Sunday Pancakes

Yesterday I woke up late. Really, really late. When I finally opened my eyes and looked over at the clock, it was approaching noon! My sweetie was even worse; he was up until 4 or 5 in the morning doing his holiday homework assignments, presumably because he programs better in the dark. As for me, it was probably a bad idea to watch リング (the 1998 Japanese film that was later bastardized into The Ring with Naomi Watts) right before bed.

Needless to say, my stomach was not happy to have been left unfed for 16 hours. My first impulse was to take out the cinnamon raisin bread I baked the day before and slather it with cream cheese, but I had errands to do and I knew that wouldn't hold me over. My second impulse: pancakes. I heated the pan and poured out the buckwheat mix, and then discovered I was completely out of soy milk! Pancakes without soy milk are terribly, terribly bland.

In a burst of necessity-mothered invention, I chopped and added half an apple, then doused the water-based batter in cinnamon and nutmeg. Oh, but it didn't end there. After being lightly browned on the griddle, the pancakes were graced by a dollop of peanut butter and a big squiggle of maple syrup. Perfection.

To the more extreme foodies out there, this meal probably looks tame, but it was seriously the most outrageous pancakes I've ever made. Of course, as soon as I had finished breakfast I opened up my email to find a comment on Friday's post by Ashley of World of Crepes, who made my little plate look like a pigeon in a sea of peacocks. Seriously--Beef Burgundy Crepes? Black Forest Cherry Crepes? It looks like I'm going to have to step up my pancake game.

Back to Baking

Yesterday, after a few fabulously unproductive holidays, I felt like getting things done. First I spent the morning re-theming this blog; isn't it festive? Then I gave the kitchen a good scrub down, because Buddha only knows what had accumulated under the microwave. Then I got down to business. My first project of the day: raisin bread!

-1 cup warm water
-1/2 cup light soy milk
-2 cups bread flour
-1 cup whole wheat flour
-1/4 cup granulated sugar
-1 teaspoon salt
-1 tablespoon yeast
-2 teaspoons ground cinnamon

I was originally just going to make my weekly sandwich loaf, but as I was putting ingredients in the machine that suddenly struck me as terribly dull. I threw in extra sugar and the cinnamon, and added the milk for a softer texture than usual. The dough looked too wet in the first few minutes of mixing, so I added another handful of whole wheat flour.

After the dough was finished, I pulled it into a rough rectangle and sprinkled about a 1/2 cup of raisins. Then I rolled the dough into a log and fit it into a loaf pan to bake at 350° for 30 minutes. I let it cool for a few hours before dividing (one half in the freezer, one half in the fridge, because not even I can eat all that before it stales).


Simply loverly.

The bread was ready just in time for dinner. I used the first divinely sweetened slices in a homemade hamburger feast.


I topped a little less than a quarter pound of burger with fat-free swiss cheese and romaine. No ketchup, because that would have detracted from the bread.

I was stuffed from the meal, so it was a few hours before I wanted dessert. I took the opportunity to mix up a chocolate pudding pie.


-1/4 cup sugar
-1/4 cup cornstarch
-1/4 cup cocoa powder
-3 cups light soy milk

I whisked whisked whisked over medium heat, then stirred with a rubber spatula until it thickened and bubbled. Then I added some almond extract and poured the mixture into a store-bought graham cracker crust. Three hours of refrigeration later, it was perfect for slicing.


To finish off the night, I baked my sweetie a batch of bedtime cookies (because he doesn't get any of my pie).


All in all, I think I gave the oven a good workout. Now, for those overripe bananas sitting on the counter....

The Day After

Yesterday I had turkey hangover. When I woke up, I wasn't hungry and didn't feel like cooking. It was a holiday, so I could have taken my time to eat a leisurely breakfast and swing by the department stores for Black Friday deals, but (a) I hate shopping crowds, (b) I have no legitimate reason to purchase new things, and (c) I'm lazy. I made myself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich on white bread for breakfast because that was the tastiest-sounding option. When in doubt, get out the kids' foods.

By lunch I was a little perkier, so I put together a small homemade pizza. As I was making it I thought, "Today must be the busiest day of the year for pizza parlors, second to Superbowl Sunday." There must be a lot of Americans who are sick of cooking, cleaning and entertaining and just want someone to do the work for them. I felt glowingly typical, until I realized that making the pizza by hand killed the entire point.

When evening rolled around, the importance of regular eating patterns was illustrated. Because I had pecked sparsely through the day, I was starving. I made some stir-fry with brown rice, chicken, mushrooms, shaved apple and green beans to take off the edge.


For dessert, I finished my package of fig Newtons (there were only a couple left) and felt full for a while.

Then the cravings started. I wanted sugar. I wanted chocolate. I wanted starch and fat and crunchy salty things. You know the signs. But to my immense disappointment, the impending binge never came.

Was I saved by Jiminy Cricket on my shoulder whispering nutritionist-type reminders in my ear? By finding a more appropriate outlet to fill my emotional needs? A magic mantra? No. I was derailed by food snobbery.

I ate a small square of chocolate, and found that the hard stuff wouldn't cut it. A piece of bread with low-fat cheese was okay, but I wasn't feeling the cardboardy store-bought loaf. A spoonful of sorbet was too sweet. I dug through my cupboards and passed on blah chocolate chips, too-easy spoonfuls of peanut butter, and my sweetie's secret bag of Keeblers. I couldn't find anything worthy of binging on! I wanted exotic not-too-sweet ice cream, or bakery-fresh rolls, not that boring Oreo Cream Pie in the fridge.

If I wanted to binge, I'd have to go through the effort of making something myself--like a decadent tray of brownies or loaf of moist banana bread. I was too lazy for that. So instead of stuffing myself silly, I watched some bad Asian horror movies and sulked on the couch until bedtime.

By this morning my stomach was growling on schedule and I had learned my lesson. I just chowed down on hearty apple oatmeal with chunky PB.


Hopefully, this will provide a good start to a frustratingly-nonexistent-binge-free day (rock the double negatives).

Thanksgiving Recap

On Wednesday, my sweetie and I went to Who's to stay over for Thanksgiving. Since we had to leave before dinner time to avoid driving through a storm at night, we picked up dinner at Arby's at the two-thirds point. I had one of these:


(Photo from grubgrade.com, since I didn't take my camera)

It's a roast chicken club without sauce, and it was enormous. I was almost literally bursting at the seams for the rest of the drive, though that was considerably contributed to by the 32 ounces of pop in my stomach (I can never resist a refill).

Once there, we hung out with Who, watching his evening streak of television shows. First there were some bad comedies, then some bad crime dramas. I pinpointed exactly why I would make a lousy scriptwriter. Here's a snippet from one of the aforementioned crime dramas:

["The Reaper" has lured the family of FBI agent Aaron out of hiding by posing as a US Marshal. He sits at the coffee table calmly playing toy soldiers with little Jack, gun in holster, when Haley receives a phone call.]

Haley: "Oh my god, Aaron, are you really okay?"
Aaron: "Yes, I'm okay."
Haley: "But...he said...."
[Look of shock and realization spreads across her face.]
Aaron: "I need to talk to Jack."
Jack: "Hi Daddy. Is he a bad guy?"
[Bad guy snickers and moves some toys around]
Aaron: "Yes Jack. I need you to work this case for me. Can you do that? Can you work this case with me?"
Jack: "OK Daddy. I'll work the case with you."
[Jack runs and hides in toy chest while Mommy takes back phone--ensue ten minutes of tears, talking, and more tears. The Reaper eventually gets up, takes his gun out and does some suggestively sinister teasing with it. Cut to Aaron's distraught and horror-filled face as gunshots ring out.]

Yes, yes, very emotional "good" television. Now, here's how I would have written it:

["The Reaper" has lured the family of FBI agent Aaron out of hiding by posing as a US Marshal. He sits at the coffee table calmly playing toy soldiers with little Jack, gun in holster, when Haley receives a phone call.]

Haley: "Oh my god, Aaron, are you really okay?"
Aaron: "Yes, I'm okay."
Haley: "But...he said...."
[Look of shock and realization spreads across her face.]
[Cut to Aaron's distraught and horror-filled face; sounds of violence in the background.]
Aaron: "Haley! Jack! Noooo!"
Haley: "It's okay now. He was just sitting there unarmed, so he didn't have time to react when I bashed his head into the coffee table and crushed his windpipe for good measure. What the hell sort of identity protection program do you people run?"
[End.]

Of course, that would leave some twenty minutes that they'd have to fill with either exposition or a really long commercial break. And intelligent victims make these people look a lot less cool:


The next day we headed out to Grandma's for a proper Thanksgiving. I was caught a little off guard, because the place was teeming with elementary-aged children. I do well with children one-on-one, but not when facing armies of them (and by armies I mean, like, ten). Most of the expected relatives were missing, since they visit the other halves of their families for Thanksgiving and come back for Christmas. At 12 we broke into the feast, which was served on those campy compartmented styrofoam cafeteria trays (Grandma has spent years washing dishes).

I was pleasantly surprised to find that very few of the food selections were doused in cream. This is probably because the aunt that usually hosts Thanksgiving wasn't in charge this year, and Grandma has a lighter touch. I heaped my tray with corn, green beans, a Hawaiian roll and white turkey meat doused with cranberry salad ("That's the good stuff," a grown-up cousin proclaimed, "$3.99 for a little tub at Walmart!") Afterwards I dug into a slice of pumpkin pie and a cupcake--the crust of the pie had freezer burn so I just ate the filling, and the latter I felt compelled to take because the kids were so proud of creating orange frosting by combining red and yellow food colorings.

Then, while the family played dominos, we spent two hours in the back bedroom attempting to fix Grandma's computer. She wanted to designate her homepage on IE as the local newspaper. We thought it would be simple, but then we encountered a lot of issues like an overzealous adware program that was sneakily blocking all browser and start-up changes. And it was tricky navigating an operating system that's been defunct for a decade (Windows ME--I've never even used Windows ME). We finally fixed everything, but in the process accidentally wiped her saved password to connect to her dial-up internet. Now, if she ever finds or remembers or finds that password written somewhere, she can access her news. Oops.

And that was our holiday. Not too exciting, but I never put much stock in Thanksgiving anyway. I mean, gratitude is an admirable sentiment, but couldn't we express it by doing something other wastefully consuming world resources en masse?

Bills Bills Bills

Yesterday I wrote about my flagging motivation for productivity. Well, today that malaise bled into the bigger picture: my life ambitions, wifely responsibilities, and even *gasp* food.

This morning I woke up with the alarm and lay still for some 15 minutes, thinking that I should eat breakfast. But nothing sounded appetizing. Oatmeal would take too long. Toast was too boring. Green Monster? Eggs? Tofu? Yuck yuck yuck. Eventually my growling tummy persuaded me to slap some pancake batter on a griddle and stick a spoon in a carton of vanilla Chobani. But I didn't like it.

Why? Why has the joy been sapped from my morning meal? Reader's Digest version: endoscopy-->lousy insurance plan-->bills bills bills. Thanks to a lying Celtic representative who told the surgery center they could cover 60%, and a know-it-all accountant who later rescinded that to $500, I have to come up with some $900 in addition to the $700 I already paid that day.

I know exactly how my appetite was sabotaged. My boyfriend cracked open those dasterdly envelopes while I was happily preparing sourdough and a fresh fillet of Tilapia last night. Now I associate food with evil insurance companies. It's like getting the stomach flu the day after eating Christmas ham...you know the ham was innocent, but for the next year the smell of pork makes you feel ill.

I did my best to perk up later in the morning. First I watched the latest episode of Hai Pai Tian Xin while treadmilling a couple miles.


For some reason, looking at cute Taiwanese actresses always makes me feel better...maybe because all the American starlets are over-sexed, and Asian cameras train away from (modestly clad) bodies to focus on pretty faces. Watching Rainie Yang in voluminous shirts is much healthier for my body image than watching Blake Lively strut around in teeny weeny dresses.

For lunch I pecked at a salad with apples and chickpeas and my last slice of whole wheat bread with chunky peanut butter. I was feeling better, especially after a scoop of vanilla ice cream with dark chocolate Hershey sauce, but not chipper enough to take photos.

I am happy to report, though, that even with the shock of mounting medical bills my mental state is stable as a sumo wrestler in an earthquake. I may have dark clouds hanging over my head, but I haven't done anything outrageous. Last night, after the appropriate amount of tears, I grabbed my bag of Fig Newtons and ate...two. That's it. Well, later I finished the last of my Le Petit Ecolier from last week, but just because they were going stale. I didn't binge, and I didn't make any rash decisions. The trip to Japan next spring is still on. As I assured my sweetie, I will not be one of those people who lay on their deathbeds and think, "Why did I spend my life working and worrying?" Even though this will be a small blow to my finances, we will not go into debt even with a week overseas. I'd rather have happy memories and a few extra months of student loan payments than a hearty nest-egg and regrets.

Tuna Macaroni Salad

I am completely unmotivated today. I'm groggy despite a full eight hours of sleep, my once-a-year love affair with the Midwest is over now that the leaves are all gone, and since it's a half-week I don't feel like buckling down to work. It's like being in high school again, on those just-before-the-break days when even the teacher doesn't feel like starting a new lesson and just hauls out the documentaries.

The major difference between today and the teenage years, of course, is that my mother isn't around to make my peanut butter and jelly. So despite my largesse, I had to pack lunch myself.

I'm at the very end of my loaf of bread and didn't bake a new one, since over Thanksgiving various sort-of-family members will be feeding me. That means no sandwich. I'm sick of ramen (plus, my coworkers laugh at me) and I had no soups waiting patiently in the fridge. So last night I did something daring: I made a pasta salad for lunch today.


"Pasta salad" sounds like a lot of work, what with the cooking and the mixing and all, but it actually took less care and effort than chili or PB&J. There's no sauteing, no bread slicing, no meticulous jam spreading. I just threw some noodles and veggies in a pot, dumped some toppings in a bowl, and mixed everything messily together.

-1/2 cup elbow macaroni
-1 can tuna packed in water
-a handful of frozen peas
-1 tablespoon light Miracle Whip

I cooked, drained and rinsed the macaroni and peas (in the same pot--just put the timer on for 10 minutes and threw the peas in at 5). I drained the tuna and mixed it with the Miracle Whip. I whisked in the pasta/peas and some pepper, and voila. I brought a banana to go with it, so practically all of my food groups will be covered.

Little Luxuries II

I did it again. At the grocery store yesterday afternoon, I turned my back on the cart for a few seconds and when I looked again, there were some not-so-healthy-or-cheap goodies nestled by the broccoli. No idea how that happened. But of course, since they were already there, I had to buy them....

1) A bar of Ghirardelli 72% dark "Twilight Delight"

2) A bag of fat-free fig Newtons

3) Four containers of Chobani greek-style yogurt: blueberry, pomegranate, peach and vanilla

In my defense, the Ghirardelli was a dollar off and the Chobanis were 99¢ instead of their usual $1.19. I have no excuse for the Newtons, though, other than my emotional attachment to them.

I hated fig Newtons as a child--they tasted weird and had crunchy bits in the filling. But in December of my freshman year, I had some $50 worth of meal points that had to be used before they "rolled over" to the next semester and dropped 25% of their monetary value (my university was generous that way). I was late getting to the campus convenience store, so all the best options for point-prolongers were already taken--there wasn't a roll of toilet paper or box of Easy Mac to be found. There was, however, an untouched supply of fig Newtons, presumably neglected by a youthful population with the same attitude towards the soft exotic cookies as I did. In a fit of whimsy and crowd-induced desperation I grabbed an entire box of single-serve packages. And to my surprise, I didn't regret it.

Here's how I enjoyed the first of yesterday's booty:


Fig Newtons with vanilla ice cream. Genius. I've been telling myself I should cut down on the sweets and eat more real food at meals, but it looks like those admirable intentions will have to wait until my heavenly pockets of high fructose corn syrup and artificial flavors are gone.

The Big Day

I almost chickened out, but with a heart of steel and a lot of encouragement from my sweetie I finally did it: I cut my hair.

Here's a "before" picture, from when I was modeling a newly knitted scarf last month:


And here's the new me:


It's a relief to have all that volume gone, but as you can see I wasn't ready to cut it all off yet. I took a baby step towards the coveted bob with some face-framing pieces that end just below my chin.

The cut isn't exactly what I asked for, thanks to inefficient communication. When the stylist confirmed, "You wanted one long layer, right?" I said yes, because I envisioned one layer only slightly shorter than the full cut. But when I said "one layer," she thought I meant "one length," and since I was dazzled by the long bangs I didn't notice the uniform back until I visited the mall's restroom and caught a glimpse in the big mirrors. I'm not too bothered, though, since I know within two weeks the ends will uneven themselves into "layers" naturally.

Sourdough

I can't recall the last time I cooked without cheating. I put mushrooms and ground beef in canned sauce for "homemade" spaghetti, use cheese slices in my sauces, and substitute blenders for beaters and machines for hand-kneading.

I even found a way to cheat when making homemade sourdough bread. "No!" you gasp, "not the boxed mixes!" You're leaping to conclusions. I'm no angel, but I haven't fallen that far. No, my sleight of hand is more subtle.

I made an honest starter with equal parts water and flour, which I dutifully fed for a week. On the day of reckoning, I took a half cup of it and added a full cup each whole wheat flour and water to make a sponge.


You see those beautiful bubbles? Those are there because flour and water aren't all I put in there. I also added a teaspoon of active yeast. Sacrilege, I know, but look here: I tried baking a loaf recently and ended up with a brick that was much too sour for human consumption because I had to let it rise for two whole days. This gorgeous sponge reached its mature state within three hours. As painful as it is, sometimes you do what you have to do.

I added about a cup and a half of flour and a teaspoon of salt to make a soft ball of dough. I left it slightly sticky to compensate for the drying that occurs during rising. I oiled and floured the bowl and left it to rise while I went to work for the afternoon.


After a day of shelf-reading and geneticist-locating, I came home to this monster:


I say monster affectionately, as in The monster at the end of this book. Unfortunately, I had to punch the monster down and stuff it into a loaf pan.


After three more hours, the dough hadn't risen much, but I didn't want to let it sit overnight and become overly sour. I baked it up (350° for 30 minutes).


It isn't terribly impressive-looking, but as you can see in the initial photo up top it isn't a brick. The insides are very soft, and though the slices are too soft for sandwiches, they make lovely meal accompaniments topped with butter or hummus.

Health Report

I've skipped two blogging days this week! Oh, the shame.

The truth is, I haven't been eating anything particularly interesting. I've been recycling favorite meals that I've posted before: bran flakes or Green Monsters for breakfast, PB&J or bean chili for lunch, and pan-fried Tilapia or spaghetti for dinner. All delicious, of course, but nothing new. And I don't want to become one of those bloggers who post the same thing over and over with minute variations (can you say "oatmeal overload?").

Although I can promise an interesting post tomorrow when I bake a loaf of sourdough bread--the sponge is bubbling away on the counter--today I've got nothing. For an interesting side show (and the main reason my regular food-obsession has been crowded out), you can read about my shenanigans with eye-patched-and-wooden-legged pirates at my other blog.

So I figured I'd take this time to shine the spotlight on my health, which has been briefly addressed in the past. Since I went through the hullabaloo with the gastroenterologist and the invasive surgery, I've been taking double my usual medications. For the most part, I think it's working well. I've learned that at certain times in the morning, when my stomach is growling for snacks, it's really asking for Maalox and green tea.

I haven't binged for a couple weeks now, and over the past week I haven't been hungry. By "not hungry" I mean that my hunger has been manageable. I'm used to being on the brink of starvation before every meal, regardless of how much I'd eaten earlier. But I no longer spend the hours from 3-5pm in a hazy mist of plummeting blood sugar, and there have been times when I eat half of a meal and think, "Meh. I don't want any more." Last Friday, my sweetie couldn't come home in time to make dough for pizza, so we ate an hour later than usual and I was actually okay (I mean, I'm not in possession of any severed human heads).

Why the sudden switch to normalcy? It could be that my wacky eating was related to my stomach acid problems, but there's no way know for sure. It could also relate to hormones. I have been sleeping easier and feeling less stress, since I received a few paychecks after my hours were reduced and found that I can support us adequately on them. I've also been getting stronger physically and don't have to exert myself as much to run or walk, so my exercises aren't wreaking havoc on my appetite.

Whatever the cause, I think I'm on the right track. I haven't gained or lost any weight, which is good because it means I've found equilibrium. Equilibrium is a happy place to be.

Castella Cake

I first learned of Castella Cake from Jupoigirl of Good Eating, Good Living. Castella is a Japanese honey sponge cake, baked up in souffle style, with whipped eggs bearing the brunt of leavening.

I asked Jupoigirl about measurements, since hers were metric, but when I baked this up on Saturday I made modifications anyway. Bad Tamara.

Cheater's Castella Cake
-4 eggs
-1/2 cup sugar, less a few tablespoons
-1/4 cup honey
-1/2 cup all-purpose flour
-1/4 cup whole wheat flour
-1 tsp baking powder
-heaping tablespoon milled flax (I just couldn't resist)

I don't have an egg beater, so I broke the eggs into my handy-dandy Vitamix and whirred on low speeds until frothy. Then I added the sugar in a slow stream while blending, followed by the honey. I shoveled in the flours and flax and used a rubber spatula to fold everything together. At the last second, I decided to add that teaspoon of baking powder for insurance, because I have actually tried this cake the 'right' way once before and ended up with a very sugary doorstop. A pastry master, I am not.

I poured the batter into a loaf pan lined with parchment paper. It went in the oven for 10 minutes at 350°, then another 40 at 300°.

When it came out, I was ecstatic to see that it had definitely risen. When I cut into it, I could hear the spongy confection squishing and bouncing back. The cake was a little sweeter than I like, but went well with a tart scoop of the raspberry sorbet I found on Saturday. It was best warm, since the absence of fat and copious sugar made for a tougher slice. Jupoigirl says the flavor gets better with age, so I'm looking forward to another piece after dinner tonight.

The Great Hair Debates

I'm long overdue for a hair cut. Though my dark cascading locks are perfect for pretending to be fairy tale heroines or Disney's Pocahontas, the amount I lose to the comb everyday is both scary and annoying. I'm like a shedding cat. I find hairs everywhere! It takes forever to dry, so I hate shampoo days, and the weight drags down any attempt at styling. Plus, when I lean back in my chair, my back traps the ends and I get a painful surprise when I turn my head.

So I planned to get a haircut this weekend, but when I started thinking about how I wanted to change it I found the options too numerous for a quick decision. I'll have to go next weekend after thinking about it for a while. To make things easier, this morning I headed over to a fun toy I often played with in college: Mary Kay's Virtual Makeover. The free program lets you stick different make-up and hairstyles onto an uploaded picture. I took this one fresh out of bed.


Three surprises when I saw it: my face isn't as round as I thought, my eyes are enormous, and ponytails are severely unflattering. I prettied it up a little with some virtual mascara, blush, and lip color. Then I had a ball sorting through some of the outrageously outdated hairstyles to find some that fairly accurately approximate what I look like right now.


Left: what I look like on a freshly washed day, 1970's teenager style. Right: what I look like on a post-jogging-not-enough-time-to-dry-before-work day, 1960's hippie vogue.

Now the really fun part: the new options. I originally thought I'd go for a bob, although I'm afraid my hair would just fly out crazily if I cut it short (because it always has in the past). If I got it to behave, here's what I might look like:


Left: safe, with flaw-diffusing choppy ends. Right: a little fuller and sultried-up. I kind of like the one on the right, but my inclination would be to tuck that bit in front behind my ear and zip right back into school-girl territory. This could be remedied by some side-swept bangs:


Though I'd clean up those messy sides. The only way to avoid zero tampering is if I really lopped it off:


This was the best of the short-short bunch, so it looks like a bad idea. Unless, you know, I feel like dropping out of library school to enter the indy music industry.

These last options I picked out for my mom.


Left: the page boy cut she's always wanted me to get, ever since I was 7 and looked oh-so-cute in it. I think the bangs are a little too harsh. Right: a remedy to the harsh bangs, Japanese junior high style. Seriously, with a sailor suit and some knee-high socks and I'd blend in perfectly with the Tokyites.

I'm thinking I'll either go for the fuller bob, or a combination of the page boy with wispier bangs (I'd prefer to go short because then I could donate my ten inches to Locks of Love). What do you guys think?

Little Luxuries

Today I did the weeky grocery shopping by myself. Usually my sweetie comes along to help with the heavy lifting, but today he had a headache so I left him at home with a pile of laundry instead >.>

Though I do like an extra pair of hands to lift the 10 lb. sack of potatoes and cross off items from the list, there is a distinct advantage to shopping alone: without an increasingly impatient companion catching wafts from the deli section, I could take my time looking at products off the beaten path.

I took the opportunity to indulge in a few luxury items:

-A bottle of Diet Sierra Mist Cranberry Splash

-A box of Extra Dark Petit Ecolier chocolate-covered biscuits

-A 6 oz. container of pomegranate Chobani yogurt

-A pint each of raspberry and mango sorbet

I was especially excited about those sorbets, because they're the first I've seen in the Kroger aisles that don't contain any milk! I'm going to eat it tomorrow with a slice of the honey sponge cake I made this afternoon (recipe forthcoming!)

After a dinner of pseudo-manju, I broke into the first two on the list.


Isn't the soda gorgeous? I discovered this magical beverage in freshman year of college and have been anxiously checking the aisles every November since. And yes, artificial sweeteners and carbonation are the Devil's work, but it's a once-a-year thing. Everyone else does Halloween--I do diet soda.


And check out those cookies. 70% dark, my friends. Sipping my cranberry splash and nibbling at my imported confections, I felt like nobility. Of course, at the store I had to put back two other flavors of yogurt and some ginger-lemon tea biscuits because I had to keep my impulse spending below the amount I make in an hour's work. So I'm the brand of nobility that lost all material wealth and lives off name alone, but nobility none-the-less.

Baked Tofu Bagelwich

My legs have been irrationally sore the past couple of days. I'm not sure what happened--I exercised a little more than usual, but not so much that I should have difficulty walking. Based on the location of the soreness, I'd say I sat with crossed legs a little too long with my laptop.

This wouldn't be pertinent to the post, but it explains why, in the middle of yesterday, I needed the enormous lunch pictured above. Thanks to the legs, my morning run took twice my usual energy. Good thing I had a hearty new meal in mind, courtesy of Eating Well: a TLT. I modified the recipe to suit what I had in the refrigerator. First I took:

-1/4 a blog of firm tofu, in two thin slices
-1 tablespoon honey mustard
-a splash of soy sauce

I lay the tofu on a foil-lined cookie sheet, then mixed the mustard and soy sauce in a small bowl. I slathered the sauce mixture over the tofu and slipped it in a 375° oven for 20 minutes. Conveniently, that was also the temperature and time required for "fries." I sliced a potato, tossed it with salt and paprika, and put it in next to the tofu.

As soon as I came out of the shower, the timer beeped. I slid the fries onto a large plate and cut a homemade bagel in half. I smeared light Miracle Whip on the top half of the bagel and placed the tofu on the bottom. Topped with lettuce and accompanied with grape-cranberry juice, it was my favorite lunch of the week (though the brownie at the end helped a little :D).

Warped Self-Perception

My sweetie was tracking down old classmates on Facebook the other day. Like me, he didn't have the best high school "experience"--to put it bluntly, we were both on the bottom of the social hierarchy. I ate lunch by myself and enjoyed varying shades of ostracism every day, while he was effectively driven out of the public school system in sophomore year by spineless "friends" and mean-spirited, gossiping girls who loved to play the role of victim in the principal's office.

Anyway, sweetie stumbled across a few recent photos and presented them to me triumphantly. I examined some shots of a slightly overweight brunette with limp curls in a too-tight strapless dress.

"Who's this?" I inquired.

"That's Autumn!"

"Who?"

"Autumn--the girl who was, like, my whole world all through high school."

I looked closely at her face. "She looks a lot like me. But she has prettier features. I wish I had a nose that straight."

Sweetie stared at me blankly. "You're kidding, right? You look nothing like that."

"Sure I do. We have the same coloring, and we're the same size..."

"You are not the same size." He grabbed the full-length mirror by the closet and propped it next to my computer. "You are much, much smaller."

I looked at the mirror, then the photo. Then the mirror, then the photo. Gosh be darned, I was half the size I was identifying with.

When I saw the photo of the famous Autumn, I focused on her good points, as I do when I see the image of any woman. Where sweetie saw a fallen princess, I saw the knock-out Autumn that would pop out if she straightened her hair, found a more figure-flattering dress, and used a facial mask. I think this is a good thing--recognizing the potential in people is a lot better than focusing on their flaws.

What isn't so good, though, is that I never do the same for myself. When I look in the mirror, I see a squashed nose, enormous thighs, and malignant-looking freckles. Every woman on the street looks taller, thinner, and more glamorous than I do. Obviously, this is warped. I know cerebrally that I'm smaller than average. According to a 2004 survey, the median measurements of American Caucasian women aged 18-25 are 38-32-41, or a size 14. Mine are 36-28-38, size 8-10. Do I feel thinner than average, though? Of course not. All I think when I weigh or shop is that I'd be gorgeous at 120, my grandmother had a 20-inch waist and all the girls on campus are a size 4.

This has to stop! It's tiring, for both me and my sweetie, to be constantly surprised by reality. I need to come up with some new affirmation statements.

Orange Pinto Soup

I forgot to put meats down to thaw on Monday, so that left very few options for dinner. I was too hungry to steam rice for stir-fry, and had eaten tofu ramen for lunch. What was left? Beans!

I remembered I had an open can of pintos in the fridge, which I had been using to top my salads. I also had a half can of tinned tomatoes from the day I tried to make impromptu spaghetti sauce.

Chili time!

-1/4 a large yellow onion, chopped
-3/4 can pinto beans with liquid
-1/2 can tomatoes
-salt, pepper, curry powder
-orange juice

I sauteed the onion in a little oil, then dumped the beans, tomatoes, and spices in with them. I covered the pot and let it simmer for ten minutes, until the liquid from the beans and tomatoes had thickened.


When I tasted the soup, it lacked the acidic kick I was hoping for. So in a fit of bizarre inspiration, I splashed in a couple tablespoons of orange juice. That did the trick, but it did taste "unique." The jury's still out on whether it was a good idea or not, because while I loved the soup, other people might think the fruity component clashes horribly with the hearty beans.

The batch made two servings, one of which I had that night with a toasted homemade bagel. The other made up last night's dinner accompanied by a romaine salad topped with a Gala apple, orange-flavored dried cranberries, and balsamic vinaigrette. With a rich bit of brownie whipped up for dessert, I was one contented kitten.

Chicken with Cranberry Sauce

I was uploading pictures for yesterday's post when I found the beauty above. I made this chicken with cranberry sauce last week and could have sworn I wrote about it, but it must have slipped by.

However, I think this is a recipe worth doubling back for. It's incredibly easy and injects some tangy holiday spirit into boring weeknights.

(Makes 2 servings)
-4 chicken tenderloins or 2 breasts
-1 cup fresh cranberries, whole
-1/3 cup orange juice
-1/2 tablespoon honey

I heated a frying pan, sprayed it with Pam, and cooked the tenderloins for 5 minutes on each side, until cooked through and crispy. On another burner, I simmered the remaining three ingredients in a saucepot for 5-8 minutes, until the berries popped.


I slid two tenderloins onto a plate with some steamed potatoes and broccoli, then slathered it in half the jewel-toned sauce. I kept the leftovers for a lazy re-heat meal the next day.

The cranberries were a little too tart, so I think when (not if, when) I make this again I'll add a full tablespoon of honey. I'm considering making a big batch of this for use in pink-tinted orange cranberry muffins, since there's one lonely pumpkin muffin left in the freezer.

Bagels

This past weekend felt like an anomaly in the time-space continuum. The sun was shining, the weather was warm--if there had been leaves on the trees I would have sworn it was next spring already. With the light streaming through our apartment windows, I crept temporarily out of slothsome hibernation to take care of chores and bake for the week.

I survived all of last week without a loaf of bread, because I was too lazy to make one the weekend before. This week I'll catch up with the old-world mother of breakfast indulgences: bagels. I didn't do anything fancy this time--no fillings or novel shapes--just straight-up rings. I followed the same recipe as I had for bagelfuls:

-1 cup water (plus a few tablespoons during mixing to make the dough "ball")
-2 cups bread flour
-1 cup whole wheat flour
-1 tablespoon sugar
-1 teaspoon salt
-1 tablespoon yeast

Instead of removing the dough from the machine a half hour early, I let it rise for the full 70 minute cycle. I've ended up with flat rocks with holes in the middle before, and it wasn't going to happen again.

I divided the finished dough into eight pieces, rounded them, and poked holes through the center. I let the bagels rise another 20 minutes for extra puff.

Puffiness was certainly achieved--when I put a couple in the pot to boil, they squished each other against the sides.


I stuck to one at a time after that.


After the boiling, I put them in a 375° oven for 15 minutes. They were crispy when they came out, but soon cooled into soft doughy bundles.


I enjoyed this one for dessert. I topped one half with Tofutti cream cheese, raisins, and cinnamon, and the other with chocolate chips.


For breakfast this morning I toasted this one and topped it with peanut butter and strawberry preserves. Delicious and filling.

Mini Banana Split

I've never eaten a soda shop banana split. But I've wanted to ever since I watched pretending-to-be-alien-kid whack Wesley Crusher in the face with one. Hey, the pretty boy had an eyeful of ice cream and he still thought it was "quite possibly one of the greatest things in the universe."

(TNG S4E4--and I swear I'm not as subculture as I appear sometimes)

Anyway, the other day I had a burst of inspiration: I had ice cream, bananas, and flavorings...what was stopping me from making my own miniaturized split?

I split a banana widthwise, then lengthwise. Then I set out a small dessert plate and scooped out a tablespoonful of lactose-free vanilla ice cream. I scooped a second tablespoon into a small cup, in which I mixed it with half a teaspoon of strawberry jam. That went onto the plate next to the vanilla. Next came chocolate--I mixed the third tablespoon with Hershey's dark syrup for that. I set the banana halves prettily on each side of my ice cream row, and finished it with whipped topping for a little flourish.


I apparently used way too much chocolate syrup. That scoop melted faster than if it was hit with a phaser blast. It may be a good idea to stick the plate in the freezer for a few minutes before eating next time.

But anyway, I think Crusher was on the mark: the combination of banana and ice cream is genius! Banana and vanilla was kind of blah, but the flavored scoops were fantastic. I dislike eating ice cream straight up because the cold numbs my taste buds and the texture is too uniform, but the banana supplies a soft, solid chew to pair with the smooth sugar shock. I think this will become my default after-dinner treat when I'm too lazy (or lack the ingredients) to make a full-blown baked or simmered dessert.

Impromptu Spaghetti Sauce

On Tuesday night, I happily drove home from work, washed my hands, boiled some water and popped in a handful of spaghetti. Then I slipped some buttered, garlic-powdered bread in the oven, browned some beef, and opened the fridge.

No spaghetti sauce.

I searched the cabinets. No spaghetti sauce.

But I did find a dented can of tomatoes.

I have never, ever made tomato sauce from straight tomatoes. But I wasn't going to let that pasta go to waste, so I gave it a shot.

-half a pound lean ground beef
-half a 16oz. canned tomatoes
-1/4 onion, chopped
-a handful of mushrooms, chopped
-garlic, salt, pepper to taste


I boiled everything together for about 10 minutes, until it was sauce-like, then ladled it over the noodles.


I actually liked it. It tasted more acidic than our usual manufactured variety, but freshness is good. Sweetie wasn't a fan. He dutifully ate his dinner, but painstakingly picked out every piece of tomato before putting each forkful in his mouth. That did a lot for my self-esteem....

I'm going to have to stop by Kroger on my way to work this morning. I don't think impromptu sauce on the Friday Night Pizza would go over well.

The "Fat Tax"

So. The government has apparently been debating the merits of a tax of fast food. Karen Datko over at the Smart Spending blog wrote a short piece supporting it. Naturally, the floodgates opened. Here's a snippet that demonstrates 90% of readers' responses in a nutshell:

"A fat tax? What's next, a tax every time we go to the bathroom? Aren't the citizens of the United States taxed enough? What has happened to personal freedom of choice? Oh, I forgot, that's history for this country. When will the citizens of this country finally stand up and say 'enough' to our government? Read the Declaration of Independence and see how the government has violated the statements in it. Pay specific attention to what it says about a government that no longer serves its citizens."

Yes, yes, I get it. People don't like being told what to do and how to spend their money by "The Man." Fine. But it seems it's been a while since the people who say things like "that's history for this country" actually took a History class. Let's refresh, shall we?

-The slogan of the revolutionaries was "No Taxation without Representation," not "No Taxation" period. Tariffs were especially lucrative for the founding fathers post-war.

-The men who wrote the sacred Declaration of Independence were wealthy noblemen who owned hundreds of slaves. "Life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness" only applied if you were of Western European descent. And male.

-The men who fought for the first amendment saw nothing wrong with burning the houses and wringing the necks of anyone who disagreed with them.

-"Personal freedom of choice" can be, of course, vetoed by God. It's always been the government's job to make sure you can't choose to be a woman if you have XY chromosomes, for example. Or choose to drink on a Sunday. But it's totally out of line to make cheeseburgers more expensive.

I'm cool with ideals, but it drives me nuts to see blatant idealizations. The US was the land of the free compared to the places its early inhabitants escaped from, but it has never been Utopia. And objectively, we're closer to freedom and equality than we ever were in the supposed Golden Age of the 18th-20th centuries, taxes and all. At least I haven't read of any lynchings lately.

Now that that's off my chest, I can address the actual "fat tax" itself. I would not be personally affected if it went into place, because I'm not rich enough to eat out more than once a month. As such, I don't really see what the big deal is. What is the great allure of a Whopper and fries that merits a public outcry in the face of rising prices?

Common argument #1: "I need to feed my family, and fast food is cost-effective!" You know what's even cheaper than Coke? Water. If you think about it, even the Dollar Menu is a rip-off. Take the McDouble: for two $2 pounds of ground beef, $1 loaf of white bread, $2 for a package of American cheese slices, and a couple dollops from huge, cheap condiment bottles, you can make 8 equivalent sandwiches. You'd save $2-3 and have ingredients left over.

Common argument #2: "With my two jobs and the kids, I don't have the time to cook!" I'm pretty sure if you timed it, it would take just as long to make spaghetti as it would to visit the drive-thru. And crock-pots are wondrous machines.

Common argument #3: "I travel for work, and sometimes I have no alternative but to turn to chains. Big Brother is taking advantage of me!" Really? There are still some towns in America without a supermarket? That would be a sight to see--an entire pocket of civilization that subsists on Denny's....

No matter what reasons you spit at me to eat fast food, I can find a way to resolve them. You know, the real reason the government is thinking of instituting this tax has little to do with the "obesity epidemic." They're not actually trying to make people healthier; they're trying to earn money to wiggle out of China's grip.

If you really want to fight the tax, I say we all do this: let them implement it. Then we'll refuse to pay it by making all our meals at home. Then the feds won't make any money and they'll give up on it eventually. A boycott worked for those good ol' Declaration writers, after all.

(teehee)

Apple-Bean Salad

I am not a salad girl. I hate ordering salads at restaurants unless I'm backed into a corner by a greasy road-side diner menu, and I never make salads at home unless coerced by quickly wilting lettuce. So much chewing, so little flavor.

There is one exception: I loved the salads from Souplantation in my home SoCal town. The Chinese salad with just the right amount of soy and crunch, the Joan's Broccoli Madness that perfectly balanced sweet and bitter, the delightfully tangy Tuna Tarragon and light pasta salads...I have never been able to capture the magic at any of the iceberg-and-cheddar dominated salad bars in Indiana.

The day before yesterday, as I was fixing hamburgers for myself and my sweetie, I opened a fresh bag of romaine and was struck by the sweetest aroma ever to waft from store-bought greens. It was so fragrant I actually squealed and stuffed a handful in my mouth without thinking (sweetie was mildly alarmed and called out from the bedroom to check that I was okay). Such a beautiful bag couldn't be subjected to the usual fate of warping into slimy brown mush at the end of the week. Yesterday night, I determined to make a salad.

I put a cup of the romaine in a bowl and topped it with half a chilled Gala apple and a handful of pinto beans (from a can). I doused the whole thing with balsamic vinaigrette.


With a pan-fried fillet of Tilapia, I was happy as a cat on a patch of sun-warmed carpet. I'm looking forward to making a second apple-bean salad for lunch today, maybe with some raisins for more flavor and texture.

Chopped-Apple Pancakes

I need to come up with some new breakfast ideas. I've been waking up for the last couple of mornings with no real enthusiasm for the greatest meal of the day. I've choked down oatmeal, snacked on apple cranberry pumpkin muffins, and pecked at some frozen grapes. Of course, these tiny breakfasts let me crash later in the day. Then I eat too much at night to be hungry for breakfast the next morning. Repeat cycle.

So today I tried to come up with something I'd never had before to inject some novelty into a meal that has become a chore. I turned to a traditional weekend indulgence: pancakes. For the spark of newness, I folded in chopped apples and spices to make a special fall treat.

-1/3 cup buckwheat pancake mix
-1/3 cup light soy milk
-1/2 a small apple, chopped finely
-cinnamon, nutmeg, and ginger

I thoroughly combined the mix, milk and spices before adding the apple to make sure no unappetizing dry bits stuck to the fruit. Then I formed two cakes on the hot griddle. The bumpy Gala bits made for a very interesting look.


I was afraid they wouldn't turn well, but flipping wasn't hindered by the fruit. Because the batter pooled at the bottom, one side looked like a perfectly normal pancake.


I kept this side up on the plate for looks :) I skipped the butter on my pancakes today, because I was afraid the taste would overwhelm the apple and cinnamon. A small drizzle of light maple syrup finished it off. I was tempted to use fat-free Cool Whip instead, but delicate whipped topping on hot pancakes makes for a melty mess.

This morning I have plans to run, pick up Windows 7 at the bookstore, and drop off a textbook I sold on Amazon at the post office before/after work (however it works out). Busy busy beaver.