Let’s come to terms with this: I am a suckfest of a blogger. Lately it’s been trivia, and poker, and movies starring the young Robert Downey Jr., and morning yoga with James, and struggling with pie crusts in the stupid hot Florida summer. It’s true that I am terrible at updating blogs, but it’s also true that I am not half bad at making lavender eye pillows (for shavasana). Say the word and I will sew one for you! The pillow is muslin, filled with flax seeds and dried lavender, and comes inside its own eye pillowcase, for easy washing. Pillows can be microwaved or frozen and placed on your face or popped open and eaten!!! Own a pillow today (or soon)!! Namaste!
Sorry. Not a lot going on over here. I got another twin egg?
That kale thing was- olives, curly kale, radishes, purple cabbage, carrots, sauerkraut, a whole avocado, tahini, lemon juice, olive oil, and probably other stuff I’m forgetting. It’s always tempting to eat the whole bunch, until I remember what a horrible idea that is! The raw kale hangover is AWFUL, way worse than the aftermath of too many cookies.
Basically this is my idea of the ideal Sunday: special church service (it’s palm Sunday, yo!), hanging out in my small, windowless “graduate study carrel” at the library, escaping in time for a Michelada on the porch. Now it’s nursing this thing (lime juice, salt, Worcestershire, Tabasco plus Tecate) and contemplating dinner. Ever since watching The Hangover I have been craving a big, raw steak with roofies poked into it. Another thing I’m craving, probably because yesterday we were sitting in some onion grass, is a bagel.
Wasn’t weird enough, I guess: I had to throw those radishes in, too.
Also, it is impossible to tell from that picture, but the egg was twins!
After a week spent eating good things, Saturday was a harrowing I-don’t-know-how-many-hours at the airport, and Sunday night was sleepless. Now the problem is my body’s over here but my soul is hanging out somewhere west and yet to join it. Meaning I can’t do any real thinking, and I’m not aware or alert enough to do anything but blend chicken livers. Which is something, at least. Because you can almost not spell “party” without “pâté”! Or actually: You can’t spell “parties” without “pâté”! Except more accurately it’s: You can’t spell “pârtiés” without “pâté”! ANYWAY, this is my favorite recipe. It’s easy and zombie-proof.
Also: doesn’t it seem as though there is a direct correlation between number of eggs in the refrigerator and one’s anxiety about impending travel? Yesterday there were eight in the carton and I was losing my mind. Now it’s mostly under control: I depart tomorrow in the AM and the egg count is down to a manageable two.
Recently I interviewed translator/author/kilimologist John Batki. We talked cabbage and writing, two of my favorite things. The featured recipe tastes like spaghetti-o’s and also pizza!
1) Payday pot roast. The day money appears magically in my checking account happens also to be the day the public gets to purchase formerly educational meat at the University of Florida meat processing center (a.k.a. “the meat lab”). Win-win! This coincided with my finally breaking down and buying Marcella Hazan’s Essentials of Classic Italian Cooking, new, off Amazon, after years and years spent clinging to stubborn hope that I would find it, used, at a book sale or store. Something that occurred to me: nobody ever wants to part with this book, as nobody ever should. Something else: $23.10 is not so steep a price on happiness. Go buy it now. BEFORE IT’S TOO LATE.
If there’s anything my friend Felix is proud of it’s his fish stew prowess, and for good reason: there’s this thing he does with lentils, white fish, and spices that can really knock a person’s socks off. Probably this has something to do with the surprising disparity between the phrase “fish stew” (unpalatable) and the the thing itself (delicious). Whatever the case, there’s a lot to like: it can be made fancy, with halibut, or the opposite, with any cheap white fish; won’t cause your one-bedroom/ practically studio apartment to reek of fish (but smell sweetly of curry instead); is not only tasty, but also nutritionally comprehensive (Omega-3s! Vitamin A! Lycopene! To name a few!); and is the perfect thing for chilly, rainy, wintry spells. (Also, the leftovers are killer, even as cold, straight-out-of-fridge fish mush.)
Pretty much I am like goldfish to flakes when it comes to chips and guacamole and, really, who— but the weird, resilient few among us— is not? Which is why, come any sort of party-time, instinct #1 is to set about rounding up every soft avocado in this city, smushing up the biggest possible bowl of them, and— last/ not least— devouring with tortilla chips or carrots cut length-wise or hamfists.
But! When, weeks ago, the lovely Terita of Veggie Mine and corn chewing/ spitting virtuosity sent W. Songs an invitation to a non-denominational dip soirée (“Let’s all enjoy this timeless tradition of dipping things into stuff!” said Terita), there seemed no better occasion to make the descent, so to speak, into the wide-underworld of cheesy-vegetable dips. Because I had also been fretting mildly (as I am wont, etc.) about this can of artichoke hearts sitting pretty in the pantry, a can I’d at some point impulse-bought or perhaps sleep-purchased, it was this artichoke plus spinach dip that came into being. Delivered via Triscuit and washed down with whiskey-lemonade (thank you Scott!) is, I think, the proper, most ideal, most delicious way to go.