5 Things I’m Loving Right Now

Posted on June 15, 2012 by 8junebugs

You ever think maybe conversations — and, by extension, blogging — are easier when you’ve got things about which you need a shoulder to cry on or an ear to gripe in?

I never blog when things are going perfectly well, I guess. Daily life leaves little to get all ALL-CAPSY about. Unless you want to devote extreme emotion to commute frustrations, but that really seems like a waste, don’t you think? And I thought I’d be blogging more about the upcoming election, but, frankly, I feel like this is the most unintentionally satirical campaign season I’ve lived through yet. The fact that it’s not satire leaves me cold.

The truth is, things are pretty good, almost all the time. Rodney’s diabetes is under control, my job is proceeding in an unforeseen but secretly hoped-for direction, and I live in a place where the weather is always, always, always awesome for someone who likes jackets and sweaters. (I say this knowing there are people who dislike even our most desperately needed rainy days. Those people are silly.)

So let’s talk about 5 things I’m loving right now, prompted by Shut Up + Run:

1. NEW COUCH, NEW COUCH, NEW COUCH. (Oh, hey, look — all-caps for a Good Thing.) It’s gorgeously orange (gorange?) microfiber with a hint of a corduroy feel to it. It’s less like corduroy than my orange corduroy trench coat, but that feels more like velvet than like corduroy, so there you are. We also bought the matching recliner, but I’ve never gotten very excited about chairs. Also, those throw pillows with purple and orange in the same bold print make me irrepressibly happy. (It’s true. Try to repress me right now. YOU CAN’T!)

2. I’m loving my new running schedule. I’ve crossed over into that space where you miss running on your non-running days…and there are only two of those days a week now. I’m running every day except Wednesday and Sunday, and it’s working out really well so far.

I KNOW. I am still a huge, huge, HUGE believer in the Doctor Mama’s Maggot Method and I think you should use it, especially if you’re just starting to run. But in the time since I moved back here, I haven’t been able to sustain an every-other-day schedule — not once. It was easier when I was only working around one schedule; in Alexandria, there was no dog to walk, no BART to catch, no one else trying to sleep while I futz with my alarm clock… I needed a set daily schedule that doesn’t shift from week to week, something we could plan around. Right now, this seems to work, and it’s a good time to set a new schedule (my job, team, and boss change in a week — more about that later).

(Probably more about running later, too.)

3. Caprese Salad…well, a version of it. Tomatoes, little balls of cold, fresh mozzarella, and the barest spoonful of pesto. Related: ALL THE SALADS. Also, sweet potatoes, edamame, almonds, apples… Okay. Food. I’m loving food. The thing about running again is that my appetite explodes, but veers away from french fries toward stuff that my body likes to run on.

4. My Samsung Galaxy Nexus is the first smartphone I’ve ever had that hasn’t immediately pissed me off about something. On the whole, it does every last thing I need it to do, and probably a lot more than that. This is partly due to the better range of apps available, now that Android’s market share is up, but the phone helps, too. The flipside, of course, is that loving my phone means I use it more, which means Graham doesn’t love my phone all that much.

5. I love living on a waterfront. I don’t know if it’s sustainable past this lease, but for right now, I’m grateful for the Bay Trail, the ferry, the view, the wind, the sun, the multitude of questionably captained sailboats, the pelicans, and especially — MOST especially — the one dock in the Jack London Square Marina that harbors a wee little rowboat instead of a yacht.

Filed under: Home, Runaway, Tastes Like Chicken | 2 Comments »

Soup, and grand theft small appliance

Posted on January 18, 2012 by 8junebugs

What’s the statute of limitations on stealing crap from your parents’ kitchen when you move out?

Nearly 15 years ago, I moved into my first apartment. As I left my dad’s house, I took with me everything in my bedroom, his our copy of the Gingras Family Marriages, and his immersion blender.

I cannot for the life of me recall why I wanted that blender. Was I still drinking Carnation Instant Breakfast (better blended than stirred, which is not to be confused with “good”)? Did I think moving in with a boyfriend meant late-night milkshakes? No idea.

I would like to note, though, that my dad (a) had an immersion blender 15+ years ago (although I don’t know why) and (b) is the primary source of any skill I have in the kitchen. Sure, it took me a while to get started and there was immeasurable influence from other families over the years, but my dad was the cook in my family (and KidBrother is a much more thoughtful, creative cook than I).

In the interest of fairness, my mom made better scrambled eggs. On the whole, though, she preferred bologna sandwiches and potato chips and left the roast beef to Dad.

Fifteen years later, that immersion blender, an early (earliest?) version of the unfortunately named Sunbeam Stickmaster, is a valued member of my kitchen collective and continues to perform valiantly. There was a time a few years ago when I thought it was not long for this world — it was a 15-year-old small appliance, after all, and I’d started making a lot of pureed broccoli soup. It seemed reasonable to plan for its replacement, but it’s still going strong.

This weekend, it handled:

Baked Potato Soup (Smitten Kitchen)
Graham calls this Potato Sludge, possibly because that makes it sound like junk food. I don’t care, as long as “Would you like me to make more potato soup?” continues to be answered with a “Fuck, yeah!” and he’ll eat it without toppings.

Carrot Soup with Miso and Sesame (Smitten Kitchen)
Better without the sesame oil, to my taste, and Graham is not a fan (although he is to be commended for trying something so fantastically orange and smelly). A commenter on the original post substituted miso soup mix and soy sauce for the miso paste, and I did the same, because I didn’t care enough about miso to walk four blocks to the nearest Asian market. I’m pretty sure this was a one-time soup for me – it taught me that I like soups to taste more like the veggies I put in them than like an added flavor. Also that I prefer miso in small doses.

Chickpea-Tomato Soup with Fresh Rosemary (Orangette)
Seriously good. Molly describes this soup as part of her formulaic lunch, and I could eat this daily for a really long time. In fact, I just might…I certainly will this week. My only regret is that I didn’t have any cheese in the house with which to make a cheese bread.

(I didn’t take any pictures. Imagine, if you will, comforting rows of single-serving bowls in red, white, and orange.)

I wasn’t a fan of soup at all until a few years ago. I just don’t remember soup being worth the effort it took to eat it, maybe because soups and stews came out of cans in our household. I mean, my grandmothers made stews and those were awesome, but my parents came of age as the Campbell’s Condensed generation, the generation that tried to make cooking and baking easier and less time-consuming than it had been for their poor mothers. I mean, why peel potatoes — much less peel, simmer, and puree with other things — when you can just add water to some potato flakes?!

Which leads me, again, to wonder why the hell my dad needed a stick blender in the first place, but that’s water 15 years under the bridge.

(My generation may be noted for kickstarting the current foodie movement, once we had the cash to develop our palates, but we have our shortcuts, too. Bagged salads, pre-chopped ingredients, and technology are our time- and work-saving crutches; e.g., we’ll bake bread at home to avoid preservatives and HFCS, but we’ll damn sure use a breadmaker if we can get our hands on one.)

(Which is not an indictment, although I do still prep my own stuff most of the time. Mirepoix is the weekly exception. Thank you, Trader Joe’s, for elegantly, evenly chopped mirepoix.)

So I didn’t realize soup could be yummy until I experienced a decent minestrone and a truly top-flight lobster bisque. It took years for me to make soup at home, and I did so mainly to save money, eat healthfully, and avoid the terrifying amount of sodium in prepared soups.

Instead, I have a terrifying amount of soup-serving-sized storage containers.

Soup! It’s what’s for dinner. Lunch, too. Thanks, Dad!

Filed under: Book of Me, G-Clan, Home, Rearview Mirror, Suzy Homemaking, Tastes Like Chicken, Waist Management | 1 Comment »

Leitourgia, schmeitourgia

Posted on October 31, 2011 by 8junebugs

This weekend, while trying to print the recipe for Smitten Kitchen’s most excellent Red Wine Chocolate Cake so I wouldn’t get batter in my keyboard, I realized we’d run out of printer paper and grabbed the first handy scrap paper with an empty side: A copy of The New Roman Missal Introductory Rite.

Yeah. I don’t blog too much about religion anymore, being of what my friends might call “indeterminate faith.” But I was raised mostly Catholic, I’ve checked off a couple of sacraments, and I still get to Mass occasionally for high holidays and nostalgia. I’m not what you’d call a practicing Catholic — I’m more of a respectful, skeptical seeker — but I have reason not to renounce my baptism, and there are times when I find it very, very comforting.

A couple of weeks ago, though, Graham and I found ourselves at Mass in San Ramon, where he stood godfather to the family’s newest member — his cousin’s baby girl. Technically, he stood “Christian Witness,” not being a Catholic by any measure — indeed, cohabiting with a woman considered by the Church to be married to another man (I paid for the divorce — my ex is on the hook for an annulment, should he want one) — but I don’t think the priest or pastor even asked.

Which kind of annoyed me. Not because I think he or the godmother are in any way unfit to share some responsibility for this kid’s future — it was an honor to be asked, and he takes it seriously (I gather she does, too, but I just met her). But canon law is canon law. If the Church doesn’t bother to enforce it, their insistence that the congregants follow it is…suspect. It felt too much like glossing over the details to sign up another unsuspecting, non-consenting infant. (I’m not renouncing my own baptism, but neither will I pretend it was made with my consent.)

So I went to Mass and immediately felt odd, as I do in newer, more contemporary churches. What can I say? My Catholic upbringing was relatively old school, and I am most comfortable in dark stone churches with uncomfortable pews. The more graphic the crucifix over the altar, the more at home I feel. (Gargoyles are optional.) (Don’t judge me.)

Speaking of my upbringing, I should note that I was never properly taught how to be Catholic. By the time I hit catechism, I was an inveterate questioner, which meant I wasn’t really satisfied with pat lessons or coloring books. And although I knew the prayers, NO ONE TAUGHT ME ALL THE OTHER RESPONSES. (Dear family: I am smart, but I was not born knowing. That’s my younger cousin, K, who could’ve coached football from her playpen.)

I may be a little bitter about this. I like chanting, and I remember feeling embarrassed because I didn’t know the words…and, as a wee thing, I never asked for help when embarrassed. Back then, too, there was less of an effort to welcome newcomers (and worried know-it-all kids) by telling them that all the words for the Mass were in the missals.

And that brings us back to the New! Roman! Missal! Introductory Rite. I’d brought home the flyer and set it aside, planning to read it to find out just what was changing now. When I went back to the Church in the year before Wedding 1.0, things were being sung that used to spoken, and some of the melodies had changed slightly. So…fine. Things change. Occasionally, parishes even step outside the liturgy just a little bit. No biggie.

But when I printed the (delicious, decadent) cake recipe on the back, I was forced to remember that I wanted to read it. And there are two bits that bug me the most:

Current Penitential Rite:
I confess to almighty God, and to you my brothers and sisters, that I have sinned through my own fault in my thoughts and in my words, in what I have done and in what I have failed to do…

New Penitential Rite:
I confess to almighty God, and to you my brothers and sisters, that I have greatly sinned through my own fault in my thoughts and in my words, in what I have done and in what I have failed to do, through my fault, through my fault, through my most grievous fault…

I have heard this “new” version, this “my most grievous fault” version, only one other time: In the penitent tone of Scarlett O’Hara’s deeply disappointed mother, and, simultaneously, in the reverent tone of the youngest O’Hara sister, who later became a nun. This takes place in the scene after Mrs. O’Hara returns from the bedside of the “white-trash Slattery girl” and snubs the O’Haras’ Yankee overseer (the father of said Slattery girl’s mysteriously dead newborn).

You see where I’m going here? This is not a communal confession for the 21st century. “Greatly” sinning “through my most grievous fault” is best left to the antebellum South — it’s a little harsh for running stoplights, illegally downloading music, and hacking your roommate’s Facebook profile. “Grievous fault” is a little too Vatican I, is what I’m saying, and I’m a child of Vatican II. Expecting today’s Catholics to beat their breasts over venial sins strikes me as unnecessarily punitive. Also counterproductive.

Current Gloria:
Glory to God in the highest, and peace to his people on Earth. (I cannot type that without hearing the old melody in my head. Damn you, indoctrination!)

New Gloria:
Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace to people of good will.

I’d be willing to bet that Jesus wished peace on all, not on those of good will. Unanticipated acts of peace can breed goodwill — no one would know that better than the person of Christ. Aside from providing an easy out for those who sin against mean people, I see no good purpose for this distinction.

The rants about these changes to the Mass do nothing to soothe my lingering fury over the stern lecture this San Ramon pastor delivered in place of a homily, either. The homily for that day could have been such an easy and timely message. The Gospel reading was Matt 22:21 — the “Render unto Caesar the things which are Caesar’s, and unto God the things that are God’s” one. And in the bulletin, adult congregants were asked to consider what role society should play in taking care of the less fortunate, and whether they were willing to pay more in taxes to help with that.

I mean, the homily writes itself for these two together, am I right? Even a barely adequate priest could’ve hit that one out of the park. Money is useful for the care and feeding of people on Earth (goodwill notwithstanding), and taxes are due the state. We’re our brother’s keeper, yes? And we should heed the parable of the Good Samaritan, right? Then where do Christians get off cutting programs that help the less fortunate and supporting tax cuts for millionaires who could, if you will, render unto Caesar? Why are the needy demonized instead of the ones Christ would call hypocrites?

Okay, that probably a little too political, but you see where I’m going with this, right? There’s plenty of modern fodder for a homily on paying taxes and helping our neighbors when they need it.

Instead…

Instead, we got a brass-knuckled, belittling lecture on how to participate in the Mass. How to get there on time — no, scratch that, early! How to genuflect – no nodding or curtsying! How to make the sign of the cross — slowly, with reverence, no rushing! How to pray about how much to contribute during the offertory — no hastily grabbing at whatever’s in your wallet! How to read the scripture before Sunday morning — show of hands, how many of you…?! How to sing loud and proud — no mumbling!

And wait! Don’t forget! DO NOT COME IN LATE.

Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. It has been several years since my last confession, and I spent a good 25 minutes glowering at that priest, who is a poor representative of Your grace and glory.

Admittedly, this lecture would have been super-helpful when I was 7. But on this day, in this tone, during a time reserved for reflection on a very timely Gospel, I was angry and dismayed. This was the first Mass Graham had ever attended, and I’d hoped it would be the kind that makes people think, “Well, this may not be for me, but that was rather nice.” Instead, newcomers witnessed a grumpy old priest scolding his flock for…being human. Awesome.

Y’all really should try that cake, though. SO YUMMEH.

Filed under: A life less ordinary, Happily ever after, Highway or Handbasket?, Rearview Mirror, Tastes Like Chicken | 6 Comments »

Breakfast, revisited

Posted on September 19, 2011 by 8junebugs

It’s been almost two years since I made Breakfast Pies and swore that I would be adding them to my “Cook a bunch on Sunday and eat for the rest of the week” routine. Yesterday, I made them again for the second time. Twice in nearly as many years! This may be a personal procrastination record.

But I need to wean myself off my (multigrain-)waffles-with-peanut-butter habit and get back to the Second Breakfast model that served me so well during my last running phase. Breakfast 1: Le smoothie (which I’ve decided gets the male pronoun because of the frightful amount of spinach in it. As with most other nouns, I cannot explain why French spinach is male.). Please don’t assign any particular vegetarian virtue to the amount of spinach in my smoothie — you can disguise the taste and color of nearly any amount of spinach with a handful of frozen blueberries and a squirt of honey.

Breakfast 2: Oatmeal. Booooring.

Enter the Breakfast Pies. Or, Breakfast Cups. (Or, “Breakfast Yum-Yums,” if, instead of a Pie/Cup, you get a buttermilk biscuit with meat and cheese pressed into it.) (Which looks like a Pie. Whatevs.)

Looking back, that Breakfast Pie recipe seems ever so much more complicated than it needs to be. Here’s the quick version:

  • Buy a roll of pre-made buttermilk biscuits.
  • Gather together stuff that sounds like it’d be good with a biscuit. Bell peppers, sweet italian chicken sausage, minced onion, shrimp, mushrooms, pepperoni, leftover chicken…the world is your oyster! (Hmmm, oysters…?) If you’re trying to balance the fact that you’re shoving it all into a buttermilk biscuit, stick to lean protein and veggies.
  • Chop and brown/saute whatever you’ve selected. Set aside to cool.
  • Press each biscuit into a muffin pan and spread the dough up the sides to create the cup. If you have 8 biscuits in the roll and only 6 muffin cups (curse that fancy silicone pan!), generously decide to split the biscuits evenly with your partner, because 4 and 4* on the counter looks less stingy than 6 and 2, even though you’re pretty sure that screws with your “Eat for the rest of the week” plan. (Note to self: Buy more biscuits.)
  • Spoon your mixture evenly into the muffin cups…about 3/4 full.  (Got some leftover sautéed stuff? Who needs biscuits? NOMNOMNOM.)
  • Sprinkle a little shredded cheese on top of the mixture en biscuit.
  • Drizzle a little egg substitute (or basic omelet mix) over each. Even just a tablespoon or so will help hold all your sautéed stuff in.
  • Bake using biscuit directions + 2 minutes or until “egg” looks set.

For anyone worried that Buttermilk Biscuit = Diet Buster, these things net out somewhere between 250 and 300 calories each, depending on what you stuff into ‘em (1 biscuit from the Trader Joe’s roll is 190 calories). I’m pretty sure you could cut and reshape the pre-made biscuits and double the batch pretty easily, too — the biscuits are more substantial than they really need to be for this “recipe” — but I haven’t tried it yet.

Actually, I should do that next time. It’s only Monday, and I’m out of Breakfast Cups. Back to oatmeal…

(more…)

Filed under: A life less ordinary, Tastes Like Chicken, Waist Management | 2 Comments »

Buckling down

Posted on September 2, 2011 by 8junebugs
I’ve given in and ordered a Fitbit. Graham’s had one since…’09, maybe? He’s one of those pre-ordery early-adopting types. I had little use for it — I have pedometers coming out of my ears, as well as a heart rate monitor that’s held up remarkably well to…okay, middling to moderate use. Periodically. (I just got a new one for my birthday, too.)

And then.

I perked up when Maggie Mason blogged about hers as part of her Packing Light series in 2010. “Oh, hey,” I said to Graham, “looks like you’re ABOUT TO BE HIP.” I figured Fitbit sales would jump…but I still wasn’t convinced I needed one.

Then? This week? Ms. Maggie blogged about using it to track her sleep patterns, which she was working to fix, and I broke down. That’s my Achilles heel right now, and the source of some tension in terms of how I feel and when I go to bed and whether I’m rested enough to get up and, god help me, run. So I bought one. Because also? I LOVE DATA and the interwebs, and the Fitbit wins at both.

Funnily, Fitbit seems to be all the rage in my new office. Most people here seem pretty laser-focused on their health — I know a few people who clip them on for running on Embarcadero, one guy sent out an email about losing his last week, and I think my boss also just ordered one. (I remember “laser-focused on health” from my last California residency. At UPS, three of my colleagues also taught aerobics. In their spare time.)

http://www.amazon.com/Escali-Primo-Digital-Multifunctional-Scale/dp/images/B001707OL0/ref=dp_image_z_6_0?ie=UTF8&s=kitchen&img=0&color_name=6Last night was also the first night of portioning the way we ought to if we really want to get a handle on our health and fitness. We’ve been working toward it for a while, but haphazardly. “Oh, we’ll eat fish [of whatever size] for dinner,” we thought. “And vegetables!” It’s the potatoes, the travelin’ food (back and forth to Gardnerville twice for me and once for him in August), and the cheesy poofs – even the relatively healthyish Trader Joe’s kind — keeping us inactive and squidgier than we’re comfortable being.

(Note: I have no idea how much I weigh. I have a very good idea how I feel, though, and it’s time to treat my body a little better.)

G is not overly thrilled with how I rolled out this Thing We’ve Been Saying We’ll Do For Six Months. We’d planned to have (really) small steaks last night and wanted something potato-y…as one does. I grocery-shopped after work last night; I didn’t feel like waiting for baked potatoes and the frozen french fry section was bare, so I brought home tater tots.

[Pause for the reader to reflect on fond memories of tater tots, which few of us think to eat as adults, unless we have favorite restaurants that serve them as bar food.]

[Pause for DC/VA readers to reflect on our dearly departed Del Merei Grille.]

He was amused and perhaps a little delighted by the idea, until I told him 1 serving = 10 tots and I would be counting them out pre-baking. ::sadface::

But wait! We would also be having green beans! And I did give him the larger of the two filets… And he’d added “Meat Salad Stuff” to the grocery list, which is totally an indicator that it’s time, right? Because he’s thinking about salad. (“Meat salad” is not made of meat. It just has meat in it, which was a revelation.) So the tot limit was a surprise.

Whatever. He got back at me by deciding that my Newton’s Folly (not very)hard cider (bottled in Middlebury!) is pretty tasty. Also filling. But the last one is mineALLMINE.

Tonight’s dinner: Barbecued Pork and Black Bean Soup, which I’m basing loosely on the SF Soup Company’s BBQ Pork and Black-eyed Pea Soup and/or making up as I go along. You know how I am about soup — “throw stuff in a pot and see what happens.” What could go wrong?

Filed under: A life less ordinary, Happily ever after, No place like home, Tastes Like Chicken | Leave a Comment »

Porktown, CA

Posted on April 20, 2011 by 8junebugs

The last time I went grocery shopping, “steak/pork…no, we’d really prefer steak” was on the list. And we were craaaaving steak as soon as we put “meat–steak or pork” on the week’s menu.

Yeah. We’ve been writing out menus. And we stick to them, for the most part. We may shift nights around, but we eat what we say we’ll eat over the course of a week. We worked out how we want to eat before we moved here, which is to say that we worked out that Graham would like to start eating more like I’ve been eating for years. Lots of fish, brown rice, and veggies, with pasta and red meat mixed in sparingly. Naturally, Friday night is pizza night.

Anyway. You guys all know how I feel about Trader Joe’s. “Sycophantic” might not be going too far in labeling my devotion. As I am the chef and chief food-buyer in the house, the vast majority of our food comes from the hallowed home of Two-Buck Chuck. (Which you shouldn’t drink. Really. Don’t even cook with it. Splurge on just about any of the $5 wines and save your palate.)

Generally, though, I won’t buy fresh meat from Trader Joe’s. They can only stock so much and the prices aren’t competitive; I can get local grass-fed flesh from the farmers market for less.

Unless I plan on that and the bloody farmer isn’t at the market. :( (Also, it should be noted that TJ’s fresh pork chops are reasonably priced and we live and die by their frozen fish section.)

I wanted to find a butcher shop on the way home, or at least not too far out of the way, as (naturally) I had a bunch of frozen groceries to ferry home. I tried Choice Meats, which (a) smelled wretched, (b) had only butt roasts and ground beef, and (c) came with a side of verbal objectification and physical intimidation coming and going. (Catcalling and following me to my car. Awesome.)

Also, 80% of the Choice Meats case contained pork.

So I tried a more local shop that, sadly, was limited to deli meats. Then, I walked down the street to the Housewives’ Market because I’d heard one could buy meat there.

One can, it turns out, buy pork or fish there. Seriously. Jack’s Meats was supposed to be there but is also listed under a different address, so WHO THE EFF KNOWS.

Frustrated, I gave in and bought some pork steaks for dinner, not having previously heard of pork steaks. I mean, a cut of meat is a cut of meat and I have no reason to doubt that pork steaks have always existed, but…IT WAS SO NOT BEEF.

The pork steaks were not bad, once marinated and seared. But…pork.

Screw you, Oakland. I’m ordering from Omaha Steaks.

(I’m told that Berkeley Bowl is a good source of animal protein when one’s farmers market falls short. We’ll try that when the sirloin runs out.)

Filed under: OAK, Tastes Like Chicken | Leave a Comment »

Fakey lasagna

Posted on January 11, 2011 by 8junebugs

What do you get when you combine 25% of the ground beef called for by the recipe, ricotta cheese that needs using, and a missing casserole dish?

Fakey lasagna, that’s what. The sauce is fakey because I supplemented the ground beef with a bag of mixed roasted veggies (eggplant, zucchini, and peppers) from the freezer. The noodles are fakey because I had to break them up to fit in the three small ceramic bread pans (plus a small foil pan from when I thought I was going to be a good person and bring food over to my new-parent friends).

The cheese was not fakey, which is why the lasagna still tastes like lasagna and will feed me lunch for the rest of the week.

Win-win.

Filed under: Suzy Homemaking, Tastes Like Chicken | Leave a Comment »

The greening

Posted on July 20, 2010 by 8junebugs

I was moved by some spirit to make salads this weekend. Spinach ones, with chicken and feta and balsamic and tomatoes from the plant on my balcony (or strawberries). This isn’t my usual practice — I love salads when someone else makes them or when I have ready access to a Sweet Tomatoes, but I’m rubbish at making them. When I invite someone over for dinner and they say, “Love to! What can I bring?” it’s salad every time.

I don’t know. I wasn’t really raised on salads. I could sit down and eat a head of iceberg lettuce whole, though. You know. If I wanted to.

I ate my way through three goodish salads over the last couple of days, feeling all summery and virtuous. And then I was left with too little spinach for another salad and too much to throw away without damaging my newly won virtue. (This is also one of the reasons I don’t just keep salad stuff in the house to tempt me to eat salads. It doesn’t work. It doesn’t tempt me. It rots and wastes money I could otherwise spend on gin.)

This morning, I threw a handful of that spinach in my morning smoothie, along with the usual fruit + vanilla soy + honey + a bit of protein powder.

It wasn’t gross. I mean, it was ugly. It looked like a blender full of faintly pink paste before I put the frozen blueberries in, and then it got a little brighter and a little less alarming.

But it wasn’t gross. It was tasty and the spinach was hardly noticeable. If anything, it just balanced the whole thing and made it heartier and less sweet.

Y’all, this may be the next step in embracing my inner hippy.

(In related news, I did that whole “feed a cold[/starve a fever]” thing while I was sick, and now I have no appetite. I also haven’t run since July 3 or 4…my schedule was off, and then I was sick, and now I’m working my way back to the treadmill. I still don’t trust my throat and lungs, though.)

Filed under: A life less ordinary, A Votre Sante, Tastes Like Chicken | 4 Comments »

Recipe: Breakfast Pies

Posted on January 22, 2010 by 8junebugs

Dudes. These are easy, tasty, and probably open to healthy modification, if you are so inclined. (I am, but “healthy biscuit dough” is a tall order.)

Breakfast Pies

INGREDIENTS:

  • 3/4 pound breakfast sausage
  • 1/8 cup minced onion
  • 1/8 cup minced green bell pepper
  • 1 (12 ounce) can refrigerated biscuit dough
  • 3 eggs, beaten
  • 3 tablespoons milk
  • 1/2 cup shredded Colby-Monterey Jack
    cheese

DIRECTIONS:

  1. Preheat oven to 400 degrees F (200 degrees C).
  2. In a large, deep skillet over medium-high heat, combine sausage, onion and green pepper. Cook until sausage is evenly brown.
  3. Drain, crumble, and set aside.
  4. Separate the dough into 10 individual biscuits. Flatten each biscuit out, then line the bottom and sides of 10 muffin cups.
  5. Evenly distribute sausage mixture between the cups.
  6. Mix together the eggs and milk, and divide between the cups. Sprinkle tops with shredded cheese.
  7. Bake in preheated oven for 18 to 20 minutes, or until filling is set.

Because I always start with a perfectly lovely recipe and then muck about with it, here’s what I did this time:

  • Used turkey breakfast sausage.
  • Used onion powder instead of chopped onion, because I used up all my onions in soups and red sauces.
  • Cooked it, set it aside, forgot to crumble it.
  • Added about a 1/2 T. of veggie oil to what little fat was left from the sausage, then sauteed chopped baby bellas and mixed bell peppers. Added the sausage back in to heat and mix.
  • Used fakey eggs in deference to my dietary intolerance and because pouring eggstuff out of a carton is so freaking easy for this recipe.

Enjoy!

(via a wicked smart colleague who adapted it from somewhere else. I think.)

Filed under: Tastes Like Chicken | Leave a Comment »

Applecake!

Posted on January 7, 2010 by 8junebugs

This a winner, kids. I got this recipe from a blogger I read and emailed with for years — I’d send you her way, but she stopped blogging a while ago. This is perfect for any fall or winter holiday, or for the office potluck. Or probably for impressing your future in-laws, if they’re foodies.

The rule: Don’t bring this to a potluck if I’m going to be there…or check with me first, at least.

The original recipe splits Applecake into two words, but I’ve found that people tend to say it as one and imply an exclamation point, so…

Mac’s Applecake(!)

Cake ingredients:

  • 2 c. sugar (white)
  • 1 c. unsalted butter at room temp.
  • 2 eggs
  • 1 c. milk
  • 3 c. AP flour
  • 2 t. baking soda
  • 1 t. salt
  • 1/2 t. baking powder
  • DO THIS FIRST: 8 medium Braeburn apples, peeled and cut into small chunks (not quite diced)

Topping:

  • 4 t. melted butter (cooled)
  • 4 t. flour
  • 1 c. brown sugar
  • 2 t. cinnamon

Steps (after peeling and chopping the apples):

Preheat oven to 350.

Cream butter and sugar.

Add eggs.

Mix in milk. Transfer to your largest bowl, if you’re not already using it.

In a separate bowl, sift together flour, leavening, and salt.

Add dry ingredients to wet ingredients and mix well.

Stir in apples by hand. If it looks like more apples than batter, it’s right.

Scrape batter into into a greased 9 x 13 pan.

Combine topping ingredients, mix well with fork.

Spread topping over top of cake.

Bake for 1 hour and 10 minutes, or until a toothpick comes out clean. Topping should look sort of crusty.

Optional: Serve a la mode with vanilla or dulce de leche ice cream.

(I have also baked this in smaller, individual glass dishes and as cupcakes. The former worked better than the latter. I’m too impatient with cupcakes, which are too small to take so damn long.)

Filed under: Tastes Like Chicken | Leave a Comment »

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