The Man on the Moon's "Best Days"

Yesterday at the grocery store, while I was waiting behind families buying ten tons of candy corn and Hershey bars in the check-out line, I saw the Farmer's Almanac on the magazine rack. This was hilarious to me (though it probably wouldn't be to the other 99.999% of the population), because I had to spend many hours poring over almanacs for a Reference assignment last week.

So I opened one up to a random page...the Astrology section...and learned that the celestial bodies make certain days of the year excellent for baking. You should plan to bake your Christmas cookies on December 8-17 this year, because after that the moon will shift and all your luck will be funneled towards fruit-canning and beer-brewing (totally not kidding). Also, today, October 31st, is the best day to "start a diet to lose weight," "dig post holes," "ask for a loan," "kill wild onions and weeds," and "get married." Sweetie, get out your tux.

And as for the diet thing, well, too bad. The moon will just have to suffer, neglected, while I savor the baked goodies in my freezer.


Okay, so a single scone is not the most substantial of Sunday brunches, but I have no intention of sugaring up later like the rest of the country. After the initial Intuitive Eating adjustment period ended, I frankly feel a little queasy when I see mounds of artificially colored high fructose corn syrup in solid form. Besides, I had protein for dinner.


When Sweetie and I went downtown for early voting, we were surrounded by restaurant scents and I had the overwhelming urge to make burgers and oven fries for dinner. Burgers with jaunty caps, if this photo is any indication.

While making said burgers, I used up the last of my weekly rolls. So I made more.


Yesterday was not one of the moon's designated "best days for baking," but the weather disagreed. Look how well they kept their form...the consistency was perfect.



The amount of wheat bran and milled flax in my bread recipe has been slowly creeping up--initially it was only 2 tablespoons of the latter, and now it's something like a half cup total. It makes for a very hearty texture and easy-to-shape dough, plus I get to feel virtuous for eating it :D


Now bring on the stews and pats of butter. My apologies to the universe.

A Week of Bad Health

Earlier this week I was recovering from the random Vertigo Virus, slept half my days away and didn't exercise (except for one 20 minute session with free weights and Castle episodes, but I was more preoccupied with murder than my muscles). So by Thursday, when I was finally able to walk in a straight line, I was determined to make up for everything by being active and cleaning everything that hasn't been cleaned since mid-October.

Then claws happened. Luna didn't feel like being picked up, and took it out on half of my hand. I won't post gruesome pictures, because it wouldn't be cool to be calmly eating lunch and reading blogs when suddenly confronted with a big photo of a bloody slashed-up palm (even if it IS Halloween weekend).

Anyway, I was pretty much incapacitated all of yesterday. I felt like I was in elementary school and they were doing a disability awareness exercise in which they bind your limbs and ask you to reflect on how difficult it is to do things that way. After recruiting Sweetie to wash the minimum number of dishes needed for lunch and hold the handles of various pots as I sizzled and stirred with my one good hand, he remarked, "If you lost an arm, we would probably starve." When you can only use one hand, you resort to turning off the heat under your oatmeal and letting it soak up the liquid for half an hour instead of actually cooking.


The food looks normal, however, I am not a chewy oats sort of girl.

But we only starved for one day, because even though you can still see more of the insides of my hand than one is supposed to, I was finally well enough to function today. I celebrated by cleaning, washing, and grocery shopping. Guess what season it is?


Cranberry Sierra Mist season! This brightened my entire week up. Now I just have to bake some fancy cookies and pretend we're already in the dead of winter and it isn't going to get any colder.

Now Sweetie and I are going to vote in the midterms, and also see a professor who randomly asked me to come in for a meeting on a Saturday. Graduate school sure is different from college.

Friday Fails

In my post-intuitive-eating revamp of blog content, I have decided to institute a new weekly feature: Friday Fails! This celebration of human frailty will brighten our days by making us feel smarter than average. Plus, it taps into my caustic personality (or, as one commenter on my Christmas Gifts For People You Hate post put it, "nasty," which I can only assume they meant in the Urban Dictionary sense: "describes someone's excellent ability at something or to describe something that is ridiculously good." Why thank you, Anonymous.)

Let the games begin!

Fail #1: Today is Thursday. Julian calendar 1, Tamara 0.

Fail #2: It has been suggested that in my pursuit to be the richest food blogger evah, I should post copious photos of oatmeal and nut butters.


This is neither oatmeal nor nut butter. Though there is some actual butter on there...I get half points, right?

Fail #3:

First of all, I don't live in Seymour, so I don't give a Tinker's dam what temperature it is down there. But more importantly...

O. M. G. MSN's Delish completely opened my eyes this morning with their advice on "How to survive Halloween without going up a size by choosing the right treats." I totally had no idea Tootsie Rolls have 0.5g fat! I can't believe I've been gobbling the things down like they're 100% sugar! And every year I've been eating calorie-dense Snickers.

BEST CHOCOLATE MINIATURE
3 Musketeers Minis
(24 calories, less than 1g fat)
You'll save calories if you go for chocolates with light and airy insides instead of denser fillings.

WORST CHOCOLATE MINIATURE
Butterfinger Minis
(45 calories, 2g fat)
Mindlessly down a few of these and you might as well have eaten a whole bar. Whoops!

Snickers are not "light and airy." And those Butterfingers...oh the Butterfingers...I ate a whole bar once when I was in college. 220 calories of crazy-crunchy moral abandon. That's like [fiddles with calculator], ZOMG, 6.29% of a pound! Ah, the folly of youth.

Here's the deal, people. If you want your Butterfingers, eat your Butterfingers. If you want Butterfingers and eat Tootsie Rolls instead, you'll just feel empty and deprived while your coworkers revel in once-a-year joys. That emptiness will be filled with other low-calorie treats on this list like Dum Dums (in that horrible pina colada flavor, because it's the only one the neighborhood kids won't touch), candy corn, and bland food-coloring-saturated Pumpkin Peeps...none of which are Butterfingers. Then your sugar consumption will skyrocket when these things go slightly stale and you can inhale them wantonly because "they need to be eaten" and, because they're slightly melted and turning grey at the edges, it's a form of punishment for your gluttonous self. Then you'll crash midday from eating caramel apple pops for breakfast and your dentist will destroy your bank account.

Stop the madness. Eat the dang Butterfinger.

That's all for today, folks, because I have to get to work. Happy failing!

Christmas Gifts for People You Hate

Now that it's not quite Halloween yet, strings of toxic sparkles adorn the Kroger aisles and the homemaking magazines are decked in Christmas cookies and sprigs of holly. Soon the children will begin to flood Santa's magical mailbox with pleas for the latest bits of plastic and relatives and coworkers will pester each other over who's bringing the pie this year.


You will not necessarily like all of these relatives and coworkers. Yet you will have to buy them gifts.

So I have begun compiling a list of "The Worst Christmas Gifts Ever, Or, The BEST Gifts for People You Hate." This is not a list of prank presents, a tired list of ugly sweaters and kinky underwear, or a list of obviously antagonistic gifts that will make guests leave Grandma's house in tears. No, this is a sneaky list, of presents that will make you appear entirely virtuous while dousing any arrogant a-hole of an uncle's holiday cheer with kerosene, so that his own cigarettes will consume him in flames.

1) Donations to Charities in the Giftee's Name
A few years ago, Sweetie and I received the "gift" of a $25 donation to the local Humane Society. The volume of solicitations we've received since probably killed enough trees to negate any karmic benefits accrued by feeding the abandoned puppies. Gifts like these were designed as an "out" for horrible or compulsive gift givers ("Oh, we love your Precious Moments figurines, Susanne, but that money should really go to the needy.") Alternatively, they can be weekly annoyances for people you claim to care about but secretly detest. Use them wisely--soon you will be the praise of your superiors, while your cubicle mates will be buried in enough return address stickers to cover a toilet for a bizarre display in a modern art museum.


2) Books They Will Never Read
One Christmas, a Secret Santa graced my bookshelf with a piece of inspirational Christian fiction. Not being Christian, I have never even read the entirety of the back cover...though I think it's about some guy finding God by reliving a day with his dead mother. Not creepy at all. This tactic only works if the book in question is mainstream, but the giftee is not. For example, who doesn't love Harry Potter? Apparently, not your Southern Baptist soon-to-be-ex-Sister-in-Law, but you had no way of knowing that (*wink* *wink*).


3) Gift Cards They Will Never Use
Most people have a set of favorite stores. I buy my groceries at Kroger and my clothes from Target and Old Navy, so a gift card to American Eagle does me no good. Not everybody gets their electronics from Best Buy, or their potting soil from Lowe's. Unless you know a person's shopping habits and hometown layout, gift cards are a tricky business. However, this makes them the perfect gift for people you hate. Zum Beispiel:

-Blockbuster cards for people who subscribe to Netflix
-Walmart cards for liberals
-Hot Topic cards for conservatives
-Pizza Hut cards for die-hard dieters
-Cards from a specialty shop or restaurant not necessarily located in the giftee's locale ("You don't have Souplantations in the Midwest? You'll just have to fly back and visit us to use it then!")

It's especially "nice" if you give these cards in tiny amounts, so the giftee will have to spend additional $$$ to purchase anything worth having. $10 for Saks Fifth Avenue would be perfect.

4) Candles
When in doubt, give people candles. Or candle-holders, or worthless little tea-candles to float in a bowl of water on the dining table. Chemical-and-vanilla-scented ones. Because everybody you barely know has the same taste in home decor as you.

5) Gifts Perfectly Tailored to Individual Interests
I heard she reads, so I'll buy her another round of historical non-fiction books. Tech guys love fancy blinking gadgets, no matter how cheap they are. And as a JD, he wouldn't ever have received these lawyer-joke-a-day calendars before!


If you know your hated-one's trademark hobby or professional occupation, making them feel under-appreciated is a breeze. Just find the lamest, most commercial doo-hicky that seems to fit and you'll look like you tried your darndest.

Have any other nefarious gift ideas? Comment away!

Twist on Chicken Noodle Soup

I woke up this morning with the same sensations as last Tuesday: weak muscles, spinning universe, nausea.... Now, a one-time freak is one thing, but twice is cause for worry. An hour before I was scheduled to pick Sweetie up from his morning class, I drove to the Health Center and saw a doctor about it. I was surprised to hear there was nothing in my ear, I didn't have any detectable diseases, and actually my balance wasn't impaired at all! I could stand straight with my eyes closed and my arms in front of me, palms upward, which is apparently a difficult feat. So the doctor said it was probably viral and suggested an over-the-counter pill for motion sickness and 24 hours of bed rest. Ick. That means I'll have to make up my lost hours at work on a Saturday.

Anyway, the medicine worked pretty well, though I'm not supposed to drive or operate heavy machinery (hence going before Sweetie got out; he could drive me home and tuck me in). What worked even better for my mood was the $3 total I handed over to the cashier...yay for health insurance that actually covers things!

I spent half the day doing school work and the other half asleep. When Sweetie came home from his evening class I made a dinner worthy of sick people: chicken noodle soup.

However, I'm not really "sick" in the sniffly-fever sense of the word. So I didn't really make "chicken noodle soup" either.

-2 chicken breasts
-Szechuan sauce
-1 bundle (2 servings) udon noodles
-white miso paste

I cut the chicken into strips and sauteed them with copious amounts of throat-stinging Szechuan sauce.


(Most of the sauce wouldn't make it into the final product, so I used a heavy hand).

I cooked up a bundle of udon...


...and bathed them in salty miso before topping with the chicken.


Salty, meaty comfort that's definitely more interesting than Campbell's. Plus, the chicken probably resembled a bird, and not the stuff pictured on Mama Pea's post Dora's Secret. More ick.

Popular

My popularity in the foodie blogosphere has shrunk. A single week away, and that line on Google Analytics plummeted some 30%! Of course, 30% isn't much when you're talking about numbers below 50, but still.

But I have an ingenious plan to recover. I have undertaken an extensive study of other popular blogs, and devised an entirely new set of keys to rocket my site to the top:

1) Run 10+ miles per day and be able to lift twice my body weight in iron
All of the most popular health foodies are in the kind of shape that they could audition for a remake of a Wonder Woman movie and perform the entire script without stunt men or wires. I can run about a half mile before I'm completely winded. It's a start, right?


2) Drop out of library school and find an exotic job with pay in the triple digits
It's no secret that we like to follow bloggers who we'd love to tie up in the closet and usurp their lives. Who on earth would covet the life of a 22-year-old grad student sharing a one-bedroom apartment from the '70s who spends her weekends counting the pennies left in her bank account? Readers want houses with gables and hardwood floors! Fancy kitchen and running gadgets! Designer dresses to wear to swanky affairs (and no, the Halloween party for masters students held in the office of a barracks-like apartment complex off the highway on the other side of the train tracks doesn't cut it).

This is my house, as seen from my private helicopter

3) Take exotic vacations
Along similar reasoning as #2, my readership doubled during the two weeks I was in Japan. People don't surf the internet looking for dreamy photos of southern Indiana. I should at least find some photos of beaches from Google Images to plagiarize and make up stories of romantic getaways.

This is where I spend my weekends. I have no idea where this is--my butler takes care of the arrangements.

4) Get married and make babies
Freaking everybody is getting married. 90% of the bloggers I follow are young newlyweds who post photos from their big day like clockwork. Kalin got married this year and partied at luaus for her honeymoon. Even my one-time comrade in singleton, Diana, is now looking for cakes for her wedding in six months! And those who have been married for some time are posting adorable photos of their blue-eyed offspring or, sometimes, photos of offspring that have not yet exited the womb (I'm looking at you, HEABlet). Forget completing our degrees and establishing ourselves financially, Sweetie, it's time to spread some gene sets.

The advertisements around the interwebs say our baby will look like demon spawn.

So what do you think? Is fool-proof, no? If I become vegan and throw some elbow-rubbing with celebrity opinionists into the mix, I'll be the richest blogger ever.

[Evil laughter...fade to black.]

Vegan Pumpkin Blondies

I'm not vegan. I was for about two weeks in high school, but I was also a Buddhist, a carb-shunner, a jock (cross-country), a Science Olympiad geek, and a show choir queen for similarly short periods of time. Since I didn't have inclination to try on different fashions and make-up styles like my classmates, I tried on personalities instead.

Allie of Live Laugh Eat isn't a vegan either, but that didn't stop her from making these nummy-looking vegan pumpkin pecan blondies. And when there are no eggs in the fridge but I'm hankering for autumn-spiced baked goods, I can temporarily turn vegan too.

Vegan Pumpkin Blondies
Modified from Allie, who modified it from someone else :D
-3/4 cup pumpkin puree (I used Libbys)
-1/4 cup canola oil
-1/2 cup sugar
-1 tsp vanilla
-1 cup white whole wheat flour
-1/4 tsp baking powder
-1/4 tsp salt
-cinnamon and nutmeg to taste (which for me means LOTS)
-1/2 cup chopped walnuts (or pecans or another soft nut)

Cream the pumpkin through vanilla in a small mixing bowl. Stir in the flour, baking powder and spices until just combined. Fold in the nuts. Spread in an 8"x8" square pan covered with parchment paper. Bake at 350° for about 20 minutes. Easy peasy.

Allie's recipe had double the oil and sugar, but I'm not quite at the intuitive eating stage to do that yet. Also, the original called for soy milk, but protein makes baked goods more cakey than fudgey, and I was in a fudgey mood and left it out. To compensate I decreased the flour, and though the final product wasn't as pretty as Allie's, the consistency was perfect!



I would have liked to leave them in an air-tight container at room-temperature to snag some soft sweetness whenever I liked, but with moist pumpkin-based products I've learned from unfortunate experience that the refrigerator is best. Rest in peace, moldy pumpkin swirl cake.

Fancy Steak Dinner

Sweetie and I are not sophisticated people. I consider ramen a substantial meal and regularly go entire weekends wearing a single oversized swim-suit cover-up with socks. He would live happily on Diet Pepsi, Keebler chocolate chip cookies and fried chicken if left to his own devices.

But sometimes I like to pretend we're productive members of society in our 20s. Especially on days that I open links to blogs and see things like rarebit jacket potatoes on The English Kitchen. If potatoes are involved, I will consider brushing my hair and putting on a dress for the good folks at Kroger to obtain the fixings.


Since I'm already putting in so much effort, I might as well crack open the wine for a fancy marinated entrée. The $3 bottle.


Wine-Marinated Steak with Cheesy Stuffed Potatoes

-2 medium Idaho potatoes, scrubbed
-extra virgin olive oil
-1 tablespoon butter
-shredded sharp cheddar cheese
-plain soy milk (or regular milk)
-salt and pepper to taste
-1/2 pound thin-cut chuck-eye steak (cut into two servings)
-white wine
-Dijon mustard
-1 small shallot, diced
-1 tablespoon all-purpose flour

Rub the potatoes with olive oil and bake at 350° for 45 minutes. Ten minutes before the potatoes are done, pour wine onto a shallow plate and mix with a bit of mustard. Place the raw steak in the wine to marinate. Remove potatoes from the oven, split lengthwise and scoop out the innards. Mash the potato with butter, a small handful of cheddar cheese, salt and pepper, adding milk until creamy. Spoon the mashed potato back into two of the shells and top with additional cheese. Place the potatoes back in the oven for another 10 minutes until the cheese is melted. In the meantime, spray a shallow saucepan pan with oil and heat until smoking. Cook the steaks, reserving the marinade, and plate. Saute the shallot in the cooking juices and stir in the flour. Pour in the reserved marinade and stir until thick; spoon over steaks. Plate the potatoes and serve.


There. One fancy, labor-intensive dinner worthy of worldly graduate students.

Though we still ate it with Pepsi.

Pizza Sticks

When Sweetie and I first moved to this apartment, he was working and I was a coddled college student accustomed to pre-cooked meals one elevator ride away. Every Friday we would order pizza from one establishment or another, depending on who had the best deals that week. But then Sweetie and I switched roles, and my $8.25 an hour before taxes couldn't support those $15 splurges. So I appealed to my bread machine, and we switched to homemade pies to live happily but frugally. Until a few months ago, when Sweetie discovered that, like me, our weekly tradition was getting too hard on the digestive system.

The culprit? Super-acidic tomato sauce. The solution? Sauce-free pizza sticks. Sweetie would eat them with his father on weekend visits when he was young, and instructed me on the basic shape and contents a few weeks ago. After multiple attempts, I have finally mastered the deliciousness of the cheese-stuffed dough.

Pizza Sticks for Two
-1 teaspoon active dry yeast
-1/3 cup warm water
-1/2 cup bread flour
-1/2 cup whole wheat flour
-pinch of salt
-Your favorite toppings (or in this case, stuffings)
-olive oil
-garlic powder
-tomato sauce with minced garlic and herbs

Proof the yeast in the water for five minutes. Stir in the flour and salt, and knead until smooth. Place in an oiled bowl, turning to coat, and cover with plastic wrap. Let sit for half an hour, then divide in two. Roll each ball into a thin round (a rolling pin is mighty handy to keep it even and avoid tearing), and top one half with mozzarella, pepperoni, bell peppers, spinach, anchovies...whatever strikes your fancy. Fold the other half over and pinch the edges. Brush the tops of your half-moons with olive oil and sprinkle with garlic powder. Bake at 375° for ten minutes, until the top begins to brown. Cut into sticks and serve with warmed sauce for dipping.

I usually favor mushrooms, olives, or onions on in my pizza. Tonight, all three were inconveniently located at the grocery store instead of my cupboard, so I filled mine with a light sprinkling of cheese and some pepperoni slices. That doesn't make for very pretty pictures, so here's a shot from last week, when I had mushrooms at my disposal:


The key to these is the oil-and-garlic topping. I made it without the first few times, and it tasted like a bland high school cafeteria approximation of a Hot Pocket. But fat and pungent bulbs work wonders on the taste buds.

Mysterious Malady

Last night in Reference class my eyes started to lose focus...I assumed I was tired from an afternoon of PHP-mongering and data entry. I persisted in my note taking until the professor didn't have the strength to go on (he said he cracked a rib last week doing something stupid. I felt drowsy during the walk to my car...I assumed I had gone to bed too late the night before.

Then, when I arrived home, I noticed that gravity wasn't working the way it usually does. I couldn't walk in a straight line. I couldn't assume any cause for that, so I crashed in bed for a nap.

At 10pm I woke up with my insides churning, and I assumed I was just hungry. So I ate some of Sweetie's Frosted Shredded Wheat. And aspirin, and Pepto Bismol for good measure.

And by 11 none of those were in my stomach anymore.

I'm not sick. I'm not running a fever, I'm not congested, and other than the fact that the universe is off balance and half a day's nutrients didn't make it into my bloodstream, I feel fine. I don't think I have a bug, and though the library cafeteria's sushi is suspicious, I'm pretty sure it's not food poisoning. So this malady is quite mysterious.

This morning I woke up at 6 feeling very heavy and weak, because after all I absorbed half the number of calories I needed yesterday. I thought I should play it safe by making a very digestible breakfast: a waffle made from Sweetie's refined white flour instant mix. With a slightly less digestible two tablespoons of milled flax seed mixed into the batter for flavor, flair, and heart health.


I needed the heart-healthy flax because I intended to cancel it all out with butter and maple syrup. Mmm butter.

I'm going to play it safe and stay home from school today, which means I have no excuse to avoid the mountains of readings and assignments staring at me from the course websites. Fortunately, I'm not scheduled to work on Wednesdays.

Picture-Perfect Cinnamon Rolls

Usually when I make cinnamon rolls (and it's been about a year since I last did) I just increase the sugar in a basic bread recipe and call it a day. But on Friday, I was craving the gooey sweetness of a doughnut, not a fully risen bread. I mixed up a batch of the Valentine's Baked Doughnuts from February instead, with a side effect I didn't expect: super-prettiness!

Usually, when I use yeast-based doughs, they're too elastic to roll out easily and they rise unpredictably. But this time, I knew I had a winner as soon as I cut out the first rounds from my log.


They even retained their beauty after rising!



Though baking threw one or two of them for a loop.


Usually, I don't care much what my baked goods look like (within reason) as long as they have the right texture and flavor. But for once I'd be proud to bring these to a public function and let everyone fuss over me for my mad rolling skillz.

Picture-Perfect Cinnamon Rolls
-1 1/8 teaspoons dry active yeast
-3/4 cup light soy milk, warmed
-1 tablespoon butter
-1/2 cup granulated sugar
-1 egg
-1 cup bread flour
-1 to 1.5 cups white whole wheat flour
-1 teaspoon ground cinnamon

Proof the yeast in the milk for 5 minutes until frothy. Stir in the butter, 1/4 cup sugar, and egg. Add in the flour until the dough forms a ball and you can handle it easily without sticking. Knead until smooth, about 5 minutes, and place in an oiled bowl to rise for 1.5 hours. Roll into a rectangle and sprinkle with the remaining sugar and cinnamon. Roll up, pinching the ends well, and cut into 8 sections. Place the sections on a baking sheet, cover with plastic and let rise for 45 minutes. Bake at 350° for 10 minutes until golden and gooey.


You could drizzle a glaze on top for extra sugariness, but they're quite sweet on their own. And if you don't have a lot of folks to hand them out to, it's best to leave them plain to freeze and microwave later. I've gotten into the bad habit of eating these as snacks and tossing them at Sweetie when he asks for breakfast when I'm too lazy to make real food. However, they do make excellent jogging fuel; one gave me a big enough glucose burst to cover 2 miles in 25 minutes this afternoon. Woot.

Dangerous Territory: Religion

It's mid-afternoon on a Wednesday. Usually at this time I would be changing into my workout clothes, setting my laptop up by the treadmill, and tuning in for one weekly hour in which the space occupied in my brain by group projects and papers is temporarily replaced by deep breathing and Glee.

But not today, because after last week's episode "Grilled Cheesus," the magic has broken for me.

A plot summary for you uninitiated Gleeks: the football quarterback finds religion when he sees the image of Christ on his lunch.


The token homosexual, Kurt, is in crisis when his father has a heart attack, and conflict arises when his fellow Glee club members want to pray for him in school. The villainous cheerleading coach, Sue Sylvester, squashes everyone's freedom of expression with the phrase "separation of church and state." Good triumphs over oppressive secularity and everyone celebrates how welcoming and open-hearted they are. The end.

Do I sound sour? You betcha. Because those 45 minutes of song and dance were, to me, like eating a big bigot cupcake with tolerance sprinkles on top.

(Source)

Though every few minutes, the high schoolers in this fictional universe would assure each other that everybody's great just the way they are, their actions and characterizations exemplified the opposite. The default condition is, needless to say, Christianity. Since this takes place in an 86% white, 76% Christian Ohio, I accept this. However, it is difficult to accept that all non-Christians (or non-Jews) in this episode were misguided sheep who ruin everything for everyone else and are reformed in the end.

Poor, miserable atheists couldn't possibly educate themselves, think about it, and make a conscious decision not to adopt a religion...they must have had some traumatic life experience that shattered their illusions of a loving God. Kurt is an atheist because God must be cruel to make a world so full of prejudice. He rambles on about moon gremlins and hires foreign-looking women to stick needles in his father. Sue Sylvester doesn't believe in God because He didn't grant her prayers when she was little. Please. Did you stop believing in Santa Clause because you didn't get the pony you asked for? Or did you stop believing in Santa Clause because you didn't buy the notion of a full-grown man in a red suit popping out of your fireplace to give you presents with the Toys R Us sticker still on the boxes?

Anyway, in the end Kurt accompanies his friend to church and says he should have let everyone pray for his dad, and Sue decides to let the monotheistic song issue slide. Why? Because they had good intentions and it made them feel better? Of course Kurt should welcome the teenagers swarming his father's hospital bed to pray despite his very clear objections; as the good guys, they shouldn't be expected to respect his foolish, unreasonable wishes.


During the aforementioned swarming, one Gleester justifies, "We're all from different denominations and religions, so..." These "different denominations and religions" consist of, what, three options? The only religion represented other than Judaism and its child Christianity was a sight gag: that foreign-looking acupuncturist who, when the football quarterback says, "Hey Kurt, why didn't you tell us you wanted to pray in Muslim?" responds frostily, "I'm a sheikh" and promptly exits the screen.


Aaaand that's it. Mormons, Buddhists, Jehovah's witnesses and Hindus are conveniently nonexistent in the Glee bubble.

Let's imagine what the scenario would look like the other way around. Instead of Ohio, the show takes place in northern California, in a 50% white city with a large community of immigrants. The character in conflict is not an aspiring homosexual Broadway singer, but a conservative Christian belle in a sea of Buddhists and agnostics. The Christian girl's father is hospitalized, and her classmates think her daily prayers are a waste of time. They encourage her to channel her faith into science and medicine instead. When they say, "You can't prove God exists," she defends herself by saying, "You can't prove the theory of gravity either*" and makes a speech about floating gremlins on Mars. They show up to the hospital to sing songs about glorious pharmaceuticals and convince her to attend a round-table discussion of Nietzsche on Sunday. In the end, she opines that yes, she should have let her friends do whatever they wanted, because they just had her father's best interests at heart.

I'm pretty sure if such a show aired, the Fox broadcasting building would be covered in rotten eggs for pushing a radical agenda.

I have nothing against religion. I like Christians (well, mostly--as with any large group there are some bad apples that make everyone else look more extreme than they really are) and the majority of my high school buddies were Hindu or Mormon. I'm totally cool with the little old men handing out Bibles on my walk to school in the morning, and the younger ones in suits standing outside the student union who don't bother anybody who doesn't express an interest. But I'm not cool with dressing up a weighted view with political correctness and calling it a good show. And no, throwing the atheists a bone by citing the spaghetti monster is not an adequate substitute for impartiality.

Of course, I probably shouldn't write touchy things like this on my food blog. I should just listen to the sage advice of the adorable guidance counselor who summed up the episode in one line while chastising the selfish, secular Sue:

"If that's what you think, that's okay. But keep it to yourself."

*I'm not just making fun; we really can't prove gravity. Despite the fact that things have been falling towards the ground for eons, we still don't have it figured out yet. You can watch them duke it out on Wikipedia.

Guest Posting

Today I'm guest posting for the first time on Maria's Chasing the Now! Click the link to see me strut my stuff, and check out the other bloggers to submitted to her Maintenance Series.

New York Soda Ban: Bad, Bad Idea

For some reason, New York City is determined to dictate what the population puts in their mouths. I wrote last year about their well-meaning but misguided school bake sale ban, and since then they've undertaken various campaigns like limiting sodium in restaurant food. The latest obsession? Sugary drinks.

I read a recent headline in the NY Times this morning: New York Asks to Bar Use of Food Stamps to Buy Sodas. The city Health Department website features this beautiful photo of their anti-soda video:


(Source)

According to the mayor of NYC, "This initiative will give New York families more money to spend on foods and drinks that provide real nourishment." The health commissioner "said the ban would help curb the city’s obesity epidemic, which...has been fueled by rising soda consumption over the past 30 years." Statistics showed "that obesity rates were substantially higher in poor neighborhoods...[and] that consumption of sugared beverages is consistently higher in those neighborhoods." Also, "drinking 12 ounces of soda a day can make a person gain 15 pounds a year."

Well, you can't argue with statistics. //end sarcasm


(Source)

I don't have to take a course called "Introduction to Research Methods" in graduate school to see what's wrong with this (though my department is making me anyway). Here's a little "Causation vs. Correlation 101":

Statement: "The 'obesity epidemic' has been fueled by rising soda consumption over the past 30 years."
Fatal flaw: A vocabulary word bolded on page 91 of my textbook, "spurious relationship"

Obviously, soda consumption is far from the only difference between October 9, 2010 and October 9, 1980. Children are more sedentary. Fast food franchises are on more street corners. A fancy coffee loaded with sugar, cream, and chocolate shavings every morning is "normal." The country has a more diverse gene pool. There is no way to tell which of these factors is "fueling" rising body weights, or if rising soda consumption is actually an artifact of something else.

Statement: "Obesity rates are higher in poor neighborhoods and consumption of sugared beverages is higher in those neighborhoods, therefore reducing consumption of sugared beverages will reduce obesity rates"
Fatal flaw: See "spurious" above

Let's do a little switcharoo. Obesity rates are higher in poor neighborhoods ethnic populations. Consumption of sugared beverages cigarettes, legal and illegal drugs, and cost-saving calorie-dense foods are higher in poor neighborhoods. Stress hormones run rampant in poor neighborhoods. Poor (minority) kids are less likely to be picked for the football team or cheerleading squad. There are fewer parks in poor neighborhoods, and it's not always safe to walk in the streets. Taking the 7-Up away won't make a YMCA and farmer's market materialize out of thin air.

Statement: "Drinking 12 ounces of soda a day can make a person gain 15 pounds a year"
Fatal flaw: I can't even label this one, because it isn't based on actual data of any kind

Statements like this are pieced together haphazardly from a mix of different "facts" that can't necessarily be strung together. 12 ounces of soda have an average of 155 calories. A human gains one pound after approximately 3500 extra calories (this is questionable and varies a lot with individuals). Therefore, it will take approximately 23 days to gain 1 pound, or about 15 pounds in a year. IF (all-caps on purpose) the calories are really "extra." Human bodies, when not tampered with by restrictions, are extraordinarily adept at figuring out when they've been fed. Though drinking calories doesn't introduce the same satiety factor as eating them, most people adjust what they eat later to some extent.

Okay, let's say I'm just quibbling. Even if you don't gain 15 pounds a year, even if exercise and genes have nothing to do with it, the law wouldn't stigmatize poor people and it was completely commercially fair, drinking that much sugar is not wise. The politicians just have good hearts, you say. All right. So let's pretend we all agree this is basically a good idea, so how do we implement it?

The ban would affect beverages with more than 10 calories per 8 ounces, and would exclude fruit juices without added sugar, milk products and milk substitutes.

This would affect the new devil's drinks: traditional sugary sodas and sports drinks. Yay. But what about diet sodas? Sugar-free Kool Aid? Bright pink strawberry flavored milk?

The mayor asserts that without the ability to buy soda, people would spend their tickets on spinach instead. Heh. If families are used to drinking a 2-liter of Coke every day, why on earth would they buy no-sugar-added apple juice when the company is so darned good at making aspartame-sweetened alternatives?


Bottom-line: I personally don't drink soda more than once or twice a month as a treat (like the other day at Steak 'n Shake). I don't think it's a good idea to take in a lot of sugar every day. But I also don't drink alcohol, and we all know from our high school history classes how bad it was to ban that. We can't control others' bodies, choices, or attitudes with blanket laws. Slapping a hazard sign on Pepsi cans and saying "There, we've fixed obesity" is like scribbling over the word "Negro" in old legislation and saying, "There, we've fixed racism."

Changing habits like this takes a lot of time and education. If New York City wants to sink money into a campaign so badly, I suggest they devote their efforts to decreasing the violence and instability plaguing poor families and let the obesity take care of itself, instead of stigmatizing poor people as the sugar-packet eaters.

I've Lost the Drive

I've learned something recently. I've alluded to it before, but it's reached new extremes and must be stated clearly:

Intuitive Eating bloggers make bad bloggers.

I posted pictures of yesterday's bento because, well, there was no reason not to. The camera was right there on the counter, and my computer was literally one step away, so why not? But the next night, after eating none of the snacks I brought to school/work that day because I got distracted, I came home and started thinking about dinner.

"I don't feel like it."

So I didn't make it.

And when Sweetie came home and pantomimed eating the cat because all he'd had that day was a bowl of Frosted Mini Wheats, I still didn't feel like it.

So then we were at Steak 'n Shake. With coupons, but no camera, at 7pm, after eating lunch at 1 and a cookie at 4...and all I wanted was a single steakburger (about an eighth pound of meat, I'd guess, like the "Junior" size at other restaurants) and a diet Coke. I didn't even care what they put on the burger. When the waitress asked for toppings, I said, "Everything, I guess."

"You want cheese?"

"Uh...[processing]...no."

Not because of dietary restrictions, mind you, but because it would cost an extra 45¢.

My hamburger was divine--I didn't know I had such a love for mustard and pickles. I ate a couple of Sweetie's onion rings, and they were okay. The fries didn't resemble the vegetable they're supposedly made from in the slightest, so I didn't bother. Halfway through my meal, I set my burger down and peered around at the other diners with plates piled high with previously forbidden fruit fries and giant, frosty milkshakes dabbed with whipped cream on the side.

They looked disgusting.

Not the diners, silly, the milkshakes. Which the last time we visited Steak 'n Shake I pined for something awful. And then I realized, most food doesn't look appealing when I'm not hungry. It takes me half the time to read others' blogs as it did a few months ago, because I skip over the pictures and just want to read about what's new in their lives. I'm not inclined to post about my own meals because I generally write after I've eaten them, and after eating them they don't sound tasty anymore! Even if they were fantastic an hour ago at dinner, processing the photos is just, well, boring.

This blog was founded on the premise of recipes and food pornography. I barely have time to dabble in the former and I've moved on from the latter. But I don't want to just abandon this hobby and my five loyal readers (hi Mom & Dad). So what's a blogger to do? Thankfully, I do have a few ideas:

-Write more opinion pieces. Bash celebrities begging the media for attention with outrageous "cleanses" and insane workout regimens. Find flaws in American society (like sexism on TV) and harp on them happily.

-Photograph things other than my meals. Like my cat. And trees. And other things bloggers appear to be fond of preserving for posterity.

-Stay on top of the latest nutrition research, report on it, and dismantle it bit by bit to show why it's all biased and wrong.

What would you loyal five like to see on this blog?

Hump Day Activities

I spent too long commenting on blogs this morning, and rushed out the door five minutes later than I should have. While grabbing at the nearest Clif bar in sight, I threw on a used-to-be-white sweater and sneakers falling apart at the seams. I applied powder and lip balm hurriedly at stop lights. The 15-minute walk to class from the nearest student parking lot became an 8-minute hustle, which negated the aforementioned make-up and left my hair a disheveled mess. I slipped into the classroom, breath rattling and legs shaking, after the professor had begun the lecture. Slinking back to my seat and unsuccessfully attempting to withdraw my notebook from my bags without rustling loudly, I looked around at my collected and well-coifed classmates. I determined that I was an embarrassment as a graduate student in a professional program.

I dress pretty well for a college student...which I ceased to be over a year ago. During undergrad I was proud of my plumage: I followed the advice of What Not to Wear, stayed away from the abominations of Uggs and skanky see-through tops and was one of the few souls on campus who wore proper pants in winter (we've just entered derrière-flashing season again. Ick.) I even mastered the art of the subtle blush and kept my eyes free of the zillion goopy layers uglifying half the girls in town.

But I'm still wearing the thin, sweat-stained shirts I purchased two years ago. My jeans have odd-numbered sizing on them. I wear the same pair of earrings for as long as the plastic still sparkles, before switching to identical jewelry of a slightly different hue. Compared to my classmates in smart jackets, bright layers and coordinated footwear, I'm downright pitiful. So as soon as class ended, I drove myself to the mall. I was determined to find new clothes fit for a woman, not a flat-broke college girl.

Unfortunately, during the transition from girl- to womanhood, the flat-broke condition stayed the same. So when I marched boldly into Macy's with a straight back, plucked a pair of lady-like pants from the rack, and spotted the $45 price tag, that was the end of that.

But I did hit up Old Navy and Target for some $5 shirts that sort-of look like they're made for grown-ups. Plus a slimming black fleece (so I'm not just running around in Sweetie's rejected Christmas presents) and a pair of jeans with an even number on the tag. By the way, Target has a new gimmick with their pants called "six new fits that love you back"--I found jeans specifically for short women with curvy hips and thighs! Woot.

Note: Speaking of buying things, Maria is hosting a giveaway for $50 off at CSN stores! She'll pick a winner on the 12th, so get commenting. Now back to your regularly scheduled blog post.

After a lunch too boring to photograph (turkey sandwich, surprise surprise) and a rousing round of weight-lifting to last night's episode of No Ordinary Family, I spent the afternoon cleaning house and running errands. Kroger sent me a $5 gift card as compensation for the long-forgotten infamous War of the Peas. Those peas cost me like 80¢, so that was a little overkill, but I'm not complaining :D And who should I see behind the check-out register when I went to use said card but Mr. Teenage Teddy Bear, the affable hourly who attempted to take my side during the snap-pea fiasco. He didn't recognize me though. Probably because my new womanly purchases were not yet washed and I still looked like one of the 40,000 college students in Bloomington.

I had dragged Sweetie errand-running with me, because he's sick and needed to stay home from school but didn't want to wreak havoc on his sleep schedule with naps, and by the time we came home he was in a state of low-blood-sugar shock. I suggested ma po tofu over rice (giving him all of the beef and none of the tofu, of course), because it was quick but stabilizing. He said it was fine if the rice tasted like it did when I make teriyaki chicken. I said that wasn't possible, because the rice tastes that way from, well, the teriyaki. "Well," he said petulantly, "Why can't I just have teriyaki beef then?"

And because I was hungry and tired, I said, "Okay."


Teriyaki Beef & Tofu for Two
-1/4 pound lean ground beef
-1/4 block firm tofu
-2 tablespoons soy sauce
-2 tablespoons mirin (sweetened sake)
-1 teaspoon corn starch
-2 servings cooked rice

Brown beef and stir-fry tofu. Douse in mixture of soy sauce, mirin, and corn-starch, and boil until thick. Serve over rice. End.

I probably should have added mushrooms and onions for more flavor, fiber, and vitamins, but I was out of it. Anyway, this made for one very happy boyfriend for very little effort. And one very happy me, because I got to use leftover rice to pack a bento for tomorrow's lunch. Tuna onigiri:


And cantalope:


Because I saw one at Kroger with a sale sign over it. And though I don't just grab $45 pants at Macy's, I do have a bad habit of making fresh fruit impulse buys.

How was your "hump day?"

Picky Eaters' Beef Stroganoff

I'm a picky eater. Not the pre-school type of picky that hates Brussels sprouts and any food colored yellow, but the snobbish type of eater with a mishmash of demands. No pork. No dairy. No hot spices that could potentially aggravate my digestive system. No soggy vegetables. No raw vegetables (except lettuce and tomatoes). And just so we're clear, no dairy.

Beef stroganoff, which I associate with Marie Callenders for some reason buried in my inner child's id, is the lactose intolerant's nightmare. Butter. Milk. Sour cream. But last night, the idea of ground beef, mushrooms, onions and noodles in a creamy sauce lodged itself in my brain and wouldn't leave. Even if it had left, those were practically the only ingredients left in our kitchen, so I'd have made it anyway. The key to a successful, safe stroganoff? A sharp, aged cheese sauce to replace the tummy-turning cream.

Beef & White Cheddar Casserole (a.k.a. The Stroganoff Substitute)
(Makes 2 servings)
-1 large shallot, peeled and chopped
-1/3 pound lean ground beef (I used 90%)
-handful of white mushrooms, cut in slivers
-2 cups egg noodles (dry)
-1 tablespoon butter (or spread like Smart Balance)
-heaping tablespoon all-purpose flour
-circa 3/4 cup light soy milk (or Lactaid etc.)
-2 oz. aged white cheddar, cut in small chunks or shredded

Set a pot of water to boil. Spray a saucepan with oil and saute the shallot until limp and fragrant. Add the beef and mushrooms and brown.


When the water has come to a boil, add the noodles. While they cook, heat the butter (or substitute) in a smaller saucepan. Add the flour and brown. Pour in the soy milk a bit at a time, stirring until smooth, until you've created a thin roux. Remove the sauce from heat and stir in the cheese until melted.


When the noodles have finished cooking, drain and add them to the meat mixture along with the sauce and a healthy dash of pepper. Fold to combine, then heap into a foil-lined pan. Bake for 20 minutes at 350°.




Deeelicious. Unfortunately, though I'd satisfied my lengthy list of demands, I live with an equally picky person with a whole different set. One of his rules I learned last night? "No gangly noodles."