the world in India). Last night I talked to both of my parents on the phone and grabbed a beer with my brother (and also tried to convince him to move up to Charlotte…). I woke up today without an alarm clock and without anywhere to be until noon.
In fact, here's the actual picture.
This, my friends, if I remember correctly, is what Sundays look like. When presented with a morning like this and an extra hour of it, no less, I had no choice but to bust out the baking supplies and make muffins.
I adapted Mama Pea’s banana chocolate chip muffins to my anti-chocolate-in-the-morning liking, cut down the sugar and packed it full of some more vegetables. More vegetables never hurt anybody.
| Extra Hour Muffins |
Happy Sunday to you.
I had extra batter after filling up my dozen muffin cups so I made a mini cake using a small ramekin…
Hey, baby.
Now, go forth and seize your extra hour.
This bed is mine now.
Happy productive Caturday, my friends. Since I didn’t do a thing I was supposed to last night, we’re taking care of business over here at Caturday Headquarters. I’ll get a handle on my schoolwork, so help me God…
We haven’t been entirely worthless this week. We did clean out my closet…
No one needs 13 pairs of jeans, Katie. No one.
The cats gave me their honest opinion on what should stay and what should go…
That outfit makes you look like a MOOSE.
Let's just light it all on fire and start over.
By the end we’d cleared out and condensed enough space to free up the spare room for our new roommate.
It was hard work.
New roommate? Yep. It happened. We crammed one more living creature into this tee-tiny little ill-equipped apartment. The cats have already claimed all of her belongings as their own…
What's yours is mine.
To give you an idea of how our personalities and styles will mesh, these are our teapots…
Mine is on the right.
And this is her bedside table:
Winston the frog butler
We are a match made in heaven. Words cannot even describe how great it feels to come home and see lights on in this little apartment.
Even the cats agree.
Sweet potato muesli
I had grand plans to throw down some serious productivity tonight but–wouldn’t you know it?–here I am at 10pm, 15 minutes from bedtime with not a thing done. Story of my life.
Here are some tidbits that you may or may not want to know to fill in the rest of the story…
Lots of great feedback on this post revealed that some people want to see what I eat and some do not. So I will give it one brief week (unless I get sick of it earlier) of tracking and that will be that. Deal?
Breakfast (at work): sweet potato muesli – 1/2 c oats, 1 c rice milk, 1/4 c sweet potato puree, raisins, pecans, pumpkin pie spice; combine in a container and refrigerate for a few hours or eat immediately
Lunch (at work): quinoa, kale, cashews, tempeh, liquid aminos, nooch and string cheese
Bowl of stuff.
Snack: These babies.
You again.
Snack again: Orange and string cheese and coconut water
Pre-laundry fuel
Dinner: build your own salad from Crisp with romaine, chickpeas, carrots, walnuts, olives, red peppers, grilled tofu, balsamic vinaigrette
Same toppings. Every time.
Snack again: graham cracker, almond butter, raisins, apple, mint tea
Apparently I'm really excited about graham crackers.
Things to Note:
Tasty snack.
String cheese… graham crackers. Next thing you know I’ll be rolling my mat out for nap time and expecting a juice box upon my waking.
I never buy graham crackers (because who really buys graham crackers other than parents of five-year-olds?), but I needed them for my almond butter cups last week so here they are.
Tonight I had this brilliant idea to eat one with:
Mmmmmhmmm.
I am very pleased with myself.
In other news, my roommate moved in today.
Not the roommate.
Me: Oh my god. The bedside table…
Roommate: Oh I see you’ve met Winston, my frog butler.
This is going to be great.
I hope she likes graham crackers.
I measured this.
Lots of people ask me to help them lose weight. My friends ask me. People in my family ask me. My coworkers ask me. Big Rick at Earth Fare asks me. Strangers at the coffee shop who inquire what I’m studying ask me as soon as they hear it’s nutrition related.
Weight loss is really just the tip of the iceberg of dietetics. But no one really cares that I’m being educated to administer tube feedings and reverse diabetes and prevent heart failure. To save lives and stuff. Which is great because I don’t really care either.
That’s not true. It’s not that I don’t care about those things and see value in those skills, but my place is simply not in clinical practice and I’m ok with this. My place is in prevention, of this I am quite certain. I’m about keeping people out of hospitals all together, not caring for them in their last months, weeks or hours. It’s a little bit selfish, I realize, but I’m just not cut out for it. Not in my head (I just can’t get my mind around most of these concepts and procedures) but, more importantly, not in my heart (I’m simply not strong enough to watch people die). If you work in any field of clinical care, thank god for you.
So it would seem that weight loss (and, more importantly, prevention of excessive weight gain) is totally my bag. But here’s the thing… for a concept that (to me, anyway) seems really, really easy, it’s actually really, really hard to execute successfully. It’s really hard to get people to change their habits. It’s really hard to get your message across clearly. It’s really hard to account for and accommodate different cultural beliefs, taste preferences and religious restrictions. It’s really hard to go head-to-head with Big Food (who, in case you haven’t noticed, are in this to make money and do not have your best interests in mind–this includes “health” food companies!). It’s really hard to break down a lifetime of misinformation from the media. It’s really hard to tell a single mom working two jobs to just “cook more.” It’s really hard to ask someone without a car or a grocery store within walking distance to stop eating at the fast food joint down the street. It’s really hard to navigate psychological motivators behind eating (or not eating). It’s really hard to enact change, to really make a difference. It’s just really hard. The ol’ “eat less, exercise more” mantra is great in theory but simply doesn’t fly in practice.
But here’s the thing… I’m up for it. I’m so very up for it. I just need a little practice.
I recently gave a friend of mine some pointers on losing weight and it occurred to me that it’s a little twisted for me to demand that she do as I say while I’m over here doing as I do. Don’t get me wrong, I consider myself to be an exceptionally healthy person. (Yes, exceptionally.) Sure, sometimes I don’t sleep enough. I never drink enough water. Once every month or so I get outrageously drunk. I make cupcakes at midnight. Nevertheless, I’ve never smoked, I don’t eat fast food, I exercise daily, I eat more produce in a month than most people will eat all year. I’ve got the health thing down.
Unfortunately, this doesn’t translate when you’re trying to help someone else. Sure, I lost 25 pounds a few years ago, but I did so as a result of a dramatic shift in lifestyle and not with the explicit intention of losing weight. I never counted calories or kept a food journal or measured out little 1/4 cups of nuts.
That’s what sent me down this thought process. I knew it would come around sooner or later…
I told my friend she needs to be measuring out a 1/4 cup of the trail mix she’s been eating because she’s probably eating a lot more than that. (She kept a 3-day food journal for me to evaluate.) And she totally does need to, but that’s not the point. It occurred to me that I don’t eat (or live) the way I’m going to be asking people to eat. I don’t measure out 1/4 cups of nuts because I can eyeball it. I don’t count out 16 crackers because I can eyeball it. I don’t weigh x ounces of anything because who the hell weighs things before they eat them? (People do.)
But these are things that I will most certainly instruct people to do when helping them to lose weight. What I’m realizing is that what seems so obvious to me is not obvious to everyone. It’s obvious to me because I live and breathe this stuff every second of every day. If I’m not studying it, being testing on it or sitting in a lecture about it, I’m doing it in my own life.
So the moral of this whole story is that I’d like to get Sweet Tater back on track with more practical health advice, how-to videos, recipes and all that good stuff I started with two-and-a-half years ago so that it can serve someone other than myself and my need for constant attention.
The oversharing and ranting and cats and general shenanigans are here to stay, don’t you worry. I just want this blog to go back to its roots and be a resource (as well as a source for shameless lifecasting) because I just realized I have a whole lot of helpful things to share.
Since I was thinking about what it would feel like to actually measure and track everything I eat, I did that tonight. My dinner above is:
580 calories, 36 g protein, 30 g fat
Questions:
Broccoli slaw, masala burger, quinoa, nooch
You know when you have absolutely no idea where you stand with someone and you won’t be getting to the bottom of it any time soon because that would require you having one of those awkward “Heeeey, what’s going on here?” conversations and you simply can’t do that because it would mess up your I’M-SO-LAIDBACK-AND-I-DON’T-CARE-WEEEEEE allure so you just act the complete opposite way you’d act in any other situation? Yeah, me neither…
Anyway… Now that I have no expectations for anything, I feel like I breezed through the day approximately 6,000,000,000,000 ,000,000,000,000 (6E+24) kilograms lighter. Nothing really changed other than my attitude, but it’s amazing what that can do.
I drove fast (but within reasonable legal limits) with the windows down and the music up and my hair did this:
Sorry.
There comes a time in every young blogger’s life when she will take a picture of her hair in the car. Embrace it. I won’t even apologize. I’ve been trying for 26 years to get my hair to swoop as dramatically as Ariel’s and this is the closest it has ever come.
See?
I decided I don’t hate my new windowless, secluded office so much.
Right?
For it was from there I ventured into the promised land that is Pinterest. How… HOW does anyone accomplish anything in the day with that site in existence? I thought Foodgawker was bad but, LAWD, Pinterest is like Foodgawker for ALL THINGS. It is the everything of bagels… the garbage of pizzas… the bisexual of sexualities… the all-you-can-eat of buffets. It’s the: I’ll have one of each, please.
I don’t have one (one what? a pin? a board? WHAT IS THIS THING??) yet, but give it time… give it time. Because just what I need in my life is one more online life trap.
What was I saying?
I busted out my winter coat AND fingerless mitten things.
Fingerless mitten things for CONSTANT PHONE ACCESS TO PINTEREST
And then at some point I attempted to study for tomorrow’s medical nutrition therapy exam…
That page looks awfully blank.
And that, my friends, is the “why” behind this ridiculous post. You guessed it. I probably have a test I’m not studying for. Yahtzee.
Put on your rant pants...
Today I took no fewer than three long walks. I used to do some of my best thinking while running, but then I got hurt and stopped running. So I started doing my best thinking in the shower, but I hate my current shower so I don’t spend a lot of time in there. So THEN I did my best thinking in yoga, but I eventually learned how to not think in yoga (which is kind of the point) and now I have no time to think at all. You see?
So wandering around today was good. And necessary.
What I realized, more or less, whilst wandering aimlessly is that I’m doing just fine. I am fine.
I hold really high expectations for myself and when I’m not able to meet them (which is, uh, an hourly occurrence at present), things get ugly. Suddenly when things don’t go quite as I’d expected, I am not good enough or smart enough or social enough or mature enough or flexible enough or desirable enough or friendly enough or giving enough or responsible enough or funny enough or happy enough. The list goes on and on.
So then I was thinking about how things get pretty ugly any time we hold expectations. And herein lies the root of every problem in my life.
I have these expectations about who I should be, where I should be, how much money I should be making (and spending and saving), how people should treat me, when I should achieve certain milestones, how many more cats I should get… and so on and so on. The problem with expectations is that they’re just stories. They are complete fabrications of the mind. Whether they actually happen or not is irrelevant. I spend all this time and energy trying to will them into existence, but the fact of the matter is expectations do not exist.
Now, I’m not saying we shouldn’t think about the future, set goals and dream big. But the difference between creating expectations and setting goals is that expectations are these non-existent, futuristic, intangible things that detach me from the real world; goals are planned future events rooted in reality. Expectations leave me so lost in the imaginary world in my head hoping and wishing and fearing that I lose all sight of the present moment; goals set me on fire and send me out into the world to make shit happen.
I think I’ve been so mad at myself lately (and that’s really what all this has been about) because I had these grand expectations for how things would be going in my life right about now and they simply did not (and will not) happen. These things had to do with my career, with my education, with my finances and, of course, with my relationship. And let me tell you, it’s one thing to create expectations for yourself and another beast entirely when you project them onto someone else. Especially a significant other.
I like to think that were I not so blinded by my expectations of where Stew and I were going and when we would get there and who he would be and who I would be, I might have been able to see that we simply weren’t going to work. Or perhaps, without all those expectations in the way, I would’ve seen that what we had right that very second was pretty perfect. Maybe, upon realizing it wasn’t working, I could’ve directed my energy towards making it work. Or, on the other hand, maybe I could’ve cut my losses sooner and moved the hell on with my real life instead of trying to force us into the imaginary life I’d created in my head. Who knows? The point is, having expectations didn’t get me anywhere in the end.
When I get lost in my expectations of who I should be and what my life should look like, I experience a complete loss of power and control. I feel helpless and hopeless. Now that I’ve realized this, can’t nothing stop me now, y’all.
You see, I have these goals and I know what I have to do to get to them and those steps lie in the present moment. Every day I’m getting closer. It’s already happening right now. I am the one I’ve been waiting for. I am living the dream.
So those are the things I realized today. I have no regrets. I have no expectations. I choose this. I choose this. I choose this.
Now. Don’t we all miss the happy-go-lucky, light-hearted, completely ridiculous Katie from two years ago? I know I do. I’m back, bitches.
I realize this is odd.
All adults should be required to eat string cheese on a daily basis if for no other reason than that you can’t possibly take yourself seriously while eating it.
I know I confuse people when I bake strictly vegan and then turn around and eat string cheese. I cannot explain it. Transcend labels, my friends. Transcend labels.
I’ve been on this rice cake + hummus + pickles + cheese kick for a while now and neglected sharing it 1) because people will accuse me of having an eating disorder if I willingly eat rice cakes and 2) I realize it’s a little odd. Nevertheless, it is awesome so here it is.
Other things that are awesome right this second:
Charlotte
This is still exactly where I want to be. I can’t explain it. I’ve never been somewhere and not been plotting to go somewhere else. It’s a great feeling.
Fall
This is my absolute favorite time of the year, and the city is on fire with the colors of changing leaves. I love it.
Zara coat + boots
I bought this coat while I was in Spain after getting trapped in another one and literally having to be cut out of it. Seriously. It took three Zara employees with scissors to cut me free. I still blame a faulty zipper but at the time felt guilty enough to buy another one anyway. When I wear it with boots I feel like I’m still in Madrid. (Those are car keys in my pocket; I am not happy to see you, no.)
Mochi
My neighbor just informed me that this cat I’ve been feeding belongs to one of our other neighbors. Thank God. I do not need another cat. I will still refer to it as Mochi and feed it the food that Ralph and Weaz have deemed unsatisfactory. Little dictators.
Beyonce.
Everything Beyonce does is flawless at all times so this could really end with: Beyonce, period. But specifically, what is awesome about Beyonce right this second is her new song Countdown. It is perfect. If it plays during yoga (HINT, TANNER), I will die of pure joy. She’s straight up pregnant in this video, PS. EXCUSE ME.
Griiiind up on it, girl. Show him how you ride it.
Smoothie. Tea. TV.
Well, I slept for 10 hours last night, and this morning I called in a sick day. You know what this means… Sitting around in my underwear drinking tea and watching morning talk shows with a space heater situated six inches away from my body. Not really. It means I’m still going to work all day anyway. Weeee.
I think I’m slowly but surely legitimately losing my mind this semester. Seriously. I feel like a straight up crazy person. I just cannot get it together. It’s a little unnerving. In fact, I’ve found myself hovering around at the foot of the stairs to the counseling services office, all: Do I go up? Do I not? What do I say? “Helloooo there, I think I am going crazy. May I have a crazy pill, please?”
Dr. Weaz at your service.
Depressed? Absolutely. I’m failing school, can barely get out of bed and have all but abandoned most of my relationships and responsibilities. But I’m also self-aware enough to realize that this funk is purely situational, not clinical. The situation right now is that I’m overworked, underpaid, stretched too thin, terribly lonely, doubting everything I do (and have done and will do) and collecting cats like they’re going out of style. (If the temperatures stay below freezing, I’m bringing the strays inside. Mark my words.)
It’s kind of funny to watch me lose it, I’m sure, and the humor is certainly not lost on me. But it also kind of sucks and is pretty pitiful. The type A, overachieving, go-getter in me does not even recognize this person I’m being.
So where does this leave me? This leaves me trudging through one.more.month. of this mess, of course. And then? I don’t even know. But I like to think it’s going to be pretty great.
“Chances are we already know what makes our hearts sing, we already know the beauty that we love. The problem is that we have been trained to believe that the power to fuel our dreams lies outside ourselves, that our unique gifts must be described in a preexisting job description for them to be legitimate. It’s a real breakthrough to stand in the middle of your room and realize it won’t be spelled out for you in a want ad section or grad school catalogue.” – Rolf Gates
Vegan chili. Stupid easy.
Every Halloween for as long as I can remember my mom always made us chili mac for dinner before we went trick-or-treating. Even after I’d gone vegetarian in high school (and continued trick-or-treating right on up through senior year; hate on, haters), the tradition carried on with my favorite vegetarian chili standing in for her standard beef recipe.
So all day I’ve been thinking about chili mac. I have failed Halloween miserably this year–no pumpkin carving, no candy, no decorations, no costume, no haunted house… nothing. So with my head hung in shame this perfectly brisk Halloween night, I vowed to not drop the ball on dinner.
Easy.
But after dropping entirely too much money on groceries last night, I was not about to head back to the store. I had to work with what was on hand, which, as it turns out, was perfect.
Chili is traditionally a long, slow simmer kind of food, but I whipped this one up in less than 20 minutes. It’s a one-pot deal with simple ingredients, minimal prep and a surprisingly complex and satisfying end product.
| Stupid Easy Vegan Chili |
Chili mac, you are mine.
Happy Halloween!
Bowl of goodness
The problem with being hungover is everything. You feel terrible and (if your morning went anything like mine–showerless) probably look and smell worse. No one feels bad for you because you brought it on yourself with a non-stop stream of vodka straight into your face. You really want (and perhaps need) to lay around all day but this makes you feel even more worthless. And just when you think things couldn’t get any better, you check your texts from the wee hours of the morning to discover that while most of your body’s systems were on the cusp of completely shutting down, your thumbs were apparently in perfect working order.
My friend Amber has this brilliant idea that cell phones should come equipped with breathalyzers. If you blow above the legal limit of 0.08, that sucker shuts down to prevent you from TUI–texting under the influence. I would have benefitted greatly from this feature at exactly 2:14am.
What led me to 2:14am was the trifecta for a massive night out: a holiday, a costume and a cab. It’s one thing to celebrate a festive occasion. It’s another to do so in a disguise. And all bets are off when you surrender your sobriety to the knowledge of the fact that you cannot and will not have to drive yourself home.
The night started innocently enough with a plate of vegetables after I got off work at 9pm.
The last healthy thing to enter my body.
I met up with my brother (who lives and breathes for Halloween, you should know) and his friends to watch him win a costume contest for the third year in a row. It’s ridiculous, really.
Related.
Happy Gilmore
Angry toddler in a tiara
So much alcohol.
My costume sucked and I was not happy about this, but there was no way I was going to do an hour’s worth of makeup after leaving work at 9pm just to pull off the Licthenstein girl. Next year…
At some point (and I didn’t know this until reviewing my pictures today), I decided it was necessary to take pictures with everyone in the bar. I don’t know any of the following people…
Nope.
I guess I know Charlie Sheen
WHO ARE YOU
Mmmhm
Not necessary
Alright then.
Best.
At some point I just got up and walked straight out the door and into a cab. The rest is a blur. My Facebook status summed it up nicely:
Needless to say, I have been painfully hungover all day, but I’m slowly nursing myself back to health with vegetables.
Heal me
Carrot ginger soup, steamed kale, spicy peanut slaw, quinoa and cashews cure what ails me.
It was fun. I’m never drinking again.
Mark you calendars...
Coconut macaroons. Whoopie pies. Gingerbread cookies. Chocolate chip pumpkin bread. Pumpkin chocolate chip cookies. Classic oatmeal cookies. Butterscotch scones. Muddy Buddies. Chocolate chunk cheesecake (Charlotte only).
Are you ready to start bidding yet? Me too. But hold your horses, you eager beavers. We’ve got a few weeks left (the bidding will take place Wednesday, November 16), which is great. You know why? It’ll give me time to collect more items to be auctioned.
I’d like to have at least 30 items on the table and have a long way to go SO I thought I’d offer up a little incentive to all you bakers out there…
The baker who brings in the highest bid will walk away with a nice little prize*. Check it…
Why am I offering up a prize to the bakers? Well, it’s my little way of saying thank you for donating your time, energy and baking skills. It’s also a way to drive more funds to the cause as the bakers engage in a little friendly competition by encouraging their friends, family and coworkers to bid higher on their items.
If you’d like to donate a baked good to the sale, please email sweettaterblog@gmail.com with:
Just want to bid? Come back here on Wednesday, November 16. No idea how an online bake sale works? See here.
*The Flip HD was sent to me by Foodbuzz as part of their Tastemaker program.
Vodka soda, I love you.
I slept for 12 hours last night. I didn’t even know I was tired.
I did bust up into work at 7:30 in the morning following a 6:30am yoga class that (once again) I had to leave early in order to get somewhere else ranting to my coworkers about how:
I was in quite a state. Turns out… I was just tired. Period. For a solid hour I was convinced I needed to quit every single thing in my life and retreat into a hermit-like state. Really, I just needed a nap. Which I took. From 8pm-2am. It was beautiful.
Backtrack…
So I got my rant out of my system, got through the day and started my fun stuff. First, I met Katy at Cowfish to do some promo shots for a charity fundraiser I’m doing with them in a couple weeks.
Thank you, Katy!
Thank you, Cowfish!
I’ll be coming in to do a little guest bartending stint (I have zero bartending experience, mind you) to raise money for Beards BeCAUSE to end domestic abuse. 100% of my tips from the night will go straight to the cause to benefit the United Family Services Shelter for Battered Women of Charlotte. (I’m also hosting an online bake sale the same week.)
I’m so excited. It’s going to be hilarious.
This is going to be a perfect disaster.
Katy is amazing for donating her photography skills to the project and I’m so happy with how everything turned out. I really have the greatest friends.
After practicing my bartending skills with juice, I met up with Rachael and Jen for drinks at 15 North.
15 North, Charlotte NC
At this point in the night, I was pretty convinced I’d be going out hard and late. I think this had something to do with the two vodka sodas I slammed. Makes me feel invincible.
But after grabbing takeout, eating baked goods, turning on the heat in my apartment and settling in to watch Dr. Phil (why, Katie… why?) with Ralph as my little spoon, my big night out didn’t stand a chance.
Tofu salad from Crisp
Cupcake and an almond butter cup.
I blame it on the heat. It turned my frigid little apartment into a cocoon of warmth. There was no fighting it.
Happy Catoween!
I love Halloween. It’s my absolute most favorite holiday. Unfortunately, I haven’t really had time this year to do any of the delightful Halloweeny things I love so much–like carve pumpkins, make pumpkin seeds, decorate the house, go to haunted houses/mazes, pick apples (more importantly: eat apple donuts) and make a costume.
Two years ago, I went as both Ralph and Weaz, and I made the costumes myself.
I'm a Ralph, duh.
In fact, if you Google image search “homemade cat costume,” Weaz and I are on the first page of results. I consider this one of my greatest accomplishments in life.
Speaking of Weaz and Halloween… How’s this for CREEPY AND WEIRD:
The other night I was minding my own business, you know, sleeping when all of the sudden I was jolted awake by a hissing, howling, writhing Weaz at the foot of my bed. When Ralph came to investigate (clearly concerned about the commotion), Weaz tried to attack her. I’d watched the first 30 minutes of Paranormal Activity the night before (against my will, of course) and was perfectly terrified to be pulled from my slumber in such a manner. Several things were wrong with this situation: 1) Weaz has never made those sounds before, 2) Weaz has never woken me up like that before, 3) Weaz can’t take Ralph and she knows this, 4) Weaz was possessed by a demon.
My thought process was far from rational and went something like this:
The cheese did the trick. It’s her favorite thing in the whole world so she started purring uncontrollably and calmed down quickly. She eventually went back to bed but not before staring at the ceiling for several minutes and following something I could not see from over my bedroom door to directly over my bed several times. WHAT THE HELL, WEAZ?
It did not help that I had discovered the Ecto-1 parked in front of my house earlier that night…
Who ya gonna call?
Clearly there is something my landlord’s not telling me if the Ghostbusters are making house calls to the complex.
Anyway, Demonweaz is just fine and has no recollection of her outburst. I’m scheduling her an exorcism for tomorrow.
Don't be fooled by this look of innocence.
Ralph suggests we just get rid of her.
I no longer feel safe in this house.
Anyway, happy freaking Catoween. Now I’ll never get to sleep. And I already took a 6-hour nap tonight… So here’s a happy little video of a demon-free Weaz drinking water vodka.
Public Service Announcement for Cat Owners
Seriously though… Keep your cats inside this Halloween weekend and every Halloween. My mom has always told me this, that heartless, cruel, disgusting little hoodlums like to torture, mutilate and otherwise abuse wandering cats (especially black cats) on Halloween night for no reason other than that they are disgusting human beings who will surely rot in hell. I’ve read horror stories about cats coming home bloody, beaten, limbless and (this really happened) having had explosives shoved in their butts and set off. I hate people. I’m a pretty peaceful person, but there is no limit to the crazy I’d unleash on someone I saw abusing a cat. None.
Lemongrass tofu tacos with blueberry tamarind chutney
There is no direction or cohesive theme for this post.
Baby Weaz is snoring behind me. It’s distracting in the most adorable of ways… What a little nugget.
Moments like this make lugging 35 pounds of kitty litter around Walmart at midnight feel a little more worth it. But moments when I’m scooping poop out of that litter (and will continue doing so until I’m well into my 40s) pull me back to the reality that this tiny snoring creature owns my soul.
What was I doing at Walmart at midnight? Buying 35 pounds of kitty litter, duh. And a headlight. YES. My headlight is fixed. It only took a month. And I didn’t do it myself. (Thanks, Adam.) But still… let’s cross that one off the grownup to-do list.
Other things I did yesterday:
Ate 1000 of these almond butter cups I made.
Practiced the makeup for my Halloween costume.
Taught my 4th grade nutrition club about green smoothies
I also went to yoga. Watched the first 30 minutes of Paranormal Activity and wanted to die every second. Ate the most amazing lemongrass tofu tacos at Krazy Fish and would not shut up about how excited I was about them. And stayed up past 2am again. That’s three times this week.
But you know what? One more month of this ridiculous schedule. One. More. Month. I can do anything for a month.
Vegan pumpkin pie cupcakes
“Miss Katie, do you have a boyfriend?”
This is what my fourth grade nutrition club wants to know at our second meeting. Not, “Miss Katie, how can I get more fiber in my diet?” Or, “Miss Katie, what’s your favorite vegetable?”
“No,” I turn back to my demonstration on how to make a green smoothie, “I do not.”
“But… you’re so pretty,” they insist.
I was ready to launch into a feminist rant about how maybe I don’t need a boyfriend and it shouldn’t matter what I look like and Disney movies have ruined them for life and maybe I have commitment issues, but instead they all started singing Beyonce’s “Single Ladies” before I could open my mouth. And then added one final: “Miss Katie, I like your boots and your jeans and your shirt and your jacket and your necklace.”
To which I snapped, hand on hip, and replied, “Make it work, girls.”
Some battles simply are not meant to be fought. Namely the battle to not put pumpkin in everything from October to December.
Graham cracker crust, pumpkin cupcake, spiced frosting
Try as I might to fight the urge, I just can’t help but join the ranks of OHMYGODPUMPKIN loonies and mix it in to everything from smoothies to muesli to baked goods galore.
That’s how this cupcake came to be. It’s a graham cracker crust, pumpkin pie cupcake topped with spiced cream cheese frosting. The cake filling is actually a pumpkin pie blondie that comes from Allie as adapted from Vegan Cookies Invade Your Cookie Jar. The crust I threw together from memory and without measurements after having made approximately one billion cheesecakes while I was in Chile. The frosting proportions are the same you’ll see for just about any vegan frosting. I just added pumpkin pie spice and cut the sugar almost in half. Most frosting recipes will call for up to 6 cups of sugar. Excessive.
| Vegan Pumpkin Pie Cupcakes |
|
For the Crust
For the Cake
For the Frosting
You're welcome.
Not so much a turkey sandwich.
Everybody’s got one. That lunch you make day after day after day no matter how many days in a row it’s been. It’s that thing that doesn’t require cooking, just assembly. That thing whose components end up in your shopping cart each week even though every week you say, “I should really eat something else for lunch…” That thing that just never really gets old.
I like to think that for most people, that lunch rut thing is a turkey sandwich. For me, it’s these random bowls of… stuff.
Instead of bread… some kind of whole grain (rice, millet, whatever).
Instead of turkey… beans, tempeh, nuts… or all three at once.
Instead of American cheese… feta.
Instead of a limp leaf of iceberg lettuce… steamed kale.
It’s kind of the same, right?
People look at my lunch and they think it’s weird. That’s not true; they tell me it’s weird. First of all, who decided that it was appropriate for people to tell me my food is weird? Aside from the occasional uncontrollable visceral gag reaction to certain meats, I keep my mouth shut about other people’s meal choices. You know what I think is weird? Eating something like this:
BEEF FAT
[That's a Twinkie, y'all.]
Rant aside, when people are done telling me my food is weird, they also tell me that they don’t have time to make something like it because it’s so involved. But I assure you, they do.
So long as the grain has already been prepared, these bowls take me all of 30 seconds to throw together in the morning. They are my turkey sandwich. Except they probably take less time to prepare and are significantly cheaper.
What’s your “turkey sandwich”? Also, do you think my food is weird?
[Don't answer that.]
Pumpkin whoopie pies from Rachael
Hi, I’m Rachael! Words don’t describe how honored I am to have been asked by our dear friend, Sweet Tater, to share some of my eats with you via this guest blog post! Truth be told, she asked me months ago, but I was just getting my arms around blogging – and I had NO IDEA why a) any of you would want to read what I write b) Tater would want me to botch up her blog or c) where to even begin!
But, thanks to Tates and another close friend Jessie, I started blogging, myself, and now, finally, I feel that I can appropriately capture the essence of one of my faves……
Tater, like me, has an affinity for sweets – which is strange for someone so dedicated to her dietetics studies….but anyway……… When we first met, or around that time, I had introduced her to my favorite “bring anywhere” sweet – better and more au current than a cupcake…..the WHOOPIE!
I’ve been making them for years, before they got popular and certainly before entire cookbooks were dedicated to them. DEFINITELY before Sur La Table started carrying special baking tins for them!
As a result, I’ve played around and think I have the best combo of cake to filling – not too sweet, not too mushy…..and they are absolutely delish. These are both festive for fall and thanksgiving and much more sophisticated than plain’ol chocolate…..ready?
What you’ll need for the cakes:
What you’ll need for the filling:
Totally not vegan
If you want to get fancy, you can sift – I tend to just DUMP the following into a work bowl: flour, baking powder, baking soda, cinnamon, ginger, allspice, nutmeg and salt. I THEN preheat the over to 350ºF and move the rack to the middle….whatever order you chose, don’t burn your hand….I do it regularly and it hurts!
Because my aunt is awesome and got us a Kitchenaid mixer for my wedding, I typically use that bowl for the brown sugar and butter – combining them with the paddle attachment. If you don’t have that luxury, any old electric beaters will do.
Once the butter and brown sugar are combined, you will add the pumpkin, egg and vanilla and beat until well combined. Now, don’t fret, it will look lumpy until you add in the flour + spice mixture from the other bowl! So, go ahead and add in that other mixture – put your beaters to work on low and keep mixing until just incorporated….scraping down the sides of the bowl as necessary.
Using a cookie scooper (its like an ice cream scooper, but smaller), mellon-baller or just a Tablespoon, drop about ONE table spoon of the batter onto a prepared baking sheet. You can either use shortening to grease that bad-boy up or you can use parchment/wax paper – either way, you want to make sure that the sheets are lubed and protected so that your cakes don’t stick when they bake.
Also, please note – most recipes will tell you to use 2 tablespoons of batter – they are either fatties or belong in Wonkaland because these cakes are dense and rich – you don’t need to make them that big unless you want to die of sugar-shock!
Into the oven...
Now, here is where I also diverge from the recipe books – most tell you to bake the sheets ONE at a TIME for 15 minutes each (or until the cakes crack and are firm to the touch). I, however, think you can do 2 at a time…..make sure your racks are both towards the center and at 7.5 minutes, move the top sheet to the bottom and the bottom to the top. This helps a ton if you are working with smaller sheets and need to do more than 2 to make your cakes!
While the cooked cakes are cooking (that was a tongue twister!), make your filling:
Beat together the cream cheese, fluff and vanilla – adding the sugar as you wish to create the desired sweetess. You won’t need much to balance out the cake, but if you are making a more neutral cake you can always add more! I added in some extra spices to make it really taste like fall – but that’s up to you.
When the cakes are cool – and that’s important – you will assemble them into the min-sandwich bite cookies. You can adorn with a string around, put into a great glass jar or just plop onto a plate and serve with coffee, milk or any other liquid you chose!
You should get approximately 15 cakes out of this recipe and the frosting should be good for closer to 25/30. Want less cakes, make ‘em bigger. Want more, make ‘em smaller. You get to decide – but whatever you chose, enjoy!
Mmmmm
Thanks, Rach!
German pancake, mimosa, orange, coffee.
[Hold on to your butts...] I had this epiphany today.
I was thinking about yoga and how it has not felt the same to me for the last six months or so. And I don’t mean physically. Physically, I feel stronger and more open and more “advanced,” if you will (which, if you are a yogi you most certainly will not because that’s not what it’s about blah blah blah). And I suppose I don’t mean mentally either. Because mentally, I feel cleared and calm and controlled (on the mat, mind you; only on the mat).
It should seem that my practice would be on fire right now so I was having a hard time figuring out why yoga just doesn’t feel like it used to. Why it doesn’t shake me to the ground and leave me crying on my mat in savasana like it used to. Why it doesn’t build me up and make me feel invincible like it used to. And then I realized this:
Yoga used to be my retreat. I’d go to class, not know the teacher, not talk to anyone, and just practice. It was my alone time. My escape time. Despite documenting my every move on the world wide web, I am surprisingly introverted, quiet and private (if you can believe it).
Now that I feel settled and connected and at home in Charlotte (and because it’s, uh, kinda my job), my yoga has become more of a social outing than a private practice. And that’s great. That’s really, really great. I wouldn’t change it for anything. But I think this means that I now have to identify something else that is “mine” or at least find a way to make certain yoga classes feel that way. Because I really need that escape.
BUT… speaking of feeling settled and connected and at home in Charlotte, I freaking love my friends. Today we celebrated my friend Val’s birthday with mimosas and German pancakes and chihuahuas over at Rachael’s house. (Jessie was there, too!)
I brought mimosas
Rachael made a German pancake
Tia is a chihuahua
It was a rather delightful way to kick off a Sunday workday. I’ve always said the best way to shake up a work rut routine is to do something in the morning with friends. When I was little my mom would occasionally surprise us on a school day with a trip to McDonald’s or cinnamon rolls for breakfast. I know, I know… McDonald’s. But it was just so thrilling for us even as kids to get out of our routines first thing in the morning. It sets the tone for the entire day.
The same is true for adults. Just don’t go to McDonald’s, please. Go to a yoga class, grab coffee, make brunch. Get up as early as is necessary to make it happen. It’ll brighten the rest of the day.
So here I am preaching social outings on workday mornings and solo hermit-like yoga retreats all in the same post. It would appear I have accomplished nothing in sorting out my life on the blog. What else is new? This is what happens when I post at 2am.
The point is (I guess?) that it’s important to take time for yourself so that you’re recharged and available for when your friends want to spend time with you. And you absolutely should be recharged and available so you can give them all you’ve got because, if your case is anything like mine, they’re very likely all you’ve got.
Let's do this every day.
Hibernating.
I slept for 30 of my 90 minutes of yoga today. Straight up curled up in the fetal position and just went to bed. This is either 1) exhaustion, 3) mono or 3) a sure sign that winter is on its way and I’m ready to hibernate.
The cats are with me on the hibernation. They usually greet me at the door when I come home, but as the temperatures drop, I’m more likely to find them balled up like the photo above or under my covers. I don’t even know how they get in there really…
That's my side of the bed, by the way.
Yes I do. Weaz can get in anything. The other night I heard a loud crash but when I went to investigate there were no cats to be found.
It took a minute but finally…
OHHHHH.
She also gets on top of things.
Did you need your backpack today? I need it.
Weaz looks a lot like a baby seal there (much like Ralph did this time two years ago… TWO YEARS??)
Speaking of Ralph… where the hell was she this week? No one knows. I can’t get her to stand still long enough to not just be a big black blur in a picture so I was forced to do this:
RALPH.
We’re off to make baked goods and watch TV and do ab-so-fu-cking-lute-ly nothing. Sorry, mom. I split it with a hyphen. It’s not really there. This was all an illusion…
SPEAKING OF CATS GETTING IN THINGS…
Oh my sweet Jesus… I have forgotten to do this for a solid month.
A very long time ago on a Caturday far, far away, I mentioned my neurotic fear that my cats are somehow going to get trapped in a cabinet or closet or the oven or something and that’s why I insist on seeing them both and saying goodbye before I will walk out the door. Every time. It’s true.
Lauren commented and informed me that her ridiculous cat really did get stuck in the refrigerator one time. FOR TWENTY MINUTES.
I thought this was the funniest, most horrifying thing I’d ever heard and asked her to send me pictures of this glorious creature.
Sundance, the refrigerator cat.
From Lauren: “I would be honored to have my two babies (or just Sundance) included in a Caturday post! I’ve attached photos of both my cats; the black and white boy is Sundance, the tabby three-legged boy is Cassidy, so named for Hopalong Cassidy. (Nothing so obvious as Tripod for my baby.) Cassidy was named first, and Sundance sort of fell into the name by association. I swear, no Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid references were intended. I adopted them both from the local Humane Society, at a “BOGO” sale, I like to joke. Truth–I just happened to go in during a “special” and if you adopted one, you got a second free. So that’s how I ended up with two cats.
As for the fridge fun, well, Sundance loves to hop in whenever I don’t catch him first. I don’t know why. It all started because it’s tough to get him out without bribing him with food, which I don’t like to do. So I usually end up shutting the door, usually for a few seconds, to spur him out. The first time I forgot him in there, he was in for about 10 minutes when Cassidy, who adores his little (HUGE) brother, let me know that something was wrong. He just kept staring into the kitchen, which was very unusual, and then I realized I couldn’t find Sundance. Panic ensued when I realized I had left him in the fridge, but he hopped out, his fur just a little cool, and strolled away. And he still wants in the fridge every time I open it, so it obviously didn’t damage his psyche too much.
And then my mom apparently did the same thing, but I was out of town. That could have been disastrous, but thank goodness she went looking for him and remembered the fridge.
Other fun facts:
They really are the most peculiar cats I’ve ever owned, and like you, I adore my babies to bits and pieces.”
HAHAHA. Thank you for existing.
And his friend Cassidy the three-legged cat.
Getting in things. Of course.
Aw
Thanks, Lauren!
On a plate and everything...
We all do it. Say we’ll call but we don’t. Say we’ll shower but, with the flip of the dry shampoo, we don’t. Say we’ll go to bed before midnight but we click away on the computer. Say we’ll stop clicking away on the computer into the wee hours of the morning but… You see how my night went.
So today I had the very best of intentions to eat my toast like I meant it (I took a picture and everything) but somehow this happened…
Oops.
Can’t win ‘em all.
But here are some winning things:
Charlotte
Yep.
Charlotte is fucking awesome. I could not be happier about where I am right now. I feel good. I feel settled. I feel loved. I feel like great things are on the way. I appreciate everyone’s thoughtful feedback on my big decision post, and I hope it’s clear that I’m not living in misery thinking about it. It’s just a simple fact; I have a decision to make. I’ve acknowledged it and accepted it and thought it through long and hard. It’s mildly stressful, I suppose, but it’s not darkening the light that is the rest of my life. Things are going very well. I’ll be just fine either way. I think I’ve already made up my mind, but I’ll let it soak for a few more days before any moves are made or shots are called.
Yoga
A sign in a yoga studio reads: “What do you love about yourself?” I love whoever posted THIS gem…
Get it, girl.
I’m still doing 70 days of yoga. Today was 21. So far I’ve missed one day (Yesterday… But does going out with a yoga teacher count? I think so.) and practiced one day at home. Not too shabby. I feel great so far. Up until today’s class (in which I slept–in the fetal position–for 30 of the 90 minutes; don’t judge me), I’ve felt great. Strong, open, focused. Yoga is the very best thing I do.
Food
Kale, quinoa, kidney beans, feta, nooch, LA
Since identifying my recent inability to eat food like a civilized human being (seated at a table and, you know, chewing), I have done a much better job of eating intentionally. I’ve been taking more time for my meals, stepping away from work to eat them and (kind of) slowing down and at least chewing a bit. I’ve also halted my nightly drunken pantry raids, partly because I haven’t been drunk in a while and also because I’m just paying more attention to what I’m doing.
Doing Nothing
I made absolutely no plans tonight. Or tomorrow. Or Sunday. I’m going to sit around and watch 30 Rock reruns and bake pumpkin blondies and simply have nowhere to be. It’s lovely.
Grapefruit moonshine cocktail
I don’t know much about Tennessee, but I know that when my friend Amber’s parents built a house there on the edge of a cow pasture, they started sending us mason jars full of moonshine. This is my image of Tennessee. If I’m wrong, please don’t correct me. I like the idea of Amber’s parents sitting on the front porch getting drunk and talking to cows. (They really do this. Fact.)
I’ve had moonshine a few times since college, always straight out of a communal jar and never with any concern for whose germs were on the rim because alcohol kills germs, right? Last night I did moonshine a little bit differently… a little bit uppity.
Halcyon hosted a Bites & a Bit of Moonshine event complete with live bluegrass from the Popcorn Sippers but severely devoid of overalls and mason jars and cows.
Cool.
Popcorn Sippers
FUN FACT: Popcorn is code for moonshine. Who knew? Now their name makes sense…
I had the grapefruit moonshine cocktail and nabbed a bite of Sara’s pumpkin crepes (which were unbelievable). I didn’t eat because (the menu is meat heavy and) I was meeting up for dinner later and apparently we only eat after 10pm. This is normal. I really want to eat at Halcyon some time. It’s in the same restaurant family as Fern, so this can only mean good things…
It was a long, busy, fantastic day. My afternoon was spent at WTVI, the local Charlotte PBS station, shooting an episode of A Healthier Charlotte.
Is Mr. Rogers home?
Cool.
Brittany and Caitlin
Brittany and Caitlin were on the panel with me discussing healthy living bloggers and social media. I really enjoyed it but it’s totally weird to have three cameras on you and a big ol’ screen with your face on it. I couldn’t figure out where to look. It should prove hilarious… The episode airs Tuesday and I’ll share a link to the webcast when it’s up. (Get excited: We did touch on the oh so touchy Marie Claire scandal.)
Thank god (again) for Maggie who styled me via text message. What would I do without her?
Mrs. Muir-to-be
I like to think this little experience in front of the camera puts me one step closer to nabbing my future husband David Muir.
BEHOLD
Mmm mm mmm.
He doesn’t know it yet, but I’m already pregnant with his baby. It’s fine.
Vegan muffins with banana almond butter cream
Having expectations can sometimes be a burden. At least when they don’t turn out as expected. Maybe you’re in a relationship you think is going one way and it goes another. (Or you’re in something you think is a relationship and it isn’t really at all.) Or you’re hoping for a promotion or a raise or an interview or, hell, just a simple call back, and it’s not happening. Or you want things for your friends and family and coworkers that perhaps you don’t realize they don’t really want for themselves. Maybe you want your daughter to be, I don’t know… a dietitian and she kind of doesn’t want to anymore.
The other night in yoga, my teacher read a heartbreaking letter to The New York Times from a mother whose 18-month-old baby boy will die before he is three of a disease for which there is no cure, and of this she is certain. She talks about how mothers of dying children have a “terrible freedom from expectation,” because there is no way to fret over “how to parent a child for whom there is no future.” She talks about the importance of right now, of the subtle smell of sweet rice on her baby’s breath.
Read the letter. It’s beautiful. And it’s also a poignant reminder that the burden of expectation is something that those who have been freed of it would gladly carry again if only they could. It reminds me not to fret so much about my “tough decisions” and instead to celebrate them. They mean I’m living. That I have somewhere to go and someone to be. And that even if things don’t go as planned, I still have right now.
Hello, Fall.
I’m debating whether or not to move forward with my program of study. It’s a debate of quality of life right now vs. achievement later but also of ultimate career goals vs. current curriculum. Basically, I’m not so sure I’m studying what is that I really want to be doing. I’m not so sure I thought it all through before diving in.
My choice seems simple enough: long, hard road vs. short, easy road. I can wrap up my masters next semester and walk or I can wrap up undergraduate pre-reqs for the next two semesters and dive into a year-long internship so that I can sit for the RD exam some time in 2013. The director of the graduate school told me I’d be (and I quote) “foolish” not to finish. But the answer isn’t that obvious to me. I simply do not know.
But, as the Dragon Mom in the NYT letter reminded me, it’s kind of nice to at least have a choice.
I’ll figure it out before November 1 because I kind of have to.
Breakfast!
Right, breakfast… For breakfast we have two of Katie’s single lady cupcakes topped with banana almond butter cream (1 banana, 2 Tbsp almond butter pureed in a food processor).
So good.
Make one.
I love green smoothies. I think they taste like milkshakes. Hang on… let me give you a second to roll your eyes…. aaaaand GO.
OK. I get it. No one believes me that a cold bowl of pureed leaves tastes like a milkshake. But I will not rest until you non-believers give this a try. I’ve even gone so far as to make you a step-by-step video. Do you know how hard it is to make a video in my kitchen? I have to put the camera on top of the refrigerator to get a decent angle that will encompass an entire shot. I know, it’s a tough life I lead. The things I do for you guys…
Anyway, green smoothies are the greatest. They do not taste like spinach; they taste like a chocolate peanut butter milkshake. Or mine do anyway. So let’s make one, shall we?
| Green Smoothies |
|
Check out the Green Smoothies 101 video.
I love food.
I eat my peanut butter toast in the car. Suck down a smoothie running into work. Mindlessly inhale lunch in front of a computer. And meet whoever is on one of my 10 free antenna channels for a nightly dinner date in front of the TV. I don’t even have a kitchen table any more.
It’s not like I don’t know I’m doing this. I am aware while standing over the sink at 10pm eating vegan cupcakes for dinner that I am, in fact, standing over the sink at 10pm eating vegan cupcakes for dinner. It’s just that it took the past five days off and the freedom to sit down to a meal like the one above for me to accept that I have really devalued the art of eating over the past few months.
For the most part, I’m still eating the foods that I know are right for my body, but I know I’m not eating them in a way that honors the immensity of even having access to food at all. Eating is a big deal. Having food is a big deal. Also, keyboards are covered in all kinds of nasties that have no business near things I plan to consume. Am I right or am I right?
I am right. Food should be celebrated.
I think a lot of the degradation of my eating habits was going from having someone to cook for… and cook with… and eat with every single night to… living alone without a kitchen table. Yeah, that pretty much sums it up.
So… clean up on aisle Katie. Time for me to slow my roll and get back to my food roots, which, I’m afraid, do not involve eating vegan cupcakes for dinner. Most of the time, anyway.
It’s easy to be unintentional when eating. We’re busy people. This, I know. But I’m happy to report that it’s also easy to be intentional when eating. All it takes is a little self discipline. Hold yourself to this: I will eat my meals seated at a table. Done and done. That’s that. So the next time your spoon dips into the peanut butter jar, kindly remove it, arrange it on a plate with whatever you planned to dip in it (unless it was your finger), sit your ass down at the table and appreciate what you have in front of you.
You got it? I got it.
To end domestic violence.
I have teamed up with the men of Beards BeCAUSE to raise money and awareness to end domestic violence. The men are growing beards for two months (you can read how I feel about beards here) to draw attention to their fundraising efforts. Me? I thought about shaving my head and then growing that for two months. But then I thought about how my hair holds secret powers and decided against it. Instead, I’m hosting an online bake sale. No one wants to see me try to grow a beard or go bald anyway, right?
Right.
SO… this is a call for submissions to be auctioned off in the bake sale. Never participated in an online bake sale? It goes a little something like this…
It’s as easy as that. I hosted a similar event to fund my service trip to Nicaragua last year, and you can see those posts here, here and here if it’s still not making sense.
Want to donate an item to be auctioned?
Email sweettaterblog@gmail.com with…
Subject: Baking Because…
Item to be auctioned:
Dietary specifications (vegan, gluten-free, raw, etc.):
Shipping restrictions (US only, UK only, etc.):
Blog (if you have one):
I am baking to end domestic violence because… _________________
My personal fundraising goal is $2,500, and I’ll be damned if I won’t hit it. Thanks in advance for your support!
Oranges + salt + sugar = hydration
I sweat a whole lot. When I take my laundry to my friendly neighborhood wash-dry-fold service where you pay by the pound, they wash, dry and fold my clothes and THEN weigh the basket because if they were to weigh it when I dropped it off, it’d cost me an extra $5 for the 5 pounds of sweat that’s weighing everything down. Truth.
Now… before you start offering up prescription-strength deodorant recommendations, let me first explain that I don’t sweat all the time. In fact, I’m freezing most of the time. I sweat when I’m doing hot yoga and I’m doing hot yoga 7 days a week right now. Therefore, I sweat a whole lot.
Sweating is great. So long as it’s taking place at an appropriate time and in an appropriate place, I love sweating. An inappropriate place to sweat would be at the dinner table with eight of your friends. My friend Isaac sweat straight through his pants Saturday night, and I like to think it’s because we were discussing/debating a report that states the average time for sex for most couples is 8-15 minutes. WHAT. Perhaps we wouldn’t have such a problem with obesity if Americans would start having sex for longer than it takes to microwave a Lean Cuisine. Think about it.
Nerd alert.
ANYWAY, the problem with sweating (especially in the quantity and at the frequency at which I do) is that you then have to properly hydrate, a simple act I have yet to master.
I don’t know why I suck so much at drinking water. It seems easy enough. I just simply refuse to do it. I do realize the damage I’m doing to my body sweating as much as I do and drinking as little as I do. Please spare me your lectures; I get enough of them. I promise I’m working on it.
One thing I aim for is making the small quantities of liquid I do drink really count. Enter: electrolyte drinks.
You’ve got your Gatorade, your Powerade, your Vitamin Water and the like, but my go-to post-yoga re-hydrator is coconut water for its short (read: one) ingredient list and small size. But who can buy coconut water every day? Not this girl, that’s for sure. What am I, a billionaire? I’m broke as can be. Plus, momma needs a new point and shoot…
Look at this disaster.
SO… I’m making my own electrolyte drinks at home. I’ve done this before, but this time I tried to replicate the exact electrolyte content of Zico coconut water. I was watching Dr. Oz last week (I really don’t like him… just me?) and he said the only coconut water on the market right now that actually contains the electrolytes listed on its label is Zico. (O.N.E. and Vita Coco are dirty, dirty liars.)
I put on my nerdy food science hat and went to work. The basic breakdown in one 14-oz Zico is this:
160mg Na
569mg K
12g sugar
Oranges are a high-potassium food (237mg K per orange). Not quite as high as a banana, but who wants to drink banana water? Nope. Exactly.
So in kitchen terms, this is about:
1/8 teaspoon salt
juice of two oranges
1 tablespoon sugar
14 oz water (or just shy of 2 cups)
To ensure I actually drink this daily, I had to make it in a big ol’ six-serving batch otherwise I’ll never make it again after today. I only had 6 oranges in the house so my potassium content per serving in my big batch is half that of Zico, but I’ll take it.
| Homemade Electrolyte Drink |
Homemade electrolyte drink
And with that… I’m off to yoga.
Pumpkin arugula salad with lentils and pumpkin seeds
If the city of Charlotte were a real girl she’d be blonde. She (as the country song goes) would have her “momma’s good looks and her daddy’s money.” And yes, she’d call him daddy. She’d be as comfortable bass fishing as she is baking apple pie. She’d drink beer and eat BBQ and send thank you notes on monogrammed stationery. She’d pretend to be a Panthers fan and know the names of no fewer than six players to prove it. She’d run faster than all the boys and look better than all the other girls doing it. She’d say “bless your heart” and curse under her breath. She would not be a vegetarian.
Charlotte has two–count ‘em, one… two–dedicated vegetarian (vegan, actually) restaurants. There’s an intoxicating feeling of sheer joy that washes over me when I pick up a menu and can order anything I want. Anything. But it sure doesn’t happen often down here in the Dirty South.
I’m sure you can imagine my unbridled excitement, then, when I received the following press release last week:
Fern, a vegetarian cafe, open today on Central Avenue
I got the email Wednesday and had made a reservation for Friday afternoon in approximately 15 seconds flat.
Exclamation point required
Fern
I knew I’d love this place before I even stepped foot inside. They’d already sent me a sneak peak at the menu, and I’m pretty sure I’d already cried tears of joy over its contents. The real test of a vegetarian restaurant, however, is not whether or not a vegetarian likes it. It’s whether or not her McDonald’s-eating friends approve.
Enter these characters:
That'd be 5:20 AM, thank you.
My friends Amber and Ryan were coming down to meet up with the rest of our friends in Greenville for the weekend and thought it’d be a good idea to leave DC at 9pm, putting them on my doorstep at five-freaking-twenty in the morning. They stopped at McDonald’s at midnight. I welcomed them with open arms and a generously late 1pm reservation at Fern.
I love Amber
GLANZ IS ON THE BLOG
When we were in New York over the summer, Glanz said something to the effect of: “I hate when we eat at vegetarian restaurants and it’s always really good.” Damn right it is.
I’m not really giving my friends enough credit. Just because they drive to Virginia just to get to Chili’s because there isn’t one in DC doesn’t mean they can’t enjoy vegetarian food. In fact, I sent Amber the menu and she sent it back saying simply, “I have highlighted the items I’m going to order.”
It looked like this:
L.O.L.
She didn’t get all those things, but we put a pretty good dent in it with the following:
Indian tacos
Traditional fry bread topped with pinto bean and squash chili, fresh tomatoes, onions, crisp lettuce and local sharp cheddar.
OM burger
House-made crispy burger with white beans, tofu and hemp seed finished with pickled fennel and smoked tomato chow chow. [vegan]
Squash blossom hush puppies
Stuffed with vegan mozzarella
Squash blossoms stuffed with vegan mozzarella, dipped in traditional hush puppy batter and deep fried. Served with caramelized onion “butter.” [vegan]
Green goddess soup
A different blend every day… chickpea and artichoke. [vegan]
Arugula harvest salad
Warm roasted pumpkin, lentils, spiced pumpkin seeds and pomegranate vinaigrette. [vegan]
Sweet tater and beet chips
Semi-freddo with fresh fruit and apple butter
In a word, it was flawless.
The squash blossom hush puppies are brilliant and perhaps one of the best things I’ve ever eaten. Because when it comes to anything deep fried, you know what I’m thinking? That it should probably be stuffed with cheese and dipped in butter. Duh.
My perfect salad paired peppery arugula with subtly sweet roasted pumpkin, drizzled it in a tart, bright pomegranate dressing and topped it with a sprinkling of lentils, the vegetarian equivalent of bacon bits.
I snagged a bite of Glanz’s OM burger (“THIS IS AMAZING,” he said), which is a force to be reckoned with in my Battle of the Best Veggie Burger in Charlotte and will warrant a tasting trip of its own in the near future.
I’d say the Indian tacos were the star of the show. I don’t even have words for those babies. Just get them.
Everything was perfect. Everything.
Done and done.
I may never quite fit in here. And I will never be a “Charlotte.” But so long as this restaurant sticks around, I think I will, too. It is reason enough to visit this city.
Gluconeogenesis, bitches.
Happy I’M-ON-VACATION Caturday! My college friends and I have descended on our old stomping grounds to relive our glory years and I have already eaten a pizza at 2am and been yelled at by a cop to “stop laying in the street.” Things are going well.
Like any responsible graduate student, my friend Lindsay brought her books and is studying. Me? I left the cats in charge of highlighting anything they think I might need to know for the rest of the semester. They’re presenting me with an executive summary of their findings on Sunday.
It's hard to hold the highlighter without a thumb.
Ralph and Weaz would also like to take a moment to express their gratitude to everyone who emailed, tweeted, commented and Facebooked to let them know that, despite being called “NOT CUTE” and “unremarkable,” by an Internet hater, they are, in fact, cute and remarkable.
I am cute and remarkable.
Hate on, haters.
Aren't you pretty?
Don’t be fooled by the prettiness of that cute little bowl of muesli. Immediately following its photo shoot, it was dumped into a Tupperware and then inhaled at stop lights on my way to work. It’s how I roll.
It was perfect, though. I just don’t like eating hot things in the morning (I’m too dehydrated for that mess) so traditional oatmeal and I are not friends. And a bowl of cereal keeps me full just long enough to fill up another bowl of cereal so that’s out. Muesli and I are a match made in heaven.
I made my go-to muesli (1/3 c oats, 1 grated apple, raisins, cinnamon, rice milk) and topped it with peanut butter banana soft serve (1 frozen banana, 1 Tbsp peanut butter). For good measure.
YES.
I was hangry this morning because I didn’t like my dinner last night. But I did like releasing the chokehold on my self-imposed month-long prohibition known as Sober October:
Handle not the unclean thing
I googled prohibition slogans for that winning photo caption that, as I’m sure you already know, is what she said.
My very best friends (who are all scattered across the country) are convening in the same city this weekend for our annual reunion. Someone is definitely going to get arrested. It’s been nice knowing you Sober October.
It's the fall box!
I wish I could tell you the series of events that led up to me standing in the middle of my kitchen in my underwear eating applesauce straight out of the jar at 4am but… my mom keeps telling me I’m over-sharing. And since today marked the arrival of her annual fall treat box, I will respect her wishes just this once. In the name of Rolo pretzels. Amen.
Chex Mix, Puppy Chow and Rolo pretzels
The fall box dates back to when my brother first went off to college but its contents are a family tradition around this time of year as far back as I can remember.
For the past couple of years my mom has actually called before sending the box, “I don’t know if you even still eat this stuff. Do you want it?”
WHAT KIND OF QUESTION IS THAT? Everyone wants a fall box. Here’s how my older brother puts it:
“The joy that is the fall box arrived today protected from the sun and heat by the Seattle like gloom we have experienced all week. Juju [our little sister] had apparently made several of the familiar snacks for a tailgate that she posted on facebook a couple of weeks ago. This of course sent me into a blind rage thinking I had been excluded this year … turns out she made them herself, using skill set I did not know she possessed. Also, not sure if it was science or magic that allowed them to create “sugar free” peeps. Thanks.”
I didn’t get any sugar-free Peeps in my box. My mom knows me so well. The traditional contents? Chex Mix, Puppy Chow (also known as Muddy Buddies… also known as Chex covered in peanut butter covered in chocolate covered in powdered sugar) and God’s gift to the world: Rolo pretzels.
Pretzel + Rolo + 1 M&M = yes.
Would you believe it if I said I’ve never made any of these things? That’s what moms are for.
Thanks, mom!
This is mine.
This is a letter from my very dear friend Jack, promptly delivered when I needed it most.
“… Anyway, I know from the blogging (and that awesome haterade thread) that you have been going through a very stressful time and that its sometimes a bit of a roller coaster ride for you living paycheck to paycheck, making it in a city on your own, slowly building a life for yourself. I wish I could do something to help, or be there for you, drink with you and dance inappropriately, something! Alas that’s not in the cards.
What I came up with is that I wanted to let you know how a little thing you did has profoundly affected my life for the better. Late last year, you had a contest on the blog for anyone who donated to a clean water project. I was won of the two winners and got a copy of Meditations from the Mat. Given the timing, I couldn’t resist doing a daily read starting with the New Year, January 1. Starting then, I’ve read an entry a day (catching up when I forget it traveling sometimes or just forget reading for some reason). I just finished part 4 Pranayama and am moving tomorrow into Pratyahara. It seemed like a good time to stop and reflect on what I’ve read and what I’ve learned. What astounds me most about that book, and about yoga, is it has an uncanny way of giving me exactly what I need.
At least one entry a week has me flipping out or getting teary-eyed at how deep it sometimes gets into my life, as if it knows exactly what’s going on and is writing itself for me as it goes. It has helped me through some really awesome times, and some really shitty times the past 9 months. I swear by this book now, just as I swear by yoga, something I also credit you for exposing me to. I taught my first classes last week, subbing for my regular teacher who was out of town, and it was an incredible experience. Its hard to believe I have been actively practicing now for over 2 years. Yoga has transformed my life, the book has really aided me in such a challenging year, and its all because of you.
Its far too rare for people to truly give thanks to those people in their life who have made a positive difference. This is my opportunity to tell you that your influence has made all the difference in mine. I certainly don’t send this message thinking that helping me should solve all your problems or worries, but next time you ask yourself “why?????” or you are having a rough day, or stressed to the max, just know that what your doing has really affected at least one person positively, and I’m sure many more.
Keep doing what you are doing, I believe in you and the great things that you have done, are doing, and will continue to do.”
Thanks, Jack.
Today was day 11 of my 70 days of yoga. I practiced twice–once at 6am and again at 7pm. In the night class the teacher welcomed us with a powerful story of gratitude in honor of the upcoming anniversary of his best friend’s death. He talked about what a better world it would be if we all walked around doling out gratitude. He started us off in child’s pose, told us to stretch long, to dedicate our practice to a spirit of thanks and to claim our space.
This blog is my space. It is not a democracy; it’s a diary. I started writing Sweet Tater for myself and so long as it is written, it will be first and foremost for me. That I have built up a small “audience” is wonderful and exciting and humbling, but I do not do this for traffic. (Would you believe me if I said I’ve all but stopped looking at stats?) I do this because I love the people I’ve met and the friends I’ve made and the things I’ve learned just being myself and sharing my ridiculous, cat-filled, F-bomb-laden, grammatically correct story. That I’ve picked up a few haters along the way is hardly reason enough to fix what ain’t broken.
This space is mine, and I’m so happy to have you here. Thank you.
That'd be an 11...
Cheesecake stuffed pumpkin cupcake
Whew. How whiny am I today? I’ll get over it. Here’s something awesome…
Last night I went to my first (and certainly not last) Yom Kippur. While I’m not Jewish, I’d hardly call myself Christian either so I feel like I get to greedily double-dip into both of these religions’ holidays so long as they revolve around lots of food and/or presents. (How many gods did I just anger with that one? How many hells am I going to? Great. Good.)
My charming go-to Jew, Rachael, hosted a feast to break the holiday fast that started at sundown on Friday and ran until 6:30 Saturday night, and she invited me to get schooled in Judaism.
Rach and her two dozen bagels
Tia, my love
The most important thing I learned is that there is lots and lots and lots of food.
LOTS
Challah!
I mean, if you haven’t eaten for 24 hours there better be lots of food, right?
I’d eaten a very late lunch not three hours prior to dinner but that didn’t stop me from eating everything in sight…
Go big or go home.
Homegirl did not need a bagel (especially considering I already had my eye on the cheesecake-stuffed pumpkin cupcakes) but I felt like I couldn’t partake in a Jewish holiday and not eat a bagel.
And as if I weren’t already ready to completely abandon Christmas and its lame-ass fruitcakes, Rachael threw a sucker punch to Santa and started deep frying cheesecake. Done. Sold. Convert me.
Oh I'll just deep fry this...
WHAT??
But I skipped dessert because, you know, I’m studying to be a dietitian.
LIES. I had one of each.
All religious joking aside, I was so happy to spend the evening with Rachael and her friends, to finally have some exposure to a religion I (embarrassingly) know nothing about and to get some quality time with TiTi…
She will be mine.
Vegan pumpkin muffins
Lots of people seem to want to know how I manage my schedule(s) with a full-time job, full-time graduate class load, part-time job, blog, yoga practice, cat farm, etc. The answer, I’m afraid, is being a terrible student and never sleeping. Also sometimes I cry in the shower. Baked goods help, too.
Yesterday I was feeling particularly sorry for myself so when I left yoga 30 minutes early (for the billionth time) so that I could shower and get to work on time (because I live in a constant state of trying to get to work on time), I just completely broke down. Right there in the locker room shower. All I want is one full class. Savasana and everything. Is this too much to ask? At least a shower is the perfect place to cry because you’re alone and you’re all wet anyway so you can convince even yourself that you’re not really crying.
I’m just so tired and I don’t even know it. Physically and mentally I feel pretty with it but–excuse my hippie bullshit—my spirit is just completely destroyed.
This was probably the first manifestation of my impending mental breakdown, which is probably just because I’ve been too busy to notice that it’s really starting to get to me. I can’t help but think I’m doing this all wrong, but I don’t know a better way to do it. I have learned the hard way that three low-paying jobs do not equal one decent-paying job, this I can assure you.
“Take a break!” is the most common response I get to my complaints that I’m stretched entirely too thin. To which I’d like to reply: “Pay my bills!” Seriously though. A few weeks ago I heard this delightfully feisty undergrad yelling at her boyfriend about the same thing. “ARE YOU PAYING MY RENT? NO?? THEN QUIT HAVING AN OPINION.” Haaahaha. So unless you are presenting me with a Publisher’s Clearning House-sized check, I’m afraid your opinion (while valid) is being heard neither loud nor clear.
Nope. I’m afraid the only solution to my problems is MORE BAKING.
So let’s stress bake, shall we? One pumpkin bread recipe, two ways:
1
2
I used the best pumpkin muffin recipe from Post Punk Kitchen to make, well, pumpkin muffins AND pumpkin bread with streusel topping.
Simply follow the recipe as is. Pour about 2/3 of the batter (however much it takes to make 12 muffins) into lined muffin cups and bake according to the recipe. Then pour the rest into a greased loaf pan (it’ll only be about an inch of batter in the bottom) and top with a layer of walnuts and a layer of vegan streusel.
Vegan Streusel: 1/4 c Earth Balance, 1/3 c oats, 1 teaspoon cinnamon, 2-3 tablespoons sugar
Aren't we cute?
Oooooooh
The streusel bread is amazing and makes a lovely breakfast with a cup of tea. The muffins travel well and would freeze beautifully, too.
Guess what? I’m off to work. Of course I am.
I'm gonna need some more of these...
Good evening, Dr. Ralph.
Is it Caturday? I don’t even know. I worked like a million hours yesterday so forgive me if I can’t get a grip on left from right, up from down, the days of the week or how many cats I have. (Six if you count the four strays I’m feeding outside. DO NOT JUDGE ME I’VE ONLY NAMED ONE.)
But don’t nobody care about me and my woe-is-me-I’m-so-busy sob story. Least of all my cats.
Nope.
[PS - Upon uploading this picture, I promptly slowly dragged myself out of bed and removed that old picture of Stew and me. I forgot about it. I'm in my house (and awake) for like 15 minutes a day. Lay off.]
Sometimes I wonder if they wonder where I am all the time when I disappear for 14-hour stretches. But then I realize that–much like the honey badger–Ralph and Weaz simply don’t give a shit.
I mean, I leave them plenty of food and water. They poop in a box (most of the time). They sleep all the time. And Ralph runs this joint anyway.
I'M A MF BOSS, SON.
I operate under the assumption that that little black mass looms over me while I sleep every night just waiting for me to feed her again…
Weaz mostly doesn’t know what’s going on ever.
Shmeh?
But be not fooled. She’s a tricky little weasel. I caught that conniving nugget all up in my underwear drawer last night…
BUSTED
I was going to sell them on the Ebay...
This sandwich looks really important.
Or… “How to Work a 14-hour Day and Not Lose Your Mind.”
When I picked up a coworker’s 4p-9p shift today, I neglected to think about the fact that I was already working 7a to 2p. Or maybe I did think about it and I was just thinking “SHORTY GOT BILLZ, Y’ALL” a little bit louder. It doesn’t help that the day was sandwiched in between last night’s 2-hour lecture on tube feedings at the hospital (hang me with a catheter, please) and another full (normal person) 7-hour day tomorrow. But whatever. It happened. So this is the story about how I worked a million hours and the steps I took not to bitch about it…
Step 1
Get thee to yoga.
I crammed in a quick early-morning hot vinyasa class. Necessary. Day 7 of 70 straight… I can do this 9 more times…
Step 2
Coffee, girl. Get you some.
I thought for sure I’d drink like a coffee an hour, but somehow this was my only upper of the day. You’re welcome, body.
Step 3
Escape fluorescent lights. Do it.
I used my lunch break as a walk break because fluorescent lights make me want to stab my eyeballs out.
Step 4
Pickles.
While I was out there, I ate my lunch, which included pickles (as all suitable sandwiches should).
Step 5
Bake like a maniac.
Like any normal person would do, I used my two-hour break between shifts to whip up three different vegan baked goods–pumpkin muffins, PB chocolate oatmeal raisin cookies and pumpkin bread with streusel topping–for my coworkers. Of course. Everyone does this, right? Perfectly normal.
Baking truly is my stress reliever. As stress levels rise, so too do the piles of cookies and muffins and brownies in my kitchen. I think that–especially now–baking gives me a sense of normalcy. Baking is all slow Saturday mornings and lazy late nights and comfort and consistency and all those simple things I don’t really have right now.
Baking on a Friday afternoon–even if crammed smack in the middle of a 14-hour work day–feels like something I would do if I were… normal. You know… financially stable and professionally successful and emotionally unburdened. All the things that my life simply is not at present.
So that’s how I made it through my marathon day, and I must say I felt pretty fantastic the whole time. It doesn’t hurt to work with amazing people and to do fun things and, you know, have a job.
It was a great day.
Step 6
Frozen yogurt.
With Oreos and Butterfinger and Cinnamon Toast Crunch. Duh.
Veggie burger at The Diamond
SO… I pride myself on having eaten every veggie burger in Charlotte and, up until recently, Big Daddy’s (now Bad Daddy’s) has held the title of Best. That is, of course, until I was informed that I have not eaten every veggie burger in Charlotte and that the one stone left unturned is actually the best. Is this not always the case? We don’t know what we don’t know, you know?
I’ve eaten this burger thrice in the last, uh, two weeks and vowed to not talk about it until I could get a decent daytime photo of it. Alas, I seem to only eat in the 11 o’clock hour so a grainy yellow-y blurry shot will have to do.
The black bean veggie burger at The Diamond is vegetarian bar food at its finest. I have no idea how they make it (I predict quinoa is involved) but I know it’s substantial enough for two, stuffed with all kinds of awesome, lightly (pan?) fried and not too pretentious to be slapped on a good ol’ white bun with traditional tomato/lettuce/pickle fixins.
Give me this and sweet potato fries and a couple vodka sodas and we’ve got the makings of a pretty good night. Or day. One of these days I’ll go in the daytime…
Accident.
Yesterday I woke up at 8am very pleased with myself for having slept more than six hours (and through three alarms, to boot) and basking in the glory of whatever make-believe day I thought it was. For in this make-believe day, I got to lay around in my bed rather than bolt for the door trying to get to wherever it is I am constantly going.
We all know there is not a day in my life that I get to lay around in my bed for any amount of time in the morning. I’ve got an eyes open, fly out of bed kind of routine, which is why it’s particularly hilarious that, for whatever reason, I thought it was appropriate to lay there having a conversation with Weaz for a good 10 minutes before realizing that, yes, I was supposed to be dressed, in my car and merging on to 77 South at that very moment. Sigh.
I skipped my shower (obviously), got dressed…
Sort of.
… Grabbed an iced coffee (doesn’t everyone keep a mason jar filled with cold coffee in the fridge?), made my PBJ toast and hit the road not 15 minutes later.
The one snafu in my rush was that I forgot to grab my lunch (which I found sitting on the couch 12 hours later, totally unrefrigerated all day and totally still consumed today… whatever). This actually worked out in my favor because it meant a rare lunch out.
I picked up kale salad, BBQ tofu, lentil soup and a kombucha at Earth Fare.
Every time I go to Earth Fare Rock Hill, I vow I will never eat at the hot bar again (because it is filthy) but desperate times call for desperate measures. I haven’t thrown up yet so let’s say I’m in the clear. Lord knows I don’t have any time to be sick anyway…
Vegan pumpkin muffin for one
The only time I’m ever really thrilled to see standstill traffic is when I have packed my breakfast to go (in a frenzy, mind you) and am suddenly graced with a parking lot for an interstate and, therefore, enough time to eat my pumpkin muffins without dying at the hands of some careless pumpkin muffin-eating driver.
It’s a beautiful thing.
Sadly, this morning traffic didn’t halt long enough for me to inhale these beauties so I had to just stare at them the entire 30 miles to school.
What a tease.
And when I busted up into the office (on time for the Tuesday meeting heeeeeeeeey!) with Tupperware in hand my coworkers rejoiced with a: “YOU BROUGHT US BAKED GOODS?!” To which I responded, “Girl, please. These are for me.”
I should really be more delicate when speaking to those who sign my paycheck.
But these are for me because they are made one at a time and I have to double the recipe just to get enough to satisfy me and I do not have time to painstakingly measure out tiny scoops of flour and baking powder and all that jazz when I’m supposed to be rushing to work AND I am not making muffins a dozen at a time because then I have to eat muffins for six days straight (because I eat them two at a time, duh). Surely they understand.
But people do not understand this. When you tell people you make your muffins one at a time they look at you like you’re a lunatic living with two cats and ask, “So you put the whole pan in there with just one hole filled?” Yes. Yes I do.
And you know what? The muffin doesn’t mind at all. That muffin sits in there all funny and smart and cute as can be and she just soaks up her alone time so you just lay off her, all right? Ain’t nothing wrong with one damn muffin just being by herself.
No, this muffin is not a metaphor for my life…
I made my muffins (plural, because one is never enough) using Katie’s single lady cupcake recipe but I subbed pumpkin puree for the apple sauce and added pumpkin pie spice. I topped them with walnuts before baking and, later, with peanut butter.
It's 2011, little muffin. You'll be fine.
Today was day four of yoga for a cause. Don’t I look thrilled to be up in the 5 o’clock hour?
I'm not.
I woke up at 5:53 and made it to class at 6am, thank you very much.
Liz with Denise and Stephanie
Last month a reader and fellow blogger named Liz reached out to me asking if I could help her raise awareness (and ultimately some funds) to support her Peace Corps project in Cameroon, which runs an orphanage for 19 disabled children.
“I have witnessed the amazing fundraising events that you and your
readers have generated. I know this is asking a lot, but as I am down
to the wire (my service ends in December) I am a little desperate and
am trying to reach out to as many people as I can. I was wondering if
you could help me reach my goal of raising $6,600 by the end of
October (yikes! I know..) by posting a link to my project on your
blog? All funds are received directly through the official US Peace
Corps website.”
I am humbled by her selfless service to this incredible project and also by the fact that she thought I’d be able to do anything at all for her. Have we talked about how broke I am lately? Let’s not…
Pagoda
I’m broke, yes, but not everybody is. And I know I’m throwing a whole lot of charity around this month and that many of you are as broke as I am. But I think that if I let these stories keep pushing on our hearts, we can find a way to make it work. If she can get the money together, the orphanage will be able to relocate and double its capacity. Her goal is lofty–$5,545 by the end of October–but I really think she can do it. And I think we can help.
Jewelry in the women's workshop
Ways to Help Liz Hit Her Goal
So that’s enough from me. This story is not mine. Here’s Liz in her own words (with questions from me):
Why did I join the Peace Corps?
Well, it all began when I was 12 years old. I was watching TV with my
mom when one of those “Save the Children”-type commercials came on.
Immediately an inner dialogue began that went something like this:
“Wow, look at those kids. I want to help those kids. When I grow up
I’m going to donate to one of these charities. But wait, don’t people
say that only about 20 cents to the dollar make it to the actual
children? Hey, there’s a guy there telling me to donate. I wonder
how he got that job…” And then I asked my mom how I could get a job
in “Africa” and she told me about the Peace Corps. It was always in
the back of my mind from that moment on. I started doing serious
research on the Peace Corps in high school, and, finally, my senior
year at college, I submitted my application. One year later, I was
in! I’m 25 years old, and in December I will have completed 27 months
in Cameroon as an Agroforestry/Environment volunteer. Why Africa?
This I can’t really describe except to say that I love to stare at
world maps. I like to pick some place that looks or sounds exotic,
and then I fixate until I can find a way to go there. Africa just
always seemed to pull me toward her, and I always had this feeling
that I would find myself there, and believe me, I have!
What did I give up to go on this trip?
Tangibly, I gave up regular access to running water and electricity.
(Even though I live in a really nice cement house—no mud huts in my
village!—sometimes the powers-that-be cut off the power and water.
Don’t ask me what they do with it. I still can’t figure it out!) I
also must filter or boil all water before I drink it. After two
years, the idea of taking a drink from a drinking fountain seems like
a real adventure! Less tangibly, I gave up seeing my family and
friends and everything that is familiar. I also gave up a five-year
relationship. That was a doozy!
What have I gained?
I have gained so much! In friendships, experience, and hilarious
anecdotes, I am rich. I love the Peace Corps community, and my fellow
volunteers have become a family to me. I also have my village
friendships, and the ability to go beyond “tourist” but a true member
of my community. Most importantly, for me, I’ve learned so much about
myself. How I can now speak French at a near fluent level; how I can
adapt to new surroundings and reconstruct a support system of new
friends; how I can clean up the gross little critters my cat brings in
without a man (Pagoda says hello to Ralph and Weaz!). I feel strong
and independent, more so now than ever before.
I love the freedom I have. I’m officially an
“Agroforestry/Environment” volunteer, but I’m free to respond to any
needs in my community, hence I do a lot of health work (HIV/AIDS
awareness and prevention, nutrition, and tofu classes). One of the
largest goals of the Peace Corps is to promote peace through
understanding. Having conversations with Cameroonians about what it
means to be American: that we’re not all rich, that we sometimes
disagree with our nations’ policies all of this helps foreigners
understand who we are as a nation. On the reverse, I am able to talk
about Cameroon to my friends and family back home (and on my blog) to
help Americans see that Africa is rich in diversity and has so much
potential. If we can all push through our prejudices, one person at a
time, we can make the world a better place.
Issa making a bamboo armoir
What has been horrifying?
The scariest part of this experience was the drive to the airport and
3 am with my parents and then-boyfriend. I was having a full on panic
attack. Could I do two whole years? Am I really experienced enough
for this? Will I be able to adjust to the language and culture?
Saying goodbye was difficult, but from the moment I met my fellow
volunteers, things have worked out just as they should, and I’ve
realized that living here is not that different from living at home.
It’s also better to try and fail, then to always wonder what could
have been.
What do I want the world to know about what I’m doing and why?
I think some people think that they would like to do the Peace Corps
(or travel, or whatever), but it seems too intimidating. I would like
people to know that if I can do it, they can do it too. I’m a quiet
girl from Iowa who gets really awful motion sickness, and yet here I
am: world traveler. If you have that desire in you to see other
cultures, do it. It will seem scary and overwhelming, but in the end
it’s so worth it. Also, it’s never too late. I have many Peace Corps
friends who are serving as volunteers in their sixties.
More about the orphanage I’m working with:
The orphanage I work with is officially called The Humanitarian
Association for Vulnerable People. It was begun in 1998 by Mr.
Zachary and his wife Denise with help through the German Development
Services and an NGO from Belgium. Right now, the center is home to 19
children, aged 5-20. Many of the children are orphaned and/or living
with some kind of disability. The center provides a warm place to
sleep, nutritious food every day, they pay for their school fees for
those who attend school and provide tutors to those with special
needs, and also train them in skills such as bamboo artistry, sewing
and beadwork so that they are equipped with the knowledge of how to
make a living with a goal that they can be independent and
contributing adults to society. The center’s mere existence also
serves as a valuable tool for the community to better understand that
people with disabilities are capable of taking care of themselves.
The statistics on people with disabilities in developing countries are
staggering, and shows how important it is to support organizations
like this. From the beginning of my service, Zachary and Denise took
me in and acted as surrogate parents to me, cooking me meals, inviting
me to cultural events, and even driving me to the hospital when I got
sick. A year into my service I was informed that they had been given
the land where they are back when the land was infertile. Now, the
land is fertile again, the landlord has asked them to leave.
Together, Zachary and I solicited help within the community, and the
prefect agreed to give just over one hectare of land so that the
Center can relocate. Now, I’m searching for funds to prepare the land
for the new dormitory. This is just the beginning. I’ve vowed to
help them relocate so that they can stay in existence and continue to
provide for these children. My hope is to raise $6,600 by the end of
October and complete the land preparation before I leave in December.
When I return to the States I would like to start an NGO to continue
supporting them. Zachary and I have also completed many grant
applications through the embassies in Cameroon and through
organizations like UNICEF to fund the buildings. I honestly feel that
this is the most important thing I can accomplish during my service.
Pagoda's kitten
Liz, you are an inspiration whether the money pulls through or not. Do what you do, girl. The world is lucky to have you.
Lentils make my heart go pitter-pat
If ever there were a season for dried legumes, this would be it. I suppose their limitless shelf life makes lentils pretty much a four seasons food, but come on… with this chill in the air and the leaves a-falling there is no better time to cozy up to a bowl of these babies.
Isn’t that a little bit sad? This is the kind of weather that makes you want a fireplace and a boyfriend and here I am with a space heater (that I cart around from room to room) and a bowl of lentils. Sigh. And two cats. Dramatic exhale.
My original (kind-of-famous-amongst-my-family-and-friends) lentil soup recipe is very, very simple but very, very good. You can’t really mess these guys up. When preparing lentils you just want 3 cups of liquid for every cup of lentils (more if you want it soupier). Throw in onions, carrots, celery and any spices that speak to you and let it simmer away for about an hour. You will love it.
Lentils topped with greens and cheesy toast
| Lentil Soup |
I like to top mine with a mountain of steamed greens (tossed in liquid aminos and nutritional yeast) with cheesy toast on the side for dipping. What’s not to love about this?
Beards BeCAUSE
Guess what today was? Day 3 of a billion 70 days of yoga.
Day 3
That’s me in all my glory at 6-freaking-o-clock in the damn morning–awake for probably three minutes. With Ralph creeping in the background. Obviously. Why am I doing yoga, you wonder? I’m raising money for a really amazing cause and I haven’t quite figured out how to actually raise the money yet so for now I’m just, you know, doing a lot of yoga…
Did you know that in 2009-2010 120,666 calls for help regarding domestic abuse were made in North Carolina? (NC Council for Women/Domestic Violence Council). If each call were a football fan, they could fill Panthers Stadium one and a half times.
Check out Beards BeCAUSE for more information on domestic violence, advocacy and how to get help. And if you feel so inclined, donate here.
www.beardsbecause.com
I love beards. Like… I love them. I think beards are like the male equivalent of boobs. Allow me to explain… First of all, beards and boobs are each a sign of masculinity and femininity, respectively, but, unlike other body parts that also divide the sexes, beards and boobs are visible to the world and can be rightly flaunted. Second, when it comes to beards and boobs, bigger is often assumed to be better but only to a point… because eventually things just get out of control. And finally, men can’t really have boobs and women can’t really have beards, and if by some chance they do, they are ridiculed for no longer fitting our silly American standard of beauty so it’s really best to admire these parts of the body from afar… on the opposite sex.
Perhaps the only thing better than a man with a beard is a man growing a beard. Think about it. You know when you look at a guy you previously had little to no interest in but now you’re looking at him and something is a little bit off but in a really good way and you’re like “What is going on here?” but all you can think to ask is, “Have you been… camping?” And he totally hasn’t been camping at all but the 3-day shadow on his almost-bearded face makes him look like he should definitely be pitching tents and chopping wood and building fires and… making out with you.
Calm down, Katie.
THE POINT IS… I am thrilled to be joining a bunch of beard growers to raise money for the annual Beards BeCAUSE fundraiser to end domestic violence and that is why I’m rambling on about beards.
“Beards BeCAUSE is a grass roots non-profit organization founded in 2007 to advocate against domestic violence while raising much needed funding for local abuse shelters. Our unique fundraising approach brings men and women together in the spirit of fun competition, but also maintains focus on domestic violence education.”
The way it works is that a bunch of awesome guys agree not to shave for two months while raising money for women’s shelters in Charlotte. The fundraising season kicked off Saturday night with the Clean Shaven Party and will end the first week in December with a whole bunch of hairy guys. It’s gonna be great. I’m on board because it’s a light-hearted, friendly way to draw much needed attention (and funds) to a heavy, heartbreaking cause.
I haven’t decided yet how I’ll be bringing in my funds, but since I can’t very well grow a beard for the next 70 days, I’ll be playing the game my own way. Expect another online bake sale or two, some Ralph & Weaz paraphernalia (tshirts??) and plenty of beard rants.
At first I thought about shaving my head but then I thought about what a terrible idea that was. So instead I’m doing something I can do. Yoga. Every day. 70 days of yoga. Here we go…
Day 2
Want to donate already?? Cool!
You can head on over to my Beards BeCAUSE page and click “Donate Now.”
Vegan carrot cake with vegan cream cheese frosting
I know I need money and I know I need hours at work to get that, but sometimes a girl just needs to bake cupcakes, you know? I weaseled a dear coworker into picking up my shift yesterday so I could pretend like I’m a normal human being for, like, 12 hours. It was lovely.
I woke up, went to yoga, did my laundry, ate a smoothie bowl…
I actually had time for this.
You like my creepy little skull? It’s from the University of Salamanca. The skull with a frog on its head is carved into an intricate facade on a building at the university and, legend has it, students who can find the frog on the wall (all Where’s Waldo style) will do well in school and pass their exams. I need that, please. Another take on the frog is that it symbolizes sexual temptation and is used to warn students (who were all male at one time) that if they give in to female advances they will fail out of school.
So there are sexual advances and then there are cupcakes, which are more up my alley. And I like to think that cupcakes work just as well for winning people over. Almost.
Yep
I’m pretty sure I’ve never actually made carrot cake but when asked to make carrot cake I was all: Oh yeah, of course I can do that. This is the same reaction I had when my host family in Chile, assuming that every American is born knowing how to make cheesecake, asked me to make them a cheesecake. That worked out in my favor and they eventually had me making them a cheesecake a week while I was there so I figured I’d be ok in foreign carrot cake land, too.
I used the carrot cake recipe from Hell Yeah It’s Vegan. It’s great and I’m happy with it but it is heavy and dense and sugar- and fat-laden (all good things when using baked goods for swaying human emotion) so I’d eventually like to play around with it and see if we can’t tone it down a bit. Nevertheless, a delicious cake.
Mmmm
The cake recipe makes two dozen cupcakes, which left me with more than enough to dole out around town… which is not something I’d say with such pride were we still talking about, uh, sexual advances. You see? Cupcakes are the way to go.
Weazalicious
I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again. If I had known four years ago that I would have cat hair on my clothes, in my food and all over everything in my house until I’m, like, 40, I probably would’ve thought a little harder about letting my little sister feed that fat stray black cat chicken nuggets…
That’s not true. I wouldn’t give up the cats for anything. In fact, just yesterday I was telling my friend Ashley (she’s a maniac; check her out) that I’m thinking about getting them health insurance since there’s no limit to the subterranean level of debt to which I would plummet in order to save their lives should anything ever go awry.
We are priceless.
You think I’m kidding.
Anyway, the cats have one job and one job only on this lovely brisk Caturday morning and that’s announcing the five winners of the Lundberg/Stonehouse 27 giveaway. Weaz is nursing a hangover so without further adieu, Ralph is here with our winners…
Ahem.
Vani!
Meredith!
Anna!
Kate!
HEEL CLICK
I will email you all to collect your shipping info and final flavor choices (you’re not married to whatever you mentioned in your comment; especially you, Meredith, since you were just mesmerized by my Tupperware…).
Hot Pocket, please.
Hi I love you
Tonight I learned that I can drive at least 60 miles with my gas light on. Volvo, y’all. Get you one.
I feel the knowledge of this fact will perhaps come in handy one day when I’m, I don’t know, really incredibly broke. Wait wait wait. That’s handy right now. Perfect. When will cars run on water? Tell me this. I mean, we can teach our cats to poop in the toilet and still we’re spending money to drive our cars. Something is wrong here.
Privacy, please.
It’s not so bad having no money. At least now I know what it’s like to live below the poverty line. Except not really since I’d have to be working as much as I do, making as little as I do and supporting a family of four to really know what it’s like. Perspective.
My dad suggested I apply for food stamps (truth). I think it’s his way of telling me I’m not getting any more money out of him. It’s ok because I’m busy holding on to this little ray of hope that Ralph and Weaz will hit it big on the internetz and we can all live happily ever after on their ad revenue. Weaz is working on her business plan as we speak.
The American dream... you're doing it right.
What is even happening here? Is this blog about food?
This is a pizza.
That is the best pizza I think I’ve ever eaten… ever. It’s the Garden Fresh from Intermezzo and I wish I were eating it right this second. Right here in my bed. No pants.
I should really go to bed.
Anyway, yesterday I rode my bike around for a good hour and half humming that terrible “My City” song and looking like an idiot. I’m all YES CHARLOTTE IS THE BEST right now so just deal with it. Then I went to yoga, which was perfect, and we got that pizza, which was perfect, and I stayed up really late, which was also pretty perfect.
I’ve got it maaaaaade here and if I have.my.way I’m gonna staaaaay here. And I love it.
Sorry about that terrible song. It’s terrible, right? So terrible. Here’s the best damn song of your life to make up for it:
Homemade Nutella ice cream and brownies
I still haven’t taken my trash out (I’ve taken it out of my house but the big can outside is covered in spiders) and have no plans to do so. I finally changed my air filter and it only took me three months. I will take four right turns before trying to turn left without a stoplight and I see nothing wrong with this. I “mop” my kitchen floor with paper towels tied to my shoes and know my mom will probably call in about 15 minutes to tell me to buy a Swiffer. I have an ipod that hasn’t had music added to it since 2004, which is when I got it, and I don’t even care. I’ve been “borrowing” Internet from my neighbor for three months and have no plans to get my own.
It’s just that, now that we’re rounding out a solid 2+ years of blogger/reader relationship, y’all need to know the dirt so we can decide if this will carry on long term, ya heard?
Anyway, remember that time I wanted to go to Nicaragua but I didn’t have enough money and you guys totally rallied and threw together, oh you know, A THOUSAND DOLLARS in a day? And that the fundraiser brought in exactly $4 more than I needed? Which was exactly enough to buy a cheap bottle of champagne to celebrate? No big deal. (Read all about Nicaragua here.)
BIG GIANT DEAL
That was one of the single most amazing moments of my life, adding up the totals on Stew’s iphone, and I have not forgotten it. Thank you for that. I don’t know why I’ve been dwelling on it lately (other than the fact that it is an incredible act of human kindness), but I think it has something to do with the fact that I’ve been really taken by all of the good in my life. And I don’t mean the good house or the good car or the good clothes or the good (read: not empty) bank account because you guys know I don’t have any of those things. I mean the good people in my life.
I feel like for the last few months I have had daily moments of: “Thank god for you” in which “you” is not the same person each time. Nope. I somehow have a surplus of “yous” for whom I am so unbelievably grateful. It’s like I’m drowning in good people. My life runneth over with good people. Good people at work. Good people at school. Good people in yoga, online and just out and about. I love it.
I think part of it is that there are lots of good people everywhere all the time. But I also know that a lot of it is because (what I thought was) my entire world collapsed over the summer. I was alone and exposed and vulnerable for the first time in a long time and I think it broke down a lot of walls that I kept up to keep myself safe. And so now it’s like I’m walking into this whole new world (cue Aladdin music) with my heart open like it’s never been and I’m just so… happy.
In yoga (you knew that’s where this would go, right?), they’re always telling us to push into our mats, to push off the ground rather than collapse into it. And (as is so often the case) I think it’s the same in life. You can use rock bottom as a crash pad and collapse into the hard times or you can put on your big girl pants and use it as a launching pad to push yourself out of the hole.
So today was a good day. I went to bed at a decent hour last night. I practiced yoga at 6am to the soundtrack of an early-morning thunderstorm rolling in. I ate the most amazing homemade Nutella ice cream with brownies to celebrate a coworker’s birthday and then also got to celebrate Jessie’s birthday (who, yes, is one of those good people I was ranting on about) with macaroons and gossip.
Jessiiiiiiiie
It was a good, good day. Thank you for you.
OHMYGOD PUMPKIN
People who tell you they like pumpkin do not like pumpkin. They like sugar and cinnamon and nutmeg and sometimes the color orange. They like pumpkin muffins and pumpkin bread and pumpkin pancakes and pumpkin donuts and, dear sweet baby Jesus, PUMPKIN SPICE LATTES–which, as I’m sure you know, contain no pumpkin at all. (Please read Rachel’s post on pumpkin spice lattes for my stance on those damn things.)
AH!
Make no mistake, I like all those pumpkin things, too. I’m just fully aware of the fact that it’s not because I’m a raging fan of the gourd. I just like those warm fall spices and anything that signals the coming of my favorite season. When it comes to pumpkins themselves, I’m a seed girl myself. Carving pumpkins is perhaps my most favorite holiday activity and I always hoard the seeds for roasting.
ANYWAY, I put some pumpkin puree in my green smoothie this morning. HOLY BALLS PUMPKIN.
ORANGE CANDLE
I also added cinnamon AND nutmeg (whoa, Katie, calm down) and took a picture of it next to an orange candle. My standard smoothie includes:
I can’t even imagine what my neighbors must think when I walk out onto my porch in a nightie with a towel on my head to take a picture of a bowl of green glop next to an orange candle. Of course I walk around in a nightie. I wear pants as infrequently as is socially acceptable (and sometimes when it’s not).
Truth.
The moral of this story is that we all need to calm down about pumpkins. And stop wearing pants.
Fancy shmancy
I eat at my desk. A lot. I’m not proud of it. It’s not something I enjoy or recommend or celebrate. There’s a lot to be said for stepping away from your work, sitting down at a table and enjoying a real meal the old fashioned way. But since Americans (all of us, myself included) refuse to do this, it’s at least nice to know we can throw together a meal free of freaky additives and unfamiliar ingredients in less time than it’ll take to heat it up in the microwave.
For me, the secret to eating decent food at my desk is: frozen vegetables. That and Tupperware.
So much Tupperware.
I’ll usually make a big batch of grains (rice, quinoa, millet, etc.) on Sunday to use throughout the week. I then fill my trusty Tupperwares with the grain plus frozen veggies (green beans, peas, peppers, spinach, etc.), a protein (like cubed tempeh or canned beans) and some kind of sauce (usually liquid aminos + nooch, mmmm sauce or tomato sauce).
BAM. A meal.
Since I kind of consider myself to be the master of throwing a couple things in a plastic tub and calling it a meal, I was happy to accept a product review for desk-friendly dining.
Stonehouse 27 features a line of “exotic Indian sauces without the effort” and Lundberg is a family-owned rice business. (I’ve worked with Lundberg before because I love them and their products… see here.) They asked me to combine one sauce, one heat and eat organic rice bowl and no more than three additional ingredients to create a quick, healthy meal to eat at my desk.
I went with the cilantro coconut sauce (despite the fact that I hate cilantro) and the brown rice bowl.
Stonehouse 27 cilantro coconut sauce
Lundberg organic brown rice bowl
To this I added:
I microwaved the kale/pea/tempeh/Stonehouse sauce mix for 1 min 30 sec and then the rice bowl for 60 sec on its own before combining the two. Tah dah! A meal.
What I appreciate about these products is that they’re no-nonsense with their ingredients:
Nothing weird.
I could make that sauce, but… who has time these days? Not me, that’s for sure. I used to poo-poo shortcuts like ready-made sauce and especially precooked rice. “It doesn’t take that long to make your own,” I used to say. Yeah well… that was back when I wasn’t working seven days a week. I’ll take this shortcut and run with it, thank you.
Want to try Stonehouse sauces and Lundberg rice bowls?
Check out the sauces here and the organic rice bowls here and let me know which flavors you want to try. I’ll randomly select five winners at the end of the week.
Want more?
Where to buy it:
Here in Charlotte you can find Stonehouse 27 at Earth Fare, Fresh Market and Food Lion and Lundberg products are available at Earth Fare and Healthy Home Market. Not in my neck of the woods? Find a retailer near you…
lululemon southpark
Once upon a time several weeks ago I went to Salutation Nation and never blogged about it. September is kind of a blur.
This day though, 9/10/11, was slow and steady. Memorable even. I woke up hungover and reeking of smoke (not mine) for the last time, for that morning was the official kick off of my Sober September. We all know that lasted all of about three days, but it was fun while it lasted and I felt particularly motivated and invincible on this day.
SUN
I got up late. Chugged water. Held mentally unstable conversations with my cats. Stuffed my yoga mat into the basket of my ridiculous orange bike and rode to the event. I practiced with my friends out in the (hotass) sun. And I stole some watermelon of a tray of food that wasn’t mine. It was a beautiful day and the beginning of the end of summer.
CLT bloggers everywhere you turn.
(Above with Jen, Brittney and Jessie)
Salutation Nation 2010 was an event I attended when I first moved here last year, and it’s kind of funny to look at my life now versus then. Last year I was in transition and uncomfortable and feeling very out of place.
I feel so at home now. I love that.
Someone asked me today how my breakup was going and it really threw me off. I had to kind of pause and think for a minute before I finally responded: “It’s just not something I think about every day anymore.” And it’s not. Part of it’s that I’m really outrageously busy and part of it is that it’s been almost three months, a full season. I already let the breakup define my summer and (if I’m honest with myself) in many ways let the breakup define me, as well. I lived with a lot of regrets about the past and concerns about the future. But recently (and perhaps for the first time in my life) I’ve been living in 24-hour increments and I swear to you it’s changing my life.
Tonight at a team meeting we had to identify how we felt right then at that moment.
happy.humbled.fearful.hopeful.
That was mine. I think it’s accurate. And, dare I say it, I think I like it.
Make it work?
Friday night I attended my first fashion show and decided pretty early on that I was in over my head. This is why I recruited the help of my wonderful friend-I’ve-never-met Maggie to coach me through it. After seeing the two dress options I narrowed down, she sent me detailed instructions to wear option #1 (a white dress) with:
Tah dah
I’m pretty opposed to color almost all the time so I went with black tights. My hair doesn’t play the “sleek” game so I threw it on top of my head the same way I do in yoga. I couldn’t find a fuchsia lipstick that didn’t make me look crazy so I went with red.
Since all I know about “fashion” I learned from television, I appreciate Maggie swooping in and saving the day.
CLTFW
With Diana (The Chic Life)
Thanks, Maggie
I attended with Diana, Katy, Kelly and Jen because Charlotte bloggers roll deep everywhere we go.
Katy, Jen, Kelly
Hey, girls, heeeeey
We settled into our seats in the front row and then I proceeded to turn into a grotsky little entitled judgmental biatch. Seriously. It’s like someone put a big ol’ shot of bitchass in my vodka soda because I started tearing the event a new one and simply couldn’t stop.
First of all, this character opened the show:
Why?
My sources tell me she wore that dress every single night. After Cruella’s grand entrance they started played the Mission Impossible theme song while the judges paraded out with tooly male model body guards flanking the sides of the runway. It was all just very high school talent show.
But then the vodka started to sink in and this awesome rapper hit the stage and I finally shut up about how “perfectly amateur” it was. Because I would know, right? Because I’ve been to so many fashion shows. Shut up, Katie.
Yeah boyeeeeee
Anyway, once the show got rolling I really did enjoy it. The following are some of my favorites:
Silhouette = winning
Weddiiiiiing.
Give me that.
AWESOME
FAVORITE
That last one is made out of trash. Seriously. Part of the show involved designers and amateurs alike who put together outfits using recycled materials. Trash, basically. It was amazing.
I had a lovely time and took back all the whiny things I said before I got drunk. It was a great event and now I want to go to fashion shows every weekend. Make it work, y’all. Make.it.work.
Good day.
Whoa, Caturday. Slow down. It’s already after noon and still I have not updated the world on the state of Ralph and Weaz. Maybe it has something to with me living in a constant state of RUSHING SOMEWHERE AT ALL TIMES. I can’t even handle it.
I’m currently blogging this from a coffee shop near work, counting pennies to buy a much needed caffeinated beverage (because I left my money, ID and sanity in the purse I carried last night) and trying to figure out how I’m going to pull off this day without passing out. Good work, Katie.
ANYWAY, the cats are furious with me this weekend because I’m spending all my time with these little nuggets:
Gabby... Gabbie? Gaby? I don't know.
Tia
I did swing by my house this morning long enough to feed the cats and wash the week’s worth of dishes that has been tormenting me even from afar. Just knowing they’re in there makes me crazy.
Naturally, as soon as every single dish in my house was clean, Weaz decided to sit in the window directly above them with a cloud of cat hair in her wake.
I do what I want.
I DO WHAT I WANT
I’m pretty sure that I when I get back to my house on Sunday, I will die at the hands paws of this one…
I know where you sleep.
I’m so exhausted from last night’s Fashion Week shenanigans. The cats are too.
(Didn’t you know Ralph and Weaz are on Facebook? Duh.)
But you know what I get to do? I get to work all day uncaffeinated because I can’t find enough pennies. This is gonna get ugly. But come 10pm, I’ll be curled up with a chihuahua in my lap watching cable that I don’t have to pay for. Thank you god.
Save me a spot, Tia.
The Standard.
Ah, what better way to kick off the workday than with a room full of babies doing yoga…
This morning we hosted a “Mommy & Me” yoga class that I had forgotten about until I busted up in the store 15 minutes late and cursing the rain only to find a bunch of little nuggets waddling around the black stretchy pants. “Yessssssss,” I thought. “Babies that are not mine… the very best kind of babies.”
For a fleeting moment of insanity I thought to myself: “GIVE ME ONE NOW COMMENCE PREGNANCY I WANT A MILLION BABIES IMMEDIATELY.”
But then… THEN the little nuggets started running all over the place, which meant that the moms started running all over the place. These women were doing warrior II with a baby on their hip (but only when they weren’t chasing said baby around the store) and they did not appear to be bothered at all by the fact that there was a tiny human standing under them during downward dog. Good for them. Seriously. But just as I was thinking, “Jesus, do they do that all the time?” I realized, nah, no babies for Katie… MORE CATS.
On loan...
I did get to spend some quality time with Christie and her little nugget so that should hopefully hold me over for a while. But if you ever need a babysitter (NOT a baby momma), you know who to call.
Sometimes when I think about how my mom was pregnant with my brother at my current age, I kind of have a panic attack. And then I kind of love my parents even more. Because they opened their lives up to us in the peak of their glory years and never looked back. I’m just not selfless enough for that yet.
My dad likes to tell me this story about how once when I was dancing in high school someone leaned over and said, “Look at Katie. She’s going to be a movie star.” To which my dad replied, “No. She’s going to be a mom.”
And I will. But I’ve also got some other pretty major things to tend to first. Don’t get me wrong. I want kids. A lot. But I’m pretty sure there are still some vodka mini bottles in my purse from Saturday night. You see what I’m saying? I’m just not there.
Study, Katie.
Back to the books…
PB chocolate petit four and iced coffee at midnight
I’d like to thank Amelie’s for fueling not one but two late night study sessions this week. Yes, twice in the past 72 hours I’ve been hunkered down in my home away from home inhaling French baked goods and slamming caffeine into the wee hours of the morning. It’s a tough life I lead.
If you’re ever there when I’m there, please don’t say anything to me because I’m supposed to be studying. Please also take away my phone and my computer and bring me one more petit four.
In addition to having some damn good baked goods, Amelie’s also ensures I get at least a couple servings of vegetables in. Isn’t that nice of them?
Tomato bisque and tomato pesto tartine
Eat your vegetables, y’all.
I’ve started eating dinner around 11pm. This is not normal, I realize, but at least I’m eating it. I’ll just pretend I’m still in Spain where midnight dining was par for the course. Mmmm, Spain…
Fall always makes me want to be in Spain. It’s all boots and bocadillos and brick streets. It’s the only country I’ve already visited twice and would go back to again and again and again. They do it right. “It” being life.
It’s funny, though… As much as I’d like to visit Spain right now (and all the time), I’m kind of at this oddly peaceful point in my life where I don’t feel a constant nagging urge to run off somewhere else. I truly can’t think of a time in my adult life when I’ve been happy where I am. It’s a nice feeling.
Lunch in an empty fountain
Yesterday was definitely a wear-yoga-pants-all-day-and-can’t-nobody-stop-me kind of day.
Ya heard?
I was up all night studying for a test I would fail no matter what and was in no mood to bother with such nuisances as buttoning my pants. I’m sure you understand.
Despite wearing yoga pants constantly, yoga and I have actually been on a little break lately. Did I forget to mention that? OK, so maybe it’s only been, like, four days. But it’s been four miserable days. My back has been on the fritz–like, spasming and going numb–since I started doing drop backs so I figured it’d be best to take it easy… Right. If you know anything about me you know that is a complete lie and that I would have totally been going anyway if I could just stop sleeping three hours later than planned. That’s the real problem.
Anyway, I’m sure yoga has been cheating on me with other girls while I’ve been away, but he says a break is a break and he can do what he wants. (Yoga is my boyfriend in this analogy, obviously. Do try to keep up.)
Whatever, Ross.
Tonight I finally got back in the proverbial saddle and returned to the mat. It was a creaky, unbalanced but beautiful practice followed by the heaviest savasana of my life. I was passed.the.fuck.out. The focus of the class was on contentment, and I’m happy to report that’s how I’ve been feeling as of late. In fact, I’m quite happy where I am at the moment.
Were I not on my way to dinner at my friend Rachael’s house afterwards, I would’ve laid there all night. But no, grilled pizza was calling my name. And we all know how I’ve felt about pizza these past couple weeks. If all goes as planned, I’ll be drunkenly inhaling these leftovers at 3am sometime in the next couple of days…
Griiiiiilled pizzaaaaa
Pizza was one draw but I was really there for…
EEEEEEEEEEE
I’ll be babysitting Rachael’s little nuggets this weekend. They have clothes. DOGS IN CLOTHES CAN YOU BELIEVE IT. Get ready for the Caturday to end all Caturdays…
In other news, I’m going to Charlotte Fashion Week this weekend and I need to look awesome because we’re sitting in the front row and all I know about fashion shows I learned from The Hills.
SO… I’m wearing one of the following that I already own:
#1
#2
And I desperately want these shoes, which are currently on hold for Katie at the Off Broadway Shoes on South should anyone care to purchase them for me, MOM.
WANT
I prefer #2 for several reasons.
Nevertheless, I can’t decide if #2 paired with those hotass shoes will make me look like a total slutpuppy. Discuss.
A thank you / apology for my body
Sorry about Saturday night.
I didn’t mean to forget to feed you dinner, slam vodka and beer and SHOTS SHOTS SHOTS SHOTS SHOTS into your face, dance you around on stage until you sweat straight through your jeans and then neglect to shower you the next day. I also didn’t mean to keep putting on that random man’s hat. That was dirty, wasn’t it?
I hope you accepted my thank you/apology in the form of VEGETABLES and that you won’t hold this little incident over my head tomorrow morning when I want to be at yoga at 6am but you want to be asleep. What did I ever do to you?
Ohhhh yeah. Right.
Oh. And you are also bothered that I worked the entire next day instead of resting? And that I then kept you up until 2am studying for a test I should’ve studied for over the weekend instead of doing, I don’t know, THIS:
SQUEEEEE
In that case, please also accept this expensive-ass kombucha, coconut water and organic fair trade latte. Surely these things will put me back in your good graces.
Also this.
I need you, body. You’re all I’ve got. If you can tough out this quarter-life crisis with me, I’ll shower you in all the yoga and green smoothies and sleep and, yes, even showers you can stand.
Are you with me? Good.
And assuming I slip up and, I don’t know, stay up until 2am on a Monday eating veggie burgers and sweet potato fries, can you promise me (pretty, pretty please just this once?) that you’ll get me up for yoga tomorrow anyway?
I’m doing this for your own good, body. It’s a tough life, kid. Buck up.
Soooooy latte
Wow wow wow. If someone had told me that days off were this great, I’d probably stop working seven days a week…
My Saturday went from professional to perfectly relaxed to properly smashed, and I feel like this recap will not do justice to how incredibly flawless these 24 hours were.
I started the day off with my dietetics hat on giving a speech at the Carolina Society of Gastroenterology Nurses Conference.
Celiac disease!
I know what you’re thinking… “Why would you (a student) tell nurses (the professionals) how to do their jobs?” To which I would say: “RIGHT??” I don’t know. Not a lot things I do make sense, but if you’re already questioning my actions this early the recap, we’re gonna have a problem come 3am…
SO… since the presentation had been looming over my head all week and ended up being a smashing success, I headed out afterwards for some celebratory shopping.
Plaza Midwood
RIP cute little jacket
Bask in the glory of that adorable little jacket I bought because I promptly lost it 12 hours later whilst dancing around like a fool. I am devastated.
After that I had a proper brunch (what is this, a Saturday??) at my favorite Flying Biscuit Cafe. I even ventured forth from my tofu and tater salad comfort zone and got… tofu scramble, which I was informed is pretty much the exact same thing minus the salad greens. I’d still call it a success.
Flying Biscuit tofu scramble
And then… THEN it was time for Nicole’s bachelorette party.
Get it, girl.
The theme of the night was HONEY BADGER DON’T CARE, which is a video you need to watch immediately if you don’t know what I’m talking about. Caitlin got us all matching tshirts and we were quite a sight to be seen parading around the streets of Charlotte…
Hostess Kelly
I want this right now. All of it.
Eat your vegetables. Even when drinking vodka.
Everything Kelly made was amazing and as I lay here hungover and hungry and without any food because I drunkenly ate it all last night, I really really wish I had this entire spread sitting next to me in bed.
This was only my second bachelorette party but I knew we were going hard or going home.
YES
Diana got the memo, too, and busted all up in that night with a beer in a paper bag.
Winning.
And this is where things start to get a little hazy for my drunk ass…
I bet I had four of these grapefruit martinis before we even left the apartment…
Oh no...
My “I <3 cats” bag was full of two bottles of wine and a fistful of vodka mini bottles. I was wearing a honey badger on my shirt and honey badgers don’t give a shit. And then I proceeded to consume untold numbers of shots and beers (??) and whatever else was handed to me while I was dancing around on stage like a drunkard (and losing my cute little jacket waaaaah).
Here we go
Caitlin wants to be the bride apparently
When I got up this morning (feeling pretty great, surprisingly), evidence in my kitchen suggested that I ate a pizza when I got home last night. At 3 o’clock in the morning. Again.
Katie.Levans. Calm down.
It was easily one of the very best days of my entire year.
See ya, Sober September. It was not fun while it lasted.
Tofu, avocado, sprouts, lettuce
Is this real life?
I don’t even know what’s going on. My life has been a blur of kombucha, lattes, celiac disease and social events I just can’t turn down. I’m giving a speech about celiac disease this morning [IS IT SERIOUSLY THIS MORNING ALREADY??] for 150 (hopefully) kind nurses at a conference for people who, let’s be honest, should probably know more about celiac disease than I. Rather than gear up for this, say, last week some time, I waited until, uh, last night to do it all. Perfect.
In the interim, I was:
Chugging lattes
Letting people cook for me
And prancing around in 60-degree weather
I also broke sober September… twice. Don’t worry about it.
Maybe somewhere in there I neglected to blog every day. Perhaps you noticed. I’m sorry. I’ll make it up to you… with tonight’s bachelorette party. Awwwwww, shit. Just you wait.
Hello, Weaz.
I have to give a speech about celiac disease in front of 150 nurses in 8 hours and yet… here I am at 1am on a Friday night writing a mf Caturday post. The things I do for these creatures…
Have you heard of the 5 Love Languages? Of course not. Let me enlighten you. (It’ll eventually be about cats.)
So the five love languages are different ways people like to express and receive love in a relationship, and (supposedly) you should fall into one of the following languages:
I must just really love love because I’m a tie for quality time and acts of service with physical touch and words of affirmation tied in a close second. Gifts are waaaaay down at the bottom for me. As Pink said, “Shorty got a job, shorty got a car, shorty can pay her own rent.” I want your time, not your money, which can actually be harder to come by…
ANYWAY, the point is that I have not been spending nearly enough quality time with the cats, who I love more than anything in this world. AND they do not perform any acts of service for my benefit.
NOPE
And while I appreciate that they want to be near me, this is not exactly the physical touch I want waiting for me in my bed every night…
Great.
But there they are. Every.single.night. Without fail.
Good for me.
I’m not ready for my speech tomorrow at all, but I did at least lay out a cute little outfit to wear. Which Weaz is currently sleeping on. Perfect. This is my life.
Live it, love it... betch.
Well... that was weird.
Remember that time I called you guys “kittens”? As in like: HEEEEEEEEEEEEEEY KITTENS.
I’m still sorry about that. It’s not really ever ok… but I still really wanted to start this post with:
HEEEEEEEEEEYYY KITTENNNNS. Let’s chat.
(Are you still reading? OK!)
I had the day off! HOLY CANOLI, RIGHT?! I’m actually sober right now but this is not coming out that way… Yes! The day… it was off. I had it. My only class was canceled so I asked my dear and wonderful boss for a mental day off and he obliged so here I am basking in the glow of my day of freedom. What did I do?
I got my oil changed like mf ADULT.
I sat on the sidewalk reading The Prophet (which you should all do) again and was very pleased with my life until I looked down and saw a pile of TOENAIL CLIPPINGS. NOOOO. Who does that?? Gross.
Got my laundry did.
I splurged for the wash-dry-fold service even though I’m broke and it makes me uncomfortable for strange men to fold my underwear. I don’t even fold my own underwear; it’s just mounded in a big pile in a drawer. But here are these strangers folding them into this perfect little stack. Awkward. You know what’s more awkward? When they’re not ready by the time they tell you to come pick up your laundry and are still busy folding your unmentionables when you arrive and you have to sit there and watch. Yeahhh…
Took pictures of myself.
Just strollin’ by with this veggie burger…
I also ate Thai food and rode my bike to the store (where my loving coworkers ridiculed me)…
Helmets are for winners.
And went shopping (look, don’t buy)…
Don't you miss prom?
If someone had told me prom would be the last damn time I’d ever get to wear a fancy dress, I would have taken it much more seriously. Sixteen-year-olds can’t be trusted with that kind of style pressure. Someone give me a reason to buy this, please. Also these Coach ankle boots…
WANT
I kind of look like I might destroy someone with those on. I like.
Obviously I didn’t buy anything. And if I did it would’ve been this, the Cadillac of trash cans…
Swoon.
But no. I’m too broke for that nonsense. I just felt like a day off warranted at least trying things on. And drooling over $80 trash cans. I haven’t done that in a verrry long time. Twas fun. Did I mention all of this was found at Marshall’s? I do all of my shopping exclusively at Marshall’s and Target and other cheap places like that. Y’all who pay full price for anything have lost your damn minds. Come shop with me some time. I’ll show you the light…
POLL TIME: SO… my sources (both male and female) tell me that until a guy tells you that you’re the only one he’s seeing, you’re not the only one he’s seeing. ALSO… that you can see as many people as you want until you decide there is only one person you want to see. WHAT? What is this, The Bachelorette? I have no idea what’s going on. Discuss.
Breakfast!
My mom tells me that one of the things she appreciates about me is that I’m self deprecating in a way that makes me approachable. That I can make fun of myself in an open, honest way that “makes people feel comfortable around a girl who seems to have it all.” Based on the emails and comments I receive, I think this is what you guys appreciate, too. I’m glad to hear my general state of self-aware disarray is entertaining. Thank you; I’ll be here all night forever.
I hope I’m approachable. My entire life I’ve been told that I am “terrifying” and “look like a bitch.” My friends tell me this all the time. Aren’t they sweet?
How could I not make fun of myself? You see the things I do. They are ridiculous. Just look at how many pictures I’ve taken of myself this week. This is perhaps the most self-involved obnoxious thing that bloggers do. And welp, what do you know…
1
2
3
4
HAHAHA WHY KATIE
If Alicia Silverstone taught me anything in Clueless it’s that you should never trust a mirror to tell you how you look. She took Polaroids of herself in different outfits… I take phone pictures. Don’t judge me. You can’t see what you really look like unless you can see what other people see. And that’s true in life as well as in your cute little skinny jeans. Deep, right?
So that’s why every once in a while you need to step back and observe yourself the way others do. It’ll open your eyes to a whole host of stupid things you’re doing. This can be a little overwhelming but it can also be empowering as it gives you a chance not only to correct it but also to call yourself out before anyone else does. That, my friends, gives you some sense of control even when your life is a chaotic joke.
My head and my heart are colliding, chaotic
Pace of the world, I just wish I could stop it
Try to appear like I’ve got it together…
I’m falling apart
My life has been a chaotic joke as of late and while I like to think I’ve done a pretty standup job of keeping a handle on it, I can see that it’s wearing me thin. (Literally, I’m losing weight.) Actually, I see that other people see that it’s wearing me thin. And this makes me pay attention.
This week I came very close to quitting school and running off to be a yoga teacher/baker/cat herder. Instead, I pulled up my big girl pants and made a MF grownup decision. I’m taking an extra year to finish my masters degree so I can do so mindfully and, you know, without completely losing my mind.
As soon as I made that call, I felt like a giant expensive rock had been lifted off of my body. Nothing will change in my immediate life. This semester will remain as ridiculous as it’s always been. But I can crank through it knowing that come Spring I’ll be skipping through life with a more manageable load.
So no, I don’t have it all. I hope you all realize this. I do, however, have all I need and that, I believe, is far more powerful than a life overflowing with fulfilled wants.
I took the day off today. Mental health day, we’ll call it. I slept for 11 hours, sipped tea with my smoothie bowl and will float through this day knowing I have hit rock bottom, regained my footing and am slowly but surely climbing back up where I belong. Just as ridiculous as I’ve ever been.
Vegan BBQ tempeh sandwich
Remember last year when I covered the Blues, Brews and BBQ Festival for Uptown Magazine? Remember how I’m a vegetarian? Me too. I went back again this year anyway. (You can read last year’s story on my online portfolio here.) You don’t have to eat meat to enjoy the rowdiness of a BBQ festival, let me tell you. I ate gummi bears soaked in moonshine. Hello. Enough said. (This was pre-Sober September, duh.)
Plus, if you eat your own vegan BBQ tempeh sandwich before you leave, you’ll feel like you participated in the whole barbecue thing without killing anything and will have a good line (that will get you ridiculed) for every time someone tries to offer you some form of animal… “Oh, no thanks. I already ate vegan BBQ, sucka.”
This line might actually get you stabbed at an event like this. In fact, one man even asked me if I’d had my “Yankee vaccines” before he would give me any of his moonshine-soaked gummi bears. Being that I grew up in Chicago but really wanted some moonshine-soaked gummi bears, I said, “Yes, of course. The South will rise again.” and threw those bears back like a jello shot. (PS – They’re amazing.)
NOT a Yankee vaccine
For my vegan BBQ I just sauteed onions, green pepeprs and tempeh with a little BBQ sauce and then stuffed it into a whole wheat pita with lettuce and pickles. Kind of resembled a McRib, which is not a compliment.
My brother accompanied me to the festival again this year and came out guns blazin’ with a damn funnel cake.
Who does that?
I do.
And this kind woman a few tents down offered to share her apple pie moonshine.
Yep.
And I took her up on that offer assuming there was enough alcohol in there to kill me let alone whatever diseases were floating in it.
Don’t be surprised if you see a moonshine gummi bear recipe up here soon…
Takeout from Lang Van
Tonight as I was rounding out hour two of seemingly endless lectures about shit I don’t care about, it occurred to me that I am perhaps in the wrong field of study. Don’t get me wrong, nutrition I can handle. Food I love. Gluconeogenesis and glycolysis and…
WHAT THE HELL IS THIS
… no. No thank you.
Rather than feign interest in the metabolism of vitamin A, I was busy doing this:
Obviously.
Yes I would like a gold star, thank you. I think I got Ralph’s fuzz down perfectly, wouldn’t you say? And Weaz’s goatee? Flawless. Clearly I have missed my calling as a comic book artist. Coulda, woulda, shoulda. I can see it now… The Adventures of Super Cupcake, co-starring his bumbling sidekicks Ralph and Weaz. Coming soon to a newsstand near you…
Yes, I’m a little burned out on school. It’s just so… boring. And not what I thought it would be. And, good god, expensive. I’m just having doubts. Cold feet, if you will. I mean, I’ve put three years into this mess and now I kind of feel like it’s not going anywhere, like it’s not what I originally imagined it would be, like I’m kind of wasting my time and like it just.won’t.end. Sound familiar? This appears to be a pattern.
I’m toying with the idea of bailing, but I won’t. Because I just love to torture myself. So in the meantime I’m going to be a big ol’ slacker and never open my books and draw cupcake superheroes in class and stay out (or in?) way too late on a school night eating Vietnamese takeout and watching movies that are not good but are much better than learning about glycolytic pathways.
No, those are not my plates. Very observant.
Vegan banana oat bar with peanut buttercream
Oh, hello there, best thing I have ever made. Aren’t you a sight for sore hungry eyes?
I’ve been dreaming up this sexy little number for weeks but I just haven’t had the time (or soberness) to throw it together. Today was the day. I could feel it. I woke up at 7am without an alarm, drank tea, did yoga. By 9am I was well on my way to a Sunday morning bakefest and I was thrilled with myself, to say the least.
But then, of course, as is the case every single time a human being wants to bake something, I discovered I had no sugar. That’s not true. I had like two tablespoons of sugar hanging out in a massive bag whose presence in my cabinet, we can only assume, led me to not purchase more sugar prior to this moment. Why didn’t I just use those last two tablespoons of sugar in the last thing I made so I could throw the bag away thus signaling a need for MORE SUGAR? I will never know. All I know is that that’s how I ended up at the grocery store looking like this:
Careful boys, she's siiiiiiingle.
At any rate, I got my sugar. And vanilla, too, since who the hell ever actually has vanilla and sugar stocked when they really need them? No one.
The inspiration for these mind-blowing bars comes from the New York Times vegan banana cookies I’ve been rambling on about and have made at least three times in the last 12 days. (Don’t worry about it.) Rather than spoon the dough out into cookies, I wanted it in bar form so it could be properly slathered in peanut butter buttercream frosting. Peanut buttercream as it shall be known henceforth.
Properly slathered.
Properly Slathered would be a great emo band name, don’t you think? They’d wear glasses with no prescription and smoke unfiltered cigarettes and disagree with everything. Dibs. Don’t steal my idea. That’s a money-maker right there.
What am I even talking about? here’s your recipe, loves.
| Banana Oat Bar with Peanut Buttercream |
Best ever.
Curry tofu scramble with toast and avocado
I’m an all or nothing kind of girl. I want to practice yoga every single day or I don’t want to practice at all. I want to eat a McDonald’s #2 value meal (no cheese) every day for the better part of my high school career or I don’t want to eat meat for a decade. I want six liquor drinks in the span of about two hours or I’ll be sipping one glass of water all night.
There’s just not a whole lot of gray area with me, you see. I’m in or I’m out.
So since I’ve been such a freaking drunkard this last month I decided it was time to rein it in and declare a Sober September. Not a Glass-of-Wine-with-Bachelor-Pad September or a Drink-Until-You-Eat-an-Entire-Pizza-but-Only-Once-in-a-While-so-It’s-Totally-Fine September. A damn sober September. All the way.
Nothing wrong with drinking, mind you. I’ve just got entirely too much going on to be stumbling around my kitchen at 3am eating an entire tub of kalamata hummus. I’ve been acting like a freaking 19-year-old. No room in the schedule for that nonsense.
I think after crawling out of my hole of post-breakup summer depression, I just wanted to have fun again. And it has been fun. But you know what’s also fun? Not being drunk in your 6:30am yoga class.
So I’m stepping back a wee bit. The best part? I’ve got so much more time for cooking and baking now. Hence, this beautiful Sunday brunch of curry tofu scramble with toast and avocado. Enjoyed headache-free after a lovely non-drunk 90-minute hot yoga class.
That's more like it.
| Curry Tofu Scramble |
Quinoa, raisins, nuts, rosemary, sage-stuffed squash
Fall is my most favorite time of the year. It’s all brisk air and open windows and apple picking and scarves and boots and the deep-rooted belief that all things are better with cinnamon. It’s the bittersweet beginning of the end of the year and, for all the right reasons, makes me want to hold hands and drink apple cider and fall in love.
My life has been moving at an alarming rate this month so rather than barrel through another night drunk and completely unaware that my favorite season is slipping by, I decided to stay in and celebrate solo with a gorgeous stuffed squash.
Fixins
And wouldn’t you know it, I actually took the time to measure my ingredients so I could share this with my fellow lovers of fall. You’re welcome.
| Stuffed Squash |
Oh glorious day
Tough love with Ralphie: You are a disaster.
Happy cool, crisp Caturday morning! The weather in the south has finally switched from sweltering to bearable and (in the morning, anyway) even chilly at times. Ralphie for one can’t wait to rock her new thigh-high leather boots.
Speaking of, are those only for streetwalkers? I mean, Ralph was before I took her in so it makes sense. But… those thigh-high boots are only for strippers, right? I want some.
THE POINT IS… fall is here!
Hooray!
Which means the windows are open. Which means the cats get to sit in the window. Which means they are preoccupied long enough for me to go spend a million dollars on their expensive ass food.
I gave my left arm for this. And I'm a lefty.
$20 a bag. TWENTY DOLLARS. I don’t even know the last time I spent $20 on one item. (Isn’t that sad? Don’t answer.) But for the cats… anything for the damn cats.
You bet your ass anything.
I didn’t want to buy the cats nice food (don’t judge me!) but my mom told me I was being a bad mom and that I had to give them what they want. They want $20 cat food. In an effort to avoid giving my mom a reason to believe that if I’m a bad cat mom I’ll be a bad mom mom, I buy the food. But I’m not happy about it.
We are.
Tempeh, cheese, pickles, avocado
There are few things I enjoy more than being on or near a body of water. Not so much in it, no thanks. But close by, yes. I’d love to live on or near water and believe that a city is not a city unless it’s on a coast or has a river running through it. (My biggest complaint about Charlotte so far is its landlockedness. Lame.) I grew up on the lake, in a pool and, when all else failed, dancing in a sprinkler. These days I prefer to admire water from afar without actually getting in it.
This works.
Yesterday I learned that there’s a water activity made just for water-hating people like me: standup paddleboarding. You get to be in the water without (assuming you have the ability to balance, of course) being in the water. It’s a beautiful thing.
I went out with some teammates from work and am officially hooked. Let it be known that this is what I want for Christmas. Sure, there are more practical things I need–like a new trashcan since I just broke mine–but be serious… you can’t paddle a trashcan four miles across a lake. Exactly.
I was very excited about my first time, as evidenced by my jazz hands…
Jaaaaaazz hands
But when we got there and my “Hey, where’s the bathroom?” was greeted with a sweeping gesture at the surrounding bushes, I started to feel like maaaaaybe this was a bit too much nature for Katie on a Thursday morning.
I peed in the woods!
I sucked it up and peed in the woods, walking through spider webs and cursing the world all the while. I emerged victorious and ready to PADDLE, SON.
The boards are surprisingly more stable than I expected and I found it easy to stay upright. I did get a little cocky and attempt some one-footed balancing, which was the closest I came to busting it. The key to paddleboarding, I’ve learned, is to engage your core to paddle forward rather than rely on your arms. It was a million times better than crunches.
You have no idea how long this took.
I loved this morning. It was just the escape I needed from my frantic daily routine and reminded me that, in addition to making food, making everyone in my life happy and making time for myself, I also need to make time to be outside. It’s important to me and I forget that sometimes.
After paddling four miles I came home to inhale my go-to sandwich: tempeh, cheese, avocado and pickles. It was a good, good, busy day.
Muffins, peanut butter, grapes
Welp. Here I am rounding out my third week back to school and this is only the second time I’ve opened a book. Good work, Katie. I used to be a good student. I swear. In fact, my undergraduate alma mater was recently named the #2 most rigorous university in the country (yes, ahead of the likes of Harvard, Yale, Princeton and whatnot). So I swear that under normal (or even rigorous) levels of pressure, I can do this whole school thing. Life is just winning right now.
Plus, every time I open my textbooks THIS happens…
Ralphie, RD
What we have here is hypchromic microcytic anemia...
Seriously. Every.single.time.
After tearing through two case studies today that I should’ve probably started weeks ago, you know what I never want in my life? (Other than clinical nutrition?) Blood thinners. Those suckers blow. You know what you can’t eat in excess while on blood thinners? Vitamin K. Because it’s a coagulant, which totally counteracts the anticoagulant properties of the blood thinning drugs. You know what vitamin K is in? Just kale, spinach, brussels sprouts, chard… good stuff. Oh, the horror.
Cat-free.
I made those muffins months ago and froze them and they are still good. I’m glad I did that because baking is yet another ball in my life that has crashed to the ground. I can only juggle so many balls, y’all.
Hello, little cupcake.
I’m on a bit of a self improvement kick. Don’t worry, you won’t find me rummaging through self help book racks, wearing big sunglasses to disguise my shame while flipping through Help! I’m Becoming a Cat Lady. Not yet, anyway. I’m just really interested in what’s wrong with me. And what’s right with me, too. But that’s not all. I’m interested in how I work, what makes me happy, what doesn’t, who makes me happy, who doesn’t, where I’m going, what I’m doing right to get there and what I’m doing terribly wrong that’s holding me back.
After feeling like I failed love pretty miserably, I’m just really interested in figuring out what I can actually do right, what I can do better and what I perhaps shouldn’t do at all.
Step one has been opening myself up to opinions and feedback and criticism and compliments. So last night I was up until ungodly hours letting a good friend point out some pretty serious character flaws. It was enlightening, to say the least.
We did a very interesting exercise at work recently where we had to ask five people in our life to answer the following questions about us:
1. What do you most appreciate about me?
2. What do you wish i would appreciate more about myself?
3. What do you see that I should continue doing/being that supports what is authentic in me?
4. Do you notice areas of my life where I experience a loss of power?
5. When am I most inspired?
6. What do you find challenging about me?
7. What is the one thing you wish for me in the next three years?
8. What is the one thing you believe i could master in my lifetime?
I know I’ve already mentioned this, but I’m not sure I mentioned the impact. People’s answers to these questions will rock you right down to your core. Some of what they say will be great and some of it will be terrible. Some of it you’ll totally expect and some of it will come out of left field and smack you in the face.
As I listened to what people had to say about me, I found myself at times shaking my head and thinking, “You don’t know me at all.” But then someone else would say the same thing. And then another person. And that’s when it hit me that I’m not acting in a way that lets people see who I think I am. It’s an interesting conundrum, really.
Another common thread was that people’s favorite thing about me and the thing the find most challenging about me are one in the same. And that’s that I am driven and motivated and will go after anything I want but that I’ll do it at the cost of my sanity, my sleep and my relationships. It’s true.
Maybe I’m scaring people off from doing this exercise, but I hope not because it really is a good thing. It’s not a bad thing to recognize and accept faults in yourself. We’re all human. Nobody’s perfect. You’ve heard it all. It’s actually really empowering to see yourself as others see you. Do it.
So anyway, for me, I suppose, it’s all about balance. I need to find a way to get what I want without sacrificing what (and whom) I love. That’s also what my friend and I kind of figured out in the discussion of my repeated failures in the forever-love department. We determined I want a strong, assertive man who is not a cocky douchebag and who is also sensitive and into yoga and not vehemently opposed to vegetarianism and is also not gay. Good luck with that, Katie. If you have found this man, please send him here.
Balance. Isn’t that always the answer? Ate a cupcake and three banana oat blondies today? Better eat some kale tonight. You know how it goes.
Cupcakes and kale. Yin and yang.
I'll miss you, watermelon.
This summer was pretty monumental for me, to say the least. I ended a three-year relationship, moved to a new city, started a new job and did my best to keep it all together when inside I was falling apart. There were a lot of constants to keep me on track–yoga, cats and family–but the past three months were truly an experiment in change, in stepping outside my comfort zone and in redefining who I am.
In case you missed it I…
Joined the Charlotte Food Bloggers
Shared pictures of Baby Weaz as a… baby
Started making my own almond milk
Monetized the blog (click away, y’all! click awaaaaay!)
Visited NYC for the first time
Gave you a reason (or five) to do yoga
Did my first professional photo shoot
Ended my relationship with Stew
Ate nothing but Carolina food for a week
Equated breaking up to getting pregnant
Waxed on poetically about yoga
Celebrated the blog’s second birthday
And rediscovered my love of alcohol
In many ways this should have been the worst summer of my life. And maybe it was. But looking back on it like this, I can see that the breakup was just a blip in an otherwise full and fun and beautiful life.
This summer was bittersweet, yes, but it was good. Kind of like chocolate chips, which are actually great.
I hit my lowest lows this summer but I also hit some pretty high highs. I’ve made friends. I’ve made my apartment my own. And, dare I say it, I’ve made a life here–by myself and for myself–that I really love. Not bad for three months.
Vegetables invade the office...
Let me tell you a story about today…
My alarm went off at at 5:48… and 6… and 6:16. The first time I thought, “I’ll get up at the next one.” The second time I thought, “I’ll get up at the next one.” And the third time I thought, “I’ll never get up. I’m dreaming myself into a world where I have enough money to pay for school and I don’t have to work and I have enough time for things like… showers.” Third time is not a charm when it comes to alarm clocks.
I woke up earlier than I wanted to but still a solid two hours later than planned at 8:15. When your day is literally planned down to the hour, this can throw things off a bit. This time I thought simply, “Aw hell.”
If you’re thinking this must be the part where I fly out of bed, jump in the shower, throw on the outfit I laid out the night before and dash out the door with a Poptart in my hand, late but not too late to throw up my hands in defeat… you don’t know me very well. Nope. I realize this is how most people would’ve handled the morning. Me? My thought process went something like this:
“Aw fuck. I wanted to go to yoga… Why does my entire body hurt? Yoga. WEEEEEEAAAZ. Seriously though… my back is bruised. Showering last night would’ve been a good idea. When is the last time I showered…? I want a smoothie. Why haven’t I washed any dishes in two days? Now all you get is PB toast. Serves you right. What the… is my throat sore?? I’ll make some tea and then not drink it. Good plan… I should be 15 minutes down I-77 by now… This outfit I laid out last night is heinous. I’ll try on 15 more. I’ve got plenty of time for this shit… All black. All black is always the answer. I hate pearls. I should wear those too… Dryyyy shampooooooo, what would I do without you? At least I packed my lunch last night. I’ll just work out at the gym… Where are the cats? Adios gatitos!”
[End scene]
I really do say “Adios gatitos!” every time I leave my house. I also have to see both cats with my own eyes before I leave or I’ll get five exits down the interstate and come back to check and make sure I didn’t accidentally lock them in a closet or something. It’s true. Safety first.
So anyway. I finally made it to work just 30 minutes late. Not bad. No one seemed to mind. AND I was greeted with a bountiful harvest from one coworker’s family’s farm.
Cabbage for the rest of your LIFE
Take one look at that picture and guess who didn’t shower this morning. Hint: It wasn’t the cabbage.
The rest of the day was fine. All I wanted in the entire world was to take a long, hot shower. But no. There I was sweating away in my all black outfit.
Though I’d managed to drop every ball in my life by 6 o’clock in the morning, I had at least packed a winning lunch the night before.
So much good
New favorite snack
It’s a common misconception that healthy food has to be complicated and time-consuming to prepare. Au contraire. Just throw a bunch of shit in a bowl. Truly. That lunch is:
Doesn’t really make a damn bit of sense but tastes great just the same and requires no skill whatsoever to assemble.
The moral of this story, I suppose, is do the best you can. And eat your vegetables. I’m doing a lot and I can’t do it all perfectly so I’m just doing the very best I can. Sometimes the best I can do is wake up two hours late. I’ll take it.
One thing I think I did right today was remain calm. Yoga taught me that. I was confronted with an undesirable circumstance. I acknowledged its presence. And I moved on with my life. No sense in flipping out. Or making up lies. Or driving fast. Just… (breathe and) move on.
Homework shmomework
So I’ve been feeling good. So so good. I feel like I’m finally home. That I have a home, not a house (or an ill-equipped apartment). That I have friends, not acquaintances. That I have a sense of place, not an overwhelming sense of anxiety. I still don’t have money or a car whose oil has been changed recently or a well-hashed life plan or… a boyfriend. BUT… but. I think I’ve finally reached a place where enough is enough. Both in the enough-is-enough-move-on-with-your-life-you-pitiful-fool kind of way and the you-don’t-have-a-lot-but-you-have-enough-and-enough-is-enough kind of way. You follow, right?
I’d describe my current situation as “content” but as soon as I said that my dear and loving yoga teacher immediately swooped in and kicked my ass (as he does) and said “content belongs in a cubicle.” So I guess I’m still working on blissfully happy. I’ll keep you posted on that.
SO… tonight I went to “work” on a presentation on celiac disease I’m putting together with a friend from school for a nurses’ conference we’re crashing in a couple weeks. She went to culinary school and made dinner, of course. I have friends in high places, y’all.
And by “work” I mean we drank wine and watched the Cooking Channel while she called out names of everyone on it like, “Ohhhh that’s so and so and he was in our wedding.” No big deal.
Yesssss
We had farro salad with roasted tomatoes and caramelized onions, hummus and guacamole. And Greek yogurt with raspberries and honey for dessert.
Hello.
Greek yogurt, raspberries, honey
I could get used to this kind of studying.
I’m off to bed because I just whined my way into an early-morning yoga class. Happy Labor Day, you jerks. I’m working/schooling tomorrow. But I love it, remember? Yes.
Sometimes leftovers trump a night out.
Yesterday I had delusions of grandeur about a balls-to-the-wall, rowdy, epic girls night out. By 5pm I’d already called the whole thing off after hitting a brick wall at work and realizing all I wanted in the entire world was to bake cookies, eat leftovers and go to bed by 8pm. No one objected. And this is why girlfriends are the best.
Rule #1: Sometimes leftovers trump a night out.
I knew if I didn’t get some serious Katie time, I’d be plowed into the ground today with another full work day and homework and whatever else I do. Plus, I’d already had an epic night out the night before. How do you think I ended up with the Indian food? Exactly. Oh and, I had to help Ralph and Weaz get their Facebook page set up… duh.
Now, I know there’s already a movie out to this effect starring Sarah Jessica Parker and perhaps you can get all the “How to Barrel Through Life Somewhat Gracefully” tips you need, but since people keep asking, here are a few of the ways I’m getting by this year…
Rule #2: Two Words… Frozen Vegetables
Eat your vegetables
Frozen vegetables have an almost endless shelf life and require little to no prep work making them easier for me to inhale on the fly than fresh produce. I keep frozen spinach, peppers, broccoli, green beans, peas, etc. on hand so I can toss them into soups, stirfrys, on top of pizza or into a smoothie (spinach only) to amp up my vegetable intake for the day even when I don’t have time for elaborate food prep.
Another solution is to wash and cut all your fresh produce the day you buy it so it’s ready to go as soon as you need it. Still, the extended shelf life of frozen produce plus the cheap price tag are appealing to me right now. Not to mention, freezing has been found to maintain the integrity of the nutrients that are lost in fresh produce as it sits in a warehouse then in a delivery truck and then on the shelf.
Rule #3: Dry shampoo. Just do it.
Dry shampoo will change your life
The thing about curly hair is that, other than being awesome, it is also very dry. This means that it can go (and should) several days without shampooing. The answer in the interim, I’ve recently discovered, is dry shampoo. This little $2 can has left me looking polished and put together on countless occasions when I’m really unshowered.
Rule #4: Your home is your castle.
Clutter free
I learned this from my mom who was constantly getting onto us about picking up our toys or shoes or backpacks and especially about doing so before my dad got home from work. Nobody wants to come home to a messy house. I make it a point to clean the whole thing every Friday afternoon while the rest of the world is getting drunk. And I keep it decluttered daily since clutter gives me anxiety. I find that taking time to get this in order makes me a happier, saner person throughout the week.
Rule #5: Do yoga. All the time. Anywhere.
Works anywhere. No mat required.
The other day I was rushing from somewhere to somewhere else to somewhere else and trying to do my laundry at my brother’s house in between each step. I knew I’d never make it to the studio that day so I just plopped myself in the middle of his living room and did a quick 15-minute series myself. It wasn’t ideal but it was better than nothing.
Rule #6: Dress like a MF adult.
Brief cases help
You are a grown ass woman and if you expect to be treated as such you had better play the part. I have an awesome professor who is laidback and cool and totally an ex-hippie who would like to dress as such, but she says doctors don’t take her seriously (she’s an RD) so she wears what she calls her “costumes.” I love that. You can dress yourself into a new role. I’m using clothes this year to make it look like I’ve got it together. It seems to be working since people keep asking, “How do you do it? You seem so together.” Hint: I’m not. You’re just blinded by the pencil skirt.
So that’s that. The name of my game right now is just: do the best you can. I have a lot going on so not everything will be perfect. That’s ok. If I can get creative to get by, I’ll be just fine.
You forgot to do Caturday.
I didn’t really forget to do Caturday. I just didn’t do Caturday first thing in the morning. That’s because I was too busy forcing 90 minutes of hot yoga upon my body even though (let’s be honest here) my body was probably still a little bit drunk. Who am I?
Excuse me no one cares.
Of course no one cares about how I’m hungover aaaaagain on Caturday morning. This is cat time.
Did you know there is such thing as a cat superhero? (Other than Cat Woman duhhhh.)
Danananadanananadanana CATMAN
It’s true. Someone asked me last night who my favorite superhero is so naturally I googled “cat superhero.” According to Wikipedia, he is a supervillain and foe of Batman. See also: Ralphie. And just so people will stop telling me I’m a crazy cat lady, in my hunt for cat superheroes I came across this lunatic who has turned himself into a tiger. “Avner’s body modification operations have included bifurcation (splitting) of his upper lip, surgical pointing of the ears, sillicone cheek and forehead implants, tooth filing, tattoos, and facial piercing – to which whiskers can be attached.” Mmmmmhm.
Now who's crazy?
Ralph has super powers too, you know.
Faster than a speeding... cat.
Weaz… can’t do anything. I suppose if she had a super power it would be… nope. I got nothin.
I do this.
I’m off to google “cat + ______” and see what I can find…
Doooo you have a question for me and my yogurt?
Last night I ate dinner at midnight. If you were to ask me what I was doing between the normal American dining hours of, say, 7 to 9pm, I would say, “Don’t worry about it.” While I won’t always have a good answer (that I’ll share), I have been fielding an awful lot of questions lately. Either I have become significantly more interesting in the last two weeks or my life is such a confusing mess of a joke that people really can’t keep up with. Let’s sort this out…
Wait… where do you work?
Do you want to know where I work or how often? Because both are kind of complicated. I have a full-time job in retail, part-time Graduate Associateship, full-time graduate class load (which is work, yes) and a volunteer gig. When it’s all said and done, I’m “on” in one of these four places seven days a week. Usually at least two per day. All told, it’s about 70 hours of “work” a week. Sometimes I sleep.
But… when do you sleep?
I tend to sleep between the hours of midnight and 6am.
If you’re working this much… shouldn’t you be making more money?
You bet your ass I should be.
Where are the cats when you’re doing all of these things?
Ripping out clumps of their hair and spreading it all over my house. Sleeping, too.
What are you studying again? Cats?
No. Not cats. I’m working on my Masters in Human Nutrition. It’s kind of complicated. I’m also taking a whole lot of undergraduate classes to complete a Didactic Program in Dietetics to become a Registered Dietitian. Pretty much… I’m cramming six years of schooling into about four. And yes, I already have a B.A. in Spanish Language and Lit. It’s a party, let me tell you. (So you want to be an RD? Read this.)
Don’t you speak Spanish? You couldn’t find someone to pay you to do that?
No, I could not. Gracias. Also, viva la Weaz.
Do you do things other than all these other things that consume your life?
Yes I do. I still do yoga and eat frequently and go out and get inappropriately drunk at times.
Are you seeing someone?
I see lots of people every day. You’ll have to be more specific like: Are you seeing one person more frequently than other people?
I still eat, yes.
Even breakfast.
Lots of people also seem to want to know what I’m eating and when and how and all that. I am still eating. I’m not cooking as many awesome things as I’d like. And I don’t have time to bake. But I make it a point to continue eating in a way that makes me feel good physically and mentally. I’ll dedicate a full post to this later. I’ll work on it in my free time.
Got more questions?
I need some fodder for my videos. And since I know my readers are total creepers (y’all know you are silent lurkers; be serious), I’m doing this anonymous question thing. The second it gets remotely creepy and/or mean it will cease. But for now… Ask me anything.
September = yoga time.
Day 203 – “To put the world right in order we must first put the nation in order; to put the nation in order, we must first put the family in order; to put the family in order we must first cultivate our personal life; we must first set our hearts right.” – Confucius
In case you missed it, yoga has completely changed my life. It has made me stronger and gentler and kinder and fiercer and calmer and energized and grounded and uplifted and present and, yes… thinner. It gives me a sense of place and connects me with amazing people. It is the best thing I do every day. (Well, almost every day.)
September is National Yoga Month and I encourage you to explore the practice. Whether you’ve never tried or are a veteran, there’s always something more for you to learn.
In honor of National Yoga Month, my friends and I are competing Baron Baptiste’s 40 Days to Personal Revolution. The program includes a daily yoga practice, meditation and more. I can’t wait.
Never done yoga? Explore my yoga archive and some of my favorite posts below…
Yoga for the Rest of Us – it’s not all rainbows and kittens
5 Reasons to do Yoga – there are so many more…
Non Attachment – how yoga detached me from material things
The Immensity of Yourself – a quote I carry around with me
Find Comfort Here – one of many times I’ve cried on the mat
Meditations from the Mat – an incredible book
Yoga with Cats – duh
Yoga with Ralph – a series for beginners at home
Through Every Open Door – push yourself
Still Life – I cried again
Midweek Meditations – some great thoughts about yoga
See you on your mat…
Smoothie topped with coconut butter
Ah, coconut. So delicious. So controversial.
Some people love it. Some people hate it. Whether you fall in one camp or the other likely has something to do with your belief in one of the following:
Me? I hover somewhere in between unwilling to make a firm statement for or against since, well, we don’t have any solid research that makes me feel comfortable doing so right now. But it does taste good. This is scientific fact.
The deal with coconut is that it is a saturated fat. Highly saturated. Of the 18g of fat in one serving of coconut butter, 16 of those are saturated. The average person on a 2,000-calorie diet would want to limit saturated fat to about 20g a day.
Lovers of coconut argue that the medium-chain length of the fatty acids in coconut are more easily broken down in the body and, therefore, healthier than the long-chain fatty acids in saturated fats from animal products (meat and dairy). The jury’s still out on this claim so coconut (and other tropical oils like palm) are shunned by many, including the American Dietetic Association.
My take? Personally, I don’t consume much saturated fat. I never eat meat, rarely consume dairy and reserve fried foods for drunken nights. So yes, I do eat coconut on occasion. I don’t think it’s a miracle food. I just don’t see anything wrong with it. Plus, I like it.
SO. If you want to eat coconut, perhaps you have some questions…
What’s the difference between coconut oil and coconut butter?
Consider something more familiar: a peanut. Peanuts can be used to make both butter and oil, correct? Yes. Peanut butter is made simply by grinding nuts into a paste. Creating oil involves extracting it from the nut in a far more complicated refining process. But it happens. Peanut oil is a good choice for frying as it has a high smoke point. Fun fact. You’re welcome.
Similarly, coconut can produce both butter and oil. The butter is made by grinding the meat (white flesh inside the nut) into a paste. Again, oil involves a more complicated process. Both are solid at room temperature and will melt when heated.
When heated, coconut butter is thick, opaque, spreadable and FREAKING DELICIOUS. When it cools though (say, when poured atop a smoothie) it will solidify again. Kind of like that magic shell ice cream topping from your childhood. But better.
When heated, coconut oil will be clear and runny like, hello, oil. It can be used in cooking (think sauteeing, roasting, etc.) the same way other oils are.
Coconut butter
Coconut oil
What’s the difference between coconut water and coconut milk?
People ask me this all the time. When I tell them I chug coconut water after 90 minutes of hot yoga they look at me like: WHATEVER YOU ARE GROSS. This is because they assume I’m drinking coconut milk. Some people who have never heard of coconut water even try to tell me I’m drinking coconut milk. I’m not drinking coconut milk.
Coconut water
Coconut milk is made from the flesh of the coconut. It is white like regular milk, high in fat and often has sugar added to it. It’s usually sold in cans. Coconut water, on the other hand, is the water from inside the coconut. It’s high in electrolytes (like potassium), fat free, lightly cloudy, slightly sweet and so damn good.
So there you have it. Now you know more about coconut than you ever cared to.
Broccoli slaw, spinach, rice, cashews, tempeh
MAN. Have I ever been perky today. I am eerily at peace in my life right now and it makes me want to hug everyone. It’s like I’m skipping through the day all: I love YOU and I love YOU and YOU and YOU and CAAAAAATS. And I’m not even on uppers or anything. Maybe I am. I call them vegetables. Look ‘em up, sucka.
What a day. Long, long day. I finally took my first ever ashtanga class at six in the freaking morning.
[What the hell is ashtanga, you ask? "Ashtanga means “8-limbs” and is described in the Yoga Sutras as the 8 step path to true yoga (union of mind, body, and spirit). Many forms of yoga were adapted from this traditional sequence."]
I’ve been avoiding it for about a year now and in the meantime my practice has kind of plateaued. So it was high time for me to move on to more difficult postures. Ask and ye shall receive. I got crammed into some crazy pretzel shit.
What?
Where is that foot in his stomach coming from? You don’t know.
It was a great class. All I can say is ABS. Good lawd.
So I rushed from there to work/school stuffing PBJ toast in my face on the way:
Inhale
And dressing like a MF adult:
Bam.
I strongly suggest investing in one pair of amazing black pumps and two or three pencil skirts. I bought those shoes for three hundred freaking dollars back when I apparently thought I was a billionaire. I don’t even have $300 to my name right now… Truth.
But I do believe in investing in shoes, purses and outerwear* (when you are not poor) so that you can pair those things with crap from Target and Forever 21 (when you are poor) and no one will ever know you’re completely broke. Promise.
Plus, hello, pencil skirts make you feel invincible. (See also: white jeans)
Fajita bowl desk lunch
I ate lunch at my desk. Peppers, onions, black beans and rice over greens and topped with feta.
So there’s that. I now have a raging headache and my Internet (that is not really mine) is slow as Weaz on a jello pool (huh?) so I’m out.
Something that never gets old:
“This was her life. Not the life she had once dreamed of, not a life her younger self would ever have imagined or desired, but the life she was living, with all its complexities. This was her life, built with care and attention, and it was good.” – Kim Edwards, The Memory Keeper’s Daughter
Preach it.
*Don’t you dare ever do this with a credit card when you are poor. What are you even doing with a credit card? Trying to ruin your life? Get you some Keds, girl. It’ll be alright.
New York Times' vegan banana cookies
When your bananas look like THIS:
AH!
Then gather your cats and give them a big celebratory hug because it’s time to make banana bread!
But wait! What if you don’t want banana bread? What if you’re on a bit of a cookie kick because bread is so 2010? I hear you. And so does the New York Times. Presenting: New York Times vegan banana walnut cookies.
Made by Weaz, with love.
These cookies are flawless. Simple staple ingredients. Quick, easy prep. Dense chewy oats. Sweet subtle banana flavor. WALNUTS. Just.so.good.
Make these!
The cure.
Oh. Hello. I’m Katie. (You can call me Tater.) You may remember me from such healthy living habits as:
I remember that person, too. I think she’s have a little quarter-life crisis. I’ve rediscovered my love of vodka and there’s nothing you can do to pull me from its warm embrace.
Although I’m a tad out of control as of late, I like to at least think my love of leafy greens will keep me alive until December. That and chickpeas.
While eating this lunch–steamed kale, broccoli, carrots and chickpeas–I said out loud (to myself):
CHICKPEAS ARE MY EVERYTHING.
This is a big (TRUE) statement.
Balance
The way I see it, life is a big balancing act. Little leafy greens here… lotta vodka there. Up. Down. It’ll even out.
As Emma Stone put it beautifully in a recent interview:
“You are a human being. You live once and life is wonderful. So eat the damn red velvet cake.”
Amen.
Vodka.
Man, oh man. I haven’t consumed this much alcohol this frequently in years. This is now back-to-back weekends during which I’ve consumed significantly more than the “two drink max” everyone always claims to uphold. You know… how allegedly respectable young women are somehow supposed to alternate alcoholic drinks with glasses of water and then switch entirely to water after two drinks. Who actually does that?
Not me. No. I feel like I need one of those “Contains Alcohol” warnings tattooed across my face.
What better way to say: Happy existence!
Last night we celebrated my brother’s birthday a few days late since I was in Philly last week. I bought him Sparks and Cheez-Its. Needless to say we do not have similar eating habits. One of these days I will make him eat healthy food. He is my Everest. One day…
White jeans for one more week...
I wore my white jeans because they make me feel invincible and also because apparently I’m not allowed to wear them any more after next weekend. Clearly I still will. Who makes these rules?
The following is a list of hilarious and/or horrible things that occurred last night:
My brother and me circa 19eightysomething
Those ruffles aren’t doing my chunky little body any favors. Am I right?
All dress up and nowhere to ho
Happy Back-to-School Caturday! Now that every single second of my life is scheduled again, the cats are doing… absolutely nothing to help me keep the house in order.
Ralphie doesn’t do laundry…
Nope.
Weaz watches countless hours of reality television:
Casey and Vienna are trouble.
And both spent the whole week thwarting my many attempts to keep ahead of my school work…
You need this?
Cease what you are doing and pet me.
Plus, now that we are single, the cats have been party animal drunkards. They keep tempting me with nights out and vodka rather than nights in and vitamin metabolism readings. I’ll get this balanced out eventually. For now, though, I have a hangover. Again.
Ralph, too.
Single cookie
Would it be too much to say that I walk down the sidewalk wishing someone would hold my hand? It is, isn’t it? Yikes.
This is what my life has become. Wandering around aimlessly just waiting for someone to hug me. One of those run, jump, grab, spin kind of hugs. Stop talking, Katie.
So here I am hunkered over in the kitchen at 11 o’clock at night painstakingly measuring out wee tiny little bits of flour and sugar and shit. Why? I’m not proud of this but… I’m making a single cookie. One damn cookie. Can you believe this nonsense? Who does this?
Part of me thinks: This is rational. Twelve cookies would be too many anyway. And you can’t just keep giving them away because people will think you are a cookie slut. Best to stick to one lone cookie for your one lone self, ya loser.
And then the rest of me is like: OH SWEET JESUS JUST GO TO BED.
Sigh.
But in the battle of bed vs. cookies, cookies win every time.
| Single Cookie |
|
Excuse me while I go talk to my cats.
Click to enlarge
Mediterranean chickpea salad
You know how Americans will call anything with feta cheese a “Mediterranean” dish? Excuse me while I do that.
Sometimes I wonder what real Mediterranean cuisine is like, but then I remember I don’t really care so long is there is feta. And olives. This simple one-dish, mix-and-go recipe contains both plus chickpeas. Does it get any better? (It does if you top it with avocado, but I digress…)
Chickpeas, feta, olives, red onion, olive oil
This “recipe” is not set in stone. You love feta? Add more feta! You hate onions? Leave them out! You really can’t mess something like this up. (But if you do, don’t blame me.)
| Mediterranean Chickpea Salad |
Not sardines
Notice how I had fat-free cheese but added an avocado? Give and take, y’all. Yin and yang. Balance. You know.
I’m proud to report that I dressed appropriately for work for the second day in a row.
BOOM
And yes I do feel like I deserve some kind of award because I usually look like this:
Ehhhhh
I’m off to bed to curl up with this sexy little story…
Nerd alert!
Like opening up candy.
Georgetown
Oh. This appears to have happened a week ago. My, how time flies when you don’t have a second of free time. Remember that time I was so bored I cried myself to sleep? No longer! Now I’m so busy the cats have reported me to DCFS (Department of Cats and Family Services) for neglect. The blog has similar complaints. So let’s recap, shall we?
Remember that time I went to HLS (here, here and here)? WELL, on the way we stopped in DC to visit my friends. I don’t know how I didn’t end up in DC. Everyone I know lives there. Actually, I do know. Let’s not discuss it.
Before we get into the good stuff (like dinner at a Jose Andres restaurant!), I have an important announcement to make…
THIS IS MY FRIEND GLANZ.
THIS IS GLANZ
Yep. There he is. Ordering french fries at Jose Andres’ restaurant. Do you see him? Good. Because all he ever does is bitch about how I won’t put him on the blog. Someone should remind him that I don’t live with him anymore so I don’t really have a lot of material. I do, however, have some nice flashbacks. So here is Glanz.
Sometimes he looks like David the Gnome.
Sometimes I wear his pants.
Sometimes we get drunk and make tshirts
Sometimes I lick his face when I'm drunk.
Sometimes we wear the same outfit.
Glanz is one of my very best friends from college. We lived together for a brief but glorious summer. Now he is a lawyer and probably doesn’t appreciate these pictures nearly as much as I do. You wanted on the blog, right? You’re welcome.
NOW… When traveling, I feel it’s important to come equipped with my own coffee so this happened:
Iced coffee on the go?
That mason jar of iced coffee traveled from North Carolina to Philadelphia with little more than an ice pack to keep it cool. I still drank it. It was still good. I also brought my own rice milk. “Why didn’t she just go to Starbucks?” you wonder. What am I a millionaire?? (No would be the answer.)
I also brought snacks.
Upon our arrival in the city we were whisked off to Jose Andres’ restaurant Zaytinya for dinner. With Glanz. Have you met Glanz?
Zaytinya is RIDICULOUS. Everything I ate was the best thing I’d ever eaten until I ate another thing. It was just best after best after best, starting with these silly puffed pitas:
Hey, Mike. (lawyer-to-be; judge him)
And ended with me begging for more. Somewhere in between I had:
Caramelized okra, crispy chickpeas, cardamom stew
Roasted cauliflower
The Associate
The drink: lemon verbena-infused vodka, attiki honey, ver jus. No, I don’t know what 66% of those three ingredients are.
The next day we explored Georgetown…
Baked & Wired
Self portrait.
Smoothie time.
And just as quickly as it began, our great DC adventure came to a screeching halt with the discovery of a 30-freaking-dollar parking ticket on my car. Rather than try to figure out a more economical way to park, I announced that we’d be leaving. Immediately. We packed up the car and hit the road for Philly. Glanz was still asleep. I’d feel bad for not saying goodbye but… it was noon.
And that, my friends, is Glanz. Welcome to the blog.
Muesli: oats, rice milk, raisins, shredded apple
My mom always used to take a picture of us on the first day of school. If I had it readily available, I would share with you the back-to-school photo to end all back-to-school photos. Picture this:
Me, age 11, a little bit fat, dressed in short overalls, an oversized white t-shirt with a sunflower embroidered on it, sunflower earrings and a wide black headband to which I pinned–wait for it–a fake sunflower.
I planned that damn outfit for weeks. I shudder at the thought of it. Who let me out of the house like that, MOM??
Anyway, I did a little bit better today.
And took a picture in a parking lot.
That picture’s for you, mom. Add it to your arsenal of photographic evidence that I do embarrassing things. Anyway, I’ve decided that this year I’m going for the “I’m a young professional who happens to be in grad school” look rather than the “I’m a broke grad student who happens to have a job” look. My friend Caitlin says you create your own reality. So that’s mine until I lose the motivation to wear pencil skirts. I give it three days.
I had a crazy busy day that I thought might keep me nicely distracted from my life, but instead I answered every “What did you do with your summer?” question with: “Had a miserable breakup.” There is no hope for me.
At least everything I ate was awesome. I flexed my food packing muscles and carried along enough to get me through a solid 15-hour day. The very fact that not 24 hours into it I was already questioning how I plan to maintain this pace for the next year is a sure sign this will be, uh, interesting.
Bring it on. I’ve got muesli.
Yeah, boy.
| Easy Muesli |
Muesli is what’s up. Some of us call it cold oats. Others call it overnight oats. Still others call it vegan overnight oats. A bowl of muesli by any other name would still taste as freaking fantastic. Just do it.
For lunch, a tempeh pita pocket with light havarti, pickles, kalamata olive hummus and mustard made.my.life.
It ain't trickin if ya got it.
Fixins
As you may know, sitting at a desk all day crushes my soul so I think it’s really, really important to step outside to eat lunch. Or to go for a walk. Or for any reason I can think of to not be sitting at a desk.
I tried to choke down a Greek yogurt with granola before my night class but… I hate yogurt. Every few months I’ll buy it just to make sure. Be it known: I’m sure.
Pleh.
Dinner didn’t happen until 9:30p and by that time I wasn’t really even hungry. (WHO AM I??) I still made it count with a massive pile of steamed kale, veggie burger and carrots with hummus.
Kale kale kale
I joke that this kind of schedule will be too much but, truly, I thrive on this kind of over-involvement. (WHS Most Involved: Class of 2003, what whaaaaaat.) I think it makes me feel useful. Or needed. Or something.
I’m doing this thing for work where we have to ask five people 8 questions about us. The idea is that it’ll give us a glimpse into our character as perceived by others, not how we want to be perceived by others. I’ve only asked one person so far and his responses to “What do you most appreciate about me?” and “What do you find challenging about me?” were one in the same and centered on my tendency to overwork myself.
The questions, should you be interested in overanalyzing what people say, are:
Rooooooommates
Any time you attend a conference there will be much chatter (positive and negative) about the venue, the food, the t-shirts, the presenters, the hotel and so on. (I’ll share all my chatter about this specific conference once I’m done recapping all the sessions.) One thing I think everyone can agree on is that it’s the social interaction, the connections, the chance to see old friends and make new ones that keep us coming back each year.
Many of the people I’ve met through blogging have become true, irreplaceable friends of mine in real life. And because this community is so vast and so inspiring and so welcoming, I feel a connection even with those I haven’t met yet. It’s kind of like a big, not-so-secret club and we all know the handshake.
There’s a familiar scene I’m sure we’ve all experienced that I’ve relived a hundred times over since first participating in blogger meetups. It’s that moment at the beginning of the meal when everyone whips out a camera, looks around the table, laughs and says, “I love eating with other bloggers because they don’t think this is weird.”
That moment of understanding and that sense of belonging don’t just happen face-to-face. It’s something that transcends the need for “real life” interaction and leaves us feeling connected to other bloggers we’ve never even met. It’s a tightly knit group.
So when the topic of blogger safety arises, suddenly it’s not only about me or my family or my friends; it’s about all of us. We’re our own little tribe. When one member is threatened, we should all feel threatened. And on the flip side, when one person stands up to fight, we should all feel powerful because there is strength in our numbers.
At the Summit, Monica took on the daunting task of discussing blogger safety. While it’s something that should be on everyone’s radar, the room was mostly empty. It’s not surprising, I suppose. After all, it’s not the most fun thing to delve into, but it is necessary.
As part of this community, I think we all have a responsibility to look out for each other and hold each other accountable when it comes to sharing our lives in an engaging and entertaining but safe way.
Here’s what we talked about:
All vegetarian lunch at HLS this year
Missed the Healthy Living Summit? Fret not. While I’m sure you’re dying to hear about my night at the gay bar, 2am pizza run, that guy that got busted for coke right in front of our dinner table, our epic road trip through a tornado warning and how the cats are faring after three days alone, I insist on making you learn first. You’re welcome.
This year’s keynote speaker was Dawn Jackson Blatner, registered dietitian and author of The Flexitarian Diet. Her presentation was about R.A.W. (Realistic. Achievable. Wellness.), which she says can be accomplished on a flexitarian diet. These are my notes:
Heeeeeey
Last year I provided notes from the sessions I attended for anyone who couldn’t make it to the Summit but was interested in learning a little something. So here we go again…
My first session was “Writing a Better Recipe” by Stepfanie Romine from Spark People. I appreciated this session because Stepfanie is a professional recipe developer/editor and just wrapped up her work on the Spark People Cookbook (out October 4, 2011) so she was speaking from experience.
Bloggers!
I straight suck at writing recipes so here’s what I need to know:
I'm gonna need some protein...
I’m already hungry. Is it time for lunch yet?
HAHAHA
Happy Healthy Living Summit Caturday! The conference is great fun so far but something tells me I should’ve carted the cats up here because all anyone really wants to talk to me about is what they’re like in real life. I should’ve probably brought some autographed photos.
Because they got left behind, the photo above represents how Ralph and Weaz feel about me being in Philadelphia. They are very bitter.
I get incredibly stressed out when I leave them alone but I left them with plenty of snacks, poop space and windows so I think they’ll be fine.
What is this?
Privacy, please.
Good job, Ralph.
And a sitter. Obviously a sitter. Who do you think I am? I understand some people leave cats alone for, like, five days at time. I want someone to come by twice a day. Better yet, it’d be nice if someone would just live at my house. Don’t judge me. They’re celebrities for god’s sake. I have to make sure no one has come by to catnap them.
DON'T EVEN THINK ABOUT IT.
Seriously. There’s no limit to the amount of CRAZY I’d unleash on someone who did harm to these two creatures. I would be a murderer. And I’m fine with it.
Special thanks to my friend Amber’s cat Tassey for graciously hosting me in DC and giving me my feline fix for the weekend. Much appreciated.
Honorary Caturday Member
Falafel in Durham
It’s not about the destination but about the journey, they say, and that has been the theme of our trip to the Healthy Living Summit. Flying would have been easier, I guess, and after all our gas and parking fees and parking tickets and cab fares, we may not really be saving any money. But just 24 hours in I can safely say that I wouldn’t go back and do this trip any other way.
Driver and navigator/restaurant finder
After all, I don’t know an airport in the world where you can find falafel as good as what we had for lunch yesterday.
We hit the road around noon but held out for a late lunch so we could stop about two hours out in Durham, NC. Diana held down the fort as our official restaurant finder and pulled out a freaking gem at the last possible must-make-a-decision-now-before-I-miss-the-exit second. Presenting: International Delights.
Success!
YESSSSSSSS
This is my idea of a perfect restaurant: family owned, hole-in-the-wall, Middle Eastern food, tacky decor that makes no sense whatsoever (Native American mural? Eiffel Tower?), crotchety old man hocking loogies in the back (uhhh). The point is they’re not trying to impress you and they don’t have to because the food speaks for itself.
Just say no to ketchup.
“In the East, cooking is an art. Every ingredient is painstakingly measured to delight the palate… We believe ketchup is used to cover the bad flavor of junk food… We will decline to provide our customers with ketchup to add to their food because our dishes are simply the best.” <– AMAZING
International Sampler
I got the International Sampler: hummus, falafel, tabbouleh, foul maddams and pita.
I done good.
This is a bold statement but this was definitely some of the best falafel I’ve ever had. AND IT WAS GREEN. Everything was amazing. I inhaled it and then wanted more. I didn’t get more, but the sweet son of the owner did give us baklava for free.
Whatever you like, you can have.
And for all the men out there… When Diana asked this guy for a to-go box, his response was: “Whatever you like, you can have.” Granted, all she wanted was a styrofoam box, but it came across as the sweetest, most genuine response. And this should be your response to everything.
I rounded the meal out with one of Diana’s dough balls:
So good.
Fuel
Today’s the day. Today Diana and I begin our daring journey from Charlotte to Philadelphia for the Healthy Living Summit. Mentally, I’m not quite there. I arrived at our “planning” meeting earlier this week with nothing but my body. The extent of my planning has been this: Drive CLT to DC. Drive DC to Philly. Drive Philly to CLT.
Luckily, though, my trusty travel companion had it together. Diana came packing 12 pages of handwritten notes, printed HIGHLIGHTED Google maps, restaurant suggestions, planned stops, baked goods she’s been preparing for a week, etc.
I didn’t expect myself to be the fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants type, but with Diana on top of the ball, I’ll take it. This will be incredible or unbearable, and I like to think our opposing complementary personalities will pair nicely.
I did manage to pack up some snacks last night. Priorities. I’ve got:
Healthy.
Vegan banana sweetbread muffins
The other day I was combing through the treasure trove of used books that is Book Buyers on Central Ave when I came across a copy of Sundays at the Moosewood Restaurant for just $6. Jackpot. And by some miracle of cookbook gods, I actually used it the very next day instead of letting it collect dust while I browse the Internet for new recipes.
I had two bananas that were damn near disintegration so I flipped to the index to see if this book offered any ideas for what to do with them. In the “Caribbean Chapter,” Yellowman’s Banana Lime Bread.
Since I didn’t have lime in the house and my only lemon appeared to have fossilized in the fridge, I used orange instead. The recipe only calls for a tablespoon of citrus juice so that flavor didn’t really come through. It also calls for the addition of toasted coconut, which would have been amazing but I didn’t have any on hand so I added oats instead.
Haha. This stupid picture.
The addition of ground ginger kicks it up a notch from plain ol’ American banana bread. Why is American food so boring? I wonder if food bloggers in other countries are ever like, “And the recipe excluded all spices whatsoever making it dully American.”
Be not fooled. I will crush souls.
My dad is a force to be reckoned with.
When I was 19 I studied abroad in Chile and ended up hospitalized with dysentery my entire last week there. When I told my dad over the phone that the program coordinator didn’t help me get to the hospital and had yet to visit me, I knew that poor Ivan (ee-VAHN) was in for a verbal beating. And wouldn’t you know it, there he was at the foot of my bed not an hour later. Looking rather weak and defeated, his only question to me was not “How are you doing?” but “How many people report to your dad?”
I don’t know what my dad said to him, but I suspect it was something straight out of an episode of The Sopranos. And the answer, ee-VAHN, is a lot.
My mom is no mat to be walked upon either, though she’s a gentler soul. The way she put it today: “I live in a man’s world and sometimes it pisses me off. Sometimes I’m not tall enough or strong enough, but I’ll find a way to make it happen.” It’s because of her that “I’ve got it!” any time my hands are full and someone tries to help me out. And it’s because of my dad that I let a shitstorm of fury rain down upon the men of Jackie Mauldin’s Auto Collision Repair today.
Let’s backtrack…
To make a very long, very touchy story very short and very PC, let’s say this: Stew’s car was stolen out of our driveway. I let him drive mine in its stead. He crashed it. Nothing major. Still drivable. He handled the repairs where he lives in South Carolina and gave me his car to drive while mine’s in the shop. Body shop gave us an estimate of a week. Then two. Then three. Then four for completion. I’ve been driving my exboyfriend’s car around for over a month. It crushes my soul every time I get in it. Around week three I called the body shop to see what the hell was going on and one who shall remain nameless GLEN didn’t find my concerns worthy and hung up on me. This leads us to present time. The car was supposed to be ready last Monday. Wasn’t. Last Friday. Wasn’t. Yesterday. Wasn’t. Today. WASN’T.
With Stew at the beach this week, I had to drive all the way down there. They said it wasn’t ready and I’d have to come back tomorrow. Freaking GLEN got all “It still has to be built and painted and buffed and cleaned.” To which I replied: “I.will.flip.out.” I told them I wouldn’t leave without the car, that they’d been giving me the runaround for a full month and that the entire situation was a pathetic excuse for customer service.
The owner heard the growing commotion and came out to see what was up. I not-so-calmly informed him of the situation, the runaround and the infamous hang up (GLEN YOU ASS). He said, “Wait right here” and left to check on things. Not 30 seconds later he was back and said the car would be washed and ready in minutes.
WHAT THE FUCK, GLEN? Built, painted, buffed, cleaned… my ass.
So it wasn’t a few minutes. It was more like an hour. But the car was ready. Since doors were replaced, I checked the locks and the windows and slammed them a few times. No go. Something was rattling inside. Yep, sure enough. They went back in for another 45 minutes to fix whatever that was (which, in the end, they claim was not something they ever even touched).
So I finally get the car, right? I get in it and I feel like I’m in a Rolls-fricking-Royce.
EEEEEEEE
I love this car, I declare. I’ll never take this car for granted again, I promise. I look awesome, I think. Such a badass in this sexy little black interior… I’m back, bitches.
So there I am cruising up 85N. Elated. Daydreaming myself into a Rhianna video and thinking, “I should totally get a gun,” (HAHAHA) when PHWOOOOOM. Off flies a piece of my newly repaired vehicle.
OH HELLLLLLLL NAW.
You're doing it wrong.
I pull off at the next exit, call the body shop and calmly explain that the car they literally just fixed 30 minutes ago is falling apart.
Not our problem, they say. We didn’t even touch that part. Good luck to you.
And this, my friends, is when rage really set in. I got myself to a Starbucks. Inhaled the Whole Foods I’d picked up.
Hey, baby.
And gave myself three options:
I opted for figure it out. And buy M&Ms.
Bonus!
I called the body shop back and let them have it. Said I would absolutely not pay for this new repair nor would I come back to their stupid garage. Instead, I would find a suitable one near my home in Charlotte and send them the bill. At first they said hell-to-the-no, little girl. Even had the audacity to tell me not to “get all excited here.” But then, like magic, he backed down and said they’d pay for it because it “wasn’t worth all the trouble.” Which, in my book, would be admitting fault. I don’t know a body shop anywhere that will sacrifice a penny unless they know they effed up somewhere along the way.
The car won’t get fixed at the new body shop until Monday and I was an hour late for work, but victory was still mine.
So the next time a boy wants to ask me out, my first question won’t be, “Sure, what time?” It’ll be, “Let’s say you crashed your girlfriend’s car… How would you handle it?” And when he wants to know why I’m asking, I’ll smile coyly and say, “Hypothetically speaking, of course.”
But we’ll all know the truth now, won’t we?
Steamed kale, crumbled tempeh, cashew cheese sauce
I’ve eaten this plate of food multiple times this week and photographed it in multiple different lighting options and every time I think, “Well that’s just too ugly to post.” I even added an orange to pretty it up. No go.
But since it tastes so crazy delicious, I feel like I can’t deprive you all of the knowledge of the combination:
The cashew cheese sauce is something I made on the fly with raw cashews, water, nutritional yeast, paprika, vegan worchestire sauce and salt and pepper. But since I don’t measure anything it’s probably best that I direct you to someone who does… Cashew cheese from Berlin’s Whimsy.
I know Angela at Oh She Glows makes it too but couldn’t find any recipes…
At any rate, whenever you find a recipe that works, take it and immediately slather it over a mountain of greens and crumbled tempeh. It won’t be the prettiest girl at school, but wasn’t she always kind of a slut anyway?
Peanut butter chocolate-covered pretzel oat bars
My current financial situation is that if I don’t need it for survival, I don’t need it and, therefore, don’t buy it. The past month I’ve kept a spending journal to keep up with where my money goes, and aside from the occasional coffee or dinner or book that I use as a treat to keep myself sane, I am spending money only on groceries, bills and cat supplies. If you’re thinking to yourself, “You don’t need cat supplies to survive,” I suggest you meet Ralph and Weaz early in the morning when they haven’t yet been fed. You’ll understand.
At any rate, I have gotten really good at simply ignoring the urge to impulse buy. That was, of course, until I was pulling into the parking deck at work and realized I had packed an unsatisfactory dinner and would think about nothing but its shortcomings before, during and after I ate it. So to avoid being a miserable person all night, I decided a quick overpriced snack wouldn’t send me on a downward spiral into bankruptcy and made a U-turn into the Earth Fare parking lot.
I picked up an expensive organic macrobiotic bar and a kombucha, two things I used to buy without thinking that now had me fretting and number crunching. And do you want to know how much those two items cost me?
$6.66
Six dollars and sixty six cents. Can you believe that shit? I looked at the cashier and said something to that effect. “I know. I was hoping you wouldn’t notice,” she said.
Not notice a friendly reminder from Satan that I wasn’t supposed to be buying expensive organic macrobiotic bars and kombucha?? I noticed.
I bought it anyway. The kombucha exploded on me in the car and I was late to work. The bar, however, (a Macrobar granola with coconut) was the absolute best expensive bar I’ve ever had.
Since recovering from my run in with the devil, I’ve been fixated on preparing a delicious granola bar that’s not sugar and fat laden. While these vegan peanut butter chocolate-covered pretzel bars I came up with aren’t quite ready for recipe sharing, I think I’m certainly on to something.
Allllmost ready...
I used oats as the base (because I’m kind of sick of date bars). And instead of massive amounts of honey, brown rice syrup or maple syrup, I used peanut butter and apple sauce as the binder and sweetener.
It’s a good start, but I need to do some more variations and flavor combos before I go claiming I have a real winner.
Anyway, I’m off to exorcise demons out of my kitchen.
FA.LA.FEL. In Charlotte. Where I live.
There were lots of things I looked for when moving to Charlotte–proximity to bars and restaurants, increased distance from Rock Hill, quick interstate access, nearby parks, etc. Clearly I forgot my non-negotiables for the apartment because, as we all know, I don’t have a dishwasher, washer/dryer or a bug-free environment. Sometimes I forget things. Another very important thing I forgot was determining whether or not I could find decent falafel in this city.
After a long, painful month of hardship, I have finally (finally!) found the perfect, unassuming, family-run, strip mall Lebanese restaurant I so needed to make this place feel like home.
Presenting: Zeitouni Grill.
I was feeling so very miserable yesterday so I fought the urge to get drunk in bed and go to sleep at 7pm and instead took myself on a little date for falafel. This is all I really want in life. I’m a simple girl.
Date?
My plan was ultimately to get dinner and go see The Help, but since I spent too much time eating falafel, I passed on the movie and instead went to buy a book about cupcakes. This is my life.
At Zeitouni I got the vegetarian platter, which includes:
All for, like, $9. The tabbouleh was perfect. Heavy on parsley, light on bulgur wheat. As it should be. The falafel was no Pita House, it was definitely a close second. I was blissfully happy for approximately 15 minutes and then sobbed myself to sleep.
The thing about a breakup, I guess, is that in order to move on, you eventually have to accept the fact that you were wrong. That no matter what he said or you said about forever, it ended. That all the things you could have been doing for the past three years have come and gone while you were wrapped up in a forever that ended. It’s just this realization that if you were so wrong about something you thought was so right, there’s really no end to the impermanence of everything around you. You suddenly doubt everything.
And that’s where I was last night. But somewhere along the way I ate excellent falafel and read about cupcakes. So not all was lost. It’s the little things.
Bedside table. Yer doin it wrong.
Happy last-full-week-of-summer-vacation-for-me-Caturday! I don’t know about you, but I’m ready for brisk air, boots and a schedule that will (hopefully) keep me busy enough to stop crying myself to sleep. Am I right? I am right.
The cats have really enjoyed their vacation. Even though they live like this every second of every day of the year, they like summer better because I have been around for torturing these brief few months.
Mostly we just watched TV…
Tyra, of course.
And Weaz got in the way.
Took naps…
My bed, sucker.
Weaz... everywhere you want to sleep.
And covered my entire house in hair.
Yesterday I was doing my daily Clean Up Cat Hair Routine and it occurred to me that, should these creatures live into their twenties (as I fully expect both to do; don’t crush my dreams) then I’ll be cleaning up cat hair well into my 40s. And thats when I realized I’m not cut out for motherhood just yet. How long do babies live?
I will live forever.
***UPDATE: 2nd Birthday Giveaway Winner Announced!***
Man, did Ralph and Weaz drop the ball or what? I told them they were in charge of announcing our giveaway winner and they totally skirted their duties. They’re just here for the fame. Can’t get a damn second of work out of the two…
They claim it’s because they were busy baking a cake for the winner but, as we all know, if cats could talk, they would lie to you. At any rate, the winner is…
Kim!
#21
Hooray!
Kim, please email sweettaterblog@gmail.com with your shipping info. Hooray! Congratulations, and thank you!
Tempeh sandwich built with love
Everyone carries around a jar of mustard, an avocado and real silverware in their purse all day and then writes about sandwiches on a Friday night, right? Glad we’re all on the same page here…
I was running late for work today (as I do) and didn’t have time to assemble a complete meal on the spot. Instead, I opted for throwing a bunch of sandwich essentials into a bag and doing the dirty work later. That’s how I came to find:
In my purse. Don’t you even worry about it.
Assembly line
I sit outside in the same place everyday and I know the people who pass by or work nearby think I’m a straight up lunatic. Remember that time I brought corn on the cob? Exactly.
In the end, I would argue that it was better to not have my sandwich pre-assembled because that’s how bread gets soggy and no one likes soggy bread. Least of all people who eat a lot of food and enjoy doing so.
Don't worry about it.
Kale salad w/tofu, edamame, cantaloupe
I bought this bike two or three years ago when gas was like $5/gallon and I thought it might be a good way to save money. At the time, I lived like two miles from work, was commuting whopping 10 minutes a day and filled my gas tank up every two months or so. In hindsight, I didn’t really need to save money on gas and a $500 bike was certainly not adding any jingle to my piggy bank.
It should be noted that my brother pointed this out to me the day I bought the bike and I told him of course he wouldn’t understand and to stop being such a wasteful Earth-hating Republican.
At any rate, I bought the bike. I wanted it in black with a brown seat because I am a neutral kind of girl but that one was like $1000. So I asked for it to be ordered in green and then customized with a white seat, handlebars and big gaudy bubble tires. It arrived in orange. Bright orange. Too impatient to wait for them to re-order, I just took it.
It will horrify some, but I didn’t wear a bike helmet as a kid so when I bought this bike I didn’t get one either (even though the sales guy pushed it really hard). I got not 15 feet from the store, almost got hit by a car, nearly flew over the handlebars to stop that from happening, and immediately turned around to go purchase a helmet.
It’s white and makes me look like a storm trooper. And I wear it every time I ride.
A sight to be seen.
I’m aware I look straight up ridiculous dressed as a storm trooper riding this tacky orange beach cruiser in urban settings, but I need to get at least $500 worth of gas mileage out of it.
Yesterday I took my tacky bike down to the park to enjoy a lovely lunch of massaged kale salad with tofu, edamame and cantaloupe. And then I pedaled back to the Galactic Empire.
3-ingredient vegan Mounds "ice cream"
Hold on, hold on. Let me just lick this sharp metal food processor blade clean.
Aaaaaand… ok.
First, if you’ve never made banana soft serve, you:
You decide. This is the easiest, cheapest, healthiest, fastest dessert you can make. Are you with me now? Good.
I’ve made many a flavor (cherry, blueberry, peach, peanut butter, chocolate…) but today’s combo is pulling into the lead for BEST.EVER.
Chocolate coconut. Yep.
I simply combined: 1 frozen banana, 1 Tbsp cocoa powder (unsweetened), and 1 tsp coconut butter in a mini food processor until smooth.
And then I ate it. Really quickly.
Photographed to gone in 6 seconds flat.
And in case anyone was wondering… this is what my food photo studio really looks like:
OK then.
Why don't I participate in a CSA?
My friend Marian is out of town this week so I was the lucky recipient of her CSA share from New Terra Farms. Marian, don’t take this the wrong way but… please go out of town every week.
Look at this bountiful harvest! Tomatoes, peppers, onions, garlic, soybeans, okra, cucumber, squash. Glorious day.
Back around last Christmas I read a book called Plenty, which sparked my local Carolina food challenge earlier this summer. It’s an intriguing look at the impact modern agriculture has had on what we eat and when, and I recommend it to everyone.
Just as I don’t think that everyone in the world has to be a vegetarian because that’s what I think is right for me, I don’t think everyone in the world has to eat food grown only in their backyards. I do, however, think that people who choose to eat factory farmed meat should understand where it comes from and how it gets to their plates. The same goes, then, for people who choose to eat factory farmed produce. Because let’s be honest, we self righteous vegetarians love to get onto meat eaters about all the trouble they’re causing dear Mother Earth, but we neglect to address similar problems resulting from the mass production of fruits, vegetables and grains.
I am by no means saying that I eat in a way that leaves no impact on the environment or field workers or the economy, but I am saying that it’s important to educate yourself on the issues and make the best choices you can. I’m also not saying I’m vehemently anti-modern agriculture. Advances in agriculture are what drive away famine, forge new industries and new jobs and make food available in places where it otherwise isn’t.
You all know I’ll be the first to eat a plate of quinoa from Peru, avocado from Mexico and coconut from a rainforest I’ve never heard of without venturing farther than my local Trader Joe’s. BUT the farther away our food is farmed, the farther we’re pulled away from what we have right here at home, which, as it turns out, is plenty.
Just some food for thought. Articles of interest:
Quinoa’s Global Success Creates Quandary at Home
Fair Trade Coffee: Building Producer Capacity via Global Networks
We're gonna have to puree this sandwich...
Let’s see… so far today I have:
I am 90 years old.
It’s a surprise I was even able to gum down that sandwich to swallowing consistency without my dentures.
I don’t really think I threw my hip out in yoga. Maybe a little bit. The thing is that I have really tight hips and I’ve decided I don’t want them any more so I’ve been pushing them beyond where they would like to go and so sometimes afterwards they’re a little bit on the “heeeeeey now” side. You know what I’m saying? But I have to have these physical goals (like: “hey, I’d like open hips”) because otherwise my only reason for going to class is so a man will touch me. What? No…
What are we going to do with me?
[For the reasons I actually do yoga, see here.]
Chewy gooey chickpea blondies (vegan)
Last week I had a little pep talk with myself. It went something like this:
“Alright YOU, you’ve had enough baked goods to get you through three breakups. Calm the F down, madam. Eat a green bean or something.”
And then I made these. BUT in my defense… they are made out of chickpeas. You heard me. Chocolate-Covered Katie has created flourless, nearly fat-free, vegan blondies made out of chickpeas. Don’t believe me? Exhibit A.
Now, I don’t know what I did so terribly wrong that mine came out looking (and I assume tasting) nothing like hers, but I’m not complaining because these suckers are good. And I know it’s not a green bean but, really, if we’re all honest with ourselves, it’s pretty much just like eating hummus so… Hate on, haters.
Tropical Foods Garden Chips
You know when you bring food to an office and walk around the jail cells cubicles offering it up to people and everyone gets all awkward like you’re presenting a plate of Anthrax? “No, no thank you. I’m on a diet,” they say. But then you set the plate in the kitchen and it’s magically GONE in, like, five minutes?
Well, my coworkers at lululemon are not like that. No matter what I bring in–be it brownies or cookies or even these vegetables–they’re on me like frat boys on a keg the second I walk in the door. “What’d you bring? Is it vegan? Can I have six, please?” This is why I like these people.
So last week Charlotte-based Tropical Foods sent me some of their York’s Harvest Garden Chips, and by “some of” I mean six boxes. Naturally, I took the surplus to work and it was G-O-N-E before my shift was over.
Assorted, green bean and okra
I was a big fan of the assorted mix–sweet potato, okra, green bean, squash and taro root. Hello, sweet potatoes… duh. And taro root is only the greatest frozen yogurt flavor to grace the Earth. Turns out it’s a good chip, too. The okra I’m not so sure about but something tells me the next time Bachelor Pad is on and I need something to get me through THREE HOURS of reality TV, that box of okra and I are going to be good friends.
You can find Garden Chips locally here in Charlotte at Healthy Home Market and Lowes Foods, or you can order them online here.
Thanks, Scott, for hooking me up.
If you like it then...
Someone somewhere please tell me I’m not the only one living like this.
It’s Monday. I slept for 11 hours last night. Missed my yoga class. Forgot to buy paper towels. (I need those.) Neglected to clean my house. Ate a blondie. And watched the Bachelor Pad for three hours… THREE HOURS… while eating pizza and drinking wine that may or may not have already gone bad. By candlelight.
Aside from a slow start and questionable end to my day, the stuff in between was pretty productive. I put on my magic white jeans and felt like a mf BOSS in those suckers.
I spent the better part of the day on campus trying to plan out the rest of my life. It’s planned. And the tail end of the afternoon parked at a coffee shop being a productive member of society.
Dilworth Coffee... office
I was telling my on-campus coworkers today that the thing about my time off is that when it falls on a Monday (like today) it makes me feel like a completely worthless human being if I sit around doing nothing as if it were a Saturday. So I tend to work anyway. But, really, today was my Saturday. So get off my back.
I trust everyone watched Bachelor Pad tonight. And if not… The following is a collection of play-by-play texts I received from my mom that should sum it up nicely:
Happy Birthday, Sweet Tater Blog
They grow up so fast, don’t they? Next thing you know it she’ll be going on dates, asking to borrow the car and telling me she hates me. For now, though, Sweet Tater Blog is just entering toddlerhood–the terrible twos to be exact.
This blog is my baby (well, my toddler) and I plan to nurture and protect her as such. That’s why it took me almost two years to monetize, why I rarely accept free items for review and why I do my best to avoid pigeonholing myself into one “type” of blogger. Sweet Tater is too young and too full of potential to know exactly where or how far she’ll go. So for now it’s one wobbly, two-year-old step at a time. Thanks for coming along for the slow and steady ride.
If you’re new here, here’s a quick rundown of where you’ll find me online:
Twitter: @sweettaterblog
Tumblr: So Damn Good
Youtube: Sweet Tater Talks
Email: sweettaterblog@gmail.com
Online portfolio: www.katielevans.com
In the grand scheme of things, two years is but a blip on the life radar, but the blog has become so ingrained in my day-to-day that it feels much longer than that.
It’s entertaining (and a little bit embarrassing) to look back at very old posts and see how the blog–from topics to photos to writing–has evolved over time. Part of it, I assume, is a natural shift–just part of the learning curve. But a lot of it also has to do with the fact that I’m growing and changing, too. No matter what, though, Sweet Tater will stay true to its original intent:
“Sweet Tater is a site for eaters, drinkers, dieters, health nuts, couch potatoes, junk foodies, gourmets, runners, yogis, friends, family and cats. It’s about food, fitness, eating, cooking, exercising and enjoying life. It is not about diet food, weight loss fads or guilt. I am not a dietician (yet!), nutritionist, chef or personal trainer. But I do love food, researching health trends, learning to cook and promoting an active lifestyle.”
There will be some detours and rants along the way, but whether you find yourself here for weight loss motivation, an excellent brownie recipe to get you through a breakup, video answers to food-related questions, nerdy food science experiments or all the cats you can stand, I hope you get what you need.
So to the occasional readers, daily devotees, vocal commenters and silent lurkers who have made this a stop on your Internet stroll, thank you.
As a small token of my appreciation, I’m giving away a set of customized kitchen labels and recipe cards from Bushel and Peck Paper.
Kitchen labels
Recipe cards
Pick your color
To enter the giveaway:
This is a Sandwich.
I was all talk earlier when I said I felt “spectacular.” By “spectacular” I meant: “I feel pretty ok right now but then I’m gonna go do yoga in a hundred-degree room and after that I’ll be a worthless pile of hungover turd.”
And so that’s where I am right now. I actually left the 90-minute yoga class 20 minutes early because I just couldn’t take the, uh, heat. Literally. But this didn’t stop me from swinging by Marshall’s next door to the studio for some goodies on the cheap.
I’m not afraid to say that I am the master of bargain store shopping. TJMaxx, Marshall’s, Ross, Goodwill. Bring.it.on. I don’t pay full price for anything. I can root out those diamonds in the rough and walk away with major wins the likes of Coach bags, Betsy Johnson dresses and Seven jeans at crazy discounts. And you better believe I’m not dropping much money while I’m at it. (I don’t have much money to drop, remember?) Working at a “luxury” retail store is funny for me because 1) I can’t afford the clothes I’m selling and 2) I could get all of the following for the price of one item there:
$10 Calvin Klein jeans
$16 wide leg jeans
$30 blue and brown dress
Cat lady dress
HAHAHA cats.
This is not my foray into fashion blogging. That will never happen. I will, however, teach you how to bargain shop. My mom taught me everything I know. If you are so inclined, meet me at TJMaxx with an open mind and about two hours of free time. I’ll make a believer out of you.
After all that rummaging (and finally taking a shower, yes) I started to feel like death and all I wanted in the whole entire world was a sandwich. So that’s what I ate while drooling over David Muir’s newscast.
LOOK at this sexy man.
Whaaaat?
This is what my life has become. Eating sandwiches and stalking sexy news reporters. Please tell me he’s not gay…
What is this post even about?
Oh! Speaking of sandwiches, my friend Sandwich (real name: Lauren; but I’ll never call her that) just started a new blog about her work in India. She’s a fabulous writer and doing amazing world-changing things over there. Check her out at Miss Doubt-Fire.
Me? I’m gonna go Google Image search David Muir…
Hair of the cat? Iced coffee with almond milk.
You know that saying “Beer before liquor, never been sicker. Liquor before beer, you’re in the clear”? Well… what, pray tell, do the authorities on appropriate alcohol pairing have to say about tequila before vodka before beer before bourbon? Because that’s how my night went last night.
It started innocently enough with a margarita at Cabo Fish Taco where I was fifth-wheeling with Jessie and her husband and our friend Rachael and her husband.
$4 margarita in CLT? Yep. El Cheapo.
And it ended, appropriately enough, with a freaking HOUR LONG trek through the Epicenter parking garage trying to find my dear and wasted brother’s car.
NOT 2P red.
“2P red. 2P red. 2P red,” he kept chanting. It took us until after 3am to find the damn thing down in the basement in 4P yellow. But not before getting in a cab to go God knows where he thought his car might be and jumping out in the middle of the street upon realization that it was, in fact, in the garage where we’d hailed the cab. I will kill him.
HOOOOOOOOOV
Careful, ladies. He's single.
A very responsible sober person drove us to Midnight Diner (because what else do you do at 3 o’clock in the morning?).
Midnight Diner. South End.
But there was a wait so we ended up back at my house where the boys proceeded to pass out on cat hair covered couches and I ate toast with butter.
Duh.
I slept until 11am (whoops), woke up, watched an episode of Rin-Tin-Tin and prepared a lunch/breakfast feast of vegetables to make up for my shenanigans last night.
Beanoa, salad, veggie burger
If drinking more alcohol the morning after drinking too much alcohol is “hair of the dog,” then eating a plate of vegetables and slamming an iced coffee the morning after drinking too much alcohol shall henceforth be known as “hair of the cat.” You are welcome.
I actually feel pretty spectacular so I predict my day will consist of baking something awesome, going to yoga to sweat out the rest of this alcohol and baking something else awesome. Happy Sunday indeed.
Muffin with PB banana cream
Now that I work retail, I have no idea what day it is. Ever. Not that this is a new thing for me, but even last Fall when I couldn’t wrap my head around which classes I was supposed to attend on which days, I always knew when Saturday and Sunday came around. Always.
Now a Saturday might as well be a Tuesday. It’s all the same to me. I still get my time off, don’t get me wrong. You won’t see me clocking any hours again until 4pm on Tuesday. Helloooo, break. For some people, I get that this would be maddening, to work weekends and have weekdays off. But me? I love it. I never work all weekend, my job is fun anyway and when I get a day off in the middle of the week it feels like a little present just like it did when I worked a standard M-F.
Even when Friday nights and Saturdays and sometimes Sundays become work days, I still like to honor them as just a tad more special than the rest of the week. Sorry, Wednesday. You’re never any good.
So this morning I made sure to make Katie’s single lady cupcakes (plural, yes; I always make two) with peanut butter banana cream and a giant iced coffee so that Saturday would feel, at least for a couple hours, like Saturday.
SAUCED
I also went to superflow (my favorite high-energy, 90-minute yoga class) and am on my way to dinner (as the fifth wheel, holler). The moral of the story is that you don’t have to have weekends off to make them feel like weekends and you don’t have to have a boyfriend to go out with two other couples. You do, however, have to change your attitude. You don’t have to eat just one muffin ever. Take that one to the bank.
To make peanut butter banana cream sauce this very second… Combine 1/2 a banana and 1 Tbsp of peanut butter in a small food processor until smooth. Blow your mind.
Weaz loves Mama Pea
Happy early-morning Caturday. Since my wild and crazy Friday night consisted of doing laundry, eating leftover pizza and watching Rick Steves tour Tuscany on the public access channel, it came as no surprise that I was bounding out of bed at 4:45 this morning all “HEEEEEY, Saturday! Let’s do this shit.”
Weaz, on the other hand, felt like this:
Nooooooo
She was out drinking again.
The cats hate waking up early. But I suppose they hate waking up at all most days.
Bring me a mimosa. And one for my tail.
When they do manage to pry themselves from their seemingly endless slumber, they succeed only in getting all up in my way.
Did you need this computer?
Did you need this bathroom?
If you think for one second that having pets is not like having a roommate, think again. At first they’re all fuzzy and cute and cuddly. Then the next thing you know they’re eating all your Hot Pockets, leaving hair in the sink and paying their portion of the rent in catnip. Watch out.
Could you pass me the remote?
"We're all out of Hot Pockets," says Exorcist Cat.
This is my life.
Veggie pizza with soy cheese at Brixx
Perhaps it may come as a surprise that I studied Spanish for eight years with the intention of rounding out a solid dozen to become a professor at the collegiate level. I suppose a failed career in corporate America and a blog about food do not scream “Hey I can totally school you on Golden Age Spanish lit, biculturalism and Spanish linguistics” but… I totally can.
Yes, much to my parents’ dismay, my incredibly expensive Bachelor’s degree doesn’t come in handy much these days. Unless you need someone to order for you in a Mexican restaurant, in which case you’ll have una margarita grande, por favor.
I love Spanish; I really do. I love Central American Spanish and South American Spanish and Puerto Rican Spanish and Spanish Spanish. And I love learning about the different accents and slang and food and history and culture that stem from those regions but all root back to one common language. In hindsight, it was the best degree ever.
I studied abroad three times–two months in Chile, three months in Spain and a week in Nicaragua–and, as terribly trite as it may sound, I credit those three trips with shaping my world view and the way I live within my own little bubble.
I enjoyed my Spanish linguistics and history and art classes, oh yes, but what really got my nerd gears going was the literature. Namely Cervantes. Namely Don Quijote. More specifically: El Ingenioso Hidalgo Don Quixote de la Mancha. I took an entire class on this one book alone and it was my favorite class of all time. While in Madrid, I went to see an exhibit that had all 500,000 or so words of the book written on one single wall.
1200-page novel.
I went to a Don Quijote festival in a nearby town where I got to meet the man himself (and his trusty sidekick Sancho, too):
AH!
Sancho and his donkey
Ok ok, they were actors. Consider it the Wizarding World of Harry Potter for Spanish geeks but way, way lamer. This is my life.
Anyway, what I love about Don Quijote (or Quixote depending on when the text was printed or who you’re talking to) is not that it is one of the most significant works of literature to ever come out of Spain (or the world). What I love about Don Quijote is Don Quijote himself.
You see, the lead character gets a bad rap. He’s pegged as nutcase right out of the gate and, even in the end, can’t ever seem to convince anyone otherwise. He spends a lifetime reading novels and is so engrossed in and obsessed with their story lines that he tries to apply them to his own life. He gets so wrapped up in these stories that he believes himself to be a chivalrous knight and gets into all kinds of trouble acting as such in real life on his quest to find his imaginary love interest, Dulcinea. He is dubbed idealistic to the point of insanity.
Today we have an adjective named after him. Quixotic: caught up in the pursuit of unreachable goals; idealistic without regard to practicality; foolishly impractical.
In one of the most notable scenes from the story, Don Quijote comes across a field of windmills (or molinas) that he believes are evil giants and tries (unsuccessfully, of course) to fight. He ends up bruised and beaten and no closer to finding Dulcinea.
Molinita
I picked up the little windmill necklace above at a flea market in Madrid. I wear it when I want to remind myself not to make little things bigger than they are, not to create stories that don’t exist, not to beat myself down with things that exist only inside my head… essentially, not to fight windmills.
I’ve been wearing it a lot lately.
One thing I hate about the story, I’ll admit, is the ending. In the end, Don Quijote gives up on his ridiculous dream of being a knight. He retires his clattering suit of armor and the silly metal bowl he wore as a helmet. He apologizes for the trouble he has caused, tells his niece not to marry a man who reads books and dies.
I guess the point is that we should all be more practical. But me, I liked Don Quijote just as he was–unapologetically idealistic. I know it has a negative connotation, and I myself won’t be fighting any windmills, but perhaps we should all be a bit more quixotic.
Bruschetta at Brixx
I shouldn’t, but I feel so good tonight. I had a terrible, painful phone conversation last night in which I said terrible, painful things. But today I felt like I was finally back in the saddle, back in control. I had a great day at work and I had a great dinner with friends and I feel, dare I say, wonderfully idealistic about where things are going.
My FAVORITE salad. Keyword: Pickles.
I know I said I’d move on, that everything would be ok and that I’d get my life together, but the past couple of days have been tough. It’s like there’s this gaping hole in my life that could just swallow me up. I just want something to look forward to. I just want something consistent. Something that will give me hope.
I just… want to watch The Bachelorette at 8pm EST every Monday night. Ya heard?
Gotchaaaa. And you thought I was about to get all brokenhearted on you…
It’s true. Ever since Ashley and JP fell madly in love on Monday night’s final episode and “After the Final Rose” came to a close freaking HOURS later, I’ve been stumbling around like a deranged person trying to find meaning in a world without The Bachelorette.
What will I do with my time? Who will I stalk? What excuse will I have to get drunk and eat cookies on a Monday night? IS THERE NO HOPE?
Ah, but there is…
Mmmhmm
Bachelor Pad Countdown: T-minus FIVE DAYS.
You like how I’ve hijacked this food blog and turned it into a rant blog with a picture of food at the top of each post and an occasional–ok, frequent–dessert recipe? You’re welcome. That salad? That’s my favorite salad. Romaine, carrots, celery, PICKLES SON, green beans, Trader Joe’s veggie masala burger, homemade honey mustard (but maple syrup mustard today because I ran out of honey).
Green smoothie with cerealll
The consistency of my smoothies has been rather remarkable since I learned about the low-to-high switch on my blender. If the consistency of smoothies is of any concern to you, it’s a sure sign you’ve got a pretty good thing going. A pretty nice little life is one where your biggest concern is a lumpy smoothie. We should all be so lucky.
And if the consistency of smoothies is all I can think to talk about this morning, it’s a sure sign I have run out of things to say. Bet you never thought you’d see the day.
In response to my kick-in-the-pants revelation the other day, I’ve reached out to a safe house for runaway, homeless and otherwise abandoned youth. It just felt right. As with any position that involves working with kids, it’ll involve lots of paperwork and background checks and hoop jumping first, but I’m hoping I’ll be able to get in soon and start showing them how to make lump-less smoothies and perhaps some more practical things.
In other news, I think I figured out exactly what I want to do with my life. Big words, I know. Remember this? Wheels, they are a-turning…
Wine is protein?
Ah, protein. The most frequently asked question that comes my way (other than “Can I meet Weasel?”) is: “How/where do you get protein if you’re a vegetarian?” After nearly 10 years of vegetarianism, this has gotten a bit old. Not because I’m too busy and important to address a simple question but because I wish the question weren’t a product of such utterly incorrect information about vegetarianism. I do try to be pleasant when I respond but mostly I just want to scream: “HOW/WHERE DO YOU GET YOUR ________ (insert nutrient not found in meat)???”
Anyway, I don’t delve too much into any of that here. I touch on the basics like sources of protein (both vegetarian and otherwise), protein pairing for vegetarians and intake recommendations for the general population and athletes. And I do so rather diplomatically, I might add.
This video is worth watching if only to catch Ralphie’s brief cameo in the blooper reel around 10:10.
Watch: Sweet Tater Talks Protein
Got a question? Email sweettaterblog@gmail.com
Leftovers for lunch
It was a cry-in-savasana kind of practice this morning at yoga. But before my mom calls and reminds me that my pity party has run its course (thanks, Mom), I would like to point out that for the first time in too long the world ceased to revolve around me for a few brief minutes and I cried for someone else. A lot of someone elses, I guess.
You see, I had delightful dinner last night with some new friends over which intense conversations about life and love and injustice and possibility flowed freely. We talked school food and community gardens and sex trafficking and animal abuse and murder and a whole lot of heavy shit I haven’t delved into since college. I stayed up until 3 o’clock in the morning just trying to figure out what to do next. Because once you hear some of the things I heard, you don’t really have a choice but to do something. You know?
So this morning I’m sliding down the euphoric slope into savasana after 90 glorious minutes of hot vinyasa when this song (please ignore the incredible photo montage) clicks on. I love this song. Appropriately enough, it makes me feel at peace. This morning, though, I just felt sad. I felt so, so sad for… I don’t know, everyone who doesn’t know what peace is.
I am not even about to get into a religious debate on this blog, but I am comfortable enough saying that I do not know who god is (please don’t ask me if I’ve been “saved”; I haven’t) and have never made an effort to find out (though surrendering to a higher power is an important part of yoga and something I’ve been working on). But I’ll be damned if I didn’t get the feeling that I got called the fuck out in class this morning. It was like someone (who? me? God?) threw me down on that studio floor and screamed, “Look at yourself. Look at who you are and what you have. Look at all you could contribute and everything you haven’t. Now do something. Do anything.”
Quite the kick in the pants if you ask me. I will say that despite a lot of recent big changes, my life has felt surprisingly stagnant the past couple years. I’m ready to get moving again.
So here’s a final thought that my teacher touched on this morning… In yoga, when you’re holding a pose that’s physically uncomfortable the body’s innate response is to tighten up. With breath, you can guide the body into release so that you’re open to push farther and deeper. After a while, though, discomfort will set in again and, as expected, the body will tighten its grip. We tighten up to stop the physical discomfort but all this succeeds in doing is preventing us from stretching beyond what we thought were our limits. As it turns out, we can go so much farther and do much more. As is the case on the mat, there are lots of moments of discomfort in life, too, and if we seize up and stand still we’ll miss out on opportunities to push ourselves beyond our limits. If you fight your body, your body will fight back. And, as I’m learning, if you fight your life, life will fight back too. Release and go farther. You are limitless.
Vegan brownies with cool mint buttercream
I am completely out of control.
Since the 4th of July, I’ve had a constant flow of butter and sugar coming out of my kitchen and straight into my face. It’s fine. Most of it has been of the mint/chocolate variety, which is a craving that comes on so strong I’d venture to guess I must have immaculately conceived some time this month and am now simply responding to the demands of a divine fetus. You understand, I’m sure.
The low-fat vegan brownie recipe–double chocolate/single chin brownies–is courtesy of the one, the only Mama Pea from her amazing cookbook Peas and Thank You. And since my solution to any nearly fat-free baked good is to add MORE FAT, I threw on some vegan mint buttercream of my own. Holy hell.
I’m supposed to be taking these to a dinner party but… maybe this is happening:
That's a knife.
I don’t know. I don’t remember. I blacked out.
Find Mama Pea’s brownie recipe here (or, better yet, IN HER BOOK) and the buttercream recipe below…
| Vegan Mint Buttercream |
Don't say I never gave you nothin'.
Chocolate avocado smoothie
Stop. Smoothie time.
At 7 o’clock on a Sunday morning, I had brownies in the oven, mint buttercream on deck and this smoothie on my mind.
My go-to smoothie “recipe” is: frozen banana, unsweetened almond or rice milk, frozen spinach, oats, peanut butter and cocoa powder. Today though, low on peanut butter and unwilling to risk being without it at 6am tomorrow when I need pre-yoga PB toast, I decided to switch up my fat for avocado.
While this was clearly not my original idea, I’m gonna pat myself on the back for it anyway. I know some people will cringe at the thought of avocado in a smoothie, but a perfectly smooth, creamy texture courtesy of the avocado made this one of the best smoothies I’ve ever consumed. So stick that in your straw and suckit.
| Chocolate Avocado Smoothie |
|
Optional: I also added a generous sprinkling of cinnamon and a dash of nutmeg before blending to make a little Mexican hot chocolate remix.
Oh, hello...
The cats and I have fallen into a nice little routine here together. I’d never really thought about it until now, but they’ve never lived alone with just me… ever. When I took Ralph in and she had Weaz I was living with my sister and later my friend Jack. Then I moved my new herd of cats in with my friend Lindsay. And then Stew and I moved in together and got Waldo, too. So adjusting to a home with just the three of us has been interesting.
It’s like when you regularly hang out with a group of people until one night everyone cancels but one person and you suddenly realize you don’t know that person at all. Awkward.
Luckily, the cats and I like many of the same things. Jeopardy…
I'll take Crazy Cat Ladies for $500, Alex.
[Did you know that 71-year-old Alex Trebec blew out his freaking Achilles tendon chasing an intruder out of his hotel room this past week? And also that in recounting the event he specified that he FIRST put on his underwear and THEN went chasing after her? This style of dress involves wearing nothing at all over your genitalia and is completely inappropriate for a 71-year-old man. What is commando? R-S-T-L-N-E, Vanna!]
The Bachelorette, duh…
Excuse me, it's time for my show.
Cuddling…
Weaz is selfish and always gets to be little spoon.
Um, at least two of us like cuddling.
You'll never understand me.
And as of tonight, we’ve learned there is one thing we all HATE. And that is bugs getting all up in our shit.
You gonna die, bitch.
Any time I see one of the cats looking at something I can’t see, I know something terrible is about to go down. When I see both cats looking at something I can’t see, I brace myself for the worst. Last night the worst came in the form of a godforsaken palmetto bug, which for anyone north of the Mason Dixon is a ROACH. It’s just that down here in the Dirty Dirty we like our shit classy so we make up waspy names for even the lowliest of life forms.
Weaz decided she wanted to go first but I promptly pulled her away and made her wait on the couch knowing full well that having never lived on the streets, she’s too stupid to hunt and would surely chase the damn thing straight into my bed. So I put my fierce little mini lion Ralph in charge instead.
Ralphie to the rescue
The little bastard didn’t stand a chance and was down for the count in less than 10 seconds. At which point I started jumping around shouting: WHOSE HOUSE? RALPHIE’S HOUSE! WHOSE HOUSE? RALPHIE’S HOUSE. (This really happened.) Then I doused it in Febreeze for good measure. Just in case. And because I don’t have any poison in the house.
Let this be a lesson to all you other bugs. We gon’ find you.
Where were YOU on that one, Weaz?
Jellybeans?
Tempeh, avocado, mustard on brown rice bread
I may or may not be listening to this.
Sometimes I think about those three glorious but fleeting years of post-collegiate employment prior to flipping corporate America the bird and going back to school to be poor… and I miss them. Sometimes I miss getting paid more than I know what to do with. Sometimes I miss having health insurance. Sometimes I just want a normal schedule. Monday through friday. 8 to 5. Hell, 7 to 6. I’ll take it. Sometimes I want to have responsibilities and pressure and deadlines. Sometimes, dare I say, I want to quit school and go back to “real” life. Decisiveness was never one of my strong points.
But, then again… sometimes I like to go to the pool on Friday while all you suckers are at work.
Not sorryyyyy
Sometimes I also want to do midnight yoga in the middle of the Epicentre (redundant?) and stay out til 3am.
Flashmob yoga.
And wake up five hours later and go to yoga again anyway.
Sometimes I want to listen to the *NSYNC Pandora station all.day.long.
Don't you judge me.
Yes, my Pandora stations include Britney, JayZ and NSYNC. Whatever.
Sometimes I want to just do my best to enjoy where I am right now. As a wise yoga teacher has said more than once in class, “Be here; feel this.”
I tend to get lost in the past and future with complete disregard for the present. So that’s where I am right now. Where I want to be. Right here. Feeling this. And while “this” ranges from anxiety to exhilaration to exhaustion, I’ll take it. Because I don’t have three years ago anymore. And no one has tomorrow. So sometimes… this is all I need. Because this is all I have.
(Um, excuse me… this is on now.)
Irrelevant.
Alright, y’all. We know how bloggers like to rant on about how great we are so… this is happening.
There’s a little game being played at present in which you list 7 links to posts you’ve made in the past. The posts are to be the ones you think are the most:
Beautiful
Popular
Controversial
Helpful
Surprisingly Successful
Sadly Under-appreciated
… and the one that makes you the proudest.
So here we go.
Beautiful – Oddly enough, I thought that Independence Day, the post about my breakup with Stew, was poignant in a painfully beautiful way. I said exactly what I felt, which was exactly what I needed to say, which, as it turns out, was exactly what many of you needed to hear, as well. Funny how that works.
Popular – Sadly, one of my most highly trafficked posts is one not at all in line with this blog’s mission. It’s the one about the atrocity that is the KFC double down chicken sandwich. That stupid thing incited a media frenzy and I had just so happened to have gotten wind of it fairly early on before it was released. So once that shitstorm was out in restaurants, traffic (primarily image searches) to that post soared. So since that one’s lame, another wildly popular post is from that time Stew hijacked my computer while I was at class and posted about the dinner he made me. He was almost as popular as Ralph and Weaz and his post received the most comments of any post this blog has ever seen.
Controversial – I knew it before I even hit publish that my post about obese airline passengers would be a touchy subject. I also knew in my gut (and in my heart) that I should not repost the photo of the man in question that was circulating throughout print, web and broadcast media. I did it anyway and got my ass handed to me by some thoughtful but fierce readers. I don’t know where the comments went (possibly lost in my move to self hosted?) but I promise you I did not censor anything. Although that record is gone now, I took the comments to heart, took the picture down and will never do anything so careless again.
Helpful – Other than people asking for cat advice, the most emails I get are from readers with questions about the path to becoming an RD. I always feel a bit short when I refer them straight to my post, So You Want to be an RD?, but I really do feel like that’s the best starting point. I laid it all out very clearly, step-by-step, with every little detail for every little question I had back when there wasn’t an easy place to find the answers in one place. If you have more questions, by all means, please email me. I wish I’d had someone to go to when I was trying to figure it all out.
Surprisingly Successful – It’s not that I don’t think my cats are the greatest creatures on the planet; it’s just that I didn’t think you would think my cats are the greatest creatures on the planet. Call me crazy but Ralph and Weaz are straight up Internet superstars and Caturday has become by far the most successful series on this blog. Viva la Weaz. And, of course, there was that whole little bake sale thing where you guys completely funded my entire trip to Nicaragua. I cried. Thank you again. I still can’t believe that.
Sadly Under-appreciated - Perhaps it’s because I didn’t make a big enough deal about it but, damnit, these are the best cookies ever. And I made those bitches vegan. Do you know how hard it is to make a caramel shortbread cookie vegan? I do.
Proudest – Quitting my corporate job to go back to school to study nutrition was terrifying. And I’d be lying if I said the last year has been easy. But it’s all been worth it. At the time, I wasn’t happy with where my life was headed so I stepped back, reassessed and moved forward in a completely new direction. Re-reading that post now–at a different but equally challenging point in my life–reminds me that I still have that fight in me. You do, too.
There you have it. I’m supposed to tag seven more people to list their links buuut how about this… everybody do it! You can post in comments if you want. I’d love to read them.
Taro and pomegranate yogurt w/ berries and kiwi
I wanted to title this post “Misery Loves Company,” but decided to focus on the positive rather than continue down my negative road of self pity and whining. You’re welcome?
Anyway, last night I met up with Diana, Jen, Brittney and Clyde (!) for frozen yogurt and commiseration. All of these ladies have been through recent rough patches (from injury to loss of a beloved pet to miscarriage) and we were all in need of a little stress-free social outing.
Jen and Diana
Brittney and me
Clyde!
Clyde got his very own mini cup of peanut butter yogurt.
Hehehee
Talking to the other girls about what’s been going on in their lives made me feel better. Actually, it made me feel a little bit silly about whining about a break up.
In fact, the whole break up deal has gotten a bit tired if you ask me. And so, I’ll be moving on now. I told him I didn’t want to. I asked him to give me a reason not to. I got nothing but ignored.
Onward.
Tempeh sandwich and salad
I’ve been averaging about an avocado a day this week. Good for me.
Let’s call this a success. Some other successes this week:
I went two days in a row without spending money:
Spending journal. I have one.
I broke my streak with frozen yogurt last night. Worth it.
I went to The Mint (and walked there, too!)…
Middle dress is my favorite.
I’ve been washing my dishes before I go to bed…
It looks like this all.the.time.
And I decided I love my crotchety old stove…
LYLAS
I bet your stove doesn't have an electrical outlet.
Don’t be fooled, though. I have also:
Vegan mint brownie truffles
Here’s a life lesson in perseverance (or how not to make brownies).
You see, I seem to think that I can tweak, alter and otherwise eff around with any recipe I want without regard to measurements, food science or the basic laws of physics and still emerge victorious in the end. It rarely happens this way.
In fact, when I decided to take this recipe and split it into two tweaked recipes–mint brownies and coffee brownies–I thought for sure I’d nailed it once they went in the oven. The coffee version came out ok, but the mint looked like this:
Mmmmhmmm
What to do? What to do?
Solution: Add more fat and roll in chocolate.
Tah dah!
I mixed my brownies failies with a tub of vegan cream cheese, rolled out little balls and rolled the balls in chocolate (that’s what she said).
Vegan mint brownie truffles. People will swoon.
Victory!
How to Make These Failures
Blended. On the 12th speed.
Sure, I like my tofu organic and my lattes decaf and my cats in multiples, but at my core I promise I’m a simple girl. This is why I don’t have an iron (hello, Downy wrinkle release–which, by the way, can be sprayed directly onto clothes that are directly on your body; I do this daily). Or a brush (I’ve got fingers, don’t I?). Or a vacuum (my mom disagrees).
I also confess that I do not own a Vitamix. What am I a BILLIONAIRE?
Ah, the ol’ I’m-a-food-blogger-but-I-don’t-have-a-Vitamix conundrum. But how do I ever manage to blend things?
With, uh… a blender? Mostly. I like my little blender. It gets the job done. That is… until recently. Recently my little blender and I have been having.it.out. in the mornings. It refuses to finely puree my bananas and spinach and rice milk so I refuse to act like a civilized human being. I shake it violently and tilt it to a rather precarious angle nearly parallel to the counter. (This is perhaps more a threat to my own life than to that of the blender. No wonder it’s not scared.)
So anyway, there I was making my morning smoothie (as I do) and cursing the day my blender was born (as I do) when suddenly, like magic, I noticed the little switch on the side that slides ever so effortlessly from low… to high.
That explains a lot.
Mocha brownies with coffee chocolate buttercream (vegan)
Did you know that a bank will not cash a check with two people’s names on it even if those two people just broke up and live in different states and one of them cries every time they are reunited? I do.
Yesterday Stew and I both drove an hour to meet halfway at a bank off the interstate to deposit our returned security deposit from our old apartment.
Since I can’t seem to understand what a breakup is, I came bearing brownies. Mocha brownies with coffee chocolate buttercream. I don’t even know.
Peace offering?
I also tried to make mint chocolate brownies with mint buttercream but they turned out like this:
Why.
So I’m Macgyvering those into some mint chocolate brownie truffles. We’ll see how that goes…
| Mocha Brownies w/ Coffee Chocolate Buttercream |
For the buttercream, just use any vegan buttercream recipe and add 1 Tbsp cocoa powder and 3 Tbsp cold coffee.
And then don’t take them to your ex-boyfriend, silly.
Rosemary garlic red onion roasted potatoes mmmmkay?
When my friend Rachael gave me a massive gallon-sized Ziploc bag full of rosemary I had one thing on my mind–aside from just snorting it–ROASTED POTATOES.
Is there anything better than the smell of rosemary? Other than cats, I mean. No, there is not. So I chopped up some potatoes, doused them in olive oil and salt & pepper, threw in garlic and sliced red onion and sprinkled generously with fresh rosemary. Were humans able to digest raw potatoes, I would have eaten this as is. Alas, I had to wait a full 30 minutes while it roasted away in a 400-degree oven.
Do not eat this raw.
When I was cutting up the potatoes I decided this would probably be enough for three people. Would you be surprised to hear I ate it all? Well, not all of it all of it. I left enough to put into the smallest tupperware container I have so I’d feel better about not having eaten enough potatoes for a small family.
Whatever it takes.
The last time I was single. Here comes disaster...
Since the blogosphere has been particularly fertile as of late (See Exhibit A, B, C, D, E, F, etc.), I now feel qualified to:
You're welcome.
Grilled romaine. Yes.
Summer is a time for grilling. And no, I’m not talking steak. Burgers, steaks, hot dogs and brats are go-to grill options for the meat eaters but we vegetarians like a little char on our summer plates too. Think veggie kabobs, bean burgers, peaches, corn and… salad?
Yes, grilled salad.
Grilled romaine is one of my most favorite ways to eat a salad but I can really only find it in a select few restaurants. So you know what that means… I’ll just have to make it myself.
Not only do I not know what I’m doing when it comes to grilling lettuce, I also do not have a grill. Conundrum.
Enter my Breville panini press. I’m pretty sure it can do anything. Including “grill” lettuce.
Grilled romaine with rosemary potatoes, turnips, tomatoes
Just cut a head of romaine in half, drizzle with olive oil and season with salt and pepper. Throw it on a hot grill just long enough to char and wilt. Maybe 30 seconds depending on how hot it is.
Then top it any way you’d like. I went with turnips, lemon boy tomatoes from my friend Rachael and rosemary garlic red onion roasted potatoes.
Mmmhmm.
Tofu, broccoli, quinoa, nutritional yeast = party.
Let me paint you a picture…
It’s 8 o’clock on a Friday night. Where are you?
Oh, that’s nice. I’m sprawled out on my couch post shower. Hair soaking wet. Mascara under my eyes, probably; I can never seem to get it all off. Pajamas on. Position (slouched) assumed. Cat (Weaz) sprawled out on top of me. House a wreck and smelling like roasted broccoli, which, I assure you, is an appealing smell only to me. On TV, a historian is demonstrating a Civil War leg amputation on Ashley Judd who really just wants to learn a little bit about her ancestry on Who Do You Think You Are. And now here she is getting her leg cut off…
The point is, it’s a big night. I’ll be asleep in 15 minutes and I like that.
But wait. What’s this? My older brother has some smidgen of faith left in my social life and calls:
“I’m sending you Joe Pa’s number. Text him your address. We’re on the way over.”
Uhhhhhhh. GO TIME.
In approximately 20 minutes I somehow managed to wash an entire sink full of dishes, clean the entire house, make myself look presentable and even light a damn candle. I’m back, bitches.
Skee ball pros
We went down the street to Jackalope Jack’s, which is pretty much a fraternity house right down to the astro turf lawn, corn hole and skee ball machines. There’s karaoke, too.
He thinks he's good
It was fun. And a little bit college. And mildly depressing at the same time. I’m glad I went out.
OH and here’s a fun little end to the night… I was trying to stalk Stew on Facebook (as I do) on my phone but I was apparently in no condition to navigate that tiny screen because instead of typing his name into the search bar, I typed it into my status. And posted it.
Yes. It just said: Stew.
Hahahaha. I had to hang my head in shame and hand the phone to my brother to figure out how to delete it. I was reprimanded by all. I can’t promise it won’t happen again.
My therapist says...
Happy hot-as-hell Caturday! I really try not to be one of those oh-my-god-can-you-believe-how-hot-it-is??? people because, well, it’s summer. It’s always hot in the summer. It’s always unbelievably hot in the summer. Believe it. Accept it. Move on with your life.
Your bike could use some attention.
So, as has been noted previously, Ralphito is suffering from a bit of a little post-move/breakup mental breakdown. First she decided she’d lick her paw until it bled. I found little bloody footprints all over the house the first week we were here. That was terrifying at all. Once she got over that (thank God) she moved on to scratching her head until it bleeds. Now I’m finding chunks of bloody hair all over the house. Is this a food blog? Sorry.
Anyway, Ralph’s gone off the deep end. I’ve tried talking sense into her but she says I “wouldn’t understand.” I’ve also tried pretending like nothing is wrong and disciplining her as necessary when she acts a fool but she keeps responding with the ol’: “but my therapist says I should ________:
Ok, Ralph.
I like squirrels.
Weaz, of course, is fine. I’m pretty sure she doesn’t even know we moved. She has, however, been needy.as.hell. the past couple weeks. When I get home she screams her little head off until I drop everything to sit down with her for a few minutes. This then makes Ralphie feel left out and she starts licking herself. It’s a vicious cycle.
Don’t worry about us. We’ll be just fine.
If cats could talk to you, they would lie.
Soup on an old table
I have had the world’s busiest day off ever. And it has been lovely. I had two beautiful yoga classes, time to do my laundry FO FREE, lots of time outside in the sun and a lovely chat with a lovely new friend.
I started my “free time” bright and early with a 6am wake up call for hot yoga. I don’t sleep much any more…
Class was fantastic. Lots of assists, including standing drop back to wheel and return to standing (I looked nothing like that guy). I feel good about my practice right now. Strong but ready to move on and learn more challenges.
Because one class is just never enough, I met up with my friend Annie at Om Yoga for a lunchtime class, too.
Om Yoga, Baxter Village
Om is a wonderful loft studio closer to my old apartment that I used to visit before I moved up to Charlotte. Before it opened last year, there were no studios in that area. We were in desperate need, let me tell you.
Maria, the owner, teaches wonderful power hours and hot vinyasa classes that I love. In fact, today’s class wasn’t even hot but I was still sweating like a fiend. I also loved that she opened class with a story and a chance for a little group meditation. One thing she said that really stuck with me was this:
“Breathe and everything changes.”
Inside Om
To me, this has two meanings:
I had a “breathe and everything changes” moment today. Since I was down in that neck of the woods, I decided to stop by my brother’s house, which involves driving by my and Stew’s old house, too. It was not a great feeling being there. It brought back a lot of emotion that I feel like (just in the last week or so) I’m finally getting a handle on. And then I realized there’s just not a whole lot I can do about it. I took a breath three weeks ago and my whole world changed. It’s hard, but I know that if I take another breath (and another one and another one and another one…), it will all change again. Asi es la vida.
So anyway, my point is that I love Mari and Om Yoga. WINK.
My budget conscious self was smart enough to pack up lunch to eat at my brother’s house while I waited for laundry. I brought soup with quinoa and lima beans and some watermelon. (I ate an entire watermelon in 24 hours. Don’t hate.)
I also enjoy digging through my brother’s pantry and fridge whenever I’m there to see what kind of crap he’s eating these days…
Be still, my heart
Baked Cheetos?!? Baked Cheetos were only my favorite diet food in the world. I could eat an entire bag in one sitting, which, as you know, is why I do not condone the consumption of “diet” junk foods and no longer do so myself. Anyway, I ate one and it tasted like shit.
I also found evidence that he had visited my grandparents recently because a tray of “Dad’s favorite cookies” was on the table. And everybody knows only Grandmother Betty can make them… I snagged one.
Dad's favorite cookie
And then, as all good days should, my day ended with frozen yogurt and a chat session with Miss Katy Loves.
Katyyy
What a breath of fresh air this girl is. She moved up from Orlando the same day I moved into the city and we just now got together. Long overdue.
Hey behbeh.
I had: cake batter, mint coffee swirl and mounds topped with brownies, cookie dough and marshmallow cream. Hello.
Teff babycake with PB banana cream
Just look at this adorable little nugget. How cute are you? All baby things are better than their full-grown counterparts. This includes cakes, cats and, of course, humans.
I’ve found that working retail I get to interact with all kinds of different people–old, young, rich… richer. And this includes small children, which has been an otherwise foreign subset of the population for me since I stopped babysitting around age 15. I uh-love little kids so I generally find myself dropping everything to race them around the store and build towers out of things that should not be stacked and teach them yoga. I’m pretty sure people would prefer me to just do my job. But I’m sorry, I can’t help it that I get little pangs of ovary ache every time one of those little nuggets asks me to play.
It’s not that I want to have/could have/should have a child right now. I just want to play with other people’s kids. Is that so wrong?
Yes, I think it is. You know some people ask us to wash our hands before we interact with their kids in the store? (I know, I know. I probably will too one day…)
Anyway, the point is… no babies for me. Miniature food will do just fine for now.
Babyyy
This is Katie’s trusty single lady cupcake recipe with teff flour and topped with a puree of 1 Tbsp peanut butter + 1/2 a banana.
Coffee chocolate peanut butter smoothie
I pretty much walk the straight and narrow. Never done drugs of any kind. Never smoked. Always wear my seatbelt. So basically what I’m telling you is the most exciting deviant thing I’ve done today was say: TO HELL WITH DINNER I’M HAVIN A MILKSHAKE.
But then I didn’t have a milkshake. Oh no. Of course not. I had a frigging vegan organic green smoothie.
And you wanna know what I did last night after my wild night of margarita drinking? I came home and cleaned my house while listening to the Why We Buy audiobook.
WOOOO.
I think sometimes people peg me as some kind of slutty party animal. I regret to inform you you are incorrect. In fact, here’s a play-by-play of my thrilling morning:
6am. Wake up. Ramble on to the cats about how glorious they are. Play with space phone in bed. Facebook. Facebook. Facebook. Like it’s too important to wait for me to walk five feet to a real computer and read it on a full screen. Listen to Why We Buy like a big ol’ loser whilst preparing brown rice toast with peanut butter and jelly. Iced coffee with rice milk. Out the door for work by 6:40am. But wait. What’s this? An animal has ransacked the decaying sack of garbage I insisted on leaving on the porch last night because I was too scared to walk to the trash can? Good.
At any other point in my life, I most certainly would have left this for someone else in my life to deal with. Alas, the only two someones left in my life right now don’t have opposable thumbs and wouldn’t have been able to open the door to address the situation. So I calmly set down the million things I was carrying, walked back in the house, picked up my cute little frilly rubber dishwashing gloves (you know the kind you buy to convince yourself that washing your dishes isn’t so unglamorous after all) and proceeded to scoop up handfuls of decaying lettuce and tomatoes and REFRIED BEANS. I almost threw up. At one point, in fact, I said aloud: I can’t do this. And then responded (also aloud): Well you have to. I didn’t throw up but I did throw those gloves away.
This is my life. Now I’m off to a movie and you know what… I’M BRINGING MY OWN DAMN POPCORN. Criminal. Lock me up and throw away the key.
Quinoa, squash, tomato sauce and cheese
And with that–quinoa from Peru, to be exact–local week came to a screeching halt.
I almost upheld one final day of Carolina-only foods until I realized very, very early this morning that technically I already put in a full seven days (which, by my math–which is not good–is a full week) and was late for yoga and needed some damn sunflower butter and jelly toast.
You feel me?
Of course you do. Local week was amazing. It not only pulled me out of my food rut–veggie burger, salad, veggie burger, salad… repeat–it also opened my eyes to a whole new world of closer (and arguably better) options that I can use to fill my plate.
That’s all well and good, but Katie cannot live on Carolina alone. I mean… we don’t make any tequila here…
times two.
So after work I met up with Caitlin and her friend Mary for dinner at Cantina (only the best Mexican food this side of Mexico). And margarita(s).
Taquitos vegetarianos. Duh.
I got the vegetarian taquitos, origin unknown.
I’m so glad I did my local challenge and I plan to continue shopping my farmers markets and making a point to look for locally produced foods. But I’ll be returning to many of my old ways, too. Balance, y’all.
In other news, today has been good. Exceptionally good. I felt good at yoga (buff yoga with weights at Flex & Fit courtesy of one miss Peanut Butter Runner Jen), felt good at work, felt good at dinner and feel entirely convinced I will end this night with frozen yogurt, origin unknown.
You see, I had this epiphany (literally in the last 18 hours or so because as early as last night I was once again crying myself to sleep). I started feeling like the last three years of my life has been such a waste. What a huge amount of time to put into something to walk away with nothing in the end. But then I decided that I refuse to feel that way. We can’t control what happens to us, only how we react. I can’t bring myself to believe that my relationship was anything but strong and loving and empowering and uplifting. And that’s how I’d like to move forward. Because if there were any reason to feel like precious time had been wasted, then there’s really no time left to be dawdling through life feeling sorry for myself, right? Right.
I need some ice cream.
Baked okra, lima beans & rice, steamed chard, grilled corn
Maybe it’s because I’ve been eating a whole lot of cornbread or maybe it’s because I’m reading The Help, but I’ve been feeling particularly southern as of late. Though I’ve been in the Carolinas for eight years now, I’ve never felt a particularly strong sense of place here.
Make no mistake, I am southern by blood and that blood runs thick. I was born in Kentucky and educated in South Carolina. My mom and siblings are original Kentuckians, too, and my dad was born in Georgia. We have accents and cast iron skillets and ties to the Confederate Army. Though we moved to Illinois in 1988, my parents made a point of raising us on sweet tea and grits and beaten biscuits right there in the Chicago suburbs.
Living as a southerner in suburban Chicago has, I believe, made me somewhat bicultural. After all, they are two very different worlds, these regions of the country. And while I appreciate having an insider view and understanding of each, the dichotomy of my upbringing has always left me feeling a little… lost? Too liberal for the South, too conservative for the North, I’m not sure I ever quite fell into my groove, if you will, in either place.
Baked-not-fried okra
So this week celebrating the Carolinas through local food has been really interesting in that it has me feeling more connected to (or at least more respect for) my southern heritage, which, no doubt, has my parents flipping cartwheels of joy through the cornfields of Illinois. They still live up there, you see.
Food is a powerful thing. At its most basic level, food fuels our bodies. It keeps us alive. But food is also a lot more than sustenance; it’s emotion and history and culture and love, definitely love. One of the hardest things about my move and subsequent breakup has been adjusting to cooking for myself and eating alone. Food is definitely something to be shared.
So I’ll share with you, dear Internet.
Last night I made a straight up feast of Southern proportions. I had baked-not-fried okra, grilled corn, lima beans and rice and steamed chard. The people of the South are a notoriously deep-fried-loving demographic. They’re also heavy-handed with the butter… and the mayonnaise… and the lard… and the… fat back. But it’s easy to make minor adjustments to traditional Southern cuisine to make it a little less, uh, heart attack-inducing.
For me this involved battering and baking my okra, spritzing my corn with olive oil rather than drowning it in butter and steaming my greens rather than simmering them for hours in bacon fat. It’s the little things, y’all.
Yes, please and thank you.
The South, like any other region, has it’s problems. Obesity and poverty and illiteracy run rampant. Sometimes it’s so hot you can’t move and so humid you could practically swim down the sidewalk. We have bugs the size of squirrels. But I’ve learned (and felt) this week that there’s so much more to the area. There’s a gentleness about the South. It’s a little bit slower and a little bit calmer and a whole lot nicer than other places I’ve been in the world. Also… biscuits. Biscuits like you would not believe.
You can make and eat Southern-style food anywhere in the world, but I think it takes total immersion to really get it. And, finally, after 26 years, I think I get it.
Y’all come visit, ya hear? (I don’t talk like that.)
I have much to say...
I realize 12 minutes makes for a very, very long video on the Internet but… some things just get me all riled up. One of those things happens to be this week’s topic.
This week’s video question comes from Lauren who wants to know:
Oh, artificial sweeteners, I could talk about you all day.
But I won’t. Because no one will listen. So here’s a concise, uh, 12-minute summary of my thoughts on the matter.
See the video here: Sweet Tater Talks Artificial Sweeteners
New Terra Farms yogurt, sweet potato, blueberries
Since I pretty much threw down my weight in brownies last night, I wasn’t feeling too hungry this morning. I think a light, little bowl of yogurt pre-yoga and then an early, brownie-free lunch are just what the doctor ordered.
I’m having New Terra Farms Greek yogurt (best I’ve ever had; I predict it’s probably full fat, duh), sweet potato and blueberries.
I meant to put peanut butter and pecans in it, too. Alas, now that I’m out on the porch I’m too lazy to go back in and get them. It’s the brownies weighing me down.
Homemade tomato basil sauce over spaghetti squash
I’m a big user of jarred tomato sauce. I can’t help myself. It’s just so… easy. Dump it on quinoa… on noodles… on rice… on pizza crust… on anything and you’ve got a meal. Well guess what else is easy? Making your own damn tomato sauce, lazypants.
It’s true. All you need is:
Now, I know what you’re thinking: “Am I gonna have to wash that knife?” And the answer is yes. But you also get to eat this sauce so quit yer bitchin, Sandra Lee.
Suck it, Sandra Lee
I had my homemade tomato sauce over spaghetti squash but you could have it any way your little heart desires.
Here’s how to do it:
| Quick & Easy Tomato Sauce |
Tah dah.
Chard roll up with rice, radishes, egg whites, basil
Man, I hope this lunch is as good as I want it to be.
I made these chard roll ups bright and early this morning to take to work for lunch and/or dinner (I have funny hours today that span two meal times so we shall see).
To make them I removed the hard stems from three leaves of chard and then filled each with prepared rice, sliced radishes, basil and some egg white strips I prepared with two eggs.
I rolled them up and packed them into my trusty little tupperware. I hope they are awesome.
If nothing else, they are pretty.
Strawberry blueberry basil smoothie
I’ve done a pretty good job sticking to my local food challenge. Aside from having a mental breakdown yesterday and drowning my sorrows in a vat of brownie batter made from sugar, oil, flour and cocoa powder from who-knows-where, my food has been decidedly Carolinian.
I had nothing much to report from yesterday since I’ve been working my way through leftovers but…
Breakfast was sweet potato cornbread muffins with pecan milk peanut butter sauce.
Sweet potato cornbread muffins with PB sauce
Lunch was more harvest soup with rice, pecans and goat cheese. And dinner was stewed black-eyed peas with rice. And maybe, like, half a pan of brownies.
I wanted to clear out my produce from my first shopping trip so nothing would spoil and to make room for new goodies from Atherton Mill Market, which I visited yesterday.
Atherton Mill Market
I got so much good stuff:
Atherton is an urban farmers market in South End Charlotte so it’s a bit on the uppity side, which means prices are higher than they need to be. But that’s because people in this area are willing to pay them. Don’t get me wrong, the produce is great quality and the vendors are wonderful; I’m just cheap.
For breakfast today I’m having a strawberry blueberry basil smoothie made with strawberries from Miller’s Farm that I froze back in May, blueberries and basil from the market yesterday and New Terra Farms Greek yogurt.
Summertime.
Yogurt is one of those things that can really make me queasy at times but I found myself dipping blueberry after blueberry into the tub to “sample” more. It’s definitely the best yogurt I’ve ever had.
And with that… I’m off to pack up brownies to take to work so they can burden someone else.
Corn, tomatoes, green bell pepper, yellow squash, onion
I made a wonderful soup yesterday with just about everything but the kitchen sink. Let’s see if I can even remember…
So good. Usually when I make soup I rely on boxed vegetable stock for flavor but this time I used water and let the vegetables speak for themselves. It worked perfectly.
I tried figuring out how to use the camera Maggie got me and this happened:
Nope
Nope
Haha, nope.
Give me time. Give me time.
I enjoyed my soup with rice, pecans and a little goat cheese sprinkled on top.
| Harvest Soup |
Critical Weaz doubts you.
Ew. I never update my WordPress techy thingies and I finally did and am unhappy to report that I hate the updates for version 3.2.1. Ew.
End rant. Happy Caturday! Does it feel like fall where you are, too? I love me some heat and hate me some cold but this temperature seems to be the best of both worlds. I approve.
Weaz does not.
I regret to inform you that I haaaaven’t taken so many pictures of the cats this week.
Because you don't love us.
Because I’ve been taking pictures of so.much.local.food. But look…
There's Ralph back there.
And here’s Weaz burying herself underneath me while I’m trying to read on the couch.
Weaz pillow
Perhaps the most significant event of this pre-Caturday week was watching me move from curious to concerned to straight up PANICKED to sweet glorious relief when looking for, losing and eventually finding my childhood security blanket(s).
My “blankets” are actually three of my mom’s old nightgowns. I’ve had them forever and ever and my mom always said I’d probably walk down the aisle with them if given the chance. (No but I might have them sewn into my garter in some way.) When I went to first grade she had to cut the pocket out of the robe so I could take it with me. With a toy pig tucked inside. My grandmother eventually sewed me a bag for my three gowns because I kept losing them when I spent the night at her house. But then I wore the bag down until it was so full of holes the gowns would just fall out and get lost again. And then I tried to patch it up myself but it looked like Frankenstein so it’s gone now. The gowns remain. But then I got a boyfriend and they got tucked away somewhere. And then they were lost. And then I didn’t have a boyfriend any more and I got sad and wanted them back but I thought they got thrown out in the move. But then Ralphie found them in a box. And here they are:
Mine now, bitch.
You again.
I had the exact same salad again for lunch today. If it ain’t broke… don’t fix it eat anything else. I do this often with food, find something I’m obsessed with and then eat it until I can’t even look at it anymore. I’ll never grow tired of you, dear and perfect little salad.
So long as we’re flashing back or deja vu-ing or whatever, how about a little game of Internet Oversharing?! Remember those chain emails and Myspace/Xanga/Livejournal questions everybody used to answer in a public setting so as to communicate something specific to someone specific in a very generalized way? Of course you do.
SO… Caitlin has listed 10 burning questions and I’m sure you’re just dying to see how I address them. Here we go…
What’s on your bedside table? The lone survivor of a pair of lamps that Ralphie hasn’t broken yet. Books I pretend like I’m going to start any… day… now…
Do you have a tattoo? You wouldn’t put a bumper sticker on a Bentley, now would you? Just kidding. That’s what some tool bag said once in response to why he doesn’t have a tattoo. He said this to a girl he knew had a tattoo. Tool.bag. Do I have a tattoo? Nope. Like them? Yes. If they are awesome. Would I get one? The only thing I can think of that I like enough is my last name and I can’t think of a better way to dishonor and anger my forebearers (dad and granddaddy) than to get a tattoo. Especially of our name. So… no.
Do you believe in abstinence prior to marriage? You wouldn’t buy a car without test driving it, now would you? Just kidding. No more car analogies. Whatever works for you.
What is your worst habit? I have terrible phone etiquette. I keep my cell on silent and will almost never answer when you call. I might return the call though. Good luck.
How do you handle finances in your relationship? What relationship? Ooooh, burn. Um, we lived together but weren’t married so we had our own financial lives and just split everything (rent, bills) right down the middle. He paid for dates. I expect that. Sorry, feminism. I sometimes paid for frozen yogurt or something afterwards.
If you could change your name, what would it be? Ehhh, I wouldn’t. I always said I might shift from Katie to Kate to Katherine throughout different life phases (Katie the child, Kate the grad student, Katherine the nice rich successful lady) but… Katie just works. Or I’m stuck in childhood. Who knows.
Where do you want to go on your next vacation? CALI-FREAKING-FORNIA. Also back to Spain. Always.
What is one political cause you feel strongly about? School food reform. Agricultural subsidies. Food things.
Have you ever stolen anything? Hell no. Oh… except that my high school friend Mike and I used to “collect” restaurant knives. We’d take one every time we went out and I’d write the restaurant name and date on it. Whaaaat? I don’t know. There were a whooole lot of Chili’s and Applebee’s and O’Charley’s and other things 16-year-olds eat. After I’d gone off to college I got a call from my mom inquiring about the drawer full of knives I’d left at home. Don’t worry about it, Mom. Don’t worry about it…
Tell us something embarrassing about yourself: When I tell people I have a voice/language for my cats and they’re like “Oh yeah Piddles has a funny voice too,” I’m not so sure they understand exactly what I’m saying. I’m saying I have invented a completely new English dialect for my cats that can be both spoken and written. I use it to talk to them and then answer my own questions. I can hold entire conversations with myself cats. Sometimes I think it might be a borderline multiple personalities situation. Sometimes “Ralphie” used to call Stew and have an entire conversation with him. Now you know.
Not really.
No, not really. This is not a hash. What is a hash anyway? Potatoes surely must be involved in some way. There are no potatoes here but, oh, how I wish there were. Fried potatoes are among my most favorite hangover cures.
Another? Rice and beans/lentils. Truth.
Heal me.
Shortly after college when all I did was drink and job hunt (living the dream) I was pretty much living off of lentils and rice, which, conveniently enough, were also my favorite thing to eat after a long night of entirely too much vodka.
I didn’t drink that much last night. Two margaritas. Two beers. Nevertheless, I feel like hell today.
All I wanted (other than hashbrowns) was a big ol’ pile of rice and beans. For a local twist, I went with rice and Sunny Creek farms sprouted lentils and peas. And I threw in some zucchini and tomato for good measure.
So good.
Oh, and this conversation between my brother and me regarding margarita prices is… priceless.
Ben: Do you have any idea how much those margaritas cost?
[He and I answering his question at the exact same time...]
Ben: TEN DOLLARS??!?
Katie: Ten dollars.
Haha, and then later at the dollar beer cart…
Ben: Do you realize you could have had TWENTY of these beers for the cost of your stupid margaritas?
Truth.
Some kind of salad
My brother and I went out tonight. It was not remotely local. I did do my best and recommend Harvest Moon, which serves only locally sourced foods, but he specifically requested “nothing weird.” We don’t have the same eating habits, you see.
I went with my fall back plan of Mexican and he hopped aboard not knowing it’s not the Americanized “Mexican” he was expecting. Let’s just say he asked “WHERE ARE THE BURRITOS?” and got soup expecting a chicken breast. It’s fine.
I got some kind of salad because I’d been gnawing on local watermelon and pecans and cornbread all afternoon. Plus, I was saving myself for this:
Times a million.
We had chips and salsa (obviously)…
Duh.
And this view…
Not bad.
I’ma be all right.
Yep.
For the record… if you so much as look money-less near a dollar beer stand, someone will eventually just hand you one. Oh yes they will.
Seriously. Perfect.
I threw together the most perfect salad for lunch.
Disclaimer: you should know I’m drunk right now. My brother and I went out tonight. All things consumed were not local. But first… I did eat this perfect salad.
The salad consisted of:
Pretty lettuce
I packed it up with canary melon (consumed the whole.damn.thing. in less than 24 hours oops) and watermelon (which will surely be gone by tomorrow… I have a problem).
Lunch.
I topped it with salt and oil and that was it. It.was.perfect.
I haven’t eaten food this simply perfect since… Spain, maybe? I don’t even know, but this local thing is the best.
Sweet potato w/PB, egg, cornbread muffins, peach
Breakfast this morning was a little of this aaaand a little of that. I wasn’t quite sure what to do so I just did… everything. I also had to be at work at 7 and woke up at 6:30 so it was quite an ordeal not being able to just grab my on-the-go toast that I rely on so often for early mornings.
So I actually didn’t get to eat any of this after the photo was snapped. (But of course I found the time to take a photo. Priorities. I gots ‘em.) I packed it up and took it to work with me where I ate the egg (excluding the yolk, which makes me uncomfortable) and one muffin. Somehow that held me over a good three and a half hours and now I’m eating the rest before going back to work. Weird day.
Lovely back porch kind of morning.
On eggs… So I don’t like eggs. I’m pretty clear about that. Mostly it’s a taste/texture/bleh thing but some of it also stems from the overall ick factor of factory farming. I’m giving eggs a go this week since I know these come from a small local farm where the chickens are treated well, but I can almost guarantee that this little experiment will lock me in as 100% anti-egg. The more I eat them, the more I confirm that they simply are not in line with my vegetarian ideals. Milk I just hate so that’s out. Cheese… fine, if the milk used to make it is sourced from a small humane operation. Eggs? Just can’t make them make sense in my head if eating lives (or would-be lives) is not something I support.
Any other vegetarians feel this way about eggs? I’m not a vegan but… eggs just aren’t working for me.
Carolina on your mind
I loved my first day of local eating. I had insane corn cakes with grilled peaches for breakfast and stewed black-eyed peas over aromatic rice with zucchini and goat cheese for lunch and dinner. I’ve also been snacking on watermelon, canary melon and cornbread muffins with peanut butter. I am a happy girl right now.
So here’s how I’ve been coming at this little challenge of mine…
The Shopping
Earth Fare: EF places a cute little 100 sticker on anything produced within a hundred miles of the store. This made it easy to breeze through the aisles and quickly spot anything that fit the bill. Read about their local commitment for more info.
Reid’s Fine Foods: This is a small local grocer specializing in gourmet foods since 1928. They stock a small quantity of quality local items, including fresh produce, eggs and cheese from farms quite literally just down the road. In fact, the corn I bought here was still in a giant sack that had just been dropped off that morning.
Charlotte Regional Farmers Market: This market can be hit or miss. While some vendors source local products, it’s apparent that many have been shipped in. I’m looking at you, mangoes and bananas and limes. I found that striking up conversations with vendors and asking specific questions about the farms the work with led me to what I was looking for. This place was all kinds of crazy cheap. Still, a much better choice for truly local goods in Charlotte is the Atherton Mill Market (alas, it was closed the day I did my shopping).
Friends with Gardens: My friends with gardens have totally been hooking a sister up. Thank you, Lauren and Rachael! I need a garden…
The Food
Produce
Grains
Protein
The Cheats
I’m still using olive oil because I have yet to find local butter in my food hunting voyages. I know it’s out there… I am also using baking soda and baking powder as needed, and I’m using salt and pepper because it would be crazy not to. (I read a book about some really intense local foodies who rowed out into the ocean, filled a bucket with water and let it evaporate leaving behind, you guessed it, local salt. I’m not that hardcore.) I’m eating some straggling non-local vegetables that are in my fridge because I refuse to throw them away. And I’m drinking coffee every day. Twice. Try to stop me!
I loved exploring the local food options available at familiar shopping locations. I’m also looking forward to seeking out some smaller growers who perhaps aren’t selling their items in stores. It’s like a treasure hunt!
Fun fact: If you, too, are into this little local adventure, you can commit to eating fresh this summer and Frigidaire will donate $1 to Save the Children. You can also visit your local farmers market and check in using Gowalla to donate another dollar. It’s all part of the Frigidaire Kids’ Cooking Academy. Eat your vegetables!
[Disclosure: I will be receiving a farmers market shopping stipend from Foodbuzz for mentioning the Frigidaire Kids; Cooking Academy in this post.]
Stewed black-eyed peas, zucchini, goat cheese, rice
Man, oh man. This local food challenge is making my life.
I’m eating the best food I’ve eaten in a long time. I knew I was getting sick of my Trader Joe’s routine but I couldn’t quite motivate myself to actually think about what to buy–sunflower butter, masala burgers, cheapass veggies… CHECK–or to pay more. This week is an excellent reminder of what good food really is. I’m so happy.
SO… for lunch (and already packed up for dinner at work tonight): Sunny Creek Farm black-eyed peas stewed with local tomatoes and garlic, sauteed zucchini topped with Bosky Acres goat cheese and Carolina Plantation rice–the best rice I’ve ever had in my life. The zucchini are actually not local at all. They are left over from last week’s grocery trip and y’all know I refuse to throw a single scrap of food away so I had to use it up. Waste not!
PEAS
To-mah-to
I hate goat cheese but loved this.
Best.rice.ever.
I made a big ol’ batch of rice yesterday and my house smelled like heaven for 24 hours. I can’t even tell you how perfect it is. You need to just eat it.
I typically won’t eat goat cheese. I kind of hate it, in fact. But in my hunt for vegetarian protein sources that were not eggs (also hate those), this was all I could come up with (along with all my beans and nuts, of course). I am happy to report that this cheese is excellent and a little goes a very long way. I bet I only crumbled a teaspoon or less on my plate but the tart, tangy, creamy flavor spread throughout the dish.
If you’d like to recreate it:
| Stewed Black-eyed Peas |
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For dessert (and, uh, fuel whilst cooking): canary melon. Canary melon is similar in taste to a honey dew but with more flavor and sweetness… oh, and a bright yellow skin. Mine is from a farm in South Carolina.
Canary melon
Happy, happy day. Food makes me giddy.
Vegan corn cakes with grilled Carolina peaches
I kicked my local food week off with a bang in the form of vegan corn cakes with grilled Carolina peaches and peanut butter. If eating locally is this good (and this easy), I may never go back to my imported ways.
Technically, this breakfast was supposed to be the start of my local food week, but I got a hankering for a little midnight snack last night so I guess the week really started with a cornbread muffin and peanut butter.
Cornbread muffin at midnight
Hampton Farms (North Carolina)
A cat who shall remain nameless must have also had a hankering for a midnight snack because I woke up to find this:
WEAZ
I made the cornbread yesterday using Carolina Plantation corn meal, pecan milk I made using Chosen Roaster Carolina pecans, eggs from Windy Hill Farm here in North Carolina. The peanut butter is Hampton Farms.
SO… this breakfast. This amazing wonderful beautiful breakfast…
Hey baby
I used Katie’s banana pancakes for one recipe as a starting point and ran with my own ingredients from there.
| Carolina Corn Cakes w/Grilled Peaches |
Obviously I have some “cheat” items in there that weren’t produced in the Carolinas–baking powder and salt–and I’ll share more in detail all the ingredients I’m working with this week and the “cheats” I’m allowing such as these.
Grilling the peaches worked perfectly in my panini press but you could also just heat them on a skillet. Your house will smell amazing either way.
Local meal #1... check
Greek salad at Savor Cafe, Charlotte NC
A very happy birthday to miss Mary of Fervent Foodie.
Vanessa, Julie, Jamie and I joined Mary to celebrate over lunch at Savor Cafe. This was my first time at Savor (and, let’s be honest, my first time venturing west of I-77) and I was delighted by the restaurant’s cozy atmosphere (exposed brick, heeeey) and ambiance.
Savor
Cute.
Southern staples are the name of the game at Savor and, as such, the menu kiiiind of leaves something to be desired for our vegetarian friends… uh, me. BUT let’s not poo-poo the options that were available: a beautiful farmers market tomato and mozzarella sandwich on focaccia, a portabello sandwich and (my choice) the Greek salad.
Black-eyed pea salad
I loved my salad. Loved it. It doesn’t look like much but the flavors were perfect and it was really filling, too.
Dining with other bloggers is always fun because no one looks out of place doing this:
Work it, Julie.
Happy birthday, Mary!
Toast, watermelon, blueberries
It must be nice to live in California. Beautiful weather, beautiful people, beautiful beaches and vineyards and mountains. Plus, the food. I mean… mostly the food. Priorities.
I’ve always wanted to live in California even though I’ve never so much as visited. It’s become an unhealthy obsession, I think.
Did you know that California produces more than half of our country’s food supply? From the California Department of Food and Agriculture: “California’s agricultural abundance includes more than 400 commodities. The state produces nearly half of U.S.-grown fruits, nuts and vegetables. Across the nation, U.S. consumers regularly purchase several crops produced solely in California.”
*Crops for which California is the sole producer (99% or more) are listed in bold.
That must be nice. Even when you buy the cheapest, most pesticide-ridden produce from, say, Walmart, if you’re in California at least it was produced right there and didn’t journey across the country to get to you.
Far.a.way.
California produces some beautiful food–some that we probably couldn’t grow elsewhere like pomegranates–but they don’t produce the only food. And that’s why I’m throwing myself into a weeklong local food experiment.
California’s great and all but they ain’t got nothin’ on the Carolinas. See that table above? Sole producer of peaches, California? Au contraire.
As of late, I’ve been doing most of my shopping at Trader Joe’s because it’s close and it’s cheap. Most of what I get there is produced in California, Chile or Mexico, none of which are close to my house. I do buy organic only but it doesn’t change the fact that the food traveled an unnecessarily long way to get to me, a fact that I know full well is not in line with my food ethics. And all the while my dear local farmers are busting their butts in this hundred-degree heat to grow many of the same foods right here in my own backyard.
It’s high time I started supporting them.
And so, starting tomorrow, I declare this Carolina Week in my kitchen. I will only eat foods produced here in the Carolinas, which means no more coconut butter or oil or water. No oranges or olives or bananas or my beloved Trader Joe’s sunflower butter. I’ll trade almond milk for milk milk (yikes). I’ll use butter instead of olive oil. I’ll probably go a little bit crazy.
I’m not saying it’s inherently bad to eat foods imported from outside your neck of the woods. It’s a beautiful thing that we can get whatever we want whenever we want. But I think that for me, I’m just curious to see what it would look like to not have that option. I think that when it’s all said and done, I’ll also learn to better appreciate those foods that come from far away.
I’ve already stocked up on rice from South Carolina, peanut butter from North Carolina and am out the door on my way to the farmers market for produce galore. It’ll be an adventure and I’m looking forward to learning a little and eating a lot.
It’s funny how easy it is to purchase and eat foods that were produced thousands of miles away without batting an eye and yet a week of local eating (arguably the simpler of the two options) feels like an adventure. Honestly, the local Carolina food culture is more foreign to me than the pretty packages of food shipped around the world to the grocery store shelves. So I’m looking forward to learning more while exploring this strange place called home.
Curried tempeh stuffed peppers
I go through a lot of dishes. I generally have to bake, roast, saute and broil everything that I eat for each meal. If I could do this using magical invisible dishes, I would. Believe me, I would. Despite tediously assembling each meal (and then washing mountains of dirtied kitchenware), most of what I consume is prepped and in my face in about 15 minutes flat. Take that, Rachel Ray and your 30-minute meals.
After a full day off and a nice afternoon bike ride, I wasn’t feeling the 15-minute meal. I wanted something a little more complicated with a few more layers and a bit more cook time. Enter: curried tempeh stuffed peppers with roasted red pepper tahini sauce.
Whew. Takes a while just to say it.
Roasted red pepper tahini sauce
The tahini sauce comes from Bittman’s How to Make Everything Vegetarian and the stuffed peppers come from my mind and whatever I had in the fridge.
Let’s do this, shall we?
| Curried Tempeh Stuffed Peppers |
|
Do it.
Five words: To.ma.to.gray.vee.
Alright. I’m either thrilled or furious that I learned on Sunday morning that I’ve gone 26 freaking years without knowing that tomato gravy exists. Thrilled that I found out, furious that I’ve missed out my entire life.
I thought things had been bad-ish lately but being made aware of the mere existence of this magical elixir has me dancing on rainbows, I’ll tell you what.
Perhaps you already know about tomato gravy. And to you I say: WHY DIDN’T YOU TELL ME THIS. I had to wait around for Early Girl to show me what’s what in the world of gravy. And for that I am eternally grateful. For you, I have a spot on my shit list. You should have told me.
Early Girl
There was more to my meal, I think… something about tofu scramble with peas and mushrooms and spinach.
Tofu scramble at Early Girl, Asheville NC
Or maybe I was just taking shots of tomato gravy. It’s hard to say. I blacked out.
Does anyone want to go to Asheville… right now?
Not this one...
I love yoga. This is no secret. But I especially love hot yoga. There’s something so cathartic, so cleansing, so rewarding about a practice that leaves you feeling completely used up. There is nothing quite like collapsing on the mat into a pool of sweat at the end of class after giving 90 minutes of everything you have to give. It’s the absolute best thing I do every day.
The other day after savasana my teacher said this: “Your cup is empty now. Be mindful of what you put back in it. You always get a second chance.”
After a really intense class, my cup is most certainly empty. I love being physically, mentally and emotionally drained. It’s like cleaning a slate and starting over every time I practice. And as my teacher has also explained, the point of doing the physical poses (asanas) is to distract us from our thoughts, to pull us out of our minds and into a sort of meditation through movement.
As is often the case, life mimics what happens on the mat. Right now, at a time when so much in my life is so empty–my bank account, my home, my heart–I find myself feeling a little helpless… or hopeless. But then I remember the rest of those words…
“Be mindful of what you put back in it. You always get a second chance.”
I’m at a point now in my life where I have nothing left to lose because, honestly, I feel like I really have nothing at all. On the flip side, though, I have a chance to refill my cup in any way I see fit. I have a clean slate. I always have a second chance and I’m in complete control.
What I’ve learned in my short time practicing yoga is that it is a safe place for me. It’s a place for me to take refuge, to escape my thoughts and to empty my cup, as it were, so that I can fill it back up again.
I’ll be mindful of what I put back in this time.
Corn cakes for the win.
Despite some overall ups and downs and do’s and don’ts, my birthday really was very enjoyable. Especially the food part.
Food in Asheville is an all around win for a vegetarian. With a number of dedicated vegetarian restaurants and ample veggie options everywhere else, Asheville’s dining scene sets the non-meat eaters up for an enjoyable time. Do you know how truly thrilling it is to open a menu and be able to eat everything on it if you want to? Of course you do. You probably eat meat. So as a non-meat eater, let me make you aware of how lucky you are. It’s an amazing feeling, that ‘I’LL HAVE ONE OF EVERYTHING’ moment.
I tried to convince myself to try a new restaurant but so long as Laughing Seed is an option, that’s where you’ll find me any time I’m in Asheville.
My chicken nugget-loving little sister said she was game for anything and that we should go wherever I wanted. This was wherever I wanted.
We started with spinach and artichoke dip and the veggie pakora of the day.
Spinach artichoke dip
Veggie pakora
So good.
Honestly, with the three cocktails we already had in us, we probably could have stopped there. But no, we pressed on…
She had the Low Country Roll Ups–sweet and tangy tofu barbecue wrapped in whole-wheat tortillas, baked with Monterey Jack cheese, and topped with tahini mustard sauce. Served with brown rice and southern slaw–and I had the Shitake Corn Cakes–delicately flavored organic potato cakes with shiitake mushrooms, fresh corn, and cashews, served on a bed of mixed greens tossed with basil-balsamic vinaigrette, haricots verts, and toasted almonds topped off with house smoked tomato jam and cashew cream. I die.
Low country roll ups
Shitake corn cakes
I’m happy to report that my sister loved everything. She says she usually hesitates to get vegetarian food because she doesn’t think it will fill her up. Now she knows better because you practically had to roll us out of there.
Don’t worry, we found room for this:
Raspberry chocolate cheesecake
What’s a birthday without cake, right?
Laughing Seed is hands down my absolute favorite restaurant in Asheville… possibly the world. If you’re ever in town, now you know where to go. And who to call.
Special thanks to my mom and dad for treating us to dinner. Wish they could’ve been there, too.
Whole Foods. DO. Duh.
My birthday weekend was a little bit interesting. In case I ever find myself in this situation again, I’d like to have a little how-to (and how not to) guide for surviving.
Should I need to reference this at some point in the future, my 26th birthday went something like this:
Do eat at Whole Foods even though there are a million other local places you miss in Greenville.
Yes and no.
Do not eat at Whole Foods with your as-of-less-than-a-week-ago ex boyfriend and expect that you will leave happy.
Especially do not try to hold his hand, you idiot. He will pull away.
Do not go to Asheville without him and stay in the hotel room that he paid for and couldn’t cancel and expect that you will at any point throughout the visit not feel like a shitty person. Even if he insisted.
Do, however, bring your little sister if you ignore the don’t above.
Little sister... yes.
Do seek out cats…
CATS ARE A YES
And this dog…
HAHAHA
Do not buy this hat.
Nope.
Do ogle the exotic spices and teas.
Do look. Do not touch.
But do not buy them because you are broke.
Do drink this:
Mayfelade
And this.
And this.
Do not be classy.
Shmassy.
Do wish you lived here:
Yes, please. Approved.
Do not forget this:
Right.
I think that about sums it up.
It's MY birfday now, beetch.
Hello and happy Caturday: Birthday Edition. I’ve learned that even though the cats have their own birthday in May, they’ve chosen to hijack mine, too. Just look how hungover these drunkards are from my their birthday part last night:
Pleeeease, I need hashbrowns.
I'll never drink again.
Weaz says that now but just eight short hours ago she looked like this:
Mmm vodka, you are my best friend.
I tried to talk her out of her fourth pint glass of vodka but… by that point telling her anything but “WE’RE GOING TO TACO BELL, WEAZ” pretty much falls on deaf ears.
In hindsight the chalupa was a mistake
Ralph can control her drinking better than Weaz but it doesn’t stop her from being a big ol’ bitch to my guests. Just look at this:
HEEEY. I hate you.
She also tried to get in Julie’s purse (no doubt to steal her wallet) and didn’t get me a present.
I will not apologize.
Plus, I got you these apples?
I GOT YOU THESE.
No she didn’t. My mom sent those. Weaz definitely didn’t get me anything. In fact… she steals things from me most of the time. Behold:
Nothing to see here...
GIMME DAT.
Didn’t know it was my birthday? How awkward for you. Here are some last-minute gift ideas:
Want.
Need.
Ship them to: c/o Weaz, Caturday Headquarters, Charlotte NC.
Anyway, looks like I’m off to nurse these hungover felines back to life. After that I’m headed to Asheville with my little sister.
Me too.
No… she’s not.
Happy Caturday to all and to all a good… shot?
Blueberry lemon cupcakes
What a night! I’m drowning in sugar, alcohol and dishes but I felt it necessary to recap my most fantastic little birthday party.
I set a “no boys allowed” rule and girlified the hell out of the whole event. Cupcakes and cocktails was the name of the game and we threw in some cats for good measure.
Thanks, Weaz.
I was so happy (grateful?) that Kelly, Jessie, Caitlin, Marian (get a blog WINK), Jen, Rachael (get a blog WINK), Julie, Jen and Sara were able to make it. I’ll avoid getting too terribly sentimental except to say that at a time when I feel really alone and miserable, I did not feel at all alone or miserable tonight. In fact, I was surprised and delighted that people came and also to find that I can fit 10 people + two cats into my little apartment. Bring on the parties…
The spread
Cards from family. You see a theme?
Lemon blueberry cupcakes
Strawberry cupcakes
Veggies and dip
Fruit from Stew, a tradition
Julie's chocolate coconut cake
Rachael's berry rhubarb pie
I made two batches of vegan gluten-free cupcakes, which I’ll post about later, and a lemon drop champagne cocktail from Martha Stewart, which I will not post about later because there are no pictures… so here. Julie brought an incredible chocolate cake with vegan coconut frosting and an ENTIRE CHOCOLATE BAR BAKED INSIDE. Rachael made a killer berry pie. And I have more lovely bottles of wine than I know what to do with.
Julie, Jessie and Jen
Jen and Kelly
What a wonderful night. I feel like I belong here. I feel like I am home. I feel like 26 will be a good year.
Especially because this photo exists:
HAHAHA
My house smells like broccoli at all times.
Natural sunlight on a white desk is doing amazing things for my lunches. Isn’t she pretty? That’s roasted broccoli, a baked sweet potato, Dr. Praeger burger and a flawless avocado from Trader Joe’s. I had the same thing for dinner.
Similarly, staying dizzyingly busy is doing amazing things for my sanity. Today I went nonstop from 5am to right now. It went something like: read.work.drive.test.oil.drive.groceries.cupcakes.CATS.work.home.
A lot of people have been asking how I’m doing. Right now only nighttime sucks. And it sucks hard, let me tell you. But the days… they’re not so bad as long as I stay soul-numbingly occupied. Today felt especially “on,” if you will. I wrapped up my stats class with a final that I don’t think was so terrible. I got my oil changed like an adult. I stocked up on supplies for my birthday party tomorrow and made two batches of cupcakes that do not appear to be terrible. A little bird dropped the yoga teacher training idea in my head again (now is just still not the time for me, I’m afraid). My friend Sandwich (yes we call her Sandwich and no I won’t explain it any more; gotta keep up, son!) sent me a little love in the form of this song today. And I’m about to pass out and wake up to an early-morning yoga class.
I’m doing ok.
Uhhh
I’m an equal opportunity eater. Meals are not selected based on race, sex, age, handicap, religion, national origin or with any regard to appropriate food pairing.
That is how this happens:
Stuffed zucchini, masala burger and refried beans
Yes, you saw right. That’d be a stuffed zucchini, masala burger and refried beans plopped in one skillet for one meal. Italy, India and Mexico living together in peaceful dissonance.
Why can’t the world be more like my kitchen?
Healthy banana fig cookies... meatballs.
So they’re not the prettiest cookies around (ok maybe they look like meatballs), but don’t write these little guys off just yet.
A clean, simple ingredient list that’s refined flour- and sugar-free means they function just as well for breakfast as they do for dessert.
You’ll find the recipe (which I cut into thirds) here. I also used figs instead of dates, which I thought was a perfect fit.
Don't judge us.
Don’t judge a book by its cover cookie by its meatballish looks.
Miss Katie's cookie
I had a long and eventful day. Moving directly from one activity/obligation to the next was, I think, the best thing for me today. Keeping busy keeps me distracted. I need that right now.
My day went something like this:
My favorite part of the whole day was this exchange at the cookie decorating class (I was helping Miss Julie out with a volunteer project she put together):
Student 1: I don’t really like sugar though…
Student 2: Girl please, you love honey buns.
In my head: [HAHAHAHAHAHAH. OWNED.]
Student 2: Seriously, Miss Katie. We went to Myrtle Beach this weekend. You should have seen this girl GO AT a honey bun.
In my head: [HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA. HONEY BUNS.]
Miss Katie: Honey buns are pretty good.
Miss Julie knows what's up.
God I love kids.
Julie did an incredible job putting this event together for the kids. She is a teacher by day, baker extraordinaire by night, and while I’ve eaten my fair share of her insane baked goods, I’d never seen her with her teaching hat on. She’s got skills, I’ll tell you that.
Julie used an intro pastry bag technique class as a medium for showing (and telling) the kids that they can be anything they want to be when they grow up if they just set their minds to it, even bakers and pastry chefs.
They used sugar and sprinkles to make duck cookies…
Sugar. Honey buns. Yes.
Duck cookies!
And then got crazy with their own designs.
Proud cookie artist
So excited
Cookies all around
It was nice to spend some time outside my own life for a bit. My mom always says when you’re sad that you should do something nice for someone else.
Mother knows best, right?
A pleasant surprise at the end of the day was running into my older brother at the mall. His lone white dress shirt was wrinkled and rather than iron it for a wedding he’s attending this weekend, he was buying a new one. Sounds about right. We made an impromptu pizza run and it made.my.day.
PS – You love honey buns.
Mint chocolate green smoothie
Fact: I am completely out of control. The mint-chocolate obsession love session rages on!
First I made mint chocolate iced coffee and then mint chocolate brownies. And now… a mint chocolate green smoothie that is making.my.life.
If this little love affair is wrong, I don’t want to be right…
| Mint Chocolate Green Smoothie |
Make this. Make it now.
Homemade solo tortilla
Sometimes you just need one tortilla. Is that so much to ask? Judging by the 8, 12, 24, 48 and higher count packages I see in the store, I’d say yes.
So here’s what I’ve done… I created a solo (or sola?) tortilla recipe for when you, you know, need one tortilla. Can’t think of a time when you’d need just one tortilla? What’s wrong with you? When you’re making a Mexican pizza, duh!
Duh.
This recipe stemmed more from desperation when I had neither bread nor bread-like substances in the house and less from a dire need for just one lonely tortilla. But hey, it worked. And I found on round two that it made a lovely crust for a Mexican pizza. So here you go…
| Una Tortilla |
|
For the Mexican pizza I made batter for one solo tortilla and pre-baked it on a greased cookie sheet for about 8 minutes on 350 degrees. Then I topped it with salsa, refried beans, spinach and cheese and baked another 8 minutes or so.
Tortilla time
Tortilla pizza time.
This is what I do.
It took three hours 34 minutes and 34 seconds to end our three-year relationship. One phone call last night, not good. Another today, better. If better is what this is.
My idea at first, mutual by the end. The end.
It was equal parts heart-wrenching and relieving, as much my fault as his. At first a slow, painful staccato. Short bursts of emotion, silence, emotion, silence. But we got into a rhythm–confide, listen, confer, confide, listen, confer–and things started to make sense.
The final consensus was that we’d rather take a break now, realize we were wrong and come back together than stay together, realize we were wrong and end up apart.
There is no anger, no animosity, no way in hell this really just happened. I’m proud of the way we handled it. Mature and with respect. Respect for the other person and for the time and energy we’ve put into the relationship.
I truly believe we’ll come back together when the time is right and when we’ve accomplished what we need to individually. That’s what I want to happen.
For now I’m going to stand in the kitchen cooking entirely too much food because I don’t know what else to do. Today, appropriately enough, is independence day.
www.youtube.com/sweettaterblog
While the rest of the country is out gallivanting about the beach, blowing things up and eating lukewarm potato salad that’s been in the sun entirely too long, I made this video about salad.
You are so very welcome.
The video is part of a new Q&A series I’m doing to respond to reader questions that come my way. The first is from Danielle and she writes:
Thanks for the question, Danielle! I hope this helps.
You’ll find answers at my Sweet Tater Blog YouTube channel. Upcoming video responses:
OK, so maybe I added one…
Anyway, if you’ve got a burning question, feel free to send it along to sweettaterblog@gmail.com. I’ve got a growing list but I’ll do my best to get to everything.
Oh, and because someone will inevitably make a fuss…
Disclaimer: I am not a medical professional or counselor. Opinions in this video do not replace medical advice. See your doctor, Registered Dietitian or counselor for treatment.
Mint chocolate brownies
I am on a mint-chocolate rampage for which I will not apologize.
It just makes so much sense. After a meal I always want one of two things: gum or chocolate. Combined, the two are a force to be reckoned with, which is why mint chocolate brownies are an excellent idea.
Yes.
I used this recipe from Oh She Glows but used dried figs instead of dates and brown sugar + some rice milk (to make up for the loss of liquid) instead of maple syrup (because I didn’t have any on hand). I also added dark chocolate mints. Oh yes I did. Next time I’d add mint extract to the batter. And I want to play around with making my own dark chocolate mint layer. Delusions of grandeur…
I think my oven is waaaa-aaaay hotter than it’s supposed to be so I overcooked mine. BUT they are still good. AND they go quite nicely with this…
Mint chocolate overload
Happy summer. Happy summer, indeed.
Mint chocolate iced coffee
The idea for this drink sprang from my nasty little habit of chugging my iced coffee in the car on the way to wherever I am late to, post-tooth brushing.
Drinking hot coffee with a hint of toothpaste aftertaste is gag-inducing. Maybe it’s just me, but iced coffee with a lingering minty aftertaste is pretty pleasing. So I decided to do it on purpose this time.
| Mint Chocolate Iced Coffee |
Oh, and wouldn’t you know it? I’m late right now and chugging this coffee post-tooth brushing. How appropriate.
Crescent lunge (Photo courtesy of Wanda Koch)
You know how you watch America’s Next Top Model and the whole time you’re judging the hell out of the contestants like: “STOP LOOKING LIKE AN IDIOT. HAVING YOUR PICTURE TAKEN ISN’T THAT HARD. WHY CAN’T YOU BE MORE LIKE TYRA??” No? Just me? Oh…
Well anyway, having never taken professional photos until yesterday, I am here to report that it is that hard. It’s hard to know what to do, when to do it and how you look doing so. It’s also sweaty. Very sweaty. Oh, and FUN.
Yesterday I had the pleasure of working with the wonderful and talented Wanda Koch on a fun little yoga photo shoot. In jeans. Do you know how hard it is to do THIS in jeans?
Pigeon (Photo courtesy of Wanda Koch)
I do.
We shot for about two hours and I had a blast the whole time. Wanda was so fun to work with, gave great direction, put me at ease and, I think, made me look awesome, which is the end goal of a photo shoot, isn’t it?
Eagle (Photo courtesy of Wanda Koch)
So now, if nothing else, perhaps I’ll stop yelling at my TV when another America’s Next Top Model contestant freezes in front of the camera.
www.wandakoch.com
Shh, Weaz is studying.
We here at Caturday would like to express our sincerest disgust for the fact that it is all of the sudden freaking JULY. When did this happen? Where did June go? And, hell, May for that matter? The last thing I remember I was getting ready for finals. Then I blacked out and woke up in Charlotte… in July… and Ralph looks like this:
Tail.
Good thing Weaz is here to hold down the fort and get me through my classes.
It's the square root of blah blah fleh fleh nrrr alpha pi booger.
[That is honest to God what my stats professor sounds like to me. Gibberish, I tell you.]
I got this.
Good thing Weaz got this.
SO… something very important. Remember all those times (ok that one time) I told you Ralphie looks like Toothless from How to Train Your Dragon? Well, I have more evidence.
AAAAHAHAHAHA
AAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAA. I can’t even stand it. Cackling away in my bed. HAHAHA.
Emo Ralph is offended and angsty.
I really shouldn’t make fun of Ralph. Really. Time for serious time on Caturday… Poor Ralphus has been seriously stressed out since the move. Stressed out to the point that she’s taken to gnawing on her right paw until it bleeds. I don’t know what to do with her but she seems to be calming down over time.
Because Ralph was a rescue (you can read about that whole story–and see baby Weaz pictures!–here), I am hyper aware of her stress level. She was a mangy, pregnant mess when I found her but she did still have a collar on, which tells us she belonged to someone at one time… which tells me she’s always a little bit terrified of getting dumped again. Needless to say, cat carriers, car trips, vet trips and moves do not bring the little nugget joy. She’ll be fine but I hate causing her any sort of distress. I think she needs a cat therapist.
Seriously though.
Anybody else have a severely neurotic pet you can tell me about to make me feel like less of a pet owner failure?
Oh, and Weaz’s mental state since we moved? She probably doesn’t know we moved. Not the quickest one, that Weaz. She was the runt after all.
Spilling this.
I’ll tell you. Most recently, I’ve been spilling this green smoothie all OVER my new white desk.
Behold:
:-/
Before that I was getting my makeup did…
Heeeeeey
And before that I was practicing some new poses.
I don't know what this is called.
All this because I have a yoga photo shoot in T-minus, uhhh, THIRTY MINUTES. It all makes sense now.
The makeup makes me feel a little very ridiculous. I suppose my idea of “a natural look” is very, very different from that of a makeup artist. At any rate, it’s on and I’m not taking it off.
I’ll be “styled” in beat up jeans and a tank, which I think will be awesome. So, if you’ll excuse me, I’m off to do some awkward looking squats and lunges so I can actually move in this denim.
I don't so much use these...
So… a question I get often is: What do you eat?
This turns into “What should I eat?” It may not sound like rocket science, but the trick to being healthy without thinking about it doesn’t have so much to do with what you eat but with what you buy. If you stock your house with processed garbage, snack food galore and assorted other nonsense you don’t need, then those are the things you will eat. I don’t know why people ask me things like, “How do you not eat DORITOS??” Because I don’t buy Doritos. Also because Doritos suck.
The point I’m trying to make is that if you build and maintain and well-stocked healthy kitchen, you yourself will become a healthy person.
What you’ll notice in my kitchen:
These two things are, in my opinion, far more important than the nutrition label. Almost everything I eat has to be prepared by me in some way. I find that this gives me more control over what goes in my body and also gives me a chance to play in the kitchen, which is what I love to do. I also go through a lot of dishes, which I do not love to do.
Without further ado… I’m experiencing what we in retail would call “low inventory” over here but… here’s what I’m working with:
The pantry.
The foundation.
On this shelf (labeled, duh):
The extras.
On this shelf (alphabetized, duh):
The flair.
On this shelf:
The BEANS (and snacks).
On this shelf:
The... wine.
Barren.
In the fridge:
"Meat" drawer
Veggie drawer
Fruit drawer
The BEST.
On the baking shelf:
The oil.
I use grapeseed oil for cooking because of its mild flavor and high smoke point. I also use a Misto filled with the same for spraying pans.
Oh! And in the freezer:
It might look a little empty but I promise you that the meals you see here come from this supply. It’s amazing what you can throw together with a little creativity and a lot of NO MONEY.
If you’re trying to stock a healthy kitchen, my best advice is to be patient and do it a little bit at a time. Get a cookbook you like and trust and start making things from it. As you try new things, you’ll be forced to buy new things. At first, you’ll cringe at the cost of certain spices and oils but soon you’ll find that you don’t use the entire container in one recipe and that, my friends, is how you stock your kitchen slowly but surely over time.
Sunflower butter sauce
Here’s a sneaky little trick for a super simple sauce (alliteration!) that comes together in seconds.
You can use any nut or seed butter you’d like, but in our house sunflower butter reigns supreme so that’s what I used.
You’ll need one banana and about a tablespoon of the good stuff. Combine in a food processor until smooth.
Tah dah
I had it this morning over toasted muffins–one zucchini and one banana millet.
Ain’t nothing wrong with a glob of nut butter on its own. But if you eat half of this sauce you’re adding a serving of fruit and a good bit of fiber while thinning out the fat and calories in your buttah.
As a banana-based sauce, this won’t hold up long against oxidative browning. I still store it in the fridge for about a day and just ignore the fact that it starts to change colors. Tastes the same! Don’t judge me.
Orange serbert. Yes, sir.
Today I feel like Charlotte is my home. It wasn’t anything specific or special, just a series of everyday ordinary events that felt… right?
I went to a team meeting at the store. Went to class. Learned I get to use a notecard for formulas on tomorrow’s test. Glory glory hallelujah. A+ on your performance evaluation, professor man. Way to make.my.life. Made a stop at the garden to see how things are trucking along. Walked away with a bigass zucchini and a yellow squash, too. I love vegetables. Back home for lunch. Quick run. Lovely view.
Hey Charlotte.
Aerial fitness with lululemon ladies.
Skillz
TCBY with Charlotte Food Bloggers.
This is cool now apparently?
Orange sorbet, cake batter and fruit
Remember when TCBY was totally washed up and irrelevant? Well I’m here to tell you THEY’RE BACK, BITCHES. They’ve got a snazzy new logo, self-serve yogurt machines, toppings galore and are giving all those trendy new yogurt shops a run for their money with that orange sorbet.
Tastes just like the Flintstones orange push pops of my youth.
You know what I'm saying.
So anyway, I feel good. I feel like I’m home. I have responsibilities. And I have people. Getting settled, not settling. Remember?
And with that… I’m getting booted out of Starbucks. Off to somewhere less lame to study the night away.
Banana millet muffin and grapes
Do you follow Simply Breakfast? You simply… should.
Sommmmebody only got 5 hours of sleep last night. I was too giddy with excitement about having the next three days OFF. Well, next three days minus this meeting I woke up ass early for. Three days minus the class I have today. And the test I have tomorrow.
You may be wondering: Didn’t you just go to New York? To which I would respond: Whatever, Trevor!
I need these days off to find another job. You follow?
SO… yesterday I decided to write down some things that were good in my life in that moment. I’m sick of complaining (and hearing other people complain too, heeeey). It went something like this:
Things that are awesome 6/28/11
What’s good in your life these days? More importantly… what’s for breakfast?
Ehhhhh
I’m doing videos now. No script like the failed Sweet Tater Talks. Just rambling. Mostly I’m bored and lonely and feel like I need to speak to someone other than Ralph and Weaz, but I also have decided that if I have dreams of ever doing TV-related things, I need to be in front of a camera. Even if it’s a web cam.
I’d much rather write my every last communication than speak my jumbled thoughts, and I’ve always been that way. I hate talking on the phone, talking in person… talking on camera. Writing is so much stronger… and easier… and safer. When I was little I’d write 5-paragraph essays to my parents explaining how I’d make a perfectly responsible and adept cat owner. It’s true.
So yeah. Let’s do this.
If you’d like to submit a question to be addressed via video post, email sweettaterblog@gmail.com, comment, tweet, orrrrr call me? Just kidding. Never call me.
Hummus Frummus Salad
Perhaps it’s just that I’ve ceased eating out (and have been rationing my groceries at that) now that I’m broke and living alone, but when Stew visited over the weekend and wined and dined me I declared that everything I ate was the “best thing I ever ate.”
We ate at Cantina one night which is always the best thing I’ve ever eaten until I eat so much I want to die. Then we had the best pizza in Charlotte. And now I’ll tell you about the best bloody Mary in Charlotte, too…
Zada Jane's bloody Mary
It occurs to me only now in writing this that bloody Marys are almost never vegetarian because they almost always call for worchestire sauce, which almost always contains anchovies. Whew. Too late now.
Eeep
Zada Jane’s does offer a lot of vegetarian and vegan options so maybe, just maybe their worchestire sauce is vegan, too. Who knows? Who cares? It was so.damn.good.
Yep yep yep
I actually don’t drink bloody Marys. I’ve never ordered one. I just sip Stew’s and say: “That’s good but I’d never drink an entire one by myself.”
Not only would I drink an entire Zada Jane’s bloody Mary by myself… I’d drink two JUST to get my hands on the pickled okra that comes in it. Then I’d drink two more for good measure. And vodka.
I might also eat. And if I did, I’d eat this salad again:
Tofu, hummus, tabbouleh
Cheesy
When I was in college I was (are you ready?) Vice President of Programming for the Student Activities Board. (Nerd alert!) I pretty much made all my friends in that organization, ate and slept in our office and spent the better part of my college career planning fun things for other people to do. It’s what I do. We followed Robert’s Rules of Order, which was pretty maddening, and once during a particularly heated debate about something probably so inconsequential as whether or not to go with light blue or dark blue t-shirts, I burst out into some tirade about starving children in Africa. Again, it’s what I do.
Anyway, at one time we were planning to do a showing of Supersize Me. Our movies were always free for students and included popcorn and soda. At this particular movie, however, the committee decided they wanted to serve hamburgers. Frigging hamburgers. From McDonald’s. At a documentary about how McDonald’s is killing America. I don’t even think I was in the country at the time (I was too busy getting dysentery in South America… another story for another time) but I made it to a computer lab to type up a RANT of an email about what a stupid idea it was to serve fast food at a documentary crucifying the fast food industry.
All this to say… yesterday I went to see Forks Over Knives, the documentary about Dr. Colin Campbell and Dr. Caldwell Esselstyn’s research in strong support of a vegan diet as the life-saving solution to most of the world’s most deadly preventable diseases, and then I ate cheese pizza.
Why is this theater so old?
Forks Over Knives
I am a big fan of Colin Campbell (and his book The China Study) and of Esselstyn’s work as well. Perhaps I’ll dive into my position on that matter some other time when I have more than 30 minutes before I have to leave for work.
For now, let’s just talk about the best pizza I’ve had in Charlotte to date…
What that says...
It feels a little wrong to identify a franchise (a new-to-Charlotte franchise at that) as the best pizza I’ve had so far in Charlotte. But my mouth will not tell a lie. Not about pizza anyway.
Originally from New Orleans and now settling in to the Queen City, The Italian Pie left me feeling pleasantly surprised. The menu is enormous, vegetarian options plentiful and patio dining perfect for a late post-movie southern summer evening.
We started with the hummus and sun-dried tomato spread…
Oh flash...
And I had a salad. And we got two pizzas: roasted eggplant and spinach & artichoke. (Lay off. We were trying to fill up a $30 minimum on a Groupon…)
It was fantastic. Plus, they botched the order and made us a large instead of a small. Hello, leftovers for the broke girl. I’ll take it.
I don’t know if they ever did hand out those damn hamburgers at the movie in college. I’m sure my friends will fill us in. That organization is all we ever talk about.
Baked honey mustard tempeh sticks
I have never ever in my life been a fan of honey mustard. Nothing about pouring a thick, sweet, yellow sauce on a salad appeals to me. That is, of course, until one fateful homemade salad dressing mishap yielded the opposite of what I wanted to create yet ended up as a Caturday Headquarters favorite. Now the only dressing we eat in our house is homemade honey mustard. You know what’s in it? Honey… and mustard… and some oil.
Stew and I used to whip it up daily for salads and earlier this week I had the brilliant idea of using it as a marinade for baked tempeh sticks.
Perfect meal
I would like to take a bow, pat myself on the back and victoriously thrust a celebratory kitten into the air, for this was an excellent idea.
I smothered my tempeh in honey mustard and baked it for about 10-12 minutes on 375 degrees until golden brown. Then I served it with red quinoa, roasted broccoli, sweet potato and hummus for a perfect meal.
Smoothie in a bowl, why did I forget you?
Several old favorites have re-entered my life this weekend:
Heeeey
Doesn’t he look comical in that tiny kitchen? I think so. But someone washing your dishes for you when you are without a dishwasher is no laughing matter. It’s an oh-my-god-THANK-YOU matter.
Yesterday was lululemon Charlotte’s big grand opening event and we offered 8 straight hours of complimentary fitness classes at the mall. I was on the planning team so I got to get in on all the action.
luuuuluuuuleeeemonnnn
And by “get in on all the action” I mean “take two yoga classes and a pilates class.” It’s a tough job I have. I’m so sore today it’s a little bit pitiful. And I’m not quiet about it either. This is what I get for doing nothing physical the last month.
Anywho, my first Charlotte visitor and I are off to drag my aching body around the neighborhood for a little walk. But not before he washes my dishes, offers to do my laundry and sets up my new TV antennae (because I refuse to buy cable… or Internet). Swoon.
| Sweet Tater Green Smoothie |
Me, Weaz
Perhaps on this lovely Caturday morning you are thinking to yourself, “WHAT has Weaz been up to since Ralphie got the lion cut? I mean, that lion cut was delightful the first 50 times I saw it but now… WHERE IS WEAZ?”
I’ll tell you. Mostly she’s been sitting on this white couch.
Here I am again.
When she’s tired of sitting on the white couch (which is not even supposed to be white but I ran out of the money necessary to purchase a slipcover, you see) she spends most of her time opening every single cabinet in my entire apartment. This is not a newly acquired skill since the move; she used to open the cabinet under the sink to get her treats. But opening every cabinet every day is definitely new. And annoying.
And then, when she finds time, she also meows. Like howling meows. I think she’s looking for Stew. Sometimes I feel bad for her… but mostly it’s just irritating. She also likes to stare at things I can’t see, which sends me into a panicked oh-my-GOD-is-it-a-bug-or-a-ghost frenzy. I assume it is neither.
It’s true that Weaz has been the star of the Caturday show for the last two years and you are probably missing her but now that Ralphie looks like THIS:
Stop, Ralphie time.
It’s hard not to share a million pictures of her. [Joke's on me! That's my phone hovering entirely too close to her butt in that picture. I don't even know how she got it.]
Fierce
I think she’s been looking for Stew, too. Or Waldo. If I talk in Waldo’s voice (yes, each animal has a different voice; it’s complicated) she looks around for him. She spends most of her life these days in my bed and won’t move for anything but food. And I get a sneaking suspicion she expects me to bring that to her… in my bed.
Puh-lease shut the hell up.
But wait, can you feed me first?
Time for bed. Big wild fun plans for Saturday.
Bitch please, you're working today.
Crescent lunge
I did not always love yoga. I’ve been pretty open about the fact that back in my work-out-until-you-vomit-and-break-your-body days, I thought yoga was a real joke of an “exercise.” But, my, how my opinion has changed over the past three years (three years??). If you, too, feel like yoga is a joke, I would like to try and persuade to reconsider it and perhaps even give it a try. And this is why:
Now… who’s coming to yoga with me?
Vegan oatmeal raisin cookies w/teff flour
As a dietetics student, self-proclaimed “healthy person,” food blogger and vegetarian with vegan tendencies, every single time I present a baked good to someone, I’m met with the same response:
“So this is vegan? It must be healthy if you made it, right? OK good, I’ll have 1,000…” [insert this here]
My response to this is generally: A cookie is a cookie is a cookie. Vegan or not, it’s a treat and should be, uh, treated as such. It’s a common misconception that vegan (or organic or gluten-free or “natural” or…) foods are “healthier” than other foods. But that’s not necessarily the case.
First off, define healthy. No seriously. Define it. Because it means something different to everyone you talk to. To me it means clean, organic, whole, plant-based foods that taste good and make me feel good. Using my definition then… yes, everything I make is healthy. Even these and these and these and this and these and these. Because to me, part of being healthy is having a healthy mental relationship with food, too. And since guilt, deprivation and fear do not go hand in hand with a healthy relationship with food, nothing is off limits for my healthy diet as defined by me. You follow?
So anyway, most other people I talk to would define healthy as: low-fat, sugar-free, low-carb, etc. In that case, no, nothing I make is healthy.
I do have something, though, that I think can meet both definitions of healthy… or at least run middle of road and meet us both halfway. (Except low-carb. I laugh in the face of low-carb. I hate low-carb. Low.carb.is.stu.pid.)
Presenting:
Super healthy oatmeal raisin cookies
This is a fruity/spicy play on Katie’s healthy chocolate chip cookies and I love them.
| Super Healthy Oatmeal Cookies |
|
Do you have your own definition of healthy? Let’s hear it…
Roberta's - hipsters only
I should’ve known that Brooklyn would be the hipsterest place on Earth, but nothing can quite prepare you for the throngs of moustache-sporting, skinny-jean-wearing, I’ll-wear-these-glasses-even-though-I-have-20/20-vision-and-do-not-require-glasses FOOLS that fill the streets there. I can’t even handle it. It was incredible.
Don’t get me wrong, I like to gawk at hipsters as much as the next person, but when faced with so many of them in real life, I just want to smack them in the head and shout, “YOU LOOK STUPID.”
I digress…
Roberta's, Brooklyn
We ventured into Brooklyn (on foot via the Brooklyn Bridge) in search of a hole-in-the-wall pizza joint that (Roberta’s), we were told, would rock our socks off.
Brooklyn Bridge
Apparently we weren’t the only ones who got the memo that particular Saturday night because we didn’t get a table until like 10:30pm. WORTH IT.
We held ourselves over at the bar with drinks (sangria for me), breadsticks with pesto marinara and hipster watching. Joy to the world.
Sangria
Breadsticks save the day
Yeah, do that.
When it was finally time to eat, we decided to share three pizzas:
Portobello
Cheesus Christ
For the record, all pizzas should come with a drizzle of honey. Truth.
I laid low the rest of the night since I had to be up early for my flight home the next morning but my unstoppable friends got home around 4am.
I had the most amazing time in New York and am so glad I went. If you’d like more of my NYC updates, all you have to do is pay to fly me there and then pay for everything else I do while there. Send inquiries to Weaz. She’ll handle the logistics.
Goodbye, New York
Statue of Liberty from the Brooklyn Bridge
Post Punk Kitchen cornbread
So I’m standing in Trader Joe’s. I just got back from a raucous weekend in New York City. I’m in the bread aisle, so we’re clear. I have approximately $18 in my checking account and I need food for the week. My favorite bread in all the land–Food for Life brown rice–costs exactly one arm and one leg, which, in case you’re wondering is approximately $3.99.
Trader Joe’s brand pita bread, however, is a mere $.149. For EIGHT pitas. I stare at the brown rice bread. Then at the pitas. Brown rice bread… pitas… checking account. Brown rice bread… pitas… OK FINE. PITAS.
So I buy the pita bread and I’m pretty pleased with myself. I eat one–one damn pita–and the next day all of them are moldy. THE NEXT DAY. This is what I get for being frugal. I throw them away and march (quite literally) over to Trader Joe’s to buy, you guessed it, brown rice bread. But before I did that I was, for a brief and terrifying moment, without any bread options at all for last night’s dinner. So I whipped up this vegan cornbread recipe to cover my carb cravings in a pinch.
It's a winner
I used masa harina instead of cornmeal but it did the trick. It’s pretty much the exact same thing just ground differently, am I wrong? Anyway, I like the end product. It pales in comparison to my grandmother’s cornbread, which, in case you’re wondering about that, is the best cornbread in the world and that’s a fact.
Not grandmother's
So the next time you need bread because you went to New York and have no more money left and buy cheap pita instead of the brown rice bread you really want and have to make something yourself but are scared of yeast breads (I’m sure we’ve all been there, right?), give this a try.
Farmers market
Man oh man. Friday into Saturday was a big ol’ blur of Mexican food, cave dancing and gay bars that ended somewhere around 4am.
We ate (and drank) at Dos Caminos, danced the night away at La Caverna and capped the night off at a delightful gay bar called The Tool Box. What.a.night. Let me just say that Tool Box was one of the highlights of the trip because the second we walked in we were surrounded by men. Gay men, sure. But whatever. They bought us shots. I didn’t see any straight men stepping up the rest of the weekend. Just sayin…
We dragged ourselves out of bed around 11am on Saturday and I instantly refueled with a green smoothie and iced coffee.
Nourish me, oh cold things.
And then it was on to brunch at The Mansion.
Aw yay
Miranda, Charlotte and Carrie
The Mansion is a real deal, no frills NYC diner. I felt just like Carrie, Charlotte, Miranda and Samantha meeting up to discuss our sex lives over brunch. Except we were discussing how many gay men hit on us the night before. I think I won with a marriage proposal.
Afterwards we were out and about all over the city:
Subway pros
THIS GUY
BEANS!
Pretty
Rice to Riches
Ya heard?
Our plan for the day was to walk to Brooklyn, which we accomplished hours later. It was great just walking around the city and really taking it all in.
One particularly heavy stop along the way was Ground Zero.
Freedom Tower construction
This may make me sound like a terrible person, but I honestly didn’t expect to be moved by the site. After all, it’s been a decade since the tragedy and I had no immediate connections to anyone involved. But standing there in that construction zone where the two towers once stood, I was overcome by emotion I didn’t know I had in me. My heart beat faster, my eyes filled with tears and my jaw fell open as I gazed up at what should have been the World Trade Center. I never saw the towers, of course, and while I’m sure they were a sight to behold, the immensity of their absence is an equally profound–albeit more horrifying–image to take in. It’s an interesting place to be, Ground Zero. You can see New York has moved forward–Freedom Tower is inching skyward, there are hotdog vendors on the street corners, people fill the sidewalks. But you can also still see flames and bodies falling from the sky and that horrible gray ash. I don’t think that image will ever go away. It was silly to think that site wouldn’t mean anything to me. It would mean the same thing to any American who stood there.
Manhattan from the Brooklyn Bridge
Tea and soft serve
I don’t get sick very often (I believe the last time was a mild cold over the holidays when I was home for Christmas), but when I do, oh is it ever an event.
I’m a terrible, terrible patient, which is something I’m sure my mom will confirm after years of the flu and chicken pox and whatever else little kids are always spreading around to each other on blocks and dolls and other things that do not belong in the mouth.
Anyway, I’m difficult. I refuse to take medicine. I just whine and whine until someone offers to do something for me at which point I say, No thanks, and carry on with my whining. I guess I just want people to know I’m miserable. I also cry. I think I just feel bad for myself. Aahaha, it’s pitiful, really.
Get well soon
So now I’m alone and have no one to complain to. Not even Ralph and Weaz would stay up late enough to hear me suffer. I slept a good 12 hours and still feel like hell so I’m dragging myself to class and then going from there for the rest of the day. Maybe the echinacea tea and strawberry cold oats I had this morning will work their magical food superpowers and make me better.
I just hope I didn’t get Ralphie sick. We slept 12 hours and I’ve been up another 45 minutes and someone won’t get out of bed…
Bring me some tea.
Chickpea soup and veggie hummus pita
We interrupt these NYC updates for… a ranty rant.
When we were waiting in line for the McQueen exhibit, I noticed this line scrawled across one of the walls:
“And so I built it. And I built it secure and beautiful and adequate, just as I was intending to.”
It comes from Darius the Great (522-486BC) in reference to Persepolis, a palace located in modern-day Iran that, upon its destruction in 331BC, marked the end of the Archaemenid Empire. But I like to think I can apply its sentiment, ever so loosely, to my own life.
Freedom Park, Charlotte NC
Today I threatened (who? myself?) to quit school and go back to being a “real” adult. To get a job and a salary and a savings account. To follow the rules and get back in line.
These outbursts are, not surprisingly, always fueled by money (or lack thereof) and leave me feeling like… a failure. You may be wondering: “Why, then, did you take a trip to NYC at such a time?” And the answer would not be a very good one.
I booked the trip a long time ago. I never get to see my friends. I wanted to go.
So I went, and I’m glad I did. Thanks to my friends carrying more than their fair share of the cab fare weight and Stew bailing me out when things got really ugly, I made it through without trying to pay anyone in quarters.
Coming home, though, alone for the first time since the big move, tired and sick and broke, and wishing very badly that I could get a handle on my life, I started tearing myself apart again. Let me just tell you that being forced to choose between paying to wash clothes at the laundromat or paying for tampons is not a decision I’d wish on anyone and can lead to some serious self evaluation. (PS – I bought the tampons.)
So I’m ranting on and on inside my head… Why is this so hard? Why can’t I get my head above water? Why doesn’t anyone teach you this shit? Why am I wasting my time chasing dreams when all I really need is an income?
Little Sugar Creek Greenway, Charlotte NC
And then it hit me. It hit me like a ton of bricks. Actually, it was more like two little email pop-ups, ever so slight and polite reminding me exactly what I’m doing and that it’s exactly what I should be doing.
The first, from a college friend who thought (out of the blue, I suppose?) that I might like to see an insider tip off she received on “How to Pitch to Charlotte Magazine.” The other, from another college friend who has questions about diabetes management during half-marathon training.
One of my goals for the year is to (successfully) pitch to Charlotte Magazine and end up in print. Another is to finish my Masters and my DPD requirements to become a Registered Dietitian. Sometimes I forget that these are my goals because I can’t see past my bills and dwindling bank accounts. Those emails served as friendly reminders.
So rather than continue beating myself up, I packed up a lunch and headed out on my bike to explore my new town. (Illness be damned!)
I rode through Freedom Park and down Little Sugar Creek Greenway. I thought about Darius and his palace and I thought about me and my life. And I realized this:
There are two great lies the world tells us:
As they say, not all who wander are lost. I am not lost. I am not hopeless. I’m just broke. Worse things have happened to better people, I can assure you. This little life I’ve built for myself is not an accident. It’s secure and it’s beautiful and, most importantly, it’s adequate. Just as I intended it to be. I just have to change my attitude about it.
Secure. Beautiful. Adequate.
I’m actually really happy right now. And doing just fine. I just grapple with a lot of the same things I assume most people my age grapple with. And I like to think that sharing it makes me (and hopefully some of you) feel a little less alone.
“This was her life. Not the life she had once dreamed of, not a life her younger self would ever have imagined or desired, but the life she was living, with all its complexities. This was her life, built with care and attention, and it was good.” – Kim Edwards, The Memory Keeper’s Daughter
Alice's Teacup
Day two in NYC started out slow and steady with a stroll to the Met to see the Alexander McQueen exhibit.
I will not lie to you and pretend like I knew or cared about this exhibit before I got there. I did that to my friends to keep the planning simple and streamlined and then revealed as we were walking in that I had no idea what we were doing or why.
I was harshly judged and then informed that McQueen designed Princess Kate’s dress (among many, many other things). And then I was up to speed and on board.
McQueen exhibit at the Met
I’m sorry, y’all. I can only obsess over so many things at one time and right now cats and food take up most of my free time. Fashion just isn’t on my radar, which explains why I was completely in the dark. However, I will say that I was completely blown away by the collection. It was stunning to say the least. Sadly, photography is not allowed so I suggest you run your little butt up to NYC and check it out (even if you just now know what it is).
Egypt room
The Met is beautiful and CHEAPTOWN. The “suggested” donation is $20 (what do you think I’m made of money??) so I gave… significantly less. If you “suggest” anything to me that involves money at this point in my life, you are going to get less than you asked for. I promise you this.
We took in the view from the rooftop cafe and then hauled it to lunch.
This is my other boyfriend Isaac
Cutey
We ate at one of Sandwich’s most beloved little cafes: Alice’s Tea Cup.
We had to wait like an hour in the rain so the hostess took pity on our sad little souls and delivered some scones to the pavement where we were parked looking all homeless.
Can't take them anywhere.
I had the warm lentil salad with ginger vinaigrette and then curried vegetable soup.
Warm lentil salad
Curried vegetable soup
I was scheming up ways to recreate this meal only to find out later that they give away ALL their secrets in their cookbook. I’m talkin’ everything. Oh glorious day. I need this. Please. Need, not want. It’s on mah wish list (SHAMELESS REQUEST FOR PRESENTS).
I love youuu
We came home from lunch to find Sandwich’s toilet in quite a state:
Hrmmm
This is apparently not uncommon in New York apartments and is caused by someone’s washing machine liquid backing up into another person’s toilet creating great entertainment and delight for visitors from North Carolina.
Tempeh special
It’s been approximately 92 hours since I ate at Candle 79 (but who’s counting, right??) and I’ve had sharp, nagging pangs of desire for that meal approximately every 30 minutes. I suppose I feel similarly to how I did after eating at the McNinch House for our second anniversary: equal parts “I want to eat this every second of my life” and “why, oh whyyy did I expose myself to this because now I want to eat it every second of my life?” Yeah, that sounds about right.
Before dinner, we strolled down The High Line, an old elevated railroad track that was refurbished as a garden walk. It’s incredible.
Lovely
Why yes, I'd love to live here thanks.
Heeeey
The walk dead ends (ever so conveniently) at Tom Colicchio’s latest “restaurant” concept, which is actually a collection of high line food trucks in a lot under the tracks called The Lot on Tap. Incredible. We thought we’d slip in for a quick drink or appetizer before dinner, but the throngs of people waiting in what appeared to be at least a 2-hour wait line made us think otherwise. I’ll be back for you, Tom. You and your little bald head make my heart go pitter-pat.
The girls
The happiest place on earth?
Next to Colicchio’s lot, AOL had some kind of gimmick going no they were calling “The Happiest Place on Earth.” We sneered at it and then went in anyway. It turns out… they were pretty close to being accurate. We found this there:
Cool Haus Ice Cream Sandwich truck
Cool!
We shared a mocha chip ice cream sandwich from the Cool Haus truck, which is a trick we pulled many a time when we wanted to eat but had to business doing so, which is also probably why I’m sick right now.
And then… finally, finally it was dinner time. I’m glad we had to wait it out until almost 10pm for a reservation. It made me feel like I deserved this expensive little treat.
Candle 79 NYC
In case you don’t know (but how could you not?), Candle 79 is a high end vegan wonderland of a restaurant. It’s where the vegan celebrities come to play. The vegan celebrities and ME, sucka. Excuse me while I pat myself on the back… or, uh, Sandwich’s back… because she’s the one that got the reservation.
The chef sent out a plate of nori rolls for the table made of pickled ginger, avocado wasabi, chipotle aioli and tamari ginger sauce.
Vegetable nori rolls
And we ordered Angel’s nachos for the table–corn chips, vegan mozzarella, tomatoes, refried pinto beans, chili-grilled seitan, guacamole, salsa, tofu sour cream and romaine.
Angel's nachos
I fear I ate more than my rightful share of that communal plate. Sorry, guys. I’ll argue that the raspberry margarita I got lowered my inhibitions…
Yeah, boy
Pure Verde tequila, Thatcher’s elderflower, framboise lambic, lime, agave, rocks. So good.
And for dinner… ohhhh for dinner…
I went with the tempeh special: grilled tempeh with pickled seasonal vegetables over yellow tomato gazpacho. In short: incredible.
Do you think they deliver to North Carolina?
Tempeh sandwich and chickpea fries at Peacefood
Assuming it began around age 11 when I first saw Dunston Checks In, my obsession with New York City has raged on for a solid 15 years. I don’t know how I made it to (almost) 26 without ever visiting, but I also don’t know how I ended up doing a lot of things so I figure it’s best to not overanalyze the situation.
Before we go diving into a week’s worth of ranty recaps, a few brief introductions are in order…
The Cast of Characters
Amber
One morning I walked into my sociology of gender class and nonchalantly mentioned that some campus organization was handing out free donuts in the lobby. Amber jumped up from her desk faster than I’ve ever seen her move in her life and bolted for the door. In a twist of sweet, glorious fate, her foot was stuck in her backpack and she fell on her face. In front of the class. Running to get a free donut. It was perfect.
Glanz
Glanz and I spent the better part of our first year out of college unemployed (and subsequently drunk) at the same time. One afternoon we decided to forgo our bar crawl and go to a baseball game. Why? No one knows. We got really into it and made t-shirts and everything. We made it only as far as the stadium parking lot where we proceeded to drink whiskey with nary a sports game in sight. We also adopted a wicker monkey named Pedro from a church rummage sale. He’s a lawyer now and is going to try and sue me for this slander, no doubt.
Sandwich
In four years of college, Sandwich slept a total of approximately 15 minutes. It was impossible to catch the girl off guard since she was always, you know, awake. Unless, of course, you bury yourself under a pile of laundry on top of her bunk bed and burst out screaming Britney Spears lyrics when she enters the room. I’ve never seen anyone hit the ground so fast or so hard. Except that time Amber fell trying to get a donut. She’s on her way to India for a year where I should hope there are no laundry monsters to be found. If there are, she’ll be ready for them.
Lindsay
If you ever get to meet Lindsay (and everyone should certainly hope that they do), you should know that she will chug juuuust about anything if you tell her you’ll buy her next one. This little Achilles’ heel of hers has led us into many a wild and raucous evening. If the night’s not picking up steam like it should, get Lindsay chugging cosmos and you’re well on your way to some pretty solid entertainment. She’ll be Dr. Lindsay in four short years, but I bet our twisted little game will still work then.
Isaac
Isaac claims he doesn’t fart. Everyone knows this to be a physical impossibility, but not Isaac. He holds strong to his claim even though I once called him out in front of a room full of 40+ people for not so silently letting one rip. You can’t pull the wool over these eyes, sir. Isaac changes his life plan every 15 minutes so it’s hard for me to catch up but last I heard he’s bribing everyone to move to NYC when he does…
Perhaps I begin to make more sense...
And then there’s me. I’m sure my friends have a couple stories but this is my blog sooo… I’m perfect.
So there you have it. These are, with a few exceptions for those who couldn’t join us, my favorite people. We reunite at least once a year and it always proves to be an unforgettable time.
Day 1
My first morning in NYC started way to early with a 6am flight from Charlotte. I got to Sandwich’s apartment and we made a beeline for coffee and smoothies at the Green Bean.
Made it!
Green!
Greeeeen
Which was followed by a long, lovely stroll through Central Park and an insane aerial yoga class that was all kinds of awesome.
What to do with these?
Oh yes we did
I kind of hated anti-gravity yoga but once I got the hang of it I found it to be relaxing and challenging all at once. Afterwards I felt like jello and can see how it’s a great workout.
By the time we were done, the rest of the crew was beginning to assemble and we headed over to peacefood cafe for an amazing vegan lunch. CHICKPEA FRIES CHICKPEA FRIES CHICKPEA FRIES.
peacefood nyc
Glanz will eat vegan food AND LIKE IT
Joy to the world
I got chickpea fries and a tempeh avocado sandwich. I.was.so.happy.
So happy.
And for dessert? None other than the infamous chocolate chip walnut cookie from Levain.
Oh little bakery of butter and wonder
Levain chocolate chip walnut cookie
This is the best cookie I have ever eaten in all my life. It’s like a 1/2-pound glob of warm cookie dough. So right. Maggie makes a mean replication of Levain’s cookies, which means I’ll be making a mean replication of Maggie’s replication soon.
Before a very special dinner and one very special restaurant that, according to Sandwich’s not so cryptic clue rhymes with “handle levan tee fine,” we strolled through Chelsea Market where I pretended to be the Next Food Network Star.
Chelsea Market
One day...
To be continued over dinner…
I still look like this.
It’s 1:30am on Thursday 6/16. I leave for the airport in three hours and rather than sleep at a least a little bit since I won’t be doing any of that for the next three days, I am up writing Caturday. You are very welcome.
I probably wouldn’t have slept much anyway considering these little devil beasts have decided to run sprints around my bed all night and then throw themselves against the window beginning promptly at 4am.
Yeah what of it?
Ralphie still looks glorious as a black lion and I spend most of my time just gazing at her. Remember when she looked like this?
HAHAHA
She’s funny-looking no matter what. But since I got the carpet in the old place shampooed today and the cleaner’s response was: “How often do you vacuum? Triple that.” I’ve decided the lion cut is here to stay.
Aw shucks
La Weaz has been OUT of damn control in the new place. I think she’s looking for Waldo. Seriously. Don’t worry, Weaz. He doesn’t even know we moved. Poor senile old man.
Awwwwaldo
I’ll be back in blogging action tomorrow with more NYC updates than you can stand.
Totally not my photo
While I’m gallivanting about the world’s greatest food city (it is, right? no? fight it out in the comments…) and not blogging one wee tiny bit, I thought it only fair to keep y’all busy with some of my most favorite blogs. Some are oldies but goodies, some are new-to-me’s and some are about cats.
Please share some of your favorites, too. I’m always looking for other blogs to read ways to ignore my responsibilities. Oh, and don’t forget I’ve got more where this came from on my blogroll, which, I confess, is dreadfully out of date. I go through phases of blog obsession. These are my latest and greatest:
Flour Child Blog – one of the nicest women I have never met, baker extraordinaire, gave Emeril some attitude on his own show
Espresso and Cream – cute-as-can-be, wife-to-be, fellow Midwesterner, food editor
No Face Plate – feisty personal vegan chef
The Pastry Affair – just jaw-droppingly amazing food
Oh She Glows – obviously
Peas and Thank You – I want to be Katie Pea
Taylor Takes a Taste – excellent food photographer (check out his tips/tutorials)
Eat Live Run – I just love Jenna
Kitty Stampede – I laugh until I think I will vomit and then I keep laughing
You know how we do.
This does not even begin to scratch the surface. I have a problem.
The ugly pizza-ling
Did you ever hear the story of the ugly pizza-ling? It was a sad, unfortunate sight, that pizza. All lumpy and crusty and brownish-greenish-black in all the wrong places. All the other pizza-lings were mean to it and the cruel, heartless food blogger wouldn’t even feature it because it was so unattractive.
But then, like magic, all of the sudden several weeks later when the cruel, heartless food blogger was on her way to New York City, decided not to take her computer so she could enjoy every.single.second, and desperately needed some fodder to fuel the blog flame while she was away, the ugly pizza-ling started to morph into a rustic, home-cooked, browned-in-all-the-right-places pizza masterpiece.
Funny how that works, isn’t it?
Stew and I made this pizza a couple weeks ago for Pizza Sunday, a tradition I hope to uphold here on my own. It had roasted broccoli and purple asparagus (that turned green while roasting) and zucchini, too. It was awesome, just ugly.
Sorry, pizza
Kevita probiotic drink
Probiotics are so mainstream these days that my granddaddy wrote me a letter a few months ago asking which strain to take, how much to take and where to find it in his diet. Yes, wrote a letter. Don’t you wish everyone still did that? I ripped pages straight out of the pre/probiotic section of my textbook and sent them back to him. They don’t have a computer, you see, but they know about probiotics. What a world.
For a quick and dirty run down of what probiotics are and how they may or may not function in digestive health, see what the American Dietetic Association has to say. The bottom line–right now–is that we don’t have enough conclusive research to make probiotics a part of an evidence-based dietetic practice. Still, consumers are all over them–including vegan consumers–and research is promising.
You’ll find probiotics in the usual suspects: yogurt, kefir and fermented foods. Good Belly is a dairy-free probiotic juice drink that I’ve heard a lot of people talk about in the blog world. Most recently I’ve started picking up Kevita, a coconut-based probiotic drink. I was after it as more of a kombucha alternative since I don’t think G.T.’s is as good since they reformulated and took the alcohol out (of course), but I’ll take the potential added benefit of probiotics on top of that. I’d also take a nice buzz but that’s not happening anymore now is it? I always told people kombucha made me feel drunk. I was pretty much right.
Keh-veeeen
I love Kevita. Enough to have purchased it several times in the last couple weeks. I do not spend food dollars beyond normal grocery trips and dinners out so that’s saying something. The strawberry acai is hands down my favorite flavor. Kevita is lighter and less aggressive than kombucha. No vinegar-y taste AND it doesn’t explode when I open it. Now I love me some kombucha but I’m just sayin…
Best part? In the language I have created for the cats, which, God willing for your sake you will get to hear one day, they pronounce Kevin: keh-veeeen. They have a friend named keh-veeeen and they like keh-veeeen on The Office. And I am reminded of this every time I say Ke.vee.tah.
Win win win.
Oh yes.
I have always wanted to live in New York. I wanted to go to NYU. But then I went to school in South Carolina. I wanted to try again and go to culinary school there after graduating. But then I got a job in South Carolina. Then I obsessed about it for a while and finally settled on watching Sex and the City reruns on TBS. It’s sad, really. I’ve never even been.
YET, that is. I’m leaving tomorrow morning to rendezvous with my college friends. With everything I’ve had going on the last couple of months, I have done little more than book my flight. Zero research has been completed on my part. SO… I need some help.
Yes.
I know about New York pizza and New York bagels (salt bagels, I hear??) and New York cheesecake, which, let’s be honest, is so 2000 and late. I know there are endless vegetarian and vegan restaurants and cupcake shops and street carts I have to visit. But… I don’t know which ones.
I’m in New York City for no more than 72 hours. So much food, so little time. What (vegetarian foods) must I eat before I return to my life south of the Mason Dixon?
I bet you I won’t even come back.
Vegfast
I’m still adjusting to living alone. There’s the emotional burden, yes, but mostly there are a lot of logistical things that are throwing me off. Who will take me to the airport ass-early in the morning tomorrow? Who will feed the cats while I’m gone (Caitlin and Nicole, that’s who!)? Who’s going to lick this bowl full of cookie dough clean (fine I guess I’ll do it)? How am I going to hang this 50-lb mirror on the wall? Who’s going to kill this spider??
Most importantly: Who’s going to eat this produce surplus before I leave for New York?
Eat me?
The answer, of course, is me.
Yes, it would appear that something else I’m adjusting to is shopping/cooking for one. I have so much produce to eat in the next 20 hours I don’t even know what to do with myself. Since I refuse to waste food I am going to have to eat the following by tomorrow morning:
Phase 1: Breakfast
You better believe I can/will do it. To get a jumpstart on this lofty goal, I ate vegetables for breakfast. I’m not sure who decided that breakfast should be sugary breads (hello French toast, waffles, muffins, scones and the like), but I think vegetables are what’s up first thing in the morning. I sauteed one of the broccoli heads, one of the zucchini, several carrots and a 1/4 block of tempeh and served it with a piece of cheesy toast.
Then I rushed down to our sad, old, empty place to meet the carpet cleaners. (Do you know what havoc two cats and a dog can wreak on beige carpet? We do.)
Goodbye
Now if you’ll excuse me, I have some produce to eat.
Stop… veggie time.
Lovely
I started my morning slow and steady with boring computer to-do’s in bed. Do you have any idea how many places you have to change your address when you move? I do. A million.
I’ve been staying up entirely too late every night trying to finish the apartment, get ready for NYC, etc. So I opted out of yoga this morning in exchange for a little 2.5-mile run through my new neighborhood. In a word (or two), I am in love. When I picked this place I really didn’t know much of anything about Charlotte or how close I’d be to so many cool things. I’m starting to understand how all the neighborhoods flow together and I’ve got to say, I picked a winner.
I’m already plotting out bike routes, lazy Saturday morning bagel expeditions, restaurant stops galore and, uh, bus routes. Because I happen to love public transportation.
ALSO (this is so cool), I harvested three apples from the tree in my backyard this morning. COOLEST.
Yes.
I actually refuse to eat them until my landlord gets back to me on my “Hey can I eat these apples?” email because I’ve seen Into the Wild and I’m not about to die because I ate a poisonous fruit that just happens to look like an apple.
[I did Google "poisonous fruit looks like apple" and came up empty-handed so I think I'm good.]
In other news, I have settled in for the most part. Here’s what I was up to last night:
Living room
Neutrals for the win
Hey Weaz
Teeny hallway to kitchen
Where the magic happens
Cute, right?
Ralphie's room
I am very comfortable and at peace here already. I keep thinking: WHY DIDN’T WE JUST LIVE UP HERE LAST YEAR? As if that would have fixed everything. And maybe it would have. But I know why we didn’t. Because bad things make the good things feel great. Living in Rock Hill was, for lack of a better descriptor, a bad thing for me. I think Charlotte will be good. Having last year to compare to my current situation makes it feel all the more amazing.
Y’all come visit, ya hear?
Brown sugar blueberry cookies. Yes.
The second Jess posted her recipe for brown sugar blueberry cookies, I knew I’d be making these suckers before the week was up. I’m not ashamed to say I ate about a 1/4 cup of dough either. I did it because I don’t have a garbage disposal anymore and can’t risk clogging the drain. You understand.
Anyway, I think my initial reaction to this cookie recipe went something like this:
And my initial reaction to the cookies themselves went something like this:
Omnomnomnom
I made them when I should have been unpacking and organizing and getting ready for New York and a whole host of other responsibilities I chose to ignore. It’s what I do.
I took them to work and they FLEW off the plate. These are a winner.
Oh! And I made them vegan. If you’d like to tweak Jess’ recipe, simply sub:
Tah dah
Do it.
Tempeh sandwich and berries galore
Sometimes I’m like: Yeah right, grocery store. These berries are way too expensive. I could buy these berries or I could pay my rent. I could buy these berries or purchase health insurance. I could buy these berries or fill my car up with gas. Don’t put me between a rock and a hard place berry, you jerks.
And then other times I’m like: TO HELL WITH HEALTH INSURANCE GIVE ME ALL THE BERRIES YOU HAVE.
ALL OF THEM
I don’t know what possessed me to purchase three huge things of grapes, blueberries and blackberries last night. (That’s not true. I got blueberries to make THESE.) I especially don’t know why I did that this week considering I’m only here for three days. What can you do?
Eat berries, obviously.
Good day
This morning was chugging along beautifully. I woke up 9 minutes ’til yoga and freaking MADE IT because I can do that now. The sun was shining through my grapes (that’s a sign of a good morning, right?), the internet I’m stealing this week is coming in strong and the French press was doing what it does.
Sunny grapes
I'm a little French press
I took a shower, pretended not to see the mystery bug on the bath mat and gave So Damn Good some lovin’ because it’s been neglected throughout the move. (Y’all know I play the tumblr game, right? It’s just pictures of food from Sweet Tater. Do it.)
There I was minding my own business and trying to see how long I can wait to leave for class…
And then… then Weaz was like SUCK IT KATIE. And did this with my iced coffee:
WHY WEAZ
The little chunkies (if you can see them) are almond pulp from the homemade almond milk. I actually don’t notice any grit when I’m drinking but apparently when it’s sprawled out on a black table it because evident that there is, in fact, grit in my milk.
It’s ok though. Ralphie’s sitting next to me–butt lump and all–trying to console me. She offered to make more coffee but I told her to keep her fuzzy butt OUT of the kitchen this year.
That goes for you, too, WEAZ.
Tahini + lemon + chickpeas = hummus
I’m all out of food because I ate it before we moved. I don’t want to buy more food because I’m leaving for NYC in 72 hours. (Wait… what?) I’d also rather just buy this (too late I already did that but at Marhsall’s CHEAP STYLE) than spend my precious few dollars on necessities like food.
So I rummaged around the few non-perishables that crossed state lines with me and realized I had everything I need for pasta… but sauce. And everything I need for hummus… but things to dip in said hummus. AND SO… I combined those two concepts into one protein-packed lunch. It was awesome.
| Creamy Hummus Pasta |
Natural light!
This is what pictures on my stove look like now. Can you believe it? Thank you, giant window in the kitchen.
Fixins. Goods. You know.
Dear Stew, when we moved to different states did it occur to you that you won’t get to eat all my food any more? It occurred to me that time a couple weeks ago when I told you the thing I’ll miss most is your hummus. But you know that’s not true. I’ll miss Waldo. WINK.
I’ll make it again. I’ll make it again.
Cinnamon muffins with coconut banana cream
Aside from La Weaz waking me up at 4am to remind me that we were, in fact, in a new house, I slept like a rock. I somehow had the wherewithal to think to wash and dry my sheets at the old apartment before arriving at the new place so my bed would be perfectly primped for me to pass out on whenever the time came. Let’s not forget I don’t have a washing machine anymore. Or a dishwasher. Or a garbage disposal. It’s like camping.
I convinced Weaz to let me sleep two more hours and then got right back to organizing around 6am. Since soundproofing was apparently not a priority in our unit (hello, new upstairs neighbor and your 1am sports-TV-watching habit), I decided to spare my neighbors (for now, anyway) and bake muffins instead of busting out the blender at 7am on a Sunday. You’re welcome.
Nice and quiet
This meant I got to break in my awesome antique oven. I judged her at first but have grown fond of her retro appeal. Plus, she works great.
I made Katie’s single lady cupcake times two and topped it with pureed banana and coconut butter. Holler.
Back to work...
And now… the organization rages on! Check ya later when this house is a home.
Hey, baby.
It took 18 hours, 6 trips from old apartment to new, enough boxes to build another apartment, two superhero movers and the whiniest cat you ever did meet (WEAZ), but we did it.
The day before The Move a woman at yoga asked me what I was up to this weekend and I said moving, with a cringe on my face. “Oh! Moving can be so fun if you let it.” She’s right. So I let it.
Granted, I didn’t touch a single item larger or heavier than a box full of books so perhaps things were rougher for Stew and his friend Jason who saved my life by moving the entire thing 30 miles north.
THANK YOU
Nevertheless, I had fun with the day. It started way too early at 6am when I talked myself out of taking 3 hours to go to superflow and instead just hit the ground running. I had packed a cute little traveling oat pack for breakfast, which I enjoyed on trip two… or three? Who knows? It’s a blur.
Oats on the go
We broke to refuel with Big Daddy’s around 2pm. Again, the day was a blur. I would never wait until 2pm to eat lunch. We were on fire!
Best burger salad on the planet.
Around 9pm it was finally time to make one final trip to round up the cats. It also happened to be time for a ruthless storm to blow through. I assure you I was more traumatized than the cats were. Weaz begs to differ.
Somehow a lifetime later at 1 o’clock in the morning we were all there–Ralph, Weaz, me and all my worldly posessions–and things were starting to come together. Pleased with myself and my progress I plopped down to make a toast.
Double entendre!
I had tahini and jam on brown rice bread (because I couldn’t–and still can’t–find my sunflower butter anywhere) and a celebratory glass of some kind of $4 sparkling Spanish wine from Trader Joe’s. Buying it from Trader Joe’s and calling it “sparkling Spanish wine” somehow makes it more ok than drinking Andre.
RAR
51 weeks ago we moved into this shiny new townhome. We hated the location but the home itself is pretty amazing. So amazing, in fact, that I declared that the cats would be groomed promptly upon our arrival so their out of control shedding wouldn’t tarnish the bright white interior.
A year later, I finally did it. It’s too late for this house, I’m afraid. Shedding occurred. All day. Every day. Hair floated through the air and blew across the ground like tumbleweeds. I can’t even tell you how many hairs I probably consumed just by breathing. Not so much something you want to hear on a food blog.
Weaz sheds more than long-haired Ralph. Lots more.
I tried brushing, obviously. You try brushing Ralph and see how much of your epidermis you come away with. I bought soft brushes, hard brushes, that damn $40 Furminator and those silly oven mitt brushes. No go.
But now… now I win. I played the groomer card. I didn’t want to. For a year straight I backed out of doing it. The night before I tried to back out. The day of I tried to back out. Stew made me do it. I swear.
I hate this more than Weaz does.
Oh yes.
Seeing the cats in any sort of distress causes me so much anxiety that I avoid putting them in any sort of unpleasant situation. In case you were wondering, going to the groomer is VERY unpleasant.
RAAAAR
We joked about getting Ralphie a lion cut. We call her our little lion after all. I didn’t expect that to actually be the recommended haircut when we arrived. I almost said no. In fact, I cringed. I looked at the groomer like I might cry. I said, “But don’t you think she’ll feel embarrassed?”
She looked at me like I was crazy. Stew looked like he might explode with joy (say yes say yes say yes, I could see him willing me into action). I said yes.
Now Ralph looks like this:
Haaaahahaha.
I laugh every time I see her, which can’t be good for her self esteem. But seriously. Look at this fat roll on her butt:
HAHAHA
Weaz went to the groomer, too. But she came out looking the same:
Here I am.
And hating me more:
I hate you.
Weaz doesn’t recognize Ralph anymore now that she’s a lion. She hisses every time she walks past her. Slowly but surely, she’s getting over that, which is good because it hurts Ralph’s feelings.
It’s so very hilarious, yes, but I didn’t just put her through hell for my own entertainment. Her fur was getting matted as she shed her winter coat. And Weaz won’t stop throwing up hairballs. It was a necessary evil but so very worth it. You want to know how much worth it? I’m not telling you. But I can justify it because I myself only get haircuts like once every two or three years and the rest of my upkeep is pretty Walmart-priced. So I can spend a hefty “personal care” budget sum on my two former street cats. That makes sense, right? Please tell me it makes sense.
Through it all, Waldo has yet to notice that we now have a small lion running around the house. Much the same way he failed to notice someone stealing Stew’s car out of the driveway. He’s a sleeper.
Sleeps like a rock.
Doop.
So that’s the story of how Ralph turned into a little lion. I hope her hair never grows back. She looks delightful and is the softest thing I have ever touched. Also, butt lump:
Yes.
We’re off to pack up our lives. It’s moving day, y’all.
Weaz... check.
Grilled cheese - multigrain, cheddar, tomato
I’m made for city skylines, for hustle (and for bustle), for cute little organic bakeries, for hardwood floors and for heat.
Today then, I am happy to report, is pretty perfect.
I started the morning with my first car-full delivery to the new place. I think I’ll call her Midge. Wait til you see the oven. You’ll get it. Actually, the oven is more like an Olga. You’ll see…
I took a break before so much as breaking a sweat to head to yoga and, uh, sweat a lot. It was a good class, a hot class. The woman next to me told me my body was made for yoga, that I looked so natural.
“Oh no no,” I told her. “Not when I started it wasn’t.”
At first, I was tight and creaky and felt awkward all the time. No, I’m afraid my body was not made for yoga. Not at first anyway. Yoga was made for my body. With a little time and a whole lot of patience, my body has welcomed yoga in. It wasn’t the other way around. There’s still a long way to go, but that’s the beauty of the practice. Always a student.
Pickle!
Lunch is being enjoyed at Sunflour Bakery, my new favorite. I got a grilled cheese and tomato sandwich with cheddar on multigrain bread. I am made for bread… and cheese… and pickles.
Oh. I went to IKEA. I feel like I need two Valium just to walk in the door. I’ve never had Valium. I assume it would help with the feelings of claustrophobia and PANIC. What’s up with that place? I walked for an hour and left with a $0.99 mat for the cats’ food bowl. Who does that?
Anyway, I feel good. I feel like this is right. I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.
Strawberry breakfast bake
HAVE I GOT A TREAT FOR YOU.
And no, I’m not talking about this delightful strawberry breakfast bake (based on the breakfast pizzert a la Chocolate Covered Katie). Oh no, no no no. I have something so, so much better this morning. Something so glorious it can’t wait until Caturday.
Hint:
Maaahahahha.
Does anyone even care about the breakfast anymore? NO.
Aw, shucks.
And so… this is what we did yesterday. And by “we” I mean a groomer. For eight hours.
Hehehehehoohhahahaheoooahha
Ralphie got a lion cut yesterday. It’s just as incredible as you’d imagine. I can’t give away all the goods before Caturday. But until then, I’ll at least leave you with this:
Ralph Vader
You see?
Anyway, I ate breakfast this morning. It was good. I made Katie’s breakfast pizzert but cooked it in a loaf pan with strawberries. I topped it with banana coconut cream and gazed at Ralph while I ate it.
| Banana Coconut Cream |
|
Mama Pea's tamale pie
I know. I’m out of control. Go ahead and start calling me Katie Pea.
This is my third (third) Peas and Thank You recipe this week. Poor Mama Pea probably fears for her life. At this point, I bet she thinks I’m freakin obsessed with her. That I’m gonna skin her and wear her like last year’s Versace. Right, Dina Manzo? [Real Housewives of New Jersey joke. Zing!]
I am freakin obsessed with Mama Pea. You would be too if you were eating these delicious creations. We’re still workin on the oatmeal cookie cupcakes and most recently have been inhaling tamale pie like it is our J-O-B.
It’s a tempeh/bean/tomato filling topped with corn-filled cornbread. Yes, please.
The woman can do no wrong!
Muffin tower with banana soft serve
One of my favorite things to do with leftover muffins (especially when they are these muffins) is toast them up in a skillet and top them with banana soft serve. I like to let the muffins get a nice little char around the edges, which pairs perfectly with cool, creamy soft serve.
I also like to make it look pretty for about 15 seconds for a picture and then eat it more like this:
Mmmeh
Garbage pasta
[How do you like that censorship, Mom?? Just for you.]
Confession: I think I am a hoarder. Not an animal hoarder (yet). I hoard food like I lived through the Great Depression. Seriously.
Just four days out from moving day, I found myself digging through piles and piles of almost empty food items. What the hell was I planning to do with less than 1/2 a cup of brown rice pasta, two carrot sticks, like eight frozen green beans, maybe a quarter cup of shredded cabbage and a sprinkling of chickpeas?
Make lunch, apparently.
I don’t know why I didn’t just throw these final few bits into whatever meal I was making the last time when they became straggling leftovers. Or why I didn’t just throw them away. What can I say? I’m frugal crazy.
And while these food scraps don’t look like much on their own, their whole is greater than the sum of their parts. They came together to make a perfectly suitable must-clear-out-the-kitchen-this-week meal.
Tah dah
Don’t you just hate love moving?
Chewy, chocolatey, figgy, healthy
If LARABARS have taught me anything, it’s that you can throw just about anything into a food processor with some dried fruit and come out with a suitable snack item.
The bars’ notoriously short and sweet ingredient lists (think: dates, cashews… that’s it) make them an excellent option as far as packaged snack products go. But they also make them… really easy to replicate at home. Shoulda thought of that one, Lara!
This recipe isn’t a LARABAR imitation by any means but it’s kind of the same idea. I used whatever I had in my cabinet and you could, too.
So if you don’t feel like dropping $2 on a bar, you can drop the following into a food processor and end up with something edible.
| Snack Bites |
Nugget army reporting for duty
Mama Pea's vegan banana millet muffins
I love Mama Pea. There. I said it. I love her cupcakes and her balls and her out-of-control sauce. I even love Pea Kitty (obviously).
I have yet to make something of hers that I do not absolutely adore and I cannot WAIT to buy her book next month.
Yesterday–less than 24 hours after making her oatmeal cookie cupcakes, mind you–I made Mama Pea’s banana millet muffins (sans chocolate chips in my version) for our overnight guests. The muffins came together in the frenzied final 30 minutes before I was out the door to yoga (why do I insist on doing everything at that time of the morning?) and are pretty damn flawless.
The millet adds a nice crunchy texture and makes this a more substantial and satisfying muffin than most. Love.
Banana muffin chilled oat partfait
I ate two yesterday, gave one to Sara on the way to yoga and crumbled one into my chilled oat parfait this morning. The worst part about these muffins is that there aren’t many left.
[By they way, if you haven't made one of these vegan breakfast parfaits yet, there is something wrong with you.]
Anyway, someone asked me for a good banana bread recipe recently and I didn’t have one. Now I do. It’s this one.
Mama Pea's oatmeal cookie cupcakes
I hope you’ve got your baking mitts ready because this one’s a doozy. Are you ready?
Best.cupcake.ever.
This is how I feel about Mama Pea’s oatmeal cookie cupcakes that I whipped up in a rage yesterday. Who knew that from such bitter fury could be borne a baked good so sweet and perfect it can turn even the shittiest of days months into a pretty OK ride on the life roller coaster.
I took these to work yesterday (along with the vegan Tollhouse cookies) and was informed that they are, in fact, the best cupcakes (and cookies) ever.
Sweet perfect swirls.
A couple minor switch ups occurred in my kitchen:
Make these now.
Classic Tollhouse cookie recipe veganized
Today my life was like, “Hey, Katie. I hate you.” And I was like, “That’s cool. I’m gonna bake for 6 hours straight and pretend I don’t exist beyond the confines of this 8×6 galley kitchen.”
And so that’s what I did.
I started by cutting up this watermelon with an excessively large knife and just a touch more force than is really necessary.
Sorry, guy.
But cutting fruit simply would not do. Oh no. Today is not a fruit-cutting day. Today is a fight-with-your-landlord, fling-yourself-into-debt, forget-your-responsibilities, bake-cupcakes-and-cookies kind of day.
You know what I'm saying.
We’ve all been there, right? Right.
So I whipped up Mama Pea’s oatmeal cookie cupcakes and a veganized version of the original Tollhouse cookie recipe.
Stew used to make the non-vegan version on an almost nightly basis at the beginning of our relationship. And we didn’t have a mixer either. Have you ever made these cookies by hand? Not easy. The fact that he made them so frequently and did so by hand (and often late at night) is a testament to his aggressive sweet tooth that, according to his dad, runs in the family.
We haven’t made them in years and I had everything on hand to make them vegan. So this happened:
| Vegan Tollhouse Cookies |
Tah dah. Just like old times but without animals.
The cat days of summer
It has been hot hot hot here in South Carolina and even though my pampered, indoor, air-conditioned cats don’t know what it’s like to live outside a constant 68-degree comfort zone (except that time we wouldn’t turn the AC on), they still like to dramatically drape themselves over furniture as if the world (or life) is ending.
Happy last Caturday in South Carolina, y’all. Next weekend I’ll be up to my eyeballs in cardboard boxes, sweat and probably some tears as I attempt to move my life (Ralph, Weaz and all) up to Charlotte.
Weaz is ready.
Moving is the worst, isn’t it? It is. I’ve pretty much been an inconsolable, dramatic, sensitive, broken down version of myself the last couple months since “The Move” decision was made. I understand people’s interest in and concern for what’s going on, but I promise you I will tear up if you ask me about it. And then you’ll feel uncomfortable. It’s best to just leave it alone until I get through next week. Then I’ll be all giddy about the new place. I’m just not there yet.
And we're not gonna make this easy either.
I can’t tell who hates moving more, me or the cats. Considering RALPH POOPED IN STEW’S CAR last year when we moved, I’d say she wins for least excited about next weekend. I, on the other hand, have no plans to poop on anything. Promise.
My pile or yours?
In case you’re curious, Waldo goes with Stew. He’s definitely his dog. Plus, this is how Ralph feels about him:
And stay out there!
I’m off to see if I can get anybody up to help move this packing process along. I don’t see it going well…
Something tells me you will pack alone.
Lemon dill skillet cabbage
Last week we harvested a cabbage from the garden. Actually, I think I stole it. But I’m not really sure. You see, before school ended I got the go ahead from one of the community garden organizers to help myself to plots that look abandoned. So I’ve been doing that. But sometimes I can’t decide if they’re really abandoned or just cared for by negligent gardeners. Which means I’m quite possibly a vegetable thief. Lock me up and throw away the key.
So anyway, I’ve got this monster cabbage and it’s all like, “Whatcha gonna do with me now, criminal?” And I’m all like, “Shut it, cabbage. I’ma chop you up and eat you.”
But really, I didn’t have a plan for how that would happen. I did chop the cabbage up and did have plans to eat it. I made some vegan creamy peppercorn slaw that went over well. For Stew. Despite making it with my own two hands and knowing full well that no mayonnaise was harmed in the making of that slaw, I just couldn’t stomach it. White creamy things. Shudder.
So today I had a better idea. Cook that smartass Crucifer.
| Lemon Dill Skillet Cabbage |
See ya, cabbage
Lunch.
This cabbage was lovely with a tempeh zucchini saute served over quinoa.
Greedy veggie sandwich
A great veggie sandwich is often hard to come by. It’s usually light on vegetables, heavy on cheese and horrendously overpriced. So when given the option to “build your own,” I strongly suggest you accept that offer.
Last night I popped into Reid’s Fine Foods for dinner before my book club.
Reid's
Their veggie option is portobello based, which we all know is not my thang. I asked if I could just make my own with salad ingredients priced by the pound. “Of course,” said the very sweet little sandwich lady.
Working with a per-pound pricing strategy and my brokeass bank account, I went easy. Artichokes, olives, spinach, cheddar. But then… then she told me I could get whatever I want for a flat rate of $7.50 and that’s when things got interesting.
OH, my little mind starts a-ticking. Oh, in that case let’s add…
She looks at me. “This will be an interesting sandwich,” she says.
Interesting indeed, little sandwich lady. It was good, not mind-blowingly so and difficult impossible to eat. I ran into Brittney and her husband Greg and they got to watch me struggle through it.
All because I got a little greedy. But can you really blame me? Anything I want for $7.50?? Dear god, I realize now that this is how buffet-goers’ minds function.
Cold oats parfait a la Oh She Glows
Confession: I don’t really like oatmeal all that much. Mostly, I think, it’s that I don’t really like to consume hot things in the morning. Especially when our early June temperatures are already soaring near the 100s. I also feel dehydrated on a daily basis and just want fruit, water and cold things when I first wake up. [The bread I'm eating hot out the toaster as we speak--uh, toast?--is poking holes in my airtight cold breakfast logic.]
This doesn’t mean, however, that I can’t still enjoy oats in all their nutritional glory first thing in the morning. I just don’t cook them. It sounds wrong, I know, but it’s so right.
I’d been eating homemade muesli (a simple mix of oats, nuts, fruits and milk) and vegan versions of overnight oats (oats soaked in milk in the fridge overnight until soft and then served with toppings) but it wasn’t until discovering Angela’s vegan overnight oat parfaits that I learned to really make cold oats shine.
Pretty food tastes better.
The secret is the addition of banana soft serve to the mix. And serving it in an inappropriately fancy little glass. Layers of cold creamy soft serve mix with a hearty, chewy oat base and, honestly, it’s kind of like eating dessert for breakfast.
I make mine like this:
| Chilled Oat Parfait |
|
Cold breakfast for a hot day
There are endless flavor combinations for oat parfaits. I suggest checking out Angela’s recipe page for inspiration.
Just a little maintenance...
You may have noticed something different about Sweet Tater today. I finally took the plunge and partnered with Foodbuzz for advertising. Whether or not to monetize the blog is something I’ve wrestled with for the nearly two years I’ve been writing it, and within just 12 hours of getting started I can tell you I am happy with my decision to work with Foodbuzz. They have been super responsive, patient and understanding as I’ve fumbled through the steps to free up a 728×90 rectangle of my blog baby for their use.
My concerns about advertising were:
And here’s how I feel about it so far: I am happy with how the banner ad looks at the top of the page. As readers, I’ll hope you’ll share your feedback if you agree/disagree. The “tech side,” I have found, is little more than copying and pasting code, which I can handle. As for integrity… the very first ad displayed was for Tyson chicken, which sent me into a frenzy of passive aggressive social media updates. But I reacted before even asking Foodbuzz to take it down. When I did, they told me that they “never want any of our Featured Publishers to be unhappy with the ads that run on their personal space” and that I can opt out of any ad at any time. Very cool.
Please bear with me as I work out any kinks in design/function in the next couple of weeks. My intent is not to change much of anything.
Thanks for continuing to stop by, comment, email and feed my twitter habit. This blog will continue to change and grow as I do. I hope you’ll stick around for the ride.
Katie
Carrot cake and dark chocolate raspberry
Yesterday I popped in Sunflour Bakery to pick up some sorry-your-car-got-stolen baked goods for Stew. Did I not mention that Stew’s car got stolen? Out of our driveway. It’s true. Since I don’t have a whole lot of experience with boyfriends’ cars getting stolen, I wasn’t entirely sure the proper etiquette for trying desperately to make him feel better. I figure cupcakes are a sort of all-encompassing bringer of joy.
Sounflour Bakery, Charlotte NC
Go here.
I wish I could say we made a wish on the cupcakes and the car magically reappeared in the driveway. But it didn’t. And it probably won’t. In case you’ve never had a car stolen (and I hope you don’t), you should know that the situation is not dealt with by the police with any sense of urgency that might at least make you feel like every effort is being made to find it. I suppose those efforts are reserved for finding missing people not cars, and we agree that’s how it should be.
In fact, Stew has been incredibly mellow this entire week. Mostly he just feels like things could have been a lot worse. We’re thankful all they wanted was the car, that they didn’t come inside and that nothing else happened.
Cupcakes make everything better
Now every time I see a white BMW I break my neck trying to see the license plate number. I swear to you I saw it yesterday on 77S. The best part, we’ve decided, is that his headlights were out so if the thief drives at night they’ll undoubtedly be pulled over and the car will come up as stolen. That’s what we’re hoping anyway.
Until then… cupcakes.
Who needs a car?
Romaine, artichoke, chickpeas, carrots, tomatoes, olives
There are some things I want in my life. I want the weather to be warm. Until I want it to be cold, of course, for the holidays. I want to give more than I take, celebrate more than I complain and sweat my ass of in yoga every single day. I’d like cats and children and some mismatched-yet-somehow-perfectly-paired dishes. I want friends who drop by just because, family who live in the same time zone and mornings when my cell phone isn’t the first thing I reach for.
I’d like to travel far and often, to start a magazine that doesn’t suck, to teach yoga, to open a restaurant. I want a home that’s small but comfortable with lots of windows (and screens) and a garbage disposal and a dishwasher and a washing machine and a garden and a magical as-of-yet-nonexistent contraption that cleans all cat hair without me noticing or doing anything at all.
Today I’m picking up (and signing, presumably) the lease for my new place. It has none of the things on my list. None. OK, cats. Check and check. It’s small and dishwasherless and a little rougher around the edges than the last place. But it’s also cute (oh so cute) and the neighborhood is walkable (and full of restaurants… and bars) and I’ll have an office (an office) and room for a little raised garden. I’ll decorate it (I promise, self, I promise.) and I’ll clean it and I won’t let Ralphie scratch anything of importance.
I’ll drive two miles to yoga instead of 27. I’ll make my humble little kitchen a Food Network set. On Saturdays, I’ll bike to the market precariously balancing the coffee and muffin I grabbed at the bakery down the street. And on my way home I’ll eat lunch at this place.
Crisp (Charlotte, NC)
That’s where I am now. Eating a build-your-own with romaine, chickpeas, carrots, artichoke hearts, olives, char-grilled tofu and roasted lemon vinaigrette and overthinking the hell out of the paper I’m about to sign.
It’s just a lease. It’s just a move. It’s just the next step.
No swimming for 15 minutes.
All sandwiches should be consumed in the middle of a large body of water. Am I right or am I right?
Despite the impending doom of an afternoon closing shift at work on a holiday (just kidding–I asked begged to work; time and a half, y’all. time.and.a.half.) I insisted on pretending like I was on vacation for the first half of the day.
We took Waldo to the park...
Drank beer on the boat... (Stew did)
And lunched on the water.
I’d call it a pretty perfect Memorial Day… even if it did end folding pants for six hours.
Flawless pant wall brought to you by Katie
Work hard, play hard. Chase salads with shots of buttercream frosting. Balance, my friends. Balance is what I’m after this year.
Easy watermelon lemonade
In case the 90-degree temperatures weren’t proof enough, last night I saw my first lightning bug of the season, which means summer is officially here. To celebrate my favorite season and my favorite fruit of my favorite season (you following me here?), I whipped up this super simple, light, refreshing watermelon lemonade.
I made this virgin because, well because it’s 9 o’clock in the morning. But that won’t stop me from serving it over mottled mint leaves with a shot of vodka. You don’t mind, right?
| Watermelon Lemonade |
|
Happy summer!
Two for one. Double entendre.
Oh, what a marvelous weekend it has been. It started yesterday afternoon when my new friend Rachael and I made a beeline straight from work to Cowfish for cocktails. OK, maybe there was a detour at Anthropologie on the way. Did you know I have never stepped foot inside an Anthropologie until this week? It’s true. Did you also know that I want everything in the store? I do. This is what working in the mall does to me.
Our waitress sized us up pretty quickly as “those girls who probably want the rejected drink orders that were messed up at the bar and will tip well upon receiving them.” And boy are we ever. I got a margatini (which is basically just a margarita in a martini glass and is no longer on the menu but if you ask for it they’ll make it), which was accompanied by a key lime martini reject. I graciously accepted both.
Coconut crusted onion rings
I snacked on some of the world’s greatest coconut onion rings but saved myself for dinner later with Stew at a middle eastern restaurant. Speaking of which, how would you pronounce THIS:
Foul maddams
If you’re thinking foul as in foul ball and maddam “Oh, hello madam” then you would be my friend. You would also be WRONG, my friend. It’s FOOL MA-DAH-MAHS. WHAT. Learned that one the hard way.
Fattoush, hummus, grape leaves
Today we had an, uh, “exciting” morning? And then I went to pick carrots out of the garden.
Carrots!
And eat lunch with Stew’s family.
So many chips.
And round out the day on the lake with my brother.
Lake!
Happy weekend to all and to all a good night.
Chai-spiced cupcake with banana coconut cream
Finger-licking–no matter how mind-blowingly delicious a food is–is, in my opinion, always completely inappropriate. I don’t care how much you enjoyed your meal. Now I can’t enjoy mine because you’re sucking remnants off your hands (and God only knows where those have been).
So it pains me a little bit lot to confess that I just used my finger like a damn squeegie to salvage the smear of banana coconut cream from my leftover breakfast cupcake plate. I’m embarrassed. And oh so satisfied.
Hello, Sunday.
Everyone knows that “muffins” are really just cupcakes without frosting but some brilliant person had to come up with a new name so people wouldn’t have to admit that they’re eating cupcakes before noon. Kind of like how someone had to come up with mimosas and bloody Marys to make drinking champagne and vodka before noon more chic.
Naw, don't worry about it. I'm a MUFFIN.
The muffin… cupcake… muffcake (??? ew.) I made this morning is definitely more breakfast than dessert. It’s whole wheat, refined sugar free and fat free (until adding nuts and toppings) AND it has chai in it. Chai = breakfast.
Naturally, this baby is a twist on Katie’s single lady cupcake. And by “twist” I mean I used her exact recipe but swapped chai concentrate as my liquid. I’m so talented.
| Chai Breakfast Cupcake |
|
Don't you dare lick your fingers.
Weazadillo
Oh lawd, it’s Caturday, right?
It’s been a busy, fun-filled day. For me. Not the cats. The cats are furious and plotting my death. Weaz even enlisted the help of her diabolical sidekick Mr. Armadillo. I don’t stand a chance.
Ralph doesn’t need backup, though. Ralph will take me down with one angry glare.
I won't look at you or you might die.
If you (like my mom) assume I am dead when I don’t post Caturday, please rest assured I’m still kickin’. I just got up ass early to go to yoga, went straight to work, straight to the bar and now straight to dinner. Hello, even Saturday mall workers need Saturdays. Am I right?
I am right.
You are wrong.
Vegan, gluten-free chickpea blondies
It’s official. I have a big, fat crush on Chocolate-Covered Katie. I just can’t find anything she makes that I don’t absolutely love. It’s completely out of control, I tell you.
In fact, I’ve started a “CCK Must Try” recipes page in Evernote just to keep track of all the chocolate-covered creations I want to get crackin’ on.
CCK’s chocolate chickpea blondies are brilliant. A simple mix of chickpeas, sugar, nut butter and chocolate chips (no flour at all!) somehow comes together to create a perfect little treat.
Help. I'm obsessed.
My life.
Last night I got that pizza I was craving. I also discovered that The Bachelorette is on Hulu and that they do, in fact, stream Bravo shows. I gave up TV way back in March and honestly haven’t watched a single mind-numbing program since then. (We did catch Michael’s farewell using Hulu as well, but everyone knows The Office is not mind-numbing.)
My TV-free commitment start in March and we canceled the cable all together a few weeks later. All this time I was thinking my days of Bethenny, Rachel, Patti and all the Real Housewives were over. I was wrong. And this could be a problem.
The best part? Top Chef. Top Chef Masters. Top Chef Just Desserts.
I will remain technically TV free, but it appears I will have my cake pizza and eat it too. Victory.
And can we talk about The Bachelorette for a minute? I think at least 6 of the guys on this season are gay. There. I said it. Also, Bentley? Best plot line ever. You are a tool bag.
Quick vegan cupcake with strawberry coconut frosting
Chocolate Covered Katie is at it again, this time with her single lady cupcake. I have yet to make something from her recipe index that I didn’t love. So check her out.
I must confess that I kind of violated the single lady cupcake code of honor. First of all, I made two of these. Second of all, one of them was for a man. And we shared it. Because I wanted the other one for breakfast. I’m a single lady cupcake fake. It feels good to share.
Anyway, whether you make one or one dozen of these babies, I think you’ll be happy with the result. They come together in 60 seconds, bake for 15 and are inhaled instantly.
Mmmm toppings
I topped mine with a simple combination of coconut butter and homemade strawberry jam. (I could eat that alone with a spoon all.day.long.) Then I added blueberries for flair.
You can find Katie’s original single lady cupcake recipe here. I went with the applesauce option and added walnuts.
Make this.
Since I went with the fat-free option (applesauce instead of oil in the cupcake) these are definitely best hot out of the oven. Fat-free baked goods tend to set up a little tough and dry after a day. HOWEVER, I’m eating the other one for breakfast as we speak and it’s pretty damn amazing. So there’s that.
This is not pizza.
Tonight I could not figure out what I wanted to eat. I was whining about how I’m “bored with our food lately” and Stew was offering up suggestions–”I could run to the store… I could make something… I could pick something up”–but his efforts were futile.
The problem, I fear, was not that we didn’t have food or even that we didn’t have food I wanted. The problem, naturally, was that I think I wanted this:
Pizza, son.
And maybe some of these:
Yes, these.
I feel like it’s been forever since we’ve had Pizza Sunday. Maybe it’s because I can’t seem to keep up with what day it is at all. My schedule is erratic and all the days flow together. For example, tonight is my “Friday.” Which would make Friday my Sunday? Which means… this girl is eating pizza on Friday. The real Friday. Not “my” Friday.
What’s happening? What day is it?
At any rate, I was pretty pleased with our dinner of roasted broccoli, chickpeas and zucchini, quinoa, baked beans, carrot sticks and Stew’s homemade ranch hummus. But it doesn’t mean I don’t still want pizza.
Lunch... actually.
Sometimes I wonder if people hear me whine about being broke (I am) and then hear me talk about all the food I eat and wonder: “Why doesn’t she stop spending so damn much money on food?”
Because I just won’t. And T.I. will tell you why:
That doesn’t really apply at all, actually. I just like that song.
In short: food is a priority for me. Perhaps for you it’s nice clothes or a new car or exotic vacations or makeup that isn’t scraped out of the corners of a compact you’ve had for over a year. I don’t really have any of those things. But I eat exactly what I want all the time. And to me, that’s fine. To each her own.
I actually don’t think my food spending is too terribly out of control. To be perfectly honest, it can’t be. I don’t have enough money in total to be spending as much as people probably think I do on food. I budget. I shop sale items. I rarely eat out (on my own dime… Stew… … awesome boyfriend… wink). Nevertheless, I do spend significantly more money on edibles than I do on anything else. I’m comfortable with that.
Dressing in a Patron bottle. It's fine.
Despite food being a top priority in my life, I’ve felt a little disconnected from my diet as of late. Work is busy, funds are low and my meals are eaten in a painfully short 30-minute break whenever my shift allows. Sometimes I pack awesome things:
Exhibit A - raw lasagna and berries
And sometimes I pack this:
Sweet potato, gold fish, raw macaroon. It's fine.
Trail mix, worst smoothie ever, homemade poptart scraps
I’ve started to feel a bit like I’m “prioritizing horribly” but, really, I think I’m just doing the best I can with what I’ve got. And if what I’ve got is very little time in the morning, a week-old sweet potato, goldfish from the break room and a free macaroon nabbed from our opening event, so be it.
I have nothing to complain about. I have food. Period. That’s more than many can say.
Coffee... chai... choffee?
I like coffee. I like it a whole lot. Ever since Stew taught me that the best part of wakin’ up, in fact, is not Folgers, I have been hooked on the good stuff.
At times I will drink coffee black. These times include espresso at the end of a long and slow dinner or terrible office coffee when there is simply no other way to get through the day.
First thing in the morning, however, is not one of those times I will drink black coffee. It doesn’t make any sense but my rationalization is that I feel too dehydrated to drink coffee alone. As if somehow the splash of almond milk I add is in any way refreshing. It’s not. Plus, coffee is not a diuretic, but that doesn’t stop me from thinking it is.
Sadly, I’ve been out of almond milk the past two days and haven’t gotten around to making more. So… uh… I’ve been cutting my coffee with… chai.
Ehhhh
Chai in a box, yes. Don’t you judge me. It was the only thing short of pickle juice I could think to pour into a drink. I think this was a wiser choice, yes?
Sums me up
When I went to take a picture of my lunch the other day, I realized this photo reveals some interesting tidbits about the life behind this blog. Should you be interested, the trinkets on my desk signify:
Do you find little odds and ends around your house that look like nothing but hold part of your life story? I think all homes should be decorated with items that mean something.
Julie's strawberry cream pie
When I started my never-ending masters program, I had a professor sit us down and read through a list of student quirks that drive professors batshit crazy. The usual suspects were on there:
The one that really struck a chord with me, though, was this (in my own words): Don’t complain. Don’t complain about your work load, your test questions, your class times or anything else you can think of to complain about (and you’ll think of a lot). When it’s all said and done, you picked the classes and times, you picked the field of study, you picked the school. What did you think, they’d hand a diploma for watching Food Network and reading blogs? (I kinda did.)
The point of this rant is simply to say that we all have things to complain about–bills, in-laws, homework, work work, working out, sickness, gas prices, taxes, weather. The list goes on an on. Sometimes when I feel the heavy weight of such burdens bearing down on my life, I step back and remind myself that I’m the one who put myself here. It’s easy to blame my professors, my bosses, my family, friends and enemies. But, truly, I chose this. All of it.
There are other more pleasant times when I think of this, too. Like today at the second Charlotte Food Bloggers monthly meeting. Sitting around a picnic table filled with like-minded food lovers and their vegetarian-friendly potluck creations, I felt very happy to be where I am.
Happy feast
Often times I think it’s so easy to look at the bad things in our lives and blame ourselves for messing up, giving up or otherwise failing our way to that point. We blame ourselves for creating that miserable life. But when it comes to the great times–the picnics with friends, the perfect 15-minute nap at the end of a brutal hot yoga class, the sense of accomplishment at the end of the semester–we tend to forgot that we created that life too.
I’m working hard to enjoy every day, to really celebrate this life. There’s no reason not do. I’ve done the negative/pessimistic/realist thing for long enough. I think I’m ready to just be blissfully content.
My (first) plate
Our meeting today was awesome. The food was out of control. I was going to start a “Highlights for me included” sentence but then I realized I just loved every single thing that was there.
Especially this pie.
And this cupcake.
Knowing I was heading to yoga within the hour, I did my best to keep my food intake in check. But when Emma the Southern Cake Queen showed up with her cupcakes, all bets were off. I told myself I’d only eat half and be on my way and, as I’m sure you expected, it was gone before I could say “downward dog.”
I’d like to report that I did not vomit in class despite devouring that cupcakes not 15 minutes before starting. Just another cherry atop a perfect little day.
[Bloggers in attendance that you will love: Taylor, Julie, Kelly, Diana, Julia, Alison, Ensley and Crosby whose blog, we are told, is forthcoming.]
Raw brownies with homemade strawberry jam
Since I kind of botched my strawberry poptarts, I had to come up with an alternate offering for today’s Charlotte Food Bloggers meeting. And since the strawberry jam filling I made for the failed poptarts was such a winner, I knew that had to somehow be incorporated. And since I was so totally over baking at this point, I decided I’d be making something raw. And that, my friends, is how raw brownies topped with homemade strawberry jam came to be.
I will eat you.
Raw brownies are one of the world’s easiest yet impressive dessert options. You simply use a food processor to combine:
I doubled that recipe and used black mission figs for one cup of the dried fruit when I ran out of dates to make this batch, which fit beautifully into an 8×8-in pan. Simply combine in a food processor and then press into a pan.
I think that doubling the recipe in one batch threw off the ratio a bit because my brownies weren’t coming together so I ended up adding about a 1/4 c of agave nectar to bind. So, in theory these brownies are intended to be raw. But since I used the cocoa powder and agave I had on hand rather than buying raw versions of each, mine are not really raw. Plus, I topped them with cooked jam. What do you want from me?
Pretty
The strawberry jam I completely made up on the spot when I was trying to figure out how to make the poptarts happen. It was surprisingly simple.
Simplest Strawberry Jam
2 lb fresh strawberries, hulled
1 c sugar
1 Tbsp balsamic vinegar (optional, or could be doubled)
1.5 tsp agar agar*
Combine strawberries, sugar and balsamic (if using) in a pot and heat on medium until sugar melts and strawberries are soft. Stir frequently to prevent burning and turn heat down if necessary. Use an immersion blender to break up the softened strawberry chunks (or use a potato masher). Add in agar agar and bring to a boil. Immediately remove from heat. Pour some on top of your brownies (it’s up to you how thick you want the strawberry layer) and put the rest in a container to cool in the fridge. It will be very thin at this point. As the temperature drops, the gelatinizing properties of the agar agar will kick in (see below).
*Agar agar is a gelatinous substance derived from red algae. It makes an excellent vegan alternative to gelatin and has strong gel forming capabilities. You can find it in the ethnic food aisle of most specialty markets.
Tah dah, raw-ish brownies
Homemade oat milk
As you can probably tell, I’ve been on a bit of a homemade milk kick. The thing is, I’m planning to do a little local food experiment starting in July and I’m trying to figure out how to make the things I’ll no longer be able to buy using ingredients I can find locally. Clearly I can’t buy local almonds or oats but I do plan to get my grains from the Carolina Rice Plantation here in SC and can make rice milk that way. Hold on to your butts; it’ll be an adventure.
Unlike the almond milk I wrote about earlier, this oat milk is darker, thicker and sweeter than regular milk. The recipe calls for half a banana, which not only makes it sweeter but also gives it a lingering banana flavor. I found that the almond milk is ideal for coffee, cereal, etc. but that the oat milk is perfect for a smoothie.
Or a smoothie in a bowl.
Granola, sunflower butter, chia seeds
Have you ever tried making your own milk? I’ve found that it’s a lot easier than I anticipated and the result tastes a lot better than I thought it would, too. Give it a try! I’m off to throw together a batch of quinoa milk…
Make your own nut/grain milk
Hello.
At 11 o’clock last night I made a horrible realization that I had forgotten to celebrate the cats’ birthday. Granted, I found Ralph on the street and have no idea how old she really is let alone the day of her birth, but I remember Weaz’s quite well because it happened in a laundry basket in my lap. So we decided Ralph would just share that day, too.
That day, I thought, was May 20, 2008, the same as my friend and, at the time of cat birthing, former roommate Jack. But then again, sometimes I can’t quite seem to remember if it occurred on Jack’s birthday or on the day after. At any rate, I panicked, threw a candle in a can of Friskie’s turkey shreds with cheese (their favorite) and hosted an impromptu party in the final hour.
Cat cake
(What kind of mother will this make me? Sigh.)
Way to go.
No, I'm not mad... just disappointed.
I was then informed by Adam who was informed by Stew who we can only assume was informed by me at some point that the cats’ birthday is actually 5/21. Today.
You can't do anything right.
So good. There’s that.
When I think about the fact that Weaz is three years old, I die a little bit inside. We think this makes Ralph four since the vet estimated she was barely a year old when she had Weaz. (What kind of world do we live in where 1-year-old street cats are having babies??)
Anyway,good thing cats never die. Otherwise we’d be a fifth of the way through the 15-20 years I assume they will be around.
Stew says he hopes he dies before the cats because he doesn’t want to deal with my grief-stricken, worthless self when they go. But, again, good thing cats never die.
When it’s all said and done, I guess it’s a good thing we celebrated a little early considering the world will end tomorrow and all.
And now, what you’ve all been waiting for… baby pictures.
Baby Weaz's first hour
I can't even stand it.
Baby Weaz, 5 months
Classic Weaz, couple of weeks old
Little Murray Sparkles and Odelay
Ohhhhh Weaz.
Stinkeyes watchin me sleep. (Ralph's short hair!)
The cat who started it all.
Homeless. I can live with you?
Yes, Ralph. Forever and ever. Amen.
I love these cats more than most humans I know. I’m not kidding. I’d give them both a kidney. Yeah, I only have two. You see what I’m saying.
Happy birthday, cats. I’m not even embarrassed to say you are my very best friends.
What about me, Waldo?
Homemade strawberry poptarts
I have delusions of grandeur. Sometimes I think I’ll travel the world with no money, suddenly become a ballerina at age 25 or save every neglected animal in the world. Most of the time, though, I’m just in the kitchen.
Today, oh today… Today I thought I would make homemade poptarts. No big deal, I thought. People do this all the time. The problem, of course, is that when people like me do this, they do it without paying the least bit of attention to a recipe. OK, a little bit of attention…
I started off with the pie crust from my first ever pie. All the other recipes I saw called for pastry crust (homemade or store bought) but anyone who’s ever eaten a real Poptart knows damn well they are not delicate flaky pastries. Having eaten many a maple brown sugar Poptart in my day, I know that they are, in fact, rather dense and cardboard-y. So I knew that the dense, shortbread-like texture of that pie crust would be a better fit.
Vegan strawberry poptarts
Correction: It would have been a better fit had I made it correctly. Instead, I used too much coconut, not enough oil and the completely wrong flour. As it turns out, a tub labeled AP flour in my cabinet is actually filled with what appears to be chickpea flour. Live and learn.
After rolling out the already not so perfect crust, I realized I was only going to get three poptarts out of this bad boy. I almost, almost gave up but kind of wanted to see how far these three little guys could go. Consider them my children and I was trying to see them through all the way to college. Right? Whatever.
So I kept going. I started haphazardly assembling a strawberry “jam” by completely making up the process. I threw several cups of strawberries, some sugar and a little balsamic vinegar into a pot and cooked away until it reduced. I added 1tsp agar agar to thicken it up and that was that. It actually worked.
These poptarts were supposed to be my contribution to the next meeting of the Charlotte Food Bloggers on Sunday, but I was still doubting things when it came time for assembly and baking so I made a batch of raw brownies topped with strawberry jam as a backup.
Ye Me of little faith was a bit surprised to find that those three unassuming pathetic poptarts came out perfectly.
You made it, little guy
I topped them with a strawberry glaze made with powdered sugar, coconut milk and a little strawberry jam and promptly packed them up to send along with Stew to his End of the World party.
I’m sorry, Charlotte Food Bloggers, there will be no poptarts at the meeting. But I’ll have brownies as an olive branch. The poptarts are excellent but I fear three two and a half would not suffice and, let’s face it, I’m not doing it again.
NIX veggie burger
For a vegetarian, I have an odd fascination with burgers. I’ve made it my mission to try every single handmade veggie burger in Charlotte (sorry, no I’m not interested if you just heated up a Boca Burger; try again). I’ve had a lot (and I’m working on a comprehensive ranking page) and I can’t believe I’m about to say it but… I think I may have found a veggie burger that rivals that of Big Daddy’s.
NIX Burger Bar is confusing. From the outside it looks like something Guy Fieri would design and the menu is littered with a host of deep-fried, cheese-covered things topped with crispy bacon.
On point
Menu names include such delights as “Nachos They Mine” and Stew’s pick: the Fiery Orgasm of Death.
THEY MINE
Fiery Orgasm of Death
Things really weren’t looking good for us when our chips and salsa came out and we discovered it to be nothing more than Pace Picante Sauce and some not so thrilling chips.
But then… THEN I got my burger (which was actually an asian chicken breast plate that I subbed out) and I became a believer.
Not chicken
My meal ended up being a veggie burger topped with a soy honey glaze, toasted almonds and red onion and served over spinach with mandarin oranges.
Like Big Daddy’s, this burger is most definitely deep-fried. What sets it apart however, is the fact that it contains whole chickpeas. Whole.Entire.Chick.Peas. CHICKPEAS. I loved this burger and honestly think I’d choose it over Big Daddy’s because the inside tastes so very beany. I’m not sure other people would agree with me though. But this is my blog, isn’t it? And that makes NIX the new Charlotte veggie burger winner.
I think.
Maybe it's more like a tie...
How to make your own almond milk
I have really always hated milk. As a kid I had to put in a special juice request at snack time and in the lunch line because if presented with milk, I would pitch a fit. At home I’d eat the cereal out of my bowl leaving behind exactly how much milk my mom poured in. I don’t care much for milk-based things either unless the milk is disguised. For example, sharp hard cheeses are ok but soft creamy cheese freaks me out. Yogurt buried under mountains of granola is doable but doesn’t stand a chance on its own.
The point of this back story is to illustrate that I’ve been drinking milk alternatives for some time now. First it was soy milk but, after hearing excessive soy is not so excessively great for you, I switched to rice and almond and anything else I could find. Except hemp. Hemp milk is terrible.
Homemade almond milk
I usually buy organic unsweetened milks but am not attached to any one brand. Still, I’m not always happy with what’s in these milk substitutes–too much sugar, weird additives, things I can’t pronounce. I always knew you could make your own milks at home but it seemed like a daunting task.
Today I finally gave it a go.
Make your own milk with these guys...
I made almond milk, oat milk and have an interesting quinoa milk currently soaking in the fridge. So far almond is the clear winner–super easy, two ingredients, bright white and comparable to its store-bought counterpart.
Homemade Almond Milk
1/3 c raw almonds, blanched, skins removed
2 c water (plus another 1.5-2c for blanching almonds; see below)
pinch of salt
vanilla (optional)
To blanch your almonds, simply boil them in about two cups of water for several minutes. Remove from heat and pour onto a towel to cool. Once cool enough to be handled, simply pop the nuts out of the skins. (It’s seriously so much easier than I anticipated and took about 60 seconds to peel.)
Combine peeled almonds, fresh water (not what you used to blanch), salt and any flavorings you’d like (vanilla, cinnamon, cocoa, etc.) in a blender. Blend until well combined. (I used my “liquify” setting.) Once done, line mason jar with a cheesecloth (I didn’t have one so I used a paper towel) and pour in the milk. The leftover almond pulp will remain in the cloth. Squeeze out any excess milk and save your pulp for other adventures. (I mixed mind with 1 Tbsp nutritional yeast and liquid aminos for a “cheese” alternative.)
Enjoy your milk!
This recipe made 2 cups of almond milk so I’d definitely double it and make larger batches. In terms of cost, the homemade version is a better option for me.
Cost Breakdown
32 oz of store-bought almond milk: $3, $0.75 per serving
32 oz of homemade almond milk: $2.33, $0.58 per serving
For some people the ease of buying almond milk in the store is worth the extra cost. I found the process to be incredibly simple and I appreciate the control I have over the ingredients. One thing to consider with homemade milks is that they aren’t fortified with calcium, B vitamins, etc. like many of the products in stores so you’ll want to be aware of taking a supplement or compensating with the rest of your diet.
Healthy lifestyle or mental disorder?
When my medical nutrition therapy professor made mention of a “new eating disorder” classified as an unhealthy obsession with healthy or righteous eating, I knew I had to investigate. She presented it like this: “You know those people who, like, only eat at Earth Fare? And everything is organic?”
Uh, yeah… people like me. So what’s the story?
Orthorexia is a term originally coined by Dr. Steven Bratman in a 1997 article for Yoga Journal. In his original essay Bratman discusses how he was “saved from the doom of eternal health food addiction” after 20 years as a “wholehearted, impassioned advocate of healing through food.”
He goes on to poke jabs at raw foodists, macrobiotics, vegetarians of all kinds, vegans and his own former obsession with organic farming. “[Managing the organic farm]… gave me constant access to fresh, high-quality produce. Eventually, I became such a snob that I disdained to eat any vegetable that had been plucked from the ground more than fifteen minutes.”
He describes his experience like this: “The need to obtain food free of meat, fat and artificial chemicals put nearly all social forms of eating out of reach. Furthermore, intrusive thoughts of sprouts came between me and good conversation. Perhaps most dismaying of all, I began to sense that the poetry of my life had diminished. All I could think about was food.”
He says he was “saved” from his obsession and subsequently lost his “assumption that there exists a comprehensive and consistent theory of healing diseases through nutrition.”
Bratman has also published a book, Health Food Junkies: Overcoming the Obsession with Healthy Eating–which he self-deprecatingly describes as “extremely non-best-selling.”
Orthorexia is not a part of the DSM-IV and there are no plans to add it to the DSM-V (due out 2013), it is still being recognized as a mental disorder. I’m not so sure orthorexia can even stand on its own as a “disorder.” It seems to me that you start with an attempt at healthy eating which turns into an obsession with healthy eating which escalates to an eating disorder. At that point you would classify and treat it as an eating disorder making orthorexia diagnosis and treatment irrelevant. I suppose this is why it’s still not in the DSM.
So this brings me back to my original question. Is my interest in eating an all-vegetarian, often-vegan, sometimes-gluten-free and, when-I’m-at-Luna’s-raw diet a healthy lifestyle or… a mental disorder? I definitely think about food constantly. My eating habits affect when, where and with whom I can eat. But no, I don’t think I’m “orthorexic.”
For me I think it comes down to whether or not your healthy lifestyle is a celebration of food or a condemnation of it. For me it’s the former. Of course I’m obsessed with food and I think about it all the time, but it’s because I love it. On the other hand, one could obsess over and think about food because they’re afraid of it or because they’re trying to steer clear of “bad” things. That, I suppose, would veer closer to the unhealthy side of the spectrum. Seeking to eat clean, healthy food that tastes good and makes you feel good is most certainly not a mental disorder. But yes, I do agree with what I think Bratman was originally trying to say–that sometimes an attempt at a healthy lifestyle can become paradoxically unhealthy.
A study from the Institute of Health Science in Italy outlined additional screening questions for orthorexia should you be interested in assessing yourself:
So what’s your take on this? Agree? Disagree? Feel like you’re orthorexic or know someone who is? What are the signs? Should it be classified as one of the major eating disorders? On the other hand, is it shooting America in its big, fat foot by condemning healthy eating at a time when obesity rates are higher than ever?
Do share. I’d love to hear thoughts on this one…
... or not.
With work in full swing, I’m back in packed lunch mode. I’m a firm believer that a hectic life is not reason enough to eat garbage or spend money you don’t have on food you don’t really want. Ya heard? In my first three full days (like, 9 to 5 days) of mall work, I found myself stopping by Starbucks every afternoon. Not only do I not have money to drop on that mess, I also don’t want to become one of “those” people. You know who you are.
So now that I’m working in a mall, I feel it’s important to give myself moments of un-mall time. That’s why I’m packing my own food-court-free food and savoring it outside in the grass as far away from fluorescents lights as I can get. For lunch today: leftover raw lasagna and berries. I also had a coconut water, popcorn with trail mix and a raw almond joy bar later in the afternoon.
This shall keep me sane. Sane enough that I don’t go completely apeshit on some poor, unsuspecting Starbucks employee one day…
Perfect little berry
Today was a beautiful day for picking strawberries so the Charlotte Food Bloggers did just that. It was warm with a light breeze and overcast with big fat cumulus clouds that almost (almost) rivaled my favorite Illinois sky.
Perfect.
We met up at Miller’s Farm in Fort Mill, SC and, although I was late, the group wasn’t tough to spot.
They're the ones with the tripods.
Standard.
Normal.
Naturally, I came without cash and was digging up quarters in my cupholders when Diana swooped in and saved the day buying me my very own 5-pound basket.
I filled that sucker to the brim.
My mom always took us berry picking in the summer. I feel like the season is much later in Illinois and, therefore, much hotter. We lucked out with perfect weather but I still got sunburned despite my sunblock. My dermatologist will love that on Wednesday. :[
Last weekend Stew and I actually dropped in at the South Carolina Strawberry Festival.
"Strawberry" Festival
But after finding THIS GUY to be the only strawberry in sight, we were in and out in about 15 minutes flat.
You I cannot eat.
Needless to say, the bountiful harvest of real strawberries that I picked today was much appreciated indeed.
I will eat you.
Next week we’re meeting up again with strawberry-based food items. I’m thinking I’ll make Poptarts…
Oh but wait… the best part of the day… ANIMALS.
Juicy the pig
Aggressive donkey
I trust you like strawberries. (Stolen from Julie)
I’ve washed, prepped, stored and frozen my berries. Oh, and I ate my weight in them, too. I’m just hoping some remain for my Poptart project. All in all, a lovely little Sunday.
Zucchini and squash "spaghetti"
I feel like I’ve lived a million lives since Monday night when Stew’s parents and grandpa came into town to celebrate his birthday early and Mother’s Day late with us. It was a rather extravagant way to spend a Monday. Maybe all Mondays should be lived as such.
We started at our house with Stew’s homemade hummus and beer from OMB. Then we headed up to Petit Philippe for wine and chocolate.
Stew looks like his mom, right?
Ooooh, fancy chocolates
I don’t usually splurge on the fancypants chocolates so I was lucky to get to partake in sampling this plate. They also let us try some basil orange white chocolate that was in the works in the back. That was probably my favorite.
Our plan for dinner was Pewter Rose, which is where we went for my birthday when we first moved here almost a year ago. (I miss last summer. I miss last summer. I miss last summer.) Looking back at things we were doing a year ago crushes my soul. We are so far from what that was. This year hit me like a train and now it’s carrying me forward so fast that I don’t even know what’s happening anymore.
We haven’t been back since and I have no idea why not. The food was incredible.
Origami at Pewter Rose
Pewter Rose, Charlotte NC
I started with the heart salad, which sounds far scarier than it is. It’s grilled romaine heart, artichoke hearts and heart of palm. Pretty clever little plate, I’d say.
Heart salad
Romaine lettuce should always be grilled. Always.
For my entree I had the zucchini and squash “spaghetti,” which was just thinly sliced vegetables that resembled pasta noodles. It was covered in the most perfect spaghetti sauce and topped with mushrooms that I didn’t even hate.
"Pasta"
Stew got the vegetable lasagna and a side of truffled macaroni and cheese. Ha, yes. Don’t even ask. I made fun of him until I tried the mac and cheese. Totally worth ordering two pasta dishes.
Just like my birthday last year, we rounded out the night at Amelie’s for, uh, more chocolate.
Ooooh aaaah
Chocolate chocolate chocolate
I got two mini tarts and that was more than sufficient.
Mini tarts - one fruit, one chocolate
Not a bad way to spend a Monday.
Green green green green
That plate is sitting on the hood of my car.
It’s been a hell of a 72 hours but we successfully unloaded, sorted, folded and organized what I would predict to be no fewer than 50,000 pieces of product for what will be the ballin-est lululemon store in all the world. The days have been long and exhausting but I’ll take standing and folding over sitting and typing any day. AN.Y.DAY. I hate offices.
I wasn’t feeling a repeat raw dinner tonight because I was craving something light and green (I realize a raw dinner qualifies as such but it really tastes like legit lasagna). Enter: leftover zucchini “noodles,” steamed kale, avocado, quinoa and leftover pesto.
I really did use my car.
And Stew's.
Part of me was too exhausted and perhaps too full from last night’s feast (and today’s workplace pizza lunch break) to make something more thrilling. Then again, there’s also the little fact that it has been brought to my attention (by myself) that a combination of stress and M&Ms has resulted in a minor weight gain in the ass-al region of my… ass. I know that hearing a skinny person talk about weight gain is perhaps the most frustrating thing in the world but I also realize that reading a blog in which people lead you to believe they’re inhaling cakes and brownies and, uh, M&Ms and still rocking 6-packs is equally frustrating as hell. So I’m here to say that I’ve been eating a whole lot of cakes and brownies and, uh, M&Ms and I’m gaining weight. Just a little. Plain and simple.
Finals are over. Summer is here. The weather is beautiful. And my life is good. Hectic, but good. So I can finally get back to being myself, which, consequently, involves a slightly smaller bootay. It’s fine. An interesting thing about weight gain now versus weight gain, say, two years ago is that it’s.just.weight.gain. I no longer equate it with my self worth or my happiness or any other absurd, distorted thoughts. I equate it with weight gain. Plain and simple.
No diet or exercise plans in the works. Just a slow and steady M&M detox. I don’t think any foods are ever off limits. You can certainly eat cakes and cookies and M&Ms and rock a 6-pack if you want to. You just can’t eat as many as I have as of late just because you have 100 pages of graduate papers due and 5 finals to ace in, like, a span of a week.
There’s that. Acknowledge it. Adjust. Carry on.
Just eat this. And a sweet potato. And probably hummus.
TURN ON THE AIR, SUCKA
Since I’m writing this last night… assuming we made it through Friday the 13th in one piece, Happy Caturday! Weaz insisted we watch horror movies but we ate raw food instead.
Not only was yesterday a “freaky Friday” of sorts, it also marks a significant win for the cats (and Waldo) in the epic battle: AIR CONDITIONING.
Yes, due to animal protest, we finally did turn on the air.
Turn on the air or I turn on the KILL YOU
Without air, I will surely perish.
Wait, what?
The cats (namely Weaz) are dramatic as hell about the heat but the decision to turn on the air was more for Waldo and (a tad bit selfishly) for us. His breath is like rotting pile of feces-stuffed wheel of cheese and when he pants that’s what the whole house smells like. It was definitely time.
And now I would like a treat.
Now I can sit upright! (Look at her feet)
Now that everyone is happy we can all rest comfortably.
Especially Waldito.
Almost-raw chocolate strawberry pie
I fear I was more excited about Stew’s birthday today than Stew was. Perhaps it’s because I’ve spent the last three nights prepping an epic (albeit labor intensive) raw feast to celebrate his existence. I had so much fun putting this together I told him we could go ahead and count it as my birthday, too.
Yay!
It was kind of hard to keep a secret since we share a kitchen and all but he was banished to his office for three nights in a row while I worked so that even though he guessed exactly what I was doing (“Can I guess? Are you making raw food?”), he never got to see or taste anything until today.
This morning I gave him his special birthday menu so he’d dream about it all day while I was at work. It included:
Raw sunflower seed and zucchini hummus
Raw lasagna
Chocolate strawberry pie
He didn’t get any other gifts other than an “I love my hound dog” sticker and a pound of Dilworth Coffee so I insisted on wrapping the lasagna up for a dramatic reveal.
Do you know how hard it is to wrap lasagna?
Everything was de.li.cious. and I’m calling this my crowning culinary glory. Recipes will follow later this week but for now… I need to pass out.
Vegetable tempeh sandwich
Surprise and delight. It’s something we talk about a lot at work. And since I am living and breathing work for the next week or so, I’m talking about it now. You know what’s surprising? This little old-timey market in the middle of Charlotte.
Berrybrook Farm
And you know what’s delightful? That it operates a wee tiny vegetarian/vegan pickup counter inside. I stopped by after back-to-back classes (at Hilliard and at Be Yoga) to refuel. I debated countless options and eventually went with the vegetable tempeh sandwich topped with avocado and cilantro pesto. Yes, I ate the cilantro and didn’t hate it in that form.
Fuel
I plopped myself right down on that cute little front porch and pretended I was taking a rest stop on the Oregon Trail. Fun fact: I have had dysentery.
No I haven't.
I was in Chile in 2005 petting stray dogs and eating street food and drinking tap water. It was inevitable. I was hospitalized for my last three days. It was the worst. It may come as a surprise, but unlike many a failed attempt at Oregon Trail, I did not end up dying.
Oh yes.
Today was one of those exhaustingly invigorating kind of days. The kind of day where I don’t sit down for 12 hours straight. The kind of day where I never once know exactly what time it is. And the kind of day that ends with cereal for dinner. You know what I’m talking about.
We’re gearing up to open the store so I’ve got three straight days of box after box after box to unload, fold and display. I kind of love it.
Knowing I’d have a long day of standing ahead, I started my morning off with hot vinyasa at Y2 and, honestly, by about 3pm I was aching for another hour of practice. My cubicled body just isn’t used to standing all day anymore. I’m thrilled to be doing it though. Human bodies aren’t made to sit all the time. If you can move you should move. That’s how I see it.
Two things I can’t wait to buy:
Bow tee
Vinyasa scarf
But naturally I will wait because I have no dollars. Speaking of… I got an apartment. Holler. And a bright red couch. Who am I? I’m slipcovering that couch. Obviously. I’m a neutral girl. Believe it.
When I got home I put the finishing touches on Stew’s epic birthday dinner for tomorrow night. I won’t give anything away yet but I will say that this is my crowning culinary glory. It’s taken me 6 hours of prep work and probably another couple tomorrow but I find it to be the most enjoyable activity there is–cooking for someone you love.
Taquitos vegetarianos
Mushroom, avocado, cotija, roasted red pepper, caramelized onion and cilantro in a crispy taco shell. On their own, I’m not so sure I even like half of those ingredients. But once they’re finessed and combined into Cantina 1511′s famous taquitos vegetarianos (and smothered in some kind of mood altering mole-type sauce, of course) they form what is without a doubt the absolute best meal I’ve ever eaten at a Mexican restaurant. [I'm keeping a running list of the best things I've ever eaten. You'll find it in the navigation bar at the top of the page.]
Stew has been eating these taquitos since the very first time we went to Cantina sometime last year. Deterred by the mushrooms, cilantro, cheese and countless meals I’ve eaten consisting of bland, mushy slop from other “Mexican” places, I always erred on the side of caution and got things like salad or fajitas. Dumb, Katie.
I love you.
Plus, this meal is so completely mind-blowing, Stew never saw fit to share with me so I had no way of knowing how perfect it really is. Several weeks ago (I’m not sure what came over me), I ordered the taquitos myself and Stew got a salad. Perhaps it was a sign of the end of the world…
Flawless. These taquitos are flawless. The crunch of a crispy fried shell gives way to a perfect mix of mushrooms, avocado and caramelized onions. Somehow, it doesn’t taste like any of those things. But whatever that final mix is is far greater than the sum of its parts, I’ll tell you that. It’s topped off with a light drizzle of cream and a lighter sprinkling of cotija cheese. This is where “Mexican” restaurants usually blow it: drowning everything in some sort of low-quality dairy product. This garnish happened to be the perfect complement to the tangy red sauce that coats the taquitos.
Pale in comparison
The reason I never wrote about these taquitos weeks ago when I first tried them was because we ate in the bar at night and I knew my pictures would never ever do them justice. So here they are in all their glory in the lunchtime lighting of Cantina’s patio.
I will undoubtedly get a call from Stew today requesting dinner at Cantina. Wait for it…
El Luchador smoothie - peanuts, cacao, hemp milk
The storms that have been tearing up the south the past month are making the apocalypse loonies look pretty legitimate. You’ve heard the world is ending on May 21, right? Best live it up, y’all. I heard on NPR that true believers of this movement have quit their jobs and are spending their savings to ZERO in an anticipation of May 22 not coming. Crazy.
I’m not on board but I do find it unsettling that we’ve had such intense storms tearing through all over the country. Call me crazy but something tells me it’s global warming and not the end of mankind. Just a thought.
Tornado alley?
Hey neighbor
As far as I know there weren’t any tornadoes last night but our cheap plastic fence can’t handle the 60mph winds the storm threw at it so it collapsed in a heap. The table and umbrella were also on top of my car. No big deal on our end. I’m hoping there wasn’t worse damage elsewhere.
In honor of a strong and powerful storm, I have for you a strong and power smoothie: el luchador from Luna’s. I wasn’t feeling much like a luchadora last night when I ordered it. In fact, I was being rather helpless. I had picked up a couch for my place and didn’t feel comfortable driving with it sticking out the back secured with only the straps I could find at the Family Dollar. So I called Stew and made him come up. He was rewarded with dinner at Luna’s. My appetite has been shot (hey stress) so I got el luchador.
Fighter
It’s like a grown up, far healthier version of my old peanut butter banana smoothie with organic peanuts, cacoa and hemp milk. Remember that time Stew made a boyfriend version of the smoothie with an ice cream sandwich blended in? Not quite what I drank last night… Hopefully mine put a little fight back in me.
I’m off to get my butt handed to me at Hilliard Studio. Hope everyone in my area is ok following the storm!
This is on the hood of Stew's car. Truth.
Perhaps you’ve heard (here, here and here) that I’m a little excited about this little garden we planted. Unfortunately I neglected it a bit lot during finals and had to swing by over the weekend to salvage the remains of our nearly-ruined broccoli harvest. The horror.
Some of the broccoli had already (or at least almost) flowered but I managed to wrangle up a big sackful for dinner. I was also thrilled to death to find that our potatoes were producing at an impressive rate…
TATERS
The onions were also on their last leg so I nabbed the last of them and now have more onions than any one person should ever possess. Ever.
I’m new to this whole community garden thing and I’m pretty sure I got the go ahead to help myself to plots that have been more or less abandoned for the summer… but is it wrong to take vegetables from another plot if you’re pretty positive they were left there to perish? Because that’s how I got these turnips.
I'm not ashamed.
Mario approves.
Hell, I wish someone had picked our broccoli before it flowered. And that’s why I’m gonna eat those turnips and never look back.
I took our harvest and made a beautiful dinner of roasted broccoli and charred green onions, skillet potatoes with garlic, onion and manchego cheese and baked tofu. We topped it off with mmm sauce which Stew had prepared in quadruple amounts on “accident” purpose. So perfect.
PS – I really did take that first picture on the hood of Stew’s car. Who needs a lightbox when your boyfriend drives a white car?
Tempeh sandwich with muenster, carrot, bell pepper
It seems a bit off but I like to eat toasted sandwiches in the summer. Nope, not in the cold harsh months of winter that call for warm, crunchy, carby comfort. No, I eat them when it’s 95 degrees outside.
Toasted sandwiches take me back to this time last year when I had just bailed on adulthood, quit my job to start school and moved with Stew to a townhome with a pool. Toasted veggie sandwiches were the lunch item of choice on days when I dragged him out to the pool in the middle of his work-from-home day, which for me was the middle of my nth hour of doing absolutely nothing. It was a beautiful thing, a simpler time.
Simple.
This year I don’t really know what doing nothing feels like. I don’t really want to go to the pool because I know I won’t have it in another month and then I’ll whine about it. I put a deposit on a place in the city for myself and he’s moving away to work on music. It’s good, we tell ourselves. And I think it will be. But I miss last year a lot.
Teff breakfast bake with honey & SB butter
Weekdays are for rushing around like an idiot, packing four bags–one for workout clothes, one for school books, one for food (duh), one for essentials (driver’s license, money if I have any, etc.)–and sucking down smoothies on the way out the door. Weekends, however, weekends are for baking. Even if it’s quick and simple.
As a kid, I remember waking up on Sundays to the smell of bacon, biscuits and coffee. I’d eat countless biscuits stuffed with fat slices of sharp cheddar cheese and then sprawl out on the living room floor mimicking my parents’ morning newspaper habit. The only difference is that they read for the news. I read for the “Free to Good Home” pets section of the classifieds. Priorities.
The end of my first week of summer after a rather hellish first year as a grad student called for a real Sunday morning. So yesterday I made a double batch of Ashley’s baked buckwheat for Stew and me but with teff flour instead of buckwheat.
Smother with toppings. Obviously.
We topped them with sunflower butter, honey and coconut and I sipped a most glorious iced coffee with rice milk. I swear I’m kicking the caffeine habit… sometime. I keep telling myself it’s not the pick-me-up I crave; it’s the ceremony of it all. The smell, the taste, ritual of brewing. That I don’t care to part with just yet.
Biblical breakfast. Luna's (Charlotte NC)
Well I could get used to this… I’ve been to Luna’s three times in one week. THRICE. I can’t stop myself.
On Friday morning I met up with a coworker to sample some menu items for an upcoming catered event. It’s a hard life I lead, you see. I went from hungover (from two glasses of wine the night before… yes, two) to happily floating through a blissful raw/vegan/organic food high in less than an hour. It was a beautiful thing.
White pomegranate tea
I started with a white pomegranate tea and the Biblical Breakfast–artisan sprouted bread with coconut butter, peanut butter, almond butter and fig preserves. Perfect, I tell you.
Then it was on to sampling for our event…
Bircher muesli
Buckwheat blaster
Coconut almond macaroons
It was all so insanely good. I was like a… vegan in a vegan restaurant. Luckily I had a logical counterpart with me to think big picture things like overall menu planning, pricing, etc. because I was all: “YES EVERYTHING IS GOOD. GO.”
I want to eat here every single day of my life. One of the coolest things Juli, the owner, said was that she and her staff don’t consider themselves chefs, but artists. I think that is such a perfect way to look at food.
Veggie burger at Pinky's
It’s no surprise to me that there’s a shortage of vegetarian food in the south. I’m in the land of chicken-fried, bacon-garnished, gravy-laden food and I’m well aware that all vegetables are simmered in chicken stock. It’s just the way things go down here.
Make no mistake, I can create a suitable vegetarian meal just about anywhere I go. Creative menu finagling and keeping your server on your side will take you a long way. Still, it’d be nice to be able to order right off the menu without making special requests that piss off the chef. And while I know I can get a “vegetarian plate” out of just about any restaurant, sometimes I just want a burger and fries… or something deep-fried that isn’t from a chicken. I just want some animal-free bar food, ya heard?
So hooray for Pinky’s Westside Grill and their abundant vegetarian offerings.
Charlotte, NC
Wiener Wonderland
Even the “Wiener Wonderland” includes a soydog.
Stew got the veggie burger, beer and fries.
Burger
Beer
Fries
Sometimes you just need a big fat sloppy burger on a white bun. With sesame seeds. Vegetarians have needs, too, you know.
As for me, if given the option of falafel, I will order falafel every single time. So this happened:
Falafel salad
Joynugget
I highly recommend Pinky’s for vegetarians and meat-eaters alike. You could please everyone here.
Ralph in a box
I’m running behind on Caturday today because I’m too busy being a responsible adult. Not only did I update my computer and turn off my computer for the first time in like a month… I also got my oil changed. Bring on the responsible adult award.
Exactly (Source: Hyperbole and a Half)
Weaz has been responsible. She helped make the bed…
I learned from Martha Stewart.
And Ralphie is on recycling duty.
Reduce and reuse, sucka.
We’ve also been plenty active. I went to back-to-back classes this morning–superflow at Y2 Yoga (my favorite) and my first (0f many) butt whooping at Hilliard Studio Method. If you’re in or around Charlotte or just come to visit, you have to take classes at these two places. Have to. I’ll go with you. Ralph and Weaz insist.
Waldo has successfully done nothing at all today.
Ehhhh hate on, hater.
But he at least looks polite while doing nothing:
Good day.
While Weaz looks like this:
Doop.
Weaz also has no table manners.
MINE.
You gonna eat dat?
She’s a lost cause.
Cupcakes + Books = Yes.
I don’t care what anyone told you in middle school; reading is for cool people. I’ve been a reader my whole life ever since my mom propped me up on a pillow to listen to my brother’s bedtime stories as an infant. We were regulars at the library, participated in Pizza Hut’s Book It program (duh) and made it rain on the monthly Scholastic Book Fair. Beyond that I was also a proud member of Junior Great Books, a book club for the “advanced” kids at my elementary school. (My mom ran it.) I was also in TSP–Talented Student Program–which the mean kids renamed Totally Stupid People. I hope none of them have succeeded in life.
THE POINT IS… I’m in a book club. I’d almost say I started a book club but mostly I just kept throwing the idea out there for several months until someone else took the reins. (Thanks, Caitlin!)
Forget night clubs. I'm in a mf BOOK CLUB.
Our meetings are being held monthly at FABO Cafe where we plan to drink wine, eat cupcakes and, oh, I guess talk about books. For the inaugural meeting, our only goal was to pick the first book. We threw around ideas, voted and agreed on this:
Feel free to read along with us. Perhaps you’d like to start your own club in your city! And we can all eat cupcakes and get drunk and tweet about books. It’ll be magical. But if you hate this first selection, talk to Brittney. It was her pick. WINK.
Book fuel
Viva Mexico
Did you know that Cinco de Mayo is more widely celebrated throughout the United States than it is in Mexico? Truth. It’s also not their Independence Day. That’s September 16 and is a much bigger deal. It must be because we love Mexican food so much. And tequila. Also pinatas… And stereotyping.
I have neither tequila nor pinatas to offer up on this lovely day but I do have tamales and isn’t that enough? Yes.
I’ve made tamales once before but I used foil instead of corn husks and it was really kind of just a sad operation all around. This time I decided to fully commit and come armed with an arsenal of goodies from the latin supermarket, including nopalitos, corn husks and masa. If only I had also done my research and realized that proper tamale-making is a multi-day affair. I started at 7pm the other night. When they finally came out of the steamer around 10, we opted to save them for another time.
Soooo we'll save these for another day then...
I used a masa recipe that I found at Adventures of Superwife but I halved everything to avoid creating a billion tamales at one time. Then I stuffed them with my own mix of kidney beans, onion, garlic and nopalitos.
They’re good but not quite good enough to brag about. I ate mine with a small salad, sauteed zucchini and broccoli slaw, avocado and a squeeze of lime. Sure beats a plate o’ slop found at Americanized Mexican places. Ack.
Are you celebrating Cinco de Mayo? I should certainly hope so.
Tacocat needs a shot.
Quinoa-kamut burger
I can’t believe I just tainted something so perfect as lunch at Luna’s with a Black-Eyed Peas song lyric for a title. Alas, it’s true… I just can’t get enough Luna’s. Sure I just ate there 48 hours ago, but wouldn’t you come back too if you were greeted with a quinoa-kamut burger? You would.
I got another lemon kombucha because it’s a.ma.zing and they make it right there in the restaurant.
Lemon kombucha
They brew it on site!
Juli also let us nab some raw coconut macaroons.
Yes please.
Hello I love you.
I’m trying to save my second macaroon for Stew. It’s not easy. That, my friends, is love.
I also had the good fortune of meeting Lucille the bread baker. Remember those dense, warm crostini with walnuts and cranberries that almost made me cry? She makes those and a wealth of other carby delights. She has an awesome story–lived in Germany for 20 years and France for a bit, learned to make traditional artisan breads the European way, came to the US, realized our breads suck (it’s true, they do) and started selling her own.
As you can see, it was awful.
Would you call me crazy if I said I’ll be back on Friday? Well it’s Crazypants McGee to you.
Chai green smoothie. Yeah, boy.
This morning I thought I had this really brilliant idea to add chai tea to my green smoothie. (PS – Have you read Jess’ story about her mom’s “tai chi”? So good.) It was a good idea, a brilliant idea even.
But you see, I pulled a Sandra Lee on my semi-homemade chai tea smoothie and used this impulse buy I picked up at Target one day. I have no idea what came over me…
How'd you get in there? :[
To illustrate:
My boxed chai on the left, Jenna's homemade on the right
You see what I’m saying. Nevertheless, the breakfast was heavy on awesome. To make it Sandra Lee-style you need:
Chai Tea Green Smoothie
1 frozen banana
1.5 c rice milk
1/2 c boxed chai tea
1/2 c frozen spinach
1/4 c oats
1 tsp mesquite powder (optional)
1 Tbso ground flax (optional)
1 c vodka (totally optional, Sandra would do it)
Throw it all in a blender and go to town. There you have it.
King dancer. Nay... queen.
My yoga practice has been lagging. This lack of commitment coupled with my triumphant return to running has left me feeling creaky and tight. I haven’t been to my “home” studio for almost a month because I’ve been caught up in activities surrounding the end of classes and the start of my new job. One of my biggest struggles in yoga is remembering that the practice is mine and about me no matter where I go. I have a tendency to get attached pretty easily. I fall hard and fast and don’t like change.
Not only does this lack of flexibility not work in yoga, it doesn’t work in my life either. At work we’re outlining our personal, professional and health goals for the next 1, 5 and 10 years. I consider this a rather daunting task. I don’t know what I’m doing 15 minutes from now much less 10 years down the road. I think the rigidity of my life has left me feeling a little stagnant and is halting any moves I could and should be making toward the future. The biggest challenge I find in writing the goals is that I’m writing them as broken, tired (and let’s face it) terrified me and, as a result, am crafting my future from within the confines of how I see and feel right now. I’m not pushing myself to get what I really want. I feel like I’m writing down what I know I could achieve pretty easily.
Peaceful warrior pose
So yesterday I went to a studio that’s relatively new to my practice and took a class with hands down one of the best instructors in the city. She was talking about how yoga doesn’t really start until we start to feel uncomfortable. When we want to fidget, release, fix our hair, scratch our heads, essentially run from the pose… that’s when the real yoga begins. “What good is a pose I already know how to do?” she asked. “It’s the one just beyond that I’m striving for.” So I guess where I am right now–uncomfortable, distracted and fidgety as all hell–is where life really begins.
In the class, we were practicing dancer with a strap. We don’t use straps at my studio so I set mine down and went into the beginner version of the pose as I know it. Safe, predictable, comfortable. The teacher walked by and said, “Try the full pose.” Having never tried it in my life I said, “I can’t.”
What’s cool about yoga teachers is they’ll never try to force a pose on you. So she walked away and left me to myself. When we got to the pose on the other leg an assistant had moved over to my mat. She asked if I was up for it and I decided to give it a try. What good is a pose I already know how to do, right? What would it look like to go one step further? The answer is the picture at the top of this page.
I’m excited about that picture and that pose. I’d never tried it because I never thought I could do it. What good does that do me? How many other doors have I closed on myself? I guess it’s time to find out.
CATS REQUIRED
Raw brownie. Raw brownie. Raw brownie.
Finally, my day has come. Last time we went to Luna’s Living Kitchen I had already eaten and had to watch in agony as Stew savored the sprouted quinoa-kamut burger. (White whine.) So to celebrate the end of my semester, he took me there for lunch. So I’d stop whining about it, I assume. Or so he could eat it again. Both.
Kale salad
I had a gorgeous kale salad with tamari almonds and veggie “rice.” I have no idea what they use to make the rice but I’ve heard that people use cauliflower to make raw rice. I don’t even care. It was amazing.
Nasturtium salad
Stew had the nasturtium salad (look it up), which came with guacamole, sunflower pate and moooore veggie rice.
Hey boy.
Lemon kombucha for me. Ginger ale for him.
And I rounded it out with an order of “hummus,” which is actually a sunflower seed puree.
Blow.your.mind.
The bread! The bread!
Holy canoli (can’t stop saying it try to stop me). This.was.perfect. The bread… dear God the bread. It had big hunks of walnuts and cranberries in it. Warm. Guuuhhh. Handmade daily By Lucille.
And just in case the meal weren’t perfect enough, Juli brought out a dessert they’re working on. This is just the base. They’re planning to top it with a layer of strawberries, another brownie and cashew cream. Shut your mouth. I know. I know. It’s the best thing ever.
Raw brownies own my soul.
Happy glorious wonderful day. I’m so glad it’s summer. Got you this.
PS – In case anyone wants to poo-poo our raw meal and say it’s not enough for a rabbit… we’re both still perfectly satiated 7 hours later. SE.VEN. And that never happens. Fiber.
In the midst of chaos, eat vegetables.
So I may not be the poster child for having my shit together but I like to think that over the past year and a half of mayhem, I have done a pretty good job of keeping my composure and at least upholding my core values surrounding food and health. Sure, my shower and sleeping schedules have been a bit erratic but my fresh produce intake has been pretty steady. Win some, lose some.
Though my peanut butter M&M consumption has skyrocketed the past couple of weeks, so has my vegetable consumption.
A healthy diet should be viewed on a long-term macro scale not a nit-picky micro-level obsession about every single thing that enters your body. There are no bad [real] foods. (I consider processed diet crap a non-food, mind you.) You can eat anything you damn well please so long as your overall diet is balanced… or perhaps a little vegetable heavy, in my opinion.
lululemon manifesto
Perhaps you are familiar with the lululemon manifesto. It’s a set of phrases that guide the culture of the company. My favorite is “Do it now, do it now, do it now.“ If I were to create my own collection of phrases that guide my life, the first would be:
Excuse me, studying. I need some zucchini.
It’s great to have drive and motivation and a desire to achieve success. And maybe those things require losing sleep, lots of stress and working more than you play. So be it. But it’s my firm belief that without your health, you won’t make it very far in your overachieving life. And without a sound diet and regular physical activity, I don’t see you feeling too terribly healthy. So when things start to get a little crazy, sit your butt down and “eat a goddamn vegetable.”
Exercise and stay hydrated, too.
Another thing that changed my attitude toward my “stressful” life was my trip to Nicaragua. My time there made me completely reevaluate my life and how I view it. A week in a hammock in the mountains of Matagalpa makes my work stress and school stress and life stress look like a resort vacation. Perspective can go a long way. When you’re in the midst of chaos (and eating your vegetables, I presume), step back and look at the bigger picture. In the grand scheme, it’s probably not so bad.
Stew says that I had a markedly different attitude when I got back from Nicaragua. At first, it was almost apathy; I couldn’t be bothered to care about anything so insignificant as going to class. After a few weeks of readjustment, I think I got a better handle on balancing my responsibilities without letting them run my life and without forgetting where I stand in the greater global scheme. I’m happy about that.
And so, my first year and a half as a a grad student comes to a close. There are lots of changes coming up in the next couple of months and while the past 15 months have certainly drained me, I think I grew a lot and learned even more. On to the next…
PS – Stew got me: something sweet (chocolate PB pretzel truffles), something deep (Chris Cleave novel), something shallow (Cosmo, cringe), something for the cats (mouse!) and something catchy (mixed CD) to celebrate the end of the semester.
End of semester presents from Stew
Prickly pear cactus cakes topped with banana soft serve
This has been the weirdest couple of days. I had a final Saturday morning so it’s thrown off my whole weekend swagger. Swagger? You heard me.
I slept past 5:30am like a normal person, watched Trump get skewered by Seth Meyers at the correspondents’ dinner, ate a lovely little plate of prickly pear cactus bars topped with sunflower butter and banana soft serve and am plotting a run here in a minute. I feel like a human again.
Today marks the end of my first lululemon commit 30 challenge.
See ya, Jersey Shore.
Other than watching the Royal Wedding at Caitlin’s house this week, I haven’t been near a TV much less watched one. In fact, we cut our cable off entirely. I also rearranged the living room so that the TV is no longer the focal point.
I thought it would be harder to cut out TV than it was. At the time I was probably watching 14-20 hours a week (at least 2 hours a night), which is completely ridiculous considering my overbooked schedule. I mean, that’s another part-time job. I found that I was cutting out important parts of my life (yoga, time with Stew, time with myself) but still had time to watch a 2-hour episode of The Bachelor. There is something very wrong with that.
I don’t think TV is all bad. But I do know that most of the shows I watched were not bettering my life in any way. Jersey Shore, Hoarders, Real Housewives and anything else I can find on Bravo provide entertainment, yes, but in the end it’s just a way for me to shut my mind off and avoid my own life by living vicariously through a handful of train wrecks who make me feel better about myself. I don’t know about you but I’d much rather turn off the TV than my mind. Since giving up TV I have:
We don’t have any plans to turn the cable back on but you may find me knocking on your door when season 4 of Jersey Shore (FROM ITALY) is on. I really can’t miss that.
Tonight Caitlin, Diana and I were invited to attend a Slow Food Charlotte event featuring Tony Coturri (who, it’s worth mentioning, is revered as “the godfather of sustainable organic wines”) at Atherton Mill Market.
The event featured eight chefs showcasing local produce, cheeses and meats that were paired with one of Coturri’s wines.
Slow Food Charlotte
x 3... or 4... or so.
Drank
My first sample was a cornmeal pancake topped with strawberry radish compote and shaved asparagus. I loved it. This was followed by chocolate cake and lavender-infused sipping chocolate.
Skipping straight to dessert...
Lavender-infused chocolate
Truly, I could have had nothing but that lavender chocolate and would have left feeling well pleased with the event. It was insane. In fact, I didn’t want anything else. That is, until we spotted this vegetable-heavy table:
Collard green cole slaw
Local salad
Tomato basil tarts
I definitely need to replicate the slaw and tomato tarts from Beverly’s Gourmet. They were worth losing the lingering taste of lavender chocolate on my tongue…
local.seasonal.sustainable.
Success.
We had to pop in and out of the event pretty quickly to get to Brittney’s birthday par-tay.
Happy birthday, Brittney!
We met up with these lovely ladies for Mellow Mushroom, frozen yogurt and all the girl talk you can stand:
I love it.
My body insisted I order food even though it was full of wine and lavender chocolate. So now this is sitting in my fridge:
Tempeh salad
Parmesan pretzels
But there was room for some frozen yogurt.
Obviously.
This was such a fun night for me and it wasn’t even my birthday. So let’s close with a glorious action shot of the party girl herself:
Go, Brittney. It's your birthday.
Strawberry oat sundae... parfait? Glob.
There are good students and then there are people who make a 30-page typed study guide only to let it sit idly next to their laptop whilst blogging about food. Can you guess which I am?
Maybe it’s that I think foodservice theories are common sense. Or maybe it’s that the weather has been really, really nice. Or maybe it’s because this final is on a damn Saturday. SATURDAY. Or maybe it’s that I can’t seem to get my personal or financial lives in order and it has thrown all other facets of my life into complete disarray. Or maybe, just maybe, it’s that at some point you have to just give it up and accept the fact that eating breakfast (and taking pictures of it… and writing about it) is more important than all other things.
Yeah, boy.
Tis the season for vegan overnight oats with banana soft serve. No idea what I’m talking about? You can check out Angela’s run down of 12 of her favorite recipes. Never made banana soft serve? What’s wrong with you? Make haste: How to make banana soft serve.
Strawberry banana soft serve parfait
More ideas:
How I Make Cold Oats w/Banana Soft Serve
Two-Ingredient Cherry Soft Serve
Peanut Butter Apple Parfait with Granola
This morning I combined 1 frozen banana and about 5 strawberries to make strawberry banana soft serve. This was then layered with a mix of 1/2 c oats, 1 c almond milk, sprinkle of chia seeds, cinnamon and ground flax. I let the oat mix sit in the fridge about 15 minutes while I made the soft serve and some coffee. This gives it time to soak up the milk. Then layer it and top with nut butter and coconut.
If you haven’t tried this, you’ve lost your mind.
HALP!
Welcome to Caturday: Panic Mode Edition. Not only is Weaz stuck in the window again…
HAAAAALP
But I also have to study for and take a comprehensive final covering mmmm 600 pages of material in the next three hours. I haven’t looked at any of the material. That’s good. Since today is going so well already, Waldo has agreed to walk you through Caturday…
Me, Waldo?
Yes, YOU Waldo!
Me, Waldo!
I’m actually so old and oblivious and FARTY that I didn’t even know we had cats until today. What a wonderful surprise… Is it time for breakfast?
This little thing does this when she wants something.
How about now? Breakfast?
This big thing does this when she wants something.
That’s mostly all they do. Is it time for breakfast?
This is the little one getting Furminated.
Gross, Weaz.
You are gross.
I would like breakfast now.
Breakfast?
Thanks, Waldo. That was… terrible. As you well know, it is time for breakfast every single day the exact second I wake up because you jump around like an idiot and I know you’ve been sitting there staring a hole through my soul since 4am. So yes, it’s time for breakfast.
Side note: Do you and your roommate fight over the thermostat? If your roommate was a cat do you think you’d still fight over it? You would. Here’s Weaz being dramatic about our decision to not use air conditioning.
Care for a spot of tea?
Let’s be honest, I have not paid a single second of attention to all this royal wedding hullabaloo. I just can’t be bothered. Plus, we don’t even have TV anymore. So it’s a little embarrassing to admit that I was up at 4:30 this morning doing this:
HOLY MOLY A PRINCESS
Practicing our waves (stolen from Caitlin)
Caitlin hosted a Royal Wedding viewing party and despite the beastly project I have to complete, two finals I have to study for, work I have to tend to and a life in shambles that I should at some point put back together, I thought it wise to skip sleep and play fairy tale at 5 o’clock in the morning.
Everybody wants to escape life and live vicariously through a commoner-turned-princess, right? Right.
We had a proper English breakfast complete with scones and tea…
Where are the crumpets? What are crumpets?
Proper.
I wish I could say that even while watching I still wasn’t dragged under by the wave of excitement. But there I sat on the floor… wiener dog hybrid by my side… trying not to cry and squealing out things like, “She looks so pretyyyyyy.” I’m embarrassed.
EEEEEEEE
Stressful
It’s been a recent development, I guess in the last year or so, that I cry about all things wedding-related. (Have you seen Nicole’s engagement video? Weeping.) Nothing I can do about it. I think that prior to being in love, I never quite got the weight of what the ceremony means. Heavy, heavy, heavy.
And so can you imagine on top of that going from commoner to princess? It’s the coolest thing ever. I’m glad I hopped on the bandwagon and watched. History, I suppose. Plus… scones. Duh.
Cute little nopalitos
Ethnic grocery stores are my playground. I remember even when I was little making a beeline to the “ethnic foods” aisle at our everyday grocery store. I like to see what the rest of the world eats, to learn about new things and (when I’m feeling feisty) to try them. Now, as a dietitian-to-be, I also think it’s imperative that I understand a range of diets beyond my own (including those of omnivores, people with allergies or Celiac disease and people from different parts of the world) so that I can counsel and plan diets in a culturally sensitive way.
I’ve started shopping at one of our local hispanic supermarkets because it’s CHEAP and because it’s awesome. Last time we were in we picked up a little baggy (literally, ziploc baggy) of nopales.
Nopales (or nopalitos when chopped up) are the “meat” from the pads of the prickly pear cactus. Awesome already, right? Even better… Nopales are:
And you can eat 'em too.
Nopales are surprisingly high in calcium (24% of your daily recommended value in 1 cup… almost as much as a glass of milk) but it is in the oxalate form of calcium, which is not absorbed in the human body.
Nevertheless, nopales are a great addition to a healthy diet. I sauteed them with green onion, chickpeas and carrots today and served that over quinoa and romaine lettuce. Last week, Stew made perhaps his best hummus to date by adding boiled nopales to his top secret chickpea concoction.
Cactus salad
I can’t wait to use them as a filling for tamales or to toss into soups. The possibilities are endless.
No good can come of this.
At the ripe old age of 25, I appear to have made zero progress toward deciding what to do with my life. I have, however, compiled a rather extensive list of things I like and things I do not like.
Exhibit A
It is apparent I am well on my way to a successful and fulfilling life as a rap producer/cat trainer who eats a whole damn lot.
What am I talking about? As you can see clearly stated in Exhibit A, I do not like mayonnaise. I do not like it at all. Right before I went vegetarian, I had a nightmare that people were eating people with mayonnaise and kept trying to get me to try it. Not only did I not try human flesh, I do not eat any flesh. I also do not eat mayonnaise but that’s just because it’s gross.
So what made me think that a curried tofu salad made with vegenaise (vegan mayonnaise, son, lookitup) would be in any way appropriate is a mystery.
Nope.
The sad thing about this salad (which I purchased at Common Market and enjoyed on their front bench) is that it was good. It was so good. I was so pleased with myself. I was all: “Way to buy this delicious and affordable vegetarian protein source to put on the sandwich you packed from home, you frugal, responsible and nutritionally sound individual.”
But then… then like an hour later I was minding my business at Amelie’s trying to decide whether or not an old man’s comment to me that it must be freezing in here had anything to do with the fact that it was cold or that I wasn’t wearing a bra when all of the sudden BAM… My body’s like: WHAT IS THIS MAYONNAISE-LIKE SUBSTANCE I DETECT. YOU WILL VOMIT NOW.
YOU.
I didn’t really vomit. But I wanted to very badly. So much so that I went home instead of doing this thing for work that wasn’t required but that I wanted to do and that not doing led to my losing a little staff challenge.
Thanks a lot, mayonnaise!
Fruit fruit fruit
Summertime is fruit time as far as I’m concerned. And while this watermelon came from Mexico and the mango came from God knows where and they both grow there year-round no matter what, Stew did get me these local North Carolina strawberries. Their presence on my plate signals that despite it being April and despite me still taking finals and also despite the fact that I don’t know the actual first day of summer… summer is, in fact, here.
I missed strawberry season last year–what with the quitting my job and going back to school and moving and you know. But this year I am determined to pick my own. My mom used to grow strawberries in her garden and she took us to pick at bigger farms, too. Come to think of it, we had a lot of harvest-centric outings as kids: apples, strawberries, blueberries… CORN. Oh man, nothing is better than making a stop at the corn stand. You know, the kind where no on is there and you just leave your money in a box on the counter. The honor system at its finest.
PS - This is what food looks like under a flash. Pleh.
I didn’t love Illinois while I was there. But once I was in college 850 miles away I realized that what I missed most about my former home was the sky. Some people love mountains. Some people love the coast. I guess most people don’t think the flatlands have all that much to offer in terms of terrain. But what they don’t realize–and what I didn’t until I was gone–is that the beauty of the midwest isn’t about the landscape. It’s about the way the low flat open fields bring the sky right down to you.
Blood, sweat, tears
The capstone project for my foodservice class was a semester-long restaurant concept paper in which we had to build a restaurant–quite literally from the ground up, floor plans and all. I did it all… in 24 hours.
I don’t want to give away too much of the idea because if I get really motivated I might just try to open this bad boy one day. Here is the abstract:
“Greenburger is a small fast-casual vegetarian restaurant serving lunch and dinner in the historic arts district of Charlotte’s North Davidson (NoDa) neighborhood. In catering to the area’s dynamic late-night music and youth culture environment, the restaurant will offer extended hours Thursday-Saturday nights.
The restaurant will focus on fast, affordable, accessible vegetarian food with an emphasis on locally sourced, seasonal and organic produce. The atmosphere will be that of a reinvented, more refined burger joint with throwbacks to vintage American diners. A limited menu will feature bean-based veggie burger flavors and a build-your-own option (pick your bean, spices and mix-ins) to be served on a choice of salad greens, whole grain of the day (quinoa, millet, etc.) or a bun. Side options will include baked sweet potato or herbed russet potato fries. A selection of vegan desserts will be made on site. A selection of glass-bottled beverages, brewed iced teas, tap water and kombucha (fermented tea product) on tap will be available along with a limited selection of local beers and wines.
The restaurant will take care to accommodate guests with celiac disease or food allergies by offering gluten-free and allergen-free items.”
I'm an architect now.
I really love foodservice so this was a fun project for me. A little crunched for time and, therefore, stressful. But that’s what pudding pops are for…
Good idea.
So if ever you need a restaurant… you know who to call.
Strawberry Mango Muffins
What’s better than Shark Week? Nothing! But what is of comparable shmeeee-inducing excitement? Muffin Week!
I didn’t plan it, but back-to-back mornings of baking mean that this has apparently become the week of the muffin. Nobody’s complaining.
This morning’s concoction was the same recipe from yesterday but instead of 2 Tbsp avocado puree, I added about a 1/4 c pureed strawberries and mangoes (this translates to about 4 strawberries and 3 chunks of mango into a small food processor).
Topped with coconut butter
These still need some work since the fruit taste wasn’t strong enough. But they were still good, especially when drizzled with a little coconut butter. Yesterday’s avocado version was definitely better, though. The experiments continue…
Pretty
Avocado mousse muffin. Hey, baby.
Oh, weekend… where have you gone? I must have missed you somewhere between the 10-page Food Insecurity in Nicaragua paper or the 70-page Foodservice Management Continuum. Or perhaps you slipped by sometime yesterday as my 25-page, semester-long Restaurant Concept paper was crammed into one mere rotation of the earth.
I’m sorry I missed you. I didn’t even get a chance to bake like we do each Saturday. I hope the fact that I’m skirting my responsibilities, my workout and my shower this lovely Monday morning to make you these muffins will be a sufficient apology.
Peace offering?
I promise I’ll catch you next weekend. Until then, some Monday morning avocado mousse muffins that aren’t quite perfectly tweaked will have to do. I hope you understand.
[I used an adaptation of Katie's breakfast pizzert recipe and winged it on the mousse. I can't seem to get it right. If you're a lover and maker of avocado-based sweet thangs, help a girl out.]
Avocado Mousse Muffins
1/2 c flour
1 tsp baking powder
4 tsp sugar
scant 1/2 c non-dairy milk
2 Tbsp mashed avocado
pinch of salt
sprinkle of cinnamon
mix-ins of choice (I used a cranberry trail mix)
1/2 avocado
1 Tbsp coconut butter
1 tsp maple syrup
1/2 tsp vanilla
Combine the flour through option mix-ins in a bowl. Pour batter into four muffin liners and bake on 420 for about 12-14 minutes. In a small food processor, puree the avocado, coconut butter, maple syrup and vanilla until smooth.
Aaaaand... eat.
I’m just not loving the avocado mousse yet. I ate one with and one without. What am I missing here? More sweetener probably… I think the addition of half a banana would round it out nicely.
Smoothie bowl = Easter lunch?
Oh, hello. Is it Easter? I couldn’t tell. We’re pushing 90s degrees down here in the dirty-dirty and I’m pushing the limits of human sanity trying to crank out a semester-long project in one morning so I can get outside and enjoy the insane weather.
Somehow last night’s potato pizza kept me full until 1:30pm–ONE THIRTY–so I didn’t bother with breakfast. We did have coffee though:
Inappropriate.
Even when lunchtime came and went, all I could muster the energy to inhale was a big fat green smoothie. Must be the heat.
I’m off to tear this project a new one so we can go hiking. All together now: I CAN DO ANYTHING GOOD.
Potato, rosemary, goat cheese pizza at Revolution
I can’t even move today. I wish I could say it was because I ate so much potato rosemary goat cheese pizza last night that physical activity is completely out of the question today. Alas, I can’t move because I took my first Crossfit class yesterday.
I smile because I don't know what tomorrow will feel like.
Are you familiar with the Crossfit fever that’s sweeping the nation? I hear about it all the time (people that are obsessed with Crossfit are obsessed with Crossfit) but I know it involves THIS:
Yeah.
So suffice it to say I was never terribly interested. But since my new job is the best job in the world and includes lots of involvement in Charlotte’s fitness community, I have opportunities to try new things that kind of terrified me before. Like Crossfit.
There are several Crossfit gyms in Charlotte but I went to S3 Endurance for my butt whoopin’. The owner Brandon is a former hockey player and an awesome trainer. He assured me I wouldn’t die.
If you’ve considered Crossfit before but think it will just be a bunch of meatheads throwing tires around, think again. The group was really diverse in size, age and sex and everyone was friendly and welcoming. The workout was challenging but the encouragement from other participants made it a lot of fun. I admit it, I’m hooked.
Granted, I can’t move my arms, sit on the toilet or get down the stairs… but I’m still hooked.
We celebrated my beat down with pizza last night at Revolution. I was drunk with exhaustion and gave Stew full ordering duty. He went with this baby:
Tater pizza!
I inhaled two pieces, a giant Greek salad and two glasses of sangria before I started passing out in the booth. It was all I could do to keep my eyes open long enough to drive home, throw some M&Ms in my face and face plant into my bed… which is where you’ll find me most of the day… because I can’t move.
They absolutely do drink out of a cup.
Happy last-week-of-school Caturday! Ok, so that one was mostly for me but I hope you have something to celebrate on this glorious weekend. A belated Earth Day, perhaps? Oh… Easter! You see I have my priorities.
I celebrated Earth Day by writing 6 of the 10 pages for my paper due Monday and ignoring the fact that I have another 12-pager behind it. But THEN I smuggled Ralph and Weaz into my purse and did this:
RAAR
If you haven’t seen African Cats yet then you’re a big ol’ loser and no longer allowed to read Caturday. It opened, uh, yesterday so… you’ve had plenty of time.
Clearly I didn’t really smuggle Ralph and Weaz in. There was no more room, what with the water bottle, bag of popcorn and industrial-sized sack of peanut butter M&Ms. Next time, guys!
Shmmeeeeeh
It was an awesome movie. Though I fear I was far more enthralled than Stew. I kept finding myself squeezing his hand whispering, “Toooooo stressful” any time there was a chase/fight scene.
I won’t give away any plot details (there’s a plot!) but I will tell you this:
We're going to Africa!
Yes, Ralph and Weaz want to roam the land of their ancestors. Who am I to deprive them of that adventure? It will look something like this:
Perfect.
I do think Ralph looks like a mini lion and Weaz looks more like a cheetah. Speaking of cheetahs… COOL. The slow motion shots of that animal in an all out sprint are insane. I was like a giddy child the whole time. I caught myself beaming in the opening credits.
Oh, we were two of the, like, 6 people in there. What better things do people have to do at 10pm on a Friday? Losers.
Yeah.
I'm a lion.
I can’t wait to get a lion. How many do you want?
Skip the food. Shoot the sauce.
I have some “my mind has just been blown” phrases that I use time and time again when food is so damn good that I just don’t know what else to say. “Stupid good” is what I say when I really want to say “This is retarded” as in “This is so good it doesn’t even make sense” but I know better. Sometimes I let the R word slip and Stew gives me a funny look. I know, I know. Seriously. This is why I don’t say it.
I also respond to first tastes of incredible food with things like:
There’s usually a lot of swearing going on too but since my mom is acting as my personal censorship board, I’ll keep it to myself. What can I say? Good food never ceases to incite a colorful response from me. Another standby–and what I would use to describe today’s lunch topper–is: OUT OF CONTROL. I do my best to never say “on point” because that’s this guy’s tag line.
In case you haven’t heard, Mama Pea of Peas and Thank You fame (have you pre-ordered her book yet??) is completely out of control. She makes insane food (hello, remember dough balls?). She’s hilarious. She’s intelligent. And she is an incredible mother who, despite her self-deprecating sense of humor, truly has superwoman parenting skills the likes of which I can only hope to mimic one day.
Most recently she recreated Vita Cafe’s Yum Sauce and I am now forever indebted to her. I feel like I owe her my first borne for this damn sauce. Seriously.
Mmmmhmm
It’s a strange mix of almonds, chickpeas, nooch, curry powder, oregano, etc. that, upon first taste, Stew declared “tastes like Asheville.” I’m not sure if Mama Pea has ever been to Asheville but she should consider that a compliment of the highest regard.
It’s true. The sauce does taste like Asheville. And rainbows and unicorns and glitter. It’s perfect. I had it over sauteed veggies, tofu and quinoa but I have big plans to use it as:
I also had Ashley’s 3-ingredient corn cake as a side vessel for transporting copious amounts of sauce into my face.
Make this. Just do it.
Quinoa oat cakes with sunflower butter & honey
This morning I decided I wanted pancakes. I tweeted out for a pancake recipe for one and gave the world all of about 0.2 seconds to respond before making my own. They’re not perfect but I thought they were so.damn.good. They’re thin and dense so I predict pancake purists who seek fat, fluffy white cakes would be appalled by my little creation. If you’re a bit more open-minded in the pancake department, you might like these. They’re made with two powerhouse whole grains–quinoa and oats–which are ground into flour using a coffee grinder. Don’t have one? Try the food processor.
Quinoa Oat Cakes
1/4 c quinoa flour
1/4 c oat flour
1/4 tsp baking soda
1/4 tsp baking powder
1/4 tsp salt
1/4 tsp cinnamon
1 Tbsp ground flax + 3 Tbsp water
1/2 banana, mashed
1/2 c almond milk
1 tsp olive oil
Combine the dry ingredients. In a separate bowl, mix together flax egg, milk, banana and oil. Combine wet and dry ingredients. Spray a skillet and pour out 1/4 c sized servings for each pancake. Cook about 5 minutes on each side, flipping regularly to check doneness.
Dress it up
Top with nut butter, honey, dried coconut or other toppings of choice.
Inhale.
These were so so good. But during the cooking process I started to get a little antsy and thought they would fail so I took half the batter and divided it among 5 muffin liners to bake. So the four pancakes you see on my plate are only about half the batter. You could make a lot more.
One of my goals for this summer is to get my recipes organized into a centralized location complete with nutrition facts for those who want them. So in moving towards that goal, I give you this:
Quinoa Oat Cakes
I’d say that’s a pretty nice hearty breakfast but it would’ve required eating the entire bowl of batter so you could definitely serve two. I had half and am off to a second breakfast at our farewell party at my campus job. I’ll try not to tell people I’d rather be eating these.
Hey little guy
I wish someone had told me that our Mexican grocery store in town is far superior to (and CHEAPER than) all other grocery stores. Their produce section is insane and filled with delightful treats I don’t see elsewhere for any sort of reasonable price. Like $0.69 mangoes and these little coconut juice “boxes.”
Cocoloco coconuts come complete with a straw and a convenient little punch hole for easy access.
I wish I could remember if they were cheaper than the packaged coconut water drinks I buy. Because if so, you may see me like this at my next hot yoga class:
Awe.some.
Tips for drinking coconuts:
Tis the season
Dare I say it but (to the tune of Snookie in the opening credits of Jersey Shore)… SUMMER’S HEEEEEERE.
I realize that four tests, three papers and two presentations still stand between me and 90 days of blissful nothingness but do you realize that it’s 85 degrees and sunny and awesome in South Carolina right now? How can I be expected to focus on anything but:
Mangoes were on sale at the Mexican grocery store for 69 cents (SIXTY NINE CENTS??) so I nabbed a couple and made mango banana soft serve to go with my oats. The oats themselves involve simply soaking 1/2 c of oats in enough almond milk to cover it along with any spices you want (I just use ground flax, mesquite and cinnamon) and placing it in the fridge overnight. If you don’t think to do it the night before, rest assured the same can be attained in about 30 minutes soak time in the morning. Just don’t tell anyone who insists on calling these overnight oats.
Cold Oats & Mango Sorbet
1/2 frozen banana
1/2 mango, chopped
1/2 c oats
about 1 c almond milk
1 Tbsp ground flax
2 Tsp mesquite (optional, or use cinnamon)
Combine your oats, almond milk and any spices you want. Set in the fridge to soak overnight or at least 30 minutes in the morning. Puree frozen banana and mango in a small food processor until smooth like sorbet. Top the oats with the sorbet and EAT.
If you do nothing more with this than make mango sorbet, then my work here is done. It is so insanely good and just two ingredients. You will love it. But don’t cheat yourself out of cold oats. I know they sound ridiculous but… they’re amazing.
Amazing, I tell you!
Slow salad monster
Sometimes I’ll look at one of the cats strolling through the middle of the kitchen and I’m like, “Why do you exist?” Not in a malicious, fed up sort of way. More just a puzzled sense of awe. As in, what on earth are all of these creatures doing in my house?
Do you ever do that? Just look at one of your (three) pets–especially if it’s a massive dog–and wonder, “What.in.the.hell?” Pets are strange things. We humans are strange things for putting them in our houses. I wouldn’t have it any other way. But I definitely feel like a zookeeper.
Since Stew’s been gallivanting about Austin all week, I’m on full-time zookeeper duty. The number one perk of zookeeping? Leaving work to let Waldo out at lunch. So far I’ve had no unpleasant surprises (read: indoor dog bowel movements) in the Waldo department. Here’s hoping that continues. He’s also easy as hell to “walk” because he’s too old and slow to go anywhere.
It's true.
The cats, you know, they’re just cats. Weaz got locked in a closet last night and just sat there in the dark while I ran around frantically trying to find her. “WHY DIDN’T YOU MEOW?!” I yelled when I found her. Then later that night I had a lengthy discussion with both cats about how they are my best friends. Every morning when I wake up, Waldo is standing in the hall staring a hole through my soul, Weaz is pretty much on top of my face in the bed and Ralph strategically places herself exactly where my feet go to get out of the bed.
Good thing Stew gets back tomorrow. I need some human interaction.
Until then, I’ll enjoy taking lunch breaks that involve massive salads and decaf chai lattes with almond milk.
I WANT IT AGAIN
Yeah boy.
Chocolate buckwheat bake, avocado mousse, toasted coconut
I probably shouldn’t have run over a mile this morning but, then again, I probably shouldn’t be eating chocolate for breakfast. But then again I feel awesome and had no pain in my knee. And then AGAIN, the chocolate was this:
Try to stop me.
I remade Ashley’s buckwheat bake by adding cocoa powder (cocoa + cinnamon = Mexican hot chocolate, right?) and then I topped it with a chocolate avocado mousse. Yes, really.
Tips on Buckwheat Bakes: Definitely follow Ashley’s recipe for this but you may find that it takes forever (longer than 25 minutes) to bake fully. I counter this by reducing the milk from 4 Tbsp to 3 and still increasing baking time to about 30-35 minutes.
To Make the Mexican Hot Chocolate Version: Add 1-2 tsp cocoa powder (and some chili powder if you’re feeling feisty).
To Make Avocado Mousse: In a small food processor combine 1/2 an avocado, 1/2 banana, 1-2 tsp cocoa powder, sprinkle of cinnamon, tiny pinch of salt and sweetener to taste (optional).
I approve.
Top the buckwheat bake with avocado mousse, sprinkle on toasted coconut and then celebrate the fact that you are perhaps-maybe-but-don’t-wanna-jinx-it in the clear to run the Falafel 5K next month.
FALAFEL
Surely you knew that was the only reason I was running again, right? To participate in the Falafel 5K?
Obviously.
Light summer soup with veggies from the garden
After my triple dessert binge at yesterday’s CLT Food Blogger potluck, I was in serious need of some green. I made a run to the Rock Hill Community Educational Garden and nabbed some goods from our plot:
Onions
Spinach
Broccoli
BROCCOLI!
I knew exactly what I wanted. I wanted a broth-y Asian-inspired soup with rice noodles, tofu, baby carrots and water chestnuts. Done and done. In hindsight, soup would have been a wiser choice if we used air conditioning but even drenched in sweat, I don’t regret it.
Green Garden Soup
3 green onions, chopped
1 clove garlic, minced
approx 1-2 c broccoli florets
1 Tbsp sesame oil
1 carton vegetable stock
1 big handful of spinach, chiffonaded
pinch of chili flakes
black pepper to taste
1 block of tofu, cubed
rice noodles
limes
Saute the onion and garlic in the sesame oil on medium heat. Add your broccoli and continue heating about 4-5 minutes. Pour in the stock and then add spinach, tofu, chili flakes and black pepper. Reduce heat and let simmer. In another pot prepare rice noodles according to package (usually add to boiling water and cook 2-3 minutes). Once noodles are ready, add them to the soup pot. Serve with lime wedges and liquid aminos (or soy sauce).
Hey baby
I’m still so floored by the garden. I think it’s the coolest thing in the world that we dug a hole, put seeds in it and they grew into food. I realize I know this is how all of my food begins, but there is something very different about doing it yourself. Aside from childhood, this is my first hands-on experience with a garden. I think it’s the coolest.
My mom sent me these pictures of my brother, sister and I in her garden when we were kids.
It says: "Proof that Tater has always liked vegetables..."
"... and that Ben once touched a green bean."
See, they really do call me Tater.
Julie's banana cupcake chicks
What a glorious day it has been. It started with yoga followed by the Charlotte Clean Green Festival followed by the first meeting of the Charlotte Food Bloggers. Julie and Taylor (two bloggers who receive sufficient stalking from me on a daily basis) put the event together and I was damn near giddy to get an invite. I love food, you see.
We met up at Park Road Park for a little nerdy blog talk and a lot of food.
Feast.
Bliggidy bloggers
If you are a friend/spouse/parent/boyfriend/etc. of a food blogger and can’t figure out why we constantly want to hang out with other food bloggers, consider this: You know how people with kids start hanging out exclusively with other people with kids? It’s because that’s all they talk about. There’s nothing wrong with that. After all, they face the same challenges. They can pool their knowledge together. They learn from each other. They challenge each other. And they can talk about poop.
It’s almost the same with food bloggers (minus the poop… sometimes?) because our blogs are our babies. You see? We want to help them thrive, make them the best they can be and (sometimes) brag about them too. So the next time your eyes glaze over as that special food blogger in your life rambles on about lighting and aperture and salt varieties, buy them a ticket to the nearest food conference. You’ll be glad you did.
You know how we do.
As is to be expected, the food was insane. As was not to be expected (down here in the dirty South and all), a lot of the food was vegetarian/vegan. Win!
Oh happy day.
I’m pretty sure that: Brooke made the pizza bread, Julia made the vegan quiches, Diana made the quinoa salad… but who made the panzanella?? It was awesome.
In addition, I ate a chocolate cookie from Lindsay, my own chocolate banana sunflower butter blondies (don’t judge me) and (AND) a little chick cupcake from Julie.
It doesn’t end there. The Southern Cake Queen cupcake truck was there.
Cupcake truck!
Apparently everyone else already knew this existed or something because I was the only one who flew off the picnic table like a kid chasing down the icecream man. Oops.
I love today.
Chocolate banana sunflower butter blondies.
Hold on to your butts! The blondies have been reinvented. They’re not as good as Stew’s original (obviously) but they’re a comparable twist on the classic and it all happened because I was low on the necessary ingredients. Isn’t that always the case?
The only time it's appropriate to say "moist."
The original recipe comes from Vegan Cookies Invade Your Cookie Jar but I’ve jacked theirs up so much that I’m going to call this one mine but “inspired by…”
I’m taking these puppies to the inaugural meeting of the Charlotte Food Bloggers and I’m a little bit nervous because the bloggers are no joke. They’re real food photographers and bakers and the like and their blogs are like grown up professional versions of what I’d like Sweet Tater to be one day. Here’s hoping they like blondies…
Maybe I don't want to share.
Chocolate Banana Sunflower Butter Blondies
3/4 c sunflower butter
1/3 c melted butter
3/4 c sugar + 1 Tbsp molasses, combined
1/4 c nondairy milk
1 mashed (very) ripe banana
2 tsp vanilla extract
1 c whole wheat flour
1/2 tsp salt
1/2 tsp baking soda
1/2 c chocolate chips (optional)
Preheat oven to 350 and grease a pan. I use an 8×8.
Mix together your sunflower butter, butter and sugar.
Stir in milk, banana and vanilla.
Add flour, salt and baking powder.
Fold in the chocolate chips and pour batter into pan.
Bake 28 – 30 minutes. Let cool completely before cutting. I know you don’t want to. Just do it.
Blondies have more fun.
Fish tacos, no fish.
Last night Stew and I ventured out to explore another Rock Hill restaurant that’s new to us. El Caribe is a cute little place in a refurbished house over by the university.
El Carib, Rock Hill SC
Tequila. Water. Lime.
The experience is rounded out with table-side musical entertainment and even a caricaturist (what? yes).
Started with a shot of peach Schnapps
This happened.
The caricaturist was awesome. What he drew was not so much a caricature as a cartoon version of us. I love it.
The menu was pretty low on vegetarian options so I went with the fish tacos and asked them to sub out the fish for beans or veggies or whatever they have. I was pretty happy with it but it was greeeeasy as hell.
Mofongo!
Stew got this awesome mofongo dish… fried plantains mashed with garlic and butter and pressed together with fried cheese. Hello. Great presentation.
I was really full afterwards but not full enough to not throw down a handful of chocolate eggs. You know.
Hey Weaz
Happy Caturday: Tax Edition! If you waited until the last minute to file (or filed a million years ago and waited until the last day to actually pay, like I did), then Weaz would like to extend to you an offer of her accounting services.
Spreadsheets. Meetings. Jargon.
She charges 100 cans of Friskies turkey shreds with cheese but don’t worry, she’ll just pull it out of your return. How convenient!
x 100
In other news, we had a very, very exciting visitor re-enter our lives this week. I know what you’re thinking: Richard? Slice? John Kerry the Winning Cat? None of the above! Unfortunately, Ralph and Weaz haven’t made as many friends as they had in Greenville (and, uh, Stew and I haven’t either).
But Ralph does have one tried and true friendship that was put to the test back in October when I, uh, lost him…
Federico!
Stew bought Federico for Ralph sometime last year, I guess. She and Weaz never take interest in toys (unless they’re bathed in catnip) but for some reason Ralph took a liking to Feddy the ferret. She fell into a depression and wouldn’t eat when he went missing last year but he came back pretty quickly. Then, about six months ago he mysteriously disappeared again. The horror!
You know where he’s been for six months? In a lululemon bag. In my closet. What? I can only assume Weaz put him in there. She’s the one who gets in bags. At any rate…
Reunited
And it feels so good
Weaz is only mildly interested in Federico.
Mmmeh
Because she was too busy doing this:
Eehhhhhgg
Sweet green tea vodka with water and lemon
I’ve learned over the past year that there is an overcommitment threshold beyond which I can no longer function like a sane human being. Today that threshold was breached. It’s not the first time. There’s that time I forgot to bring pants to yoga, that time I forgot what day it was, that time karma kicked my ass and that time I sought a personal assistant because I can’t keep my life in order. Today, my friends, was a doozy.
It started around midnight last night when I got the sinking feeling that the presentation I was planning to do next Friday might, by chance, be due today. I checked my syllabus and, of course, I was scheduled to speak today. Joy!
So I threw on my classiest sweatsuit (so I’d fit in) and made a beeline for the nearest 24-hour Walmart. I was out of printer ink, paper (ohhhh but I didn’t know that at this point) and my mind. It was a sad sight.
I made it out with two ink cartridges, a bag of Reese’s Pieces eggs, a bunch of grapes and some cutout letters for my poster board. It took me three damn hours from Walmart to “welp, this is good enough.” I woke up four hours later, threw down an iced coffee, got hopped up like a damn ferret and rushed to class.
I wish there had been cameras in the lab when I–dressed up with a blazer and all–walked in to find that, no, there would be no presentations today. Nope. Not at all. Today was another food lab and taste test.
So I dropped a couple F bombs, promptly turned on my heel and took a two-hour walk and a 1-mile run. Now I’m drinking vodka.
Unhealthy coping mechanism, y'all.
How was your Friday?
Raspberry bar
I’m drowning (truly, head.under.water) in final projects, papers and tests for the next two weeks. So on Tuesday I decided to put myself in an environment conducive to both working and raspberry bar-eating. This seemed like the optimum plan for productivity.
FABO cafe
It wasn’t, really. I just blogged and ate a raspberry bar that tastes like a grown up, more sophisticated version of a Nutrigrain bar (if Nutrigrain bars were remotely good) only times a million.
I was happy to finally stop in FABO cafe, though. They have local food, art, coffee, wine… what’s not to like?
That's me!
I’ve had a rocky relationship with running the past few years. It pretty much went like this:
Never ran. Ran. Got obsessed. Ran a lot. Never stretched. Never bought new shoes. Injured. Never ran.
The injury knocked me out of running (but thankfully into yoga!) three years ago. Three years. I don’t know anyone who stays away from running for three years due to an injury but I just haven’t been able to get back into it without pain because:
I don’t know why I’m suddenly feeling fine. Maybe it’s all the yoga. Maybe enough time has passed. Or maybe my body is just telling me it’s finally ready. At any rate, I have run (very) short distances twice this week and I feel good. I’m not making any assumptions about what this means or putting any unreasonable expectations on my running capacity. For now, I’ll take what I can get and, uh, run with it?
In other news… I got at job at:
lululemon!
I love it. I’m obsessed. I can’t wait for the store to open. I can’t believe I work for a company that: sells a product I believe in, fosters a culture I want to be a part of and supports a lifestyle I practice. It’s just the coolest place. But y’all already know that.
I’m wearing the run dash tight in black and run swiftly tech in tango red. They make the best clothes on the planet. Period. I only own one other piece… the pullover Stew bought me after I tried it on at a blogger party. Their clothes are expensive but they’re no joke, I tell you. I’ll rant about that some other time. For now I’m off to stretch so I don’t end up just hurting myself again. WINNING
Lemon spaghetti squash salad w/ chickpeas and mint
I’ve been neglecting my dear sweet friend the spaghetti squash all winter (because they don’t sell it at Trader Joe’s) and now 90-degree weather has fallen on South Carolina and I still want to eat it. Solution? A light, cool, summery twist on what I consider a wintery vegetable.
I roasted a HUGE spaghetti squash for about 45min-1hr on 400 degrees with a little sunflower oil, salt and pepper. Then I mixed it up with lemon juice, chopped fresh mint, chickpeas and chopped chilled asparagus and served it over a bed of arugula.
“Eating a little light tonight?” Stew questioned. True. I usually eat a lot more food than this.
But it was because I was saving up room to inhale some of this. Duh.
Tofu, avocado, tomato, sprouts, lettuce, mustard
I’m having a rather splendid little Tuesday. I’m training for my new job, which kicked off with hot yoga at Charlotte Yoga (my first visit to that studio) and included lunch at the Common Market (been dying to eat there). Not complaining.
Common Market, Plaza Midwood, Charlotte
If I lived in Charlotte, Plaza Midwood would be my home. It’s definitely the coolest neighborhood in the city. But the hipsters don’t want me to tell you that because then it will be overrun by suburban housemoms. Seriously. I heard someone say that while we were at lunch…
Aaaanyway, I got the California sandwich pretty much because it included avocado. It’s generally a turkey sandwich but I subbed tofu, which you can do for any of their sandwiches. I was freaked out when I saw that the tofu actually resembled turkey. Thankfully, it wasn’t. And didn’t taste like it. Big win.
If you’re in the Charlotte area and are in search of a pet, please please please adopt this one:
Sweet Tater!
Her name is Ladybug but they call her (are you ready??) SWEET TATER. Seriously. If someone doesn’t take this cat I will have to do it and then I’ll have three, which would put me at an average of a cat per year since the age of 23. Don’t let it happen.
Expensive... but awesome
Stew and I are pretty sure we ate the best pizza we’ve ever had in South Carolina on Saturday night. He said it might be the best he’s had… ever. He asked me where I’d had better and I smugly declared: “Italy.”
Since we’ve committed (we think?) to staying where we are for another year, we want to explore and enjoy this place we call home rather than whine about it all the time. What better way to enjoy anything than to top it with pizza? Exactly.
Fratelli’s isn’t technically in our town but it’s right up the road and still south of the Carolina border so we’re calling it a local find.
The meal started with warm crusty bread. Our waiter–who moonlights as an opera singer (no joke, he was singing in between bussing tables–informed us that the dough for all the breads and crusts is made daily by a guy that stops by at 4am to get it going.
Mmmm bread
I didn’t eat much bread because we had an extra large pizza coming our way. Why do we do that to ourselves? No one knows. I also had a salad:
Eat your vegetables
We had high hopes for the pizza because it was expensive as hell. The base price was $17 and then each “traditional” ingredient was another $1.85. It doesn’t end there… the “gourmet” toppings were an extra $2.25. Two.twen.ty.five. Robbery. For a person who likes a little pizza with her vegetables rather than a little vegetables with her pizza, this was devastating. We ended up going with onion, pepper, broccoli and artichoke.
You’d think for an extra $9 worth of toppings (NINE DOLLARS), we’d have gotten $9 dollars worth of toppings. Or hell, an extra pizza for that. Not so. We got this…
Sparse.
They’re so lucky this pizza is incredible because the topping situation was a huge let down. We decided next time we’ll just go with cheese and call it a day.
I’d like to proudly report that we consumed all but two pieces of that extra large pizza. And no, Stew didn’t do all the damage. I met him piece for piece–three each.
I swear it's good
Before I went to bed Saturday night, I saw Kath tweet about something she calls a Dough Boy Smoothie. That was all it took for me to know exactly what I’d be having to breakfast Sunday.
Kath’s original Dough Boy was a simple mix of oats, milk, banana, cinnamon, vanilla and a pinch of salt. I followed her lead but also added buckwheat groats and frozen spinach to turn it a lovely shade of light green.
I SWEAR it's good.
My mom’s friend Lynn says I eat weird food. I guess I agree but… it’s also good food. Nevertheless, this is likely not helping my case.
I know no one will believe me until they try for themselves but you absolutely cannot taste spinach when it’s pureed into smoothies. I promise. This bowl tastes like… cookie dough soup? Yep.
I topped it with sunflower butter and coconut and will definitely make it again.
Sprouted quinoa-kamut burger
We were on a roll Saturday hitting up Charlotte spots we’ve been meaning to visit for the last year. In that manner of good fortune when a spontaneous Saturday magically ends up perfectly planned, Luna’s Living Kitchen happens to be adjacent to Atherton Mill Market.
Luna’s is one of few dedicated vegan restaurants in Charlotte and, as far as I know, the only raw one. The only thing that’s kept us from their food are the hours. Somehow we only ever realize we want Luna’s after 7pm, which doesn’t fly. But now that we’ve had the food, we have motivation to get our butts up there on time.
Eat here.
So when we finally got a chance to try Luna’s, imagine my disappointment stepping in there knowing I’d already eaten lunch like an hour prior. Sigh. I probably definitely could have handled another meal but I gave way to sanity and just watched Stew eat this:
Beautiful
This is one of the few cooked items on their menu and, based on the lone bite I had of it, it’s incredible. It’s topped with local greens, a sunflower seed “hummus,” and (the real star) some kind of avocado puree. It was insane.
He also had a ginger ale, which (gasp) tasted like ginger and wasn’t really all that sweet. The first sip kicks you in the face but then it’s really refreshing.
Ginger ale
You better believe I’ll be back here next weekend shoveling raw lasagna into my face.
Vegan strawberry rhubarb pie with streusel topping
“You’re a real baker now!” Stew proclaimed as he inhaled his first piece of my very first pie.
There are many reasons I’ve never made a pie until now, not the least of which is the fact that I don’t really even like pie. Unless you count French silk pie but we all know that’s pretty much just pudding and whipped cream, right? Right.
Right!
So when it comes to pie I guess you could say I’ve never really been interested. When presented with, say, a brownie sundae or a gloopy gloppy pile of gelatinous fruit, I’m going with the brownie.
But this all changed last summer when I was introduced to Brittney’s blueberry pie at my Welcome to Charlotte brunch. You see, that pie is, simply put, perfect. The crust, the filling, the… everything. It opened up a whole new world to me. A world of pies.
The other reason I haven’t made a pie is because pies are scary. Pastry is scary. Making the filling set is scary. Making anything that you can’t sample until your first guest cuts into it is scary. So, you see, pies are scary.
But today I conquered my fears and am happy to report a major pie success. I made a strawberry rhubarb pie with coconut crust and streusel topping. You heard me. Sounds completely ridiculous, I know. But believe you me, it works.
YES
I used this vegan strawberry pie recipe but played with it a bit.
The crust is awesome. Pie purists might not like it since it’s not flaky. But what it lacks in flakiness it packs in dense, buttery, coconutty, shortbread-esque goodness. The filling is nothing like the nauseatingly sweet, sticky gloopy mess you find in diners. Nope. It’s sweet with a light tang from the rhubarb and the strawberries held their shape without turning into mushy unrecognizable blobs. I am so pleased.
And it really wasn’t that hard! I’m a believer now. Pies are within my reach. What’s next? Croissants? Donuts? Croquembouche? The possibilities are endless, for I have tasted victory. I have made my very first pie.
Sweet victory pie
Wee little carrots
Yesterday Stew and I spent a lovely little Saturday up in Charlotte. We explored the market, the neighborhoods, the houses for rent and the notion that maybe, just maybe, it makes absolutely no sense to move up there next year. As soon as I said, “I know the mature responsible adult thing to do would be to stay where we are now,” it was all over. It’s not that I want to do the mature responsible adult thing. Ever. It’s just that I don’t want to can’t pay movers, a security deposit, the first two months rent and the good people of TJMaxx who receive a large portion of my funds every summer when I move as I try to make the new place feel like home.
So here we are.
It’ll be kind of amazing to spend more than one year in the same house. I haven’t done that since… before I left home at 18. I’ll continue hiking it up to yoga almost daily and we’ll most certainly be making regular weekend appearances at our latest site of exploration: Atherton Mill Market.
Cloister Honey
Cute little cupcakes
This market is awesome. It lacks the down home grit and grime of most small town outdoor farmers’ markets I’ve visited and replaces that with a sleek, clean, appropriately urban feel.
We spent a good deal of time at the Cloister Honey table sampling every single flavor they had, including: cinnamon, whipped, vanilla, chili pepper, Tupelo, wildflower and sourwood. Man, oh man. Incredible.
They’re a local operation with hives all over the city, including atop the Ritz-Carlton downtown Charlotte. They got their start when, all out of ideas for what to buy her husband, a wife purchased a bee hive as a birthday gift. Five years later the rest, as they say, is history. They’ve been selling the honey commercially for two years and are gaining momentum. Even if you’re not local, you can buy the honey online, which I recommend doing. We came home with a jar of sourwood (smoothest honey you’ll ever eat) and he threw in a free sample of the whipped honey, too.
We sampled our weight in local treats from sweet potato crackers to salsa, hummus, watercress and wine. Oh, and let’s not forget the pickle guy…
The Pickle Guy
This guy worked us, shoveling pickle after pickle into our faces and then calling us out with a “You’re not even gonna buy any??” when we tried to slink away. Perhaps we should have admitted to arriving at a market without cash before allowing the vendors to pump us full of samples. Rookie mistake! We’ll be back with cash in tow next time…
Because there will be a next time. Even if we live down the interstate rather than down the street, we can continue enjoying Charlotte and exploring our own little neck of the woods, which, as it turns out, isn’t that bad.
Ralph!
Happy gorgeous Caturday. Let’s make this quick so I spend every second of the day outside…
Look who it is! A Ralph! It’s rare that I “feature” Ralph on the “cover” of Caturday (who would buy this if it were in print?? EVERYONE) because it’s near impossible to capture a decent photo of her. She’s always doing this:
Oh HEY. You're taking a picture? PET ME
This one is pretty glorious:
The majestic Ralph moved delicately across the floor.
Finally a winner:
Ralphiiiie
Weaz, as we all know, is a much easier photo target. She’s always… everywhere. Staring blankly.
Here I am. I pooped in yer toilet.
Me again. Just watchin you sleep.
Want a cuddle?
Found yer weights!
She’s not always this easy to find though. And when I can’t find her… watch out. It’s panic mode times a billion. Like, the kind of panic mode where I frantically dig through the dryer to make sure she’s not in there.
But usually it just ends like this:
Oh dear sweet Jesus WHERE IS WEAZ
Oh.
Veggie empanadas
I need some kind of alert system for these “national” food “holidays” so that I’ll be adequately prepared to celebrate. Thanks to Taylor, I was informed around 4pm that today–this today–is National Empanada Day. Why wouldn’t something like that be on all calendars? Seriously. The government’s on the verge of a shutdown and we’ve got a national holiday to tend to over here. For shame.
I rallied the troops and we got to work on this important part of American (Mexican?) tradition. Ready guys??
FUCK YEAH EMPANADAS
BEANS!
I used this vegan empanada recipe for the dough only (and then I topped it with cheese, it’s fine) and we decided to wing it on the fillings.
Fillings include (but are not limited to)...
We went with:
I started out making the dough because it had to chill for an hour. You can eat Stew’s amazing salsa while you wait.
Stew's salsaaa
While that was in the fridge, I sauteed the veggie medley. When everything’s ready to go, you roll your dough out into 6-inch rounds (about a 1/4 inch thick) and fill with 2 Tbsp of filling. Crimp it shut and, if you’re not really vegan, smother with cheese. Manchego preferred.
Best ever.
I know people are going to stop believing me if I say this too often but this was hands down without a doubt 100% absolutely the best thing I have ever made… to date. And so we’re straight, going forward I’ll be keeping a check on such sweeping statements and will only use them if the item in question is, in fact, better than the reigning best thing ever. If you’d like to know where we stand:
What’s the best thing Katie has ever made?
Stew says: Tomato pie.
Katie says: I hate that tomato pie and am embarrassed it exists. I pick these empanadas. No contest.
What’s the best thing Stew has ever made?
Stew says: Dhansak.
Katie says: Scarpetta’s tomato and basil spaghetti.
We’ll keep you posted when a “best” gets booted…
Greek salad
After lab today–which involved sampling chocolate pound cake, corn bread, ice cream, pancakes and cookies–I met up with Stew for lunch (because somehow I was still hungry) at the grand opening of Periwinkle Cafe. It’s a cute little place named after the Periwinkle Tea Room that used to be there back in the 40s.
Bakeryyy
We were really excited to see a number of vegetarian options on the menu. Rare in these parts, I tell you. I got the Greek salad and Stew had the marinated portobell0 sandwich. (Am I the only one who can never remember how to spell portobello? I always add A’s everywhere because of the “baby bella” variety. Throws off my game.)
Greens, tomatoes, artichokes, onion, feta, red peppers
Portobello sandwich
I was really happy with the salad. It had all kinds of toppings, which made it substantial. Not always the case with entree salads, sadly. OH… but I also found a ROGUE BACON in there.
Heebie-jeebies.
I didn’t try Stew’s sandwich because, as you may know, mushrooms frighten me. Next time I’m getting the veggie wrap…
Please believe our meal didn’t end there. As if I hadn’t already had enough pound cake today…
This happened.
Stew was really excited about his creme puff (MAKE FUN OF HIM), but then this happened:
Let the sex jokes fly!
We shared a treasure cookie, which was awesome, especially when dipped in quite possibly the very best iced coffee I’ve ever had in my life.
Oh hey.
Crowders Coffee
The coffee is all fair trade, shade-grown and roasted at Crowders Creek Coffee Company right here South Carolina.
I like this place. All they need is Wi-Fi and late-night hours and I’m never leaving.
Ashley's banana buckwheat bake
I was inspired by Kath (I wonder how many times a day she hears that?) to make Ashley’s baked buckwheat. I’m such a fan of the baked oatmeal I’ve been inhaling that I figured this little guy would be a comparable substitute. Plus, I love buckwheat forever and ever, amen.
I’ve had a jar of buckwheat groats on hand for about a year now. I sprinkle them in muesli, into baked goods and on top of oatmeal. They add a nice crunch and all kinds of nutrients–like manganese, tryptophan, magnesium and fiber.
They look like this...
To turn them into flour, you simply grind them up. I used the coffee grinder to turn them into a flour for this breakfast. See Ashley’s post for the full recipe.
Cute little guy
This makes a pretty substantial serving and since I was on my way to hot yoga and didn’t have plans to vomit in front of a crowd on this particular day, I cut it in half and shoved that in my face on the way out the door.
Inhale
I don’t know if it was this superhero breakfast, the light weight lifting I’ve added to my routine, my increased walking, the weather or an act of God but I felt like an animal in yoga today.
I was all: Hell yes I can do this series and breathe right and stop thinking.
The funny thing about yoga, though, is that some days it’ll feel like today and other days it’ll feel like:
Yeah.
And that’s why I love it so much.
Beet and celery root salad over arugula
Stew made the best salad! Since the weather has changed, I’ve been a vegetable fiend. More so than usual. This is best displayed by today’s post-work, pre-class snack of asparagus, tomatoes and gigantes (giant beans) from the Earth Fare salad bar. Usually I’d eat a bar or a sweet potato or something but today I wanted… that.
And tonight… tonight I got this insanely delicious and beautiful salad that Stew made from Speed Vegan.
Make this.
This is the second successful dish we’ve made from that cookbook and I don’t think it’s a gamble to call it a winner this early in the game. This salad was insane, I tell you.
It contains:
And is doused in a marinade of: roasted garlic puree (whaaaat), mustard, agave and other good things.
EAT
It is so right on its own (believe me, we were shoving it in our faces straight from the serving bowl with a fork post-dinner) but we fancied it up with a bed of arugula, sprinkling of soynuts and an Earth Fair almond burger.
I’m already looking forward to lunch tomorrow… if the leftovers make it that long.
Between Forks and Folks - pilot project
Some friends of mine from college are working on a project near and dear to my heart: a television pilot for a show that will “document the stories of the men and women who brew, grow, roast and cook the artisan foods of North America.”
They’re hoping to start filming their pilot, which will be pitched to the likes of PBS, HBO, Showtime, etc., on May 14. Check out their video: Between Forks and Folks.
“Discover America’s culinary passion and pay tribute to the chefs, farmers, brewers and foragers of this battleful land.”
I’d watch the hell out of that show.
Buuuuuhnana.
Aaahaha, I want to punch me so hard for that title. I’m sorry… I’m not sorry.
Since I’m going easy on the added sugar these days (ignore last night’s cake… who says no to a sweet little Vietnamese lady who made German chocolate cake? NO ONE), one easy swap for me has been the nut butter toast I shove in my face as I’m driving to yoga in the wee hours of the morning (so wee the picture sucks that bad).
Usually I top that with jelly (ain’t nothing wrong with that) but so long as I’m laying off the (refined) sweet stuff, why not just mash up a banana instead?
Exactly. So that’s what I did. It’s especially good with cinnamon.
Steamed tofu bowl
As my time here in Rock Hill comes to a close (I think?*), I’m trying really hard to climb my ass down the high horse I rode in on and appreciate the town for what it is. What it is, truth be told, is not much, but that doesn’t mean it’s without its charms. I used to be able to find the good in anything, especially new places. I haven’t given this city that chance. And so, as is customary in my life, I’ll not realize what I had until it’s gone. So here is one of my favorite things about Rock Hill: Thi’s on Main.
This is one of the first places I ate when I first got here and it gave me hope that I’d enjoy my new home. Sadly, school and schedules got the best of me and I haven’t been back as often as I’d like. And that’s a shame because dining at Thi’s is one of those uniquely local experiences you can’t get anywhere else. Thi is a gracious host and she treats her customers like family. She’ll say things like, “I’m so proud of you kids,” after we polish off a plate of lemongrass tofu that she brought by (on the house) just because she thought we’d like it.
As I tend to do, I got the steamed tofu bowl with rice noodles, carrots, daikon, sprouts and a vinegar sauce. “That’s a healthy meal you ordered, missy!”
Stew got the veggie fried rice and vegetable dumplings.
Veggie fried rice
Vegetable dumplings
I’m pretty sure that was the first dumpling I’ve ever had and I’d like to report that dumplings are:
SO DAMN GOOD
She says people don’t believe her that the dumplings don’t have meat in them because they taste so good.
And that was the extent of our order. But, as she tends to do, Thi started hauling out more food for us. “No charge!” she’ll yell as she bustles back to the kitchen to grab something else.
So we had our orders…
... and then some lemongrass tofu...
... and then some homemade cake...
... and then some tea.
It was twice the amount of food we’d usually order for half the price.
And that, my friends, is not so bad.
*So wait… are we moving to Charlotte? Short answer: I don’t know. Long answer… too long.
Onions!
This is a big damn deal, y’all.
I held a seed. I put it in the ground. It made food.
Victory!
I realize my only role in this little endeavor was to show up on planting day, put in four hours of hard labor, disappear for a month and a half and come back to find a bountiful harvest. But please do keep in mind that the last time I tried to plant something, this happened. It’s a wonder these little vegetables even saw the light of day after they came into contact with me.
Monster spinach
The little carrots that could
Broccoli, y'all.
I am so very excited about this little project. I even invited Stew and Waldo to come check it out since I got out of class early last night…
And then he ate an onion.
He did.
Our group is planning to donate our harvest to a local shelter (as of yet unidentified) but since the onions and spinach needed some thinning… I confiscated a handful to add to last night’s dinner.
Somebody had to taste test! And not just Waldo...
Local spinach, homemade bean burger with local onions and cheese, steamed asparagus with lemon and pepper and steamed baby carrots. Yes, please.
Goods... bads?
I’m reading Little Bee, an enthralling albeit soul-crushing story by Chris Cleave that I will tell you absolutely nothing about because the back of the book tells me I can’t. I will say, however, that the little boy in the story likes to play Batman and likes to try to defeat the “baddies.” He asks everyone he meets, “Is you a goodie or a baddie?” I love him.
My reason for mentioning that makes no sense at all except that in my mind I would usually list the ingredients for a recipe as “the goods” but since I hate the main components of this recipe (the baddies) and instead only appreciate them as the collective final hummus (the goodie), that is what went through my head.
The real goods
Stew’s hummus habit is a real win for me. He’s gotten crazy good at it and as a result I eat a lot of crazy good hummus. But yesterday when he announced he’d be replicating Whole Foods’ cilantro jalapeno hummus, I felt a bit dejected. I hate both those baddies.
Somehow though, the hummus itself is neither cilantro-y nor jalapeno-y. It’s just perfectly light and fresh with just a slight kick of spice. (And it’s way better than Whole Foods’ version.)
I know errbody wants these hummus recipes I keep raving about but I’m pretty convinced I’ve got a potential small business on my (er, Stew’s?) hands here so I’m not saying a word. Plus, I have no idea what he does.
Look for it on store shelves one day. Just wait…
So pretty.
Since I’ve decided to clean up my life a bit this month, I’m making small, simple adjustments to the meals I already like to keep them in line with where I’m going.
What this meant for my go-to gorgeous bowl of smoothieness was the exclusion of chocolate granola (ain’t nothin wrong with that) and the addition of some plain toasted buckwheat and oats. Gives it that characteristic crunch without having to pop open a bag of (minimally) processed food.
The rest of the mix:
Toppings: sunflower butter and coconut butter.
I was not a believer in smoothie bowls until I ate one. I know it seems illogical to think it could be that much better than drinking it out of a glass. But believe you me, it’s that much better. It was a glorious morning indeed.
Hello, vegetables.
I told Stew yesterday that I needed to get my life in check. Over the past four months I’ve really let life get the best of me and, in return, have let some things slip that are really important to keeping me sane, among them:
My excuse for yoga is time. My excuse for food is money. My excuse for school is motivation. But I’ve found that when I take these shortcuts to make my life “easier,” it just turns out to be more stressful and uncomfortable in the end because I’m not happy that way.
Cauliflower monster (Weaz hair included)
And I’d be lying if I didn’t also confess that this trio of crap–little physical activity, little regard for what I’m eating and lots of stress–has also resulted in a little weight gain. (I also blame these.) It’s nothing worth writing home about (do you really want to hear another person who doesn’t need to lose weight whine about how much weight they need to lose?) but is enough to make me notice.
An additional thing I’ve noticed about this slight weight gain, however, is how I reacted to it. In the past (say, three years ago before I started this journey), I would have torn myself to pieces, told myself I was worthless, starved myself, exercised like an idiot and been utterly miserable. Not so this time around.
This time, for the first time ever, I looked at my body, thought, “You look fine but this doesn’t feel fine,” acknowledged that I wanted to make a minor change to a vanity issue that does not equate my self worth, accepted that there’s nothing wrong with that and moved on with my life. That was an amazing moment.
So just like the first time I lost weight, this time will not involve calorie counting or diets or rules or excessive exercise. I’m just going back to what worked for me:
This little readjustment period coincides nicely with some other initiatives I’ve taken on this month:
Commit 30: No TV
Winthrop Pedometer Challenge
7-minute Plank: Personal Everest
No TV: lululemon Charlotte kicked off a Commit 30 challenge this month in which you’re encouraged to select one thing you can commit to until May (and hopefully afterwards, too). For me, “no TV” was a no brainer. This is my last month of school and I have a million big projects and presentations to work on. I have no right to claim that I’m “too busy” to do those things and keep up my yoga practice if the “busy” part of my day involves watching The Bachelor for two hours. Just doesn’t compute, you see?
Step Challenge: My university is sponsoring a walking challenge throughout April and my office decided to participate as a team. Each person is given a pedometer. You’re supposed to wear it for the first three days of April, record your steps and then average that total. You then tack on an extra 2,000 to your first 3-day average and that is supposed to be your daily goal for the remainder of the month. I’m averaging around 5,000 in my first two days (lame!) and am looking forward to upping that.
7-Minute Plank: So this is another lululemon inspiration… Every once in a while the store encourages people to come in and hold plank as long as they can. Whoever has the longest time wins a tank–Plank for a Tank, get it? I didn’t stop by to give it a try but I did keep up with it on their Facebook page and learned that the guy who took home the tank held his plank for seven freaking minutes. Are you kidding me?? That is awesome. I want to do that. So I’m trying… My first hold was 2 minutes 17 seconds. And last night I held it 2:30. Not bad!
As for food, tis the season of farmers’ markets and local produce. I’m looking forward to eating as close to home as possible and straying from my Trader Joe’s habit for a bit. (No matter how affordable it may be, the food is still coming from California, Mexico, etc. and that bothers me.)
I don’t really have any rules about any of this. I’m just trying to live a life I’m proud of.
So last night’s dinner: roasted cauliflower with dill, homemade black bean burgers, guacamole, carrots with Stew’s cilantro jalapeno hummus, greens and lemon water. Indeed.
Baked, not fried
Fried pickles, along with most foods of the fried sort, are a big damn deal in the south. Perhaps people elsewhere eat them too but I assure you southerners get way more excited about doing so.
In fact, in a late-night drunken rampage, Stew and I had a basket of all kinds of fried things–among them cauliflower, jalapenos and, of course, pickles.
Not too long ago, Caitlin baked some pickles and I’ve been meaning to give that method a try. Since the most I’ve done today was take a two-hour nap, I figured it might be a good time to make some baked pickles, too.
Baked pickllllles
Caitlin used an egg to dredge hers but since we never have any, I just used rice milk.
Rice milk –> bread crumbs –> oven
I seasoned the bread crumbs with dill, salt and pepper.
Look what I can do!
They’re totally good and can give the fried ones a run for their money any day. Truth.
Not hashbrowns.
I woke up around 7 this morning trying very hard not to vomit everywhere. Somewhere between the margarita the size of my head and four brownies, someone should have probably put a leash on me. Or at least one of those chic alcohol tracking ankle bracelets like Lindsay Lohan is always wearing.
Alcohol detected.
Seriously though. Not cool. When I could function without fear of a full on upheaval of my gastrointestinal system, I made Stew take part in my misery by telling him precisely how miserable I was.
“I want hashbrowns.”
Hashbrowns I did not get. But I did make this hangover toast that did the trick: mashed chickpeas with olive oil, salt and pepper on spelt bread.
I’m gonna go lay down now…
I hope you didn't want this to never have hair on it...
It’s hangover central at Caturday headquarters. Weaz had one too many tequilas and things got a little out of hand…
Craaaaaazy bag time.
She was jealous of Stew’s tattoo…
I want one.
So she got a Stew-too of her own.
Also this.
Always the voice of reason, Ralph tried to get her alcoholic kitten under control.
And stay in there.
Don't come in. Weaz is puking.
And she was. She puked right into the sink…
Pleh.
Sigh.
Today she feels like this:
I need hashbrowns.
And has this to say:
You know who’s never ashamed of anything?
This guy.
Shmeeeeeee
But you know who is very ashamed of everything? This hilarious guilty dog. If you haven’t seen that video, WATCH IT MOM.
Preview.
If you’d like to support Weaz’s drunken ways, you can get one of these:
Viva la Weeeeeaz
Except you can’t really because they don’t exist. But they might if the people demand it.
Plant-based fat replacers in vegan brownies
This morning I completed my food science lab final (don’t worry, we still have a month of school left; I was in the first group) and had a glorious time doing so. I’ve learned something about myself and that is that my self does not like to sit at a desk. Ever, really. If I am standing and moving, I can work all day. And it doesn’t hurt if I’m standing and moving in a kitchen.
I got to lab bright and early at 8:15am to get my four trials rolling along. I designed my experiment to test the acceptability of plant-based fat replacers in vegan brownies. I used this same recipe from VegNews:
VegNews vegan brownies
Basic ingredients
The basic ingredients above were combined with one of four different fats/fat replacers.
Fat options
My trials included:
Because the control oil was monounsaturated fat, I wanted to include a saturated plant fat (coconut) as well as two fat-free options, one with extra natural sugar (apple sauce) and one without (pumpkin) to see how these varying characteristics affected the final product.
I set up a sort of assembly line to put together all four trials at the same time. I thought this would be the most efficient use of time and space.
Brownie assembly line. I like.
I also totally played culinary school in my head by carefully mise en place-ing all my ingredients and taking care to keep my station neat and tidy at all times. (Sommmebody missed her calling…)
Clockwise from top left: safflower, apple, pumpkin, coconut
Finished products
When they were done and cooled, I cut each pan into 1.5×1.5-inch squares for sampling. I asked participants to evaluate the:
Samples were presented with random 3-integer identifiers and the “fats” were hidden away to keep people from making assumptions about the products.
Care for a brownie or four?
Of the 15 evaluations collected:
7 people ranked the coconut oil trial as their favorite
5 people ranked the safflower oil control as their favorite
2 people ranked the pumpkin puree trial as their favorite
1 person ranked the apple sauce trial as their favorite
Moisture
The apple sauce trial received the highest moisture score, which signals to me that the participants misread the scale and ranked it backwards, as these were by far the driest brownies.
Intensity of Chocolate Flavor
The safflower oil control received the best chocolate intensity score.
Tenderness
Based on a tenderness scale of “very tender” to “very tough,” the coconut trial was selected, on average, as the most tender.
Texture
Based on a texture scale of “soft/crumbly” to “dense/fudgy,” the apple sauce trial was selected, on average, as the densest. I found the apple sauce brownies to be one of the lightest, crumbliest trials and, therefore, think this may also be an error in recording on the data sheet. However, objective measure of the weight of a 1.5×1.5-inch sample did show that the apple sauce samples were the heaviest and, therefore by definition, densest.
You want my ranking? (#1 – best, #5 – worst)
I thought they were all acceptable; it just depends on your personal preference and what you happen to be in the mood for that very second. Me? I’m always in the mood for coconut…
Other experiments today included:
Chocolate chip muffins with flour variations
Cooking variations for soybeans
The effect of added fiber on biscuits
Flour variations in traditional pasta preparation
Now that I’m done, I get to kick back and sample the remaining experiments for the rest of the year. I like this class.
Carrot cake baked oatmeal
As promised, I’ve eaten my fair share of baked oatmeal since discovering Katie’s recipe last week. A few days ago I put a twist on it and my banana mousse to make a carrot cake bake with “cream” “cheese” “frosting.”
The cake is Katie’s basic recipe plus two small shredded carrots and a pinch of nutmeg. The cream cheese frosting that is neither cream nor cheese nor frosting is:
“Cream” “Cheese” “Frosting”
1 ripe banana
1 tsp coconut butter
1/2 Tbsp nut butter
juice of 1/2 lemon
couple drops of vanilla
tiny pinch of salt
These little nuggets bring me great joy in the wee hours of the morning or in the not-so-wee hours when I’m inhaling them as I run out the door. Either way, they are the perfect breakfast–one method just slightly more enjoyable than the other.
Good morning, sunshine.
Moroccan stew from Alan Roettinger's "Speed Vegan"
I met with my advisor today and it looks like my life in the fall will… suck. No, that’s too whiny… My schedule will suck. Night classes galore coupled with my 20 hours of associateship work and topped off with a cherry of misery in the form of a thrice-a-week in the morning math class is really throwing my game off. I am miserable thinking about it.
Maybe, just maybe, Stew will make me things like this every single night. Because I’ll never be home before 9. I want to die… Actually, I want to bail on my whole master plan. It’s not the fun, inspiring adventure I thought it would be. It’s draining and expensive and soul crushing. That’s how I feel right now.
Tonight’s dinner is from a book I was asked to review: Alan Roettinger’s Speed Vegan. Honestly, I haven’t spent much time with it but if all the recipes are as good as this stew, the man has done something right. Stew did say, however, that it took him a good hour and a half to make the meal. Not too far off from most of the nightly cooking we do but would hardly be considered “speedy” for most.
It also contains approximately one billion spices that, thanks to our recent foray into Indian cooking, we happened to have on hand.
Spiiiiiiices
It’s really a great stew that, served with brown rice cous cous and some socca, makes a lovely, end-of-a-long-day meal. And I can only assume… great leftovers, which I’ll be needing for another packed lunch tomorrow.
Whiny much? You bet I am.
A match made in heaven.
I highly recommend that you do the following:
Indeed.
This flavor combination has inspired me to make a popcorn peanut butter cup. Oh yes. It will happen.
Freekeh burger salad
In an attempt to get our Trader Joe’s vegetable masala burger habit under control, I purchased a new frozen TJ veggie burger a few weeks ago. (They’re good but we will never stop eating vegetable masala burgers… ever.) The first ingredient on these new burgers? Freekeh wheat.
Come again?
If you’re like me and have created an outrageous voice for your cats that’s something like a Spanglish-Russian-four-year-old hybrid, then “freekeh” to you is just how the cats would say freaky. But because no one is crazy enough to do or think that, I knew I needed to do some research and find out what freekeh wheat really is…
Apparently freekeh is harvested when the wheat is still yellow and the seeds are soft. This is then roasted, sun-dried and cracked into smaller pieces. Freekeh is a common cereal food in Arab cuisine.
It also makes a good burger.
The first time I ate the freekeh burgers, I think I was a bit too eager to eat my lunch and didn’t cook them enough so they were kind of soggy and mmmeh. Stew’s solution to this was: Fry the hell out of them in lots of oil. Don’t mind if I do…
That seemed to do the trick and I got a nice crispy sear on the outside of the freekeh burger. Success.
Vegan cake batter candies... that failed.
Over the weekend I was determined to make a vegan version of cake batter truffles. Sadly, I botched them big time. Stew still loves them but I am none too impressed. I know where I went wrong (too much xanthan gum made them, uh… gummy) so I’ll give it another go… sometime.
Until then, you have to just dream about them. Or come up with a recipe and let me use it.
Make me not gross.
Veggie burger at Six Pence (Fort Mill)
Remember Sixpence None the Richer?
Of course you do.
That “Kiss Me” song permeated every cranium from here to Hawaii… It’s still played on the terrible radio stations I listen to. (I still listen to the radio. What year is it?)
Anyway, Stew and I had dinner over the weekend at Six Pence Pub in Fort Mill. He was craving the nachos we had that one time and I was craving exiting the house. We succeeded in addressing both concerns.
Stew's nachos and hushpuppies
I got a veggie burger. I knew it would just be one of the frozen ones but I wasn’t up for nachos and the vegetarian options kind of disappear after those two choices. I wasn’t unhappy with it though. I described it to Stew as a “good bad veggie burger.” You know, a bad cheap frozen veggie burger that, for what it is, is pretty good.
You know what I’m saying.
Stew's beer
Peanut butter chocolate pudding... vegan. 3 ingredients.
We all know about the wonderful world of banana soft serve. A lone frozen banana and a few mix-ins can be whipped into a frenzy of glorious creamy ice cream-esque soft serve.
What do you do though when Mother Nature plays a cruel, cruel joke on you and throws your sweety, sunny 75-degree days into a frigid toilet of 40-degree rain and despair? Who wants soft serve then? Not this girl.
This girl wants pudding.
Three simple staple ingredients combine in 30 seconds flat for a whole-food treat that will satisfy your sweet tooth… without any added sugar.
3-Ingredient PB Chocolate Pudding
Banana
Peanut butter, about 1 Tbsp
Cocoa powder, about 1 tsp
Combine the three ingredients in a food processor until smooth and creamy.
You are very welcome.
Homemade pizza is cheapa (sorry)
I’m not sure how it happened but somehow over time Sunday has become our weekly pizza night. We get the absolute biggest pizza available at Fuel (probably the maximum size that will fit in their ovens) and top it with a million vegetables. When it’s all said and done, we’re out $20 (TWENTY DOLLARS).
So last night we wanted our pizza night but we did it a bit more economically by making it ourselves.
Trader Joe’s whole wheat pizza dough – $0.99
Trader Joey’s marinara sauce – $0.70
Organic zucchini – $0.44
Red onion – $0.19
Tomato – $0.37
Artichoke heart – $0.75
Follow Your Heart vegan mozzarella – $1.33
TOTAL: $4.77… and it serves two.
Rationality wins.
ARE YOU KIDDING ME? Why have we been buying $20 pizzas when this was just as good? Never again.
Perhaps you are wondering why I ate vegan cheese considering vegan cheese makes me want to die. Ever since I sampled Follow Your Heart back at the FNCE Expo, I have changed my tune about vegan cheese. But only their vegan cheese. Daiya makes me gag. Even just thinking about it… I shudder. Follow Your Heart is, in my opinion, the only suitable vegan cheese alternative.
All wrapped up with a surprise inside
There’s something so satisfying about food wrapped up into a neat little satchel-esque parchment paper package.
I anticipated a rushed and unpleasant lunch for Friday since I’d be jetting straight from lab to an interview to volunteer work so I nipped that in the bud Thursday night by packing up a cute little lunch complete with parchment package tied with a bow.
Hooray!
Inside I had packed a tempeh sandwich with spinach, Stew’s pizza hummus (which he calls lasagna hummus) and avocado.
Tempeh, spinach, hummus, avocado
I curtailed the overnight browning of my avocado by mashing it with lime juice before spreading it on the sandwich. It turned a bit but not enough to make it inedible.
I ended up getting out of lab and hour early and was able to enjoy a nice leisurely lunch on the porch after all. I’m still glad I planned ahead and will probably be packing many parchment-wrapped sandwiches for the remaining four weeks of school that I can tell are plotting to steal my soul…
Baked oatmeal with banana coconut butter
Oh Chocolate-Covered Katie, how I adore you. I have stood by for far too long ogling the unique whole-food creations Katie comes up with but somehow have never made any of them. That ended Sunday morning when I went on a hunt through my favorite bloggers’ recipe indexes to find breakfast (I love using bloggers as a cookbook) and was reminded of her adorable little baked oatmeals… AKA boatmeals.
A simple mix of oats, cinnamon, apple sauce and rice milk yields a moist, chewy, perfect breakfast cake.
Banana coconut butterrrr.
Topped with my own blended mix of 1/2 banana, 1 Tbsp peanut butter, 1 tsp coconut butter, this was easily the best breakfast I’ve had all year.
Action shot... hold on to your butts!
I’m already plotting a TJ Maxx run for more 1-cup ramekins so I can make these en masse to have ready every single morning this week. Say I won’t…
Salad sampler plate + falafel at Sahara
I’ve never been a smoker. I was a rule-follower extraordinaire growing up and as any good D.A.R.E. graduate knows, smoking cigarettes would break the rules. Once after college in a display of absolute drunkenness, I grabbed a friend’s cigarette (who, by the way, only has them when he’s shwasted) and took one lone puff for which I was endlessly ridiculed because apparently I did it wrong. Learned my lesson.
Despite being surrounded by weed in high school (hey, it’s what small-town kids do), I have also never smoked that. Just not my thing. I avoid hookahs, too, but that’s just because I consider the sharing of one mouth piece to be an excellent way to get herpes.
Herp Machine
But since I was with some people that I trust to not be herp-ridden Friday night, I tried my hand at my first hookah. We had double apple flavor but mostly it just tasted like nothing to me. It wasn’t until yesterday that Stew informed me I was probably just doing it wrong again.
I give up on smoking. It’s fine.
One thing I will never give up, however, is falafel. And though you can get both falafel and hookah at Sahara in Rock Hill, I think I’ll stick to my dear and loving deep-fried nuggets of chickpeas and love.
And wine. Of course, wine.
Ralllllph
Happy Caturday to all. We have had a pretty uneventful week over here. I ignored life as I know it, bailed on most of my responsibilities and didn’t even manage to take many cat pictures in my “free” time.
Photograph me.
She’s not supposed to be on the table, you know. But I just don’t have the heart to spray her in the face with the water bottle. That’s Stew’s job.
Pets are hard… training them and cleaning up poops and whatnot. I had this epiphany the other night as I was pulling up to my house… It was that I am in no way at all ready for children at all because as I was parking I was thinking, “Please don’t let the animals bother me the second I walk in the door.” I knew this wish was futile and, sure enough, there they were sitting so close to do the door I couldn’t even open it. Just like always.
The cats are definitely the best adult decision I have made to date (I don’t make a lot of decisions, you see) and they bring me more joy than most humans I know. But sometimes… I just want Weaz to not yell at me when I come home. Is that so much to ask?
Oh hi. I was waiting for you so I can meow incessantly.
When I got home that night I realized I didn’t want the animals to bother me, they bothered me more than ever. They literally stood within three feet of me the entire night. To my right…
