Soda(pop)

I call it soda. When I “lived” in Montana, we called it pop.  And apparently Atlantans call all carbonated beverages “Coke,” whether or not it is actually a Coca-Cola product.  Regardless  of what you call it, here is some fascinating research about soft drinks for you to look at (there’s a map!)

Despite my penchant for sweet things, I don’t really drink soda unless it’s some special kind of house made root beer, or a float.  I suppose I sound a bit like those vegetarians who claim to not eat meat except fish… and chicken… and steak… sometimes.

While many of my friends and coworkers drink Dr. Pepper or its low calorie counterpart by the liter (no embellishment there), I can’t drink the stuff.  But thanks to my most recent culinary efforts, I now have 10 cans of Dr. Pepper remaining.  Well that’s not entirely true– I actually selected the store brand, Dr. Tremor while the Coca-Cola guy was restocking the real stuff.  Anyway, 10 cans in an empty pantry + stress-induced hysteria = I will inevitably reason that I should in fact make five more pots of pulled pork in the near future.  Somebody please stop me before I reach this point of no return.

The stress factor

Some folks hide it so well.

But people can always tell that yours truly has been operating under a bit of stress by assessing the number of unwholesome foods she allows into her piehole in any given period of time.  I have ever-so-generously provided you with a grocery list of such evidence.  Remember, people, we’re just gathering raw data here.  However, extra credit goes to whoever most accurately gauges the level of stressed based upon quantity and quality of foodstuffs purchased.  Extra, extra credit in the form of cheese & salami (if you can pry them from my cold, desperate hands) goes to whoever can stop me from revisiting this ridiculous cycle.

In five fearsome days, I have purchased* (and nearly consumed the entirety of):

• 1 bag, Reese’s Peanut Butter cups
• 1 bag, Dove milk chocolate
• 18 ct, mini old fashioned donuts
• 10 ct, buttermilk glazed donut bites
• 1 box, Fudgsicles
• 1 bag, dry salami
• 1 package, smoked gouda
• 1 wheel, Baby Bel Chipotle cheese deliciousness
• 2 cans, chipotle peppers in adobo sauce
• 13 lbs, chicken breast (it was buy one get one free!)
• 5 lbs, pork butt (a girl needs her pulled pork) 
• 1 case, Dr. Pepper (for aforementioned pulled pork)
• milk, eggs, orange juice, bananas, peppers– none of which I will be able to finish due to [see list above]

*I’m positive that I have left some items off the list, as I made at least 4 trips to the grocery store and my pants no longer fit properly.

While peanut butter cups, chicken, eggs, and bananas may sound like diet staples, they’re altogether unwholesome when you are, theoretically speaking, a woman who lives by herself, who is forced to go to Kmart in an unsavory part of town for the express purpose of acquiring additional tupperware to anticipate the mass frozen storage of the impending deluge of meat stemming from her newfound crockpotmania.  Theoretically.  Oh, I forgot to mention that I am now the proud mama of a brand spankin’ new slow cooker, which is now happily bubbling away and making me some pulled pork.  Oh slow cooker, your ease of use and unabashed ability to produce large volumes of suppertime goodness is largely responsible for my irresponsibility.  In other words, my mother was right; I should have shipped it to my boyfriend’s apartment two states away.

On a positive note, I’d like to point out that my 4+ trips to the grocery store will leave me with something like twenty meals, at the cost of handful of meals out!  Well, aside from the chocolate.  And donuts.  And cheese(s).  Okay, I began this paragraph with every intention of boasting my acute dollars-per-meal sense, but have instead found myself hurled into the shameful glare of excess once more.

My apologies to the malnourished children of the world who suffer hunger pangs while I abuse my credit card and flaunt my lack of self control.

How appropriate, too, that today is Fat Tuesday.  And tomorrow begins Lent, marking forty days of fasting or abstinence from luxuries.

*  *  *

Perhaps resulting from my horrible eating habits, my sleep patterns this weekend have been abnormal, to say the least.  Two weeks ago, I launched a simple self-improvement experiment: go to bed by 10pm to get 8+ hours of sleep.  The results stunned me.  I knew I’d feel better, but I was delighted to find that my morning coffee gave me a double shot of my normal energy and I no longer had Criminal Minds-induced nightmares interrupting my slumber.  Though my attention span improved almost immediately, I also became painfully aware of how non-stimulating my job is.  I wonder if my preference for frozen-smiled, zombie workdays was actually a defense mechanism I subconsciously concocted to deal with my workday blues.

So by most standards, my sleep experiment was a success and I had adopted a new habit.  Armed with the energy of a thousand Red Bulls, I welcomed the extended President’s Day weekend with a long to-do list and a healthy dose of enthusiasm.  Unfortunately, all I really did was sleep.  Ten hour nights, followed by three hour afternoon naps.  Then ready for bed by 8pm.  In three days’ time I slept a total of 40 hours, which is unheard of. While this may sound heavenly to some of you, I have a difficult time being idle so falling asleep after lunch and waking up to the dark evening sky was excruciating and I felt so disappointed with my decisions and lack of productivity.  I suppose I really needed the rest as I’ve been operating on overdrive for quite some time now.  Since half my office fell ill last week, I’m half-expecting some terrible flu to descend upon me like a swarm of angry locusts any day now.  All I can do is eat my Vitamin C gummies, sleep some more, and hope for the best.

This round of stress culminated in a blind frenzy of supermarket shopping and extended rest periods.  How… manic of me.  I miss the days of my youth when stress made me want to run for miles.  If only I could just run away now.

Appropriately Untitled

A bright child with middle-class upbringing, I always knew that my twenties would be full of exciting, positive life changes… the same way that I knew that Leprechauns stole the pennies under the sofa cushions. Okay, maybe I wasn’t that bright. But I was certainly full of imagination, hope, and the idea that I could do anything with my life.

At the age of eighteen, my tentative hopes for my twenties didn’t seem particularly outlandish:

• Education: undergraduate and postgrad degrees from prestigious universities; studying abroad!
• Career: a challenging, yet fulfilling career!
• Love: a long, happy relationship with a college sweetheart culminating in marriage!
• Life: a house, two kids and several Labrador Retrievers!

Unfortunately, what really happened was an underwhelming and disappointing reality:

• Education: undergraduate degree with average GPA; stacks of grad school rejections
• Career: a job going nowhere but down (not just a glass ceiling, but one in a gnome house)
• Love: a failed seven year facade of a relationship; upgraded to a wonderful, but geographically inconvenient long distance relationship
• Life: a house in a crime-ridden city (the bane of my existence) and a stubborn, unsocialized dog (admittedly one of the loves of my life), both of which deplete my time and life savings

I should have known better, but somehow I felt that the gleaming myths of the twenties would buck reality (you know, as if the rules didn’t apply to me) and that my life would truly be… well, whatever I wanted it to be. There are still moments when I naively believe in the unreachable, seemingly simple myth of being completely happy.

As I approach my thirties, I wonder: Is it time for me to give up the fantasy of doing something with my life, and just lower my expectations? Should I just aim to be satisfied that I exist and feel fortunate that I have family and friends who care about me? It is so disappointing to me that this love isn’t enough, and that I continue to obsess over my faults and misgivings. Some days I think I need therapy, but I don’t know that talking it out with a stranger will get me any closer to finding fulfillment. However, because writing has always been cathartic for me, this shall serve as my therapy until I can afford to hire a professional to nod at me and ask me uncomfortable, soul-baring questions.

Like in any substance abuse group session (so I’ve heard), the first step to addressing big problems is admit that the issue exists. So here it is:

My name is Lani, and I am an unwitting and reluctant member of The (new) Lost Generation.

Foodie Friday: Infusions!

Imagine my surprise this week when I received a wonderfully fragrant box of Comice pears as a holiday gift!  Immediately upon arriving at my desk, I smelled the honeyed scent wafting through the nickel-sized holes punched into the sides of the box.  When I removed the cardboard top, I was pleased to see nine plump pears, perfectly ripened in their golden-green, blushed splendor, just daring me to take a big, luscious bite.

But because I already had an overabundance of tangerines and apples on the kitchen counter just waiting to be consumed, I resisted the urge to eat the fruit as-is and instead wondered about other options.

Wildly sweet, Comice pears are extremely juicy fruit, making them a poor choice for cooking and baking.  Pie, tart and cobbler options off the table, I decided to take full advantage of the pears’ juiciness and create a fruity infused vodka to add some extra personality to the upcoming holiday cocktails.

Creating infused vodka is actually quite simple, and not limited to fruit.  A quick Google search will find infusion results using ingredients such as herbs, candy, and bacon (!!).  The recipes follow the same general guideline: combine ingredients, store in a dark corner, mix things around, strain, and voila! a lovely concoction to add to your drinks!

Intending to make several different infusions, I purchased a 1.5 L handle of Seagrams vodka as the base for this recipe.  Be sure to use a medium-grade vodka that has been distilled at least three times; using cheap vodka that smells like rubbing alcohol will yield an infusion that tastes like, well, fruity rubbing alcohol.  However, no need to purchase the premium stuff either, as those expensive bottles are best left to enjoy on their own, sans flavoring.

Here is what I did with my pears:

Pear Infused Vodka

3 large Comice pears
1 bottle of medium-grade vodka (at least triple-distilled)
1 canning jar, or any other sealed jar

-Remove the stem and core from the pears 
-Slice pears and place into jar
-Pour vodka into the jar, completely submerging the pears
-Seal the jar and store in a cool, dark place for at least a week
-Open the jar every few days to mix the pears, then reseal to continue infusing

Please note that the pears will begin to turn brown due to oxidation and your vodka will assume a golden, cider-like color.  Don’t worry — it’s safe to drink!

When you are ready to bottle the vodka (after a week, when you can no longer wait to taste your ingenious concoction), strain the mixture using a wire strainer and coffee filter and bottle to your liking.

Other ingredient combinations that would work wonderfully with the pear are ginger (add a teaspoon of grated ginger into the jar) or cinnamon (add a cinnamon stick into the jar).  I like to keep the recipes simple the first time I make them so that I can adjust to my preferred palate… besides, the simpler the recipe, the wider the appeal!

My vodka will be ready to bottle next Wednesday night, giving it an eight-day infusion period.  I would have infused it for two or three weeks but I have a tasting deadline to meet!  Will update next week with photos!

Couldn’t have said it better myself

This pretty much says it all.  I’m going to finish my alcoholic beverage and go back to bed.

Foodie Friday: forthcoming

Just sit back and enjoy your foodies!  The October 28th Foodie Friday post is halfway finished.. I will resume and post soon!

 

Foodie Friday: Stress eating and chewy goodness

I grind my teeth.  I wish I didn’t because the grainy chalk-tooth is an unpleasant sensation to wake to.  Unfortunately, stressful times call for some manner of relief and rather than taking a healthy and proactive approach, such as  running on the treadmill or punching the bag at the gym, I perform a different sort of exercise while totally unconscious.  My preferred method  of releasing my grievances is to clench my teeth, lock that jaw, and grind to my heart’s (dis)content.  I wonder if my nighttime brain just acts out the stress-eating, minus the food.

When I learned that my teeth grinding is frighteningly loud and goosebump-inducing, I was mortified.  I’d like to take a moment to apologize to all the roommates I’ve ever had for my terrible habit and for possibly keeping you up with the teeth noises.  I’M SO SORRY!!  Unfortunately, I can’t really do much about it since I live in a constant state of consternation!  Hm, 8-to-6 grind.  Teeth grinding.  Interesting.

But never mind that; this post isn’t so much about gripes and poor habits (there will  be plenty of time for those).  Today, we’re talking about the types of food we turn to when we are under profound levels of duress.

On my most manic days, I exhibit a variety of frenzied feeding habits.  When my nervous system goes into overdrive, I find myself experiencing cravings for strong flavors.  In terms of sweetness, I regularly keep a pint of white chocolate raspberry truffle flavored Häagen-Dazs (which I can finally spell correctly) in my freezer.  Decadent fudge brownies from that Downtown bakery are powerful enough to stave off sugar attacks for at least a few days.

For the salt cravings, I love my balsamic vinegar, marinara and curry (I have had Indian food at least once or twice a week for the past three weeks–no complaints).  Lays kettle cooked crinkle cut spice rubbed BBQ chips or Combos pizza pretzels more than satisfy the requirements.  And of course, Gatorade, Powerade (whichever is on sale) or just a cold glass of water do wonders to rehydrate me after my salt-lick sessions.  It’s true: when the distress kicks in, I want no subtlety on my plate.

Flavors aside, I also gravitate toward certain textures: the chewy and jawbreaking variety.  Hold the Jell-O please, I want my dish to also physically release stress via chewing… which is probably what I’m doing with my teeth at night.  Beef jerky.  Caramel.  Caramel apples.  Pizza.  Haribo gummy bears.  Licorice.  Bacon.  French bread.  More beef jerky.  Corn nuts.  Sadly, aside from the bread and apples, none of the foods I have named are particularly nutritious, which would explain my deflated energy levels as of late.

I have found my intensive, pressured days to vastly outnumber my calm, enjoyable ones.  Being that I’m under such constant aggravation, my best recourse would be to find flavorful, chewy options that will allow me to take out that aggression and fall to my stress comfort foods without having to resort to such processed measures.  Will have to ruminate on this a little more…

In the meantime, check out The Pioneer Woman’s Caramel Apple recipe here.  Her toppings include sea salt, M&Ms, chocolate chips, coconut, almonds and pretzels, though she also suggested crushed Heath bars, pecans, graham cracker, saltines, cashews.  To avoid sweetness overload (hey, I have boundaries!) I prefer the salted variety, and plan to try the sea salt and pretzel toppings when I make these next week!  Was also thinking about rolling some in Pop Rocks candy.  Magical!

The Dirty Thirty

With each passing birthday, the desire to sip celebratory birthday concoctions dwindles and all I want is to curl up with that special someone and watch the Food Network and HGTV.  Call it depressing, call it boring, call it whatever you’d like; I call it comfort and a peace of mind.  I am not “afraid” of turning thirty like many other twentysomethings who believe that their gorgeous, vibrant youth will fade into obscurity, only to be replaced by diaper duty, science fair projects, and bake sales.  My twenties were largely controlled and responsible and I only allowed myself to let go and take care of myself over the past two years.  As for the big three-oh?  I look forward to ringing it in as a new chapter of my life when it comes around.  Who knows, maybe I’ll even have a beverage, as a nod and a sendoff to my wild party-girl days (ha).

What DOES worry me about the thirties are the health ramifications.

My overall health, habits and tolerance have all been on a steady decline ever since I came into my late twenties and I worry about what the thirties may bring.  People so frequently refer to puberty and menopause as significant life stages, but rarely address the physical changes of the Dirty Thirties.  I have found that the closer I get to 30, the more my bones creak, back hurts, and neck cramps– unless I’ve just become more acutely aware of these issues.  My metabolism is no longer as high as it once was, and as a result, I may soon have to assume responsibility for all the gloriously fattening foods I ingest!  I sometimes wonder how I can eat so many brownies — I’m looking at YOU, Downtown bakery — without collapsing in a diabetic shock.  The general consensus is that I should accept this as it could very well be my fate someday soon.  You know, accept it.. rather than CHANGE MY WAYS.  And because I love cheese, ice cream, and my Kahlua-milk, it only seems a matter of time before I can’t have that as well.  Many people I know grew intolerant of dairy products later in their lives and had to vastly adjust their diet and exercise regimen to accommodate a new lifestyle.

This post is giving me heart palpitations, and suddenly I’m not sure whether it’s nerves or the result of my poor dietary choices this week.  Delicious choices, mind you…

I’m going to take a walk around the block.

Foodie Friday: Fall flavors

In a previous post I talked about the reluctant arrival of California’s fall season and its accompanying holiday spirit.  As lucky as I feel to live on the temperate West Coast, mild weather also comes with its disadvantages. While I love warm summer days, once fall approaches and the days shorten, there is nothing I want more than to unpack my scarves and fall coats and make piping hot chowder in bread bowls; indulgent pasta in rich, savory sauce; and steaming sticky buns fresh out of the oven!  Fall food just doesn’t smell or taste the same without that fresh autumn crisp in the air and gorgeous red-orange leaves strewn across the lawn!

Something I am really looking forward to making are these pumpkin cinnamon rolls I spotted on TheKitchn this week.  Such a simple ingredient panel too, with delicious, spicy flavors: butter, brown sugar, cinnamon, nutmeg, ginger, pecans, and pumpkin puree.  How can anyone say no?  Unfortunately, it’s still a little warm out for oven-lovin’ but I’m hoping to give these a try by Halloween weekend just in time for my honey’s visit!

I cook the most (and the best!) when I entertain family, friends and the BF.  Living alone, it doesn’t seem worthwhile to spend the hours necessary on new recipes and dirty 30 pots, plates and various utensils, then clean the messes I’ve made.  When I cook by myself, I have to clean before I eat because otherwise I’ll just slip into my food trance upon finishing and neglect the dishes.  Seriously, it’s all very strategic.

So by the time I’m ready to eat, I will have been prepping, cooking and cleaning for something like three hours and I’m either no longer hungry, too tired to enjoy the fruits of my labor or too stressed over the number of other, more productive things I could have done with my time.  As such, I frequently resort to making cold sandwiches, breakfast-type foods, and simple pastas.  Yes, I am fully aware and justifiably ashamed that I eat like a college student.  My boyfriend is guilty of the same, but more by habit than for lack of trying.

Miraculously, by some force of nature, when we are together, out come the recipe books and grocery lists and it feels so natural to be back in the kitchen again.  It’s not JUST about the meal, it’s about the dinnertime shenanigans too… not to mention the extra set of hands come clean-up time!

This fall, I will try to cook–really cook– at least a couple times a week.  Since time is such an issue, I will likely look for easy and quick weekday recipes (minimizing the cooking time will prevent me from giving in to laziness) that incorporate vivacious, soul-shaking, fall flavors.  I can also start using my gorgeous blue cast iron pot from Martha Stewart.  It’s no fancy automatic-timer slow cooker (which I have heard is a godsend!), but it’ll allow me to make my meals in one pot without having to stand continuously in front of the stove.  These pots are great for roasting chicken, making soup and chili, and creating stews and gumbo.  How good do these Food Network recipes look?  Warm and robust, these are the perfect food for the fall!

In the next couple of weeks, I’ll be attempting a gumbo recipe.  I have had my eye on this Chicken and Smoked Sausage Gumbo from Emeril… but with a 3 and a half hour cook time, I’m not sure I’ll be able to do this on a weeknight!  This Chicken and Andouille Gumbo only takes about an hour, so it might be the better option.  The best part is that these are easily packable for a delicious and envy-inducing lunch at the office.

On the lighter end of the scale, I’d also like to try this intriguing apple pie cookie recipe from Smitten Kitten, maybe with a small spoonful of vanilla gelato.  Apple pie is one of my favorite cool-weather desserts; not too heavy nor light, the buttery, flaky crust and tangy tart of the apples balance perfectly against the backdrop of cinnamon and nutmeg.  I realize now that this is the second time I’ve mentioned those ingredients in this post… clearly they excite me!  I’ll try to keep it cinnamon-free the rest of the month, but can’t guarantee anything… it is fall, after all!

Happy noshing!

Weathering the weather

One of my favorite things about California is its lovely, mild weather.  We don’t often experience horrific humidity or hellacious heat waves, unless you count seven day stretches at 100 degrees.  No serious tornadoes, torrential downpours, hurricanes or blizzards.  Sure, we get the occasional heavy gusts, rainstorms, lightning strikes and funnel clouds, but these pale in comparison to what folks in the Midwest, East Coast and South have to experience every season.  I am so grateful!

Unfortunately, because of the lack of seasonal variation, especially in my part of the state, we don’t generally experience seasons and Californians seem to overlook how easy our lives are thanks to this temperate weather.  Summers average 85 degrees, autumn weather falls to about 60 degrees, winter drops to 45 degrees, and spring averages 65 degrees, all with about a 10-degree variant.  Throw in some non-strategically timed showers, fog and windy days (and the traffic jams as a result!) and there you have it: California.

Though the calendar has already announced the arrival of fall, California has staunchly rebelled against the notion, sporadically giving us 87 degree afternoons, sunshowers and downpours.  The leaves are clinging stubbornly to their branches and turning a lovely hue of… brown.  Unlike the East Coast, where fall invites the most vibrant stage of life for their lovely, lush  foliage, California’s dull, fleeting “fall colors” are but a fading reminder that the leaves are dying.  Where has the fall gone?  A neighbor of mine appears to have jubilantly unearthed her boxes of holiday swag, resulting in a landscape of blinking Christmas lights and reindeer lawn ornaments as well as some pumpkins and a scarecrow.  Go big or go home.  We are very confused out here.  Oh, if only we had true seasons to properly direct our aimless decorative impulses.

Nevertheless, it’s mid-October and the local supermarkets have begun to pile bright pumpkins and gnarled, warty gourds throughout their stores to lure the uncertain masses to the season.  Leave your flip flops at home; it’s fall!, they seem to implore.  I can’t wait to lug home dozens of pumpkins three days before Halloween (you know, when they’re discounted to $1 each for quick selling) and decorate the bejeezus out of them!   Seventh House on the Left has collected some amazing ideas that I am excited to try, except in the cheapest way possible.  I have recruited my good friend, Talls, to help with the lugging as I nearly threw out my back carrying a 40-lb pumpkin last year (totally worth it).  Since I don’t trust myself with a carving knife, I’m thinking spray paints and glitter.  A pile of snazzily decorated pumpkins may not be as striking as reindeer and lights, but I have to ring in the season somehow.  Whatever season this is.