Monthly Archives: March 2019

The Miracle That Is Air Travel

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When it comes to travelling, I am a person who immediately unpacks upon arrival home. We have been home less than eleven hours from a week away, and I’m on my second load of laundry. This might not seem like a big thing but we also got home at 8:30 last night, and I went to bed at ten. I have friends who leave their suitcases packed for DAYS after arrival; my insane need for order will not allow that. Everything was unpacked before 9, and the disgusting cesspool that was the contents of my sons’ suitcase was in the washing machine.

It was a wonderful, fun, relaxing week with friends in Puerto Vallarta; I will have much to say about it, but today I wanted to talk about travelling. I love travelling; I love seeing new places and experiencing new things and meeting new people. As you know, I am a person who will talk to pretty much anyone, and I generally find out an entire backstory, birthplace, and future travel plans of the people who are sitting poolside next to me. I discovered that the “roaming concierge” who cleaned my sunglasses is going to be visiting my husband’s hometown in the summer, I learned the young girl on the beach walk with me is graduating in June from a high school not far from where I teach yoga, I found out that the lady whose husband was wearing only a speedo and a do-rag lives in Calgary now, but grew up only half an hour away from my husband, and she also hates the slow highway into that town.

On a zip line adventure tour, I struck up a conversation with a friendly lady from Utah who I would guess was a few years older than me. She wore denim shorts, a Live Laugh Love t-shirt, and the kind of cornrows popularized by Bo Derek in “10” and seen on thousands of sunburned women and girls on any given beach in Mexico at any time. She and her husband were on an excursion from her Mexican cruise ship, and this, she informed me, was the longest stop on their trip, so she was excited to “do more than one thing.” I asked what else she was doing, besides being strapped onto a wire and sailing over mountainous jungle, and she told me that she hoped to do some shopping, although her husband didn’t like to shop. Oh! So many lovely little shops around! I said, although I myself had no intentions of visiting them. Yes, well, I am going to go to the Walmart she said.

I have pretty good radar when it comes to ascertaining if people are amenable to conversation or not, and that is why I DIDN’T strike up a conversation with the woman and little boy who were next to me on the plane home. At first I thought it was a grandmother/ grandson combination, but then realized that was an ageist assumption of mine; she was really his mother. It became clear that they were DEFINITELY DONE with vacation, and I get it: vacation with young kids isn’t always so relaxing, is it?

Remember in On The Shores of Silver Lake, when the Ingalls girls take their very first train ride, and it’s all so incredible? The soft velvety seats and big windows! The speed of travel, which was much faster and smoother than the covered wagon going through the prairies? The little tiny handle that was stuck to a wall and when you turned the handle, water miraculously came out of it? Laura and Carrie took turns using that amazing piece of equipment, filling up the communal water cup for the family. Water! Available with only a turn of the handle! I tried to remember that on the flight home, on the MIRACLE THAT IS AIR TRAVEL.

My husband, who also has an insane need for order but with travel, always books us seats so we can be at the front of the plane, and often we are in the row right behind the “Plus” section, so we can have full-on Plus envy. The Plus people get full meals, including snacks and desserts, while the rest of us get a choice between digestive cookies and pretzels. I mean, of course: they pay a lot more for those seats and also, I just spent a week choosing cabernet over merlot for dinner, and requesting a Sally Allbright-like drink in my lounger by the pool. I’m not so hard-done by, but I found myself envying them more than usual because of my seatmates.

Here’s the thing: to quote George Costanza, we are living in a society, people! We are supposed to act in a civilized way. And one of those ways, when you are in an enclosed space hurtling through the air, is to ensure that your child is not watching things on his iPad at full volume with no headphones. At first it was just a few little games, and I can certainly tune those out. But soon it was a Lego Ninjago – movie? TV show? I have no idea, but after two hours of this, I felt like I was going to lose my mind. I kept looking over at the woman, but she had her own headphones on and was completely absorbed in her own iPad. I looked around at the people around me, wondering if anyone felt as insane as I did. Every single other person had headphones on, so no one else was bothered. I felt like Groundskeeper Willie sitting on a mechanical bull. How come no one else’s chair is doing this? I don’t like to watch movies on planes, I wanted to read my book, but I was feeling pretty edgy by this time. Meanwhile, I could hear the flight attendant working in the Plus section, Would you like chardonnay or sauvingon blanc?

I was turning into a version of me that was really not pleasant. I kept saying to myself that this was ridiculous, why was I so bothered by a little noise? Where was my yogic inner peace? I had turned into a witch from Grimm’s fairy tales who murders children for her own cannibalistic pleasure.

I tapped my husband on the shoulder; he was across the aisle watching Bohemian Rhapsody with his noise-cancelling headphones, and I explained the situation. He immediately swapped seats with me and that’s when I discovered that it was WORSE across the aisle. It was almost like the tinny noise was amplified. And then my husband did what I probably should have done but I was too scared of the snappy woman to do it: he asked the kid to wear headphones. Which he did. It’s like he was the yogi and I was the person who has a reputation for being impatient with shoddy work and stupidity.

We swapped back. I felt ridiculous for not doing that in the first place, but in my defense a) the child kept picking at and wiping his runny nose with his hands and I didn’t want to have any more contact than absolutely necessary, and b) his mother really did not seem friendly and I worried that any kind of confrontation would lead to a very uncomfortable five hour flight. Also, I went to the washroom and when I came back neither were in their seats. Finally the little boy trundled back and politely said Excuse Me, so I moved to let him in. When his mother came back she tapped me on the shoulder without saying a word. I got up to let her back to her window seat and she snapped at her child to NOT MOVE JUST STAY THERE and then proceeded to climb over my seat and over her child to get to her seat. In bare feet. I don’t know what I found stranger, that someone put her bare feet on my seat or that someone was WALKING AROUND AN AIRPLANE WITH BARE FEET.

Who does that, though? She certainly KNEW her son was watching an iPad with no headphones, but didn’t correct him. I am not a person who judges parenting very often but MY GOD. I have sat next to crying babies, toddlers, and overly-chatty people with halitosis, and none of those things have ever bothered me. Would you like a mint? I say, offering my little box of Excel. But this was something else again.

Anyway. I have much more to say and share but it’s time to change the washer and get ready for spin class. After a week of pure hedonism, I need to hit the reset button! Hope you lovelies had a great spring break! xo

Look to the cookie.

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Last week I felt foggy and sleepy all week; even accounting for time change, it was ridiculous. “Good morning!” I said cheerfully and loudly to the desk staff at the fitness club one day, at three in the afternoon. I went to Costco and only after unloading everything did I realize that I now have TWO giant conditioners in backup, and zero shampoo. I sat and stared at the shelf for a solid three minutes before trundling upstairs to start a new Costco list with one item on it: shampoo. A few times I went to type a text and when I hit the wrong key, I tried to backspace, but instead hit the “m” key, resulting in a text that looked like “do they need snow panrmmmmmmmmmmmmm.” I poured a smoothie into a glass and seemed to not understand volumetric relations, as the smoothie overflowed and poured down the glass, with me still pouring.

I complained to my husband about being tired. Why, why, why am I so tired? I asked. It doesn’t make sense! I am getting exactly the same amount of sleep I normally would. He gently reminded me that I have these extensively-exhausted periods every five to eight weeks, and they tend to be the harbinger for my Ladies’ Holidays, and suggested that perhaps that would explain it?

Well, it would certainly explain the feelings of existential despair.

Lately I’ve been feeling despair about the state of my hair. My hair therapist has done an amazing job with Project Grow Out My Layers, and I will say that my hair looks and feels the best it ever has. She has done an amazing job making this Growing Out Stage completely painless and non-awkward. However, I am feeling great despair about my natural colour, my natural colour being grey.

Me, three weeks into my hair colour cycle and…

Me, five weeks into my colour cycle. Despair! Despair over my hair!

I’ve been using the kind of shampoo and conditioners that are meant for fast hair growth, and they seem to be working. They help with hair breakage – my main issue, given my colouring and heat styling – but also contain caffeine which feels like it might stimulate my scalp. Which is great! I want to grow my hair out! But hair growth starts at the roots, and three and a half weeks into my five week colour cycle, all is ashes. Literally, my roots are the colour of ashes. I’m torn between wanting long and lush hair, and also wanting it to not grow so I don’t have a root situation every three and a half weeks. By the time we get to week five, I feel like a redheaded Bride of Frankenstein, which really should be the Bride of Frankenstein’s MONSTER but you know, semantics.

At what point do I just give up the ghost and embrace my life as a Silver Fox? I’m not at that point yet, and I always thought I never would be. I always imagined myself as one of those ladies in the Home with bright orange hair and lipstick bleeding into my mouth wrinkles, but perhaps not. I mean, the lipstick is always going to be there. I always feel Ready To Face The Day when I put my lipstick on. But as for hair colour, well. Like I said I’m not there yet, and it feels like a Massive Undertaking, even more massive than growing out layers. But at some point I would like to not feel despair over my roots.

Well, we must suffer to be beautiful, I guess. Or, I do. Sometimes I look around me in amazement at all the beautiful women in my life, all apparently effortlessly beautiful. I have friends with glowing, perfect, makeup-free complexions and long, lush, mascara-less lashes and I wonder: what would that be like? Well, I’ll never know. One of my dear friends popped by for coffee one day after her morning swim (HI FLORENCE) with her hair still wet from the pool and shower. During the length of the visit, her hair dried to an absolutely perfect, thick, wavy bob with absolutely ZERO effort on her part. ZERO EFFORT. It just dried that way. I was alerted to the fact that yes, some people DO really “wake up this way.” At five in the morning I see many beautiful women at the yoga studio who all, just like me, rolled out of bed and rolled out their mats, and honestly, it amazes me how good they all look. They do not look like they would frighten small children or, possibly, make people wonder about illness, which is how I look at five in the morning. But back to my friend’s effortlessly perfect hair: it was honestly one of the most impressive things I had ever seen. To get hair that perfect I would need a team of hairdressers or, alternately, a wig.

Life, as we all know, is not always fair. As the late, great Nora Ephron said, “Sometimes I think not having to worry about your hair anymore is the secret upside to death.”

In terms of energy, this week is much, much better – and without Ladies’ Holidays, so perhaps it WAS all due to the time change. Or, perhaps my energy is related to the sudden change in weather; the sun is shining, temperatures are mild, and the snow is melting and water running everywhere. It is very invigorating to me; the lilac leaves are starting to push and I’m excited at the thought of gardening and yard work. Well, after the disaster that is a dog yard post-snow-melt is cleaned up. In any case I am full of boundless energy and in a “get ‘er done” kind of mood, which I used Monday to spend hours – HOURS – laundering all the non-flannel bed linens and all the duvet covers and blankets. Mysteriously, one of the flannel pillowcases seems to be missing – but how? How did it disappear from the time I took it off a pillow to the time I took it to the laundry room? It’s just a pillowcase and yet, it’s making me feel like I’m losing my mind. Maybe that pillowcase is gaslighting me, and it will turn up in a completely normal place. If this had happened during Exhausting Last Week I would have probably had a nervous breakdown over it; as it is I’m just obsessively puzzled.

Once I lost the small lid to my ice cream maker and I thought I was also going to lose my mind; it turned up weeks later, inexplicably perfectly clean in a small, rarely used saucepan. So I have hope for the wayward pillowcase.

It’s been a busy week with lots of fun and interesting activities. Last night the boys and I went to the school play: it was The Lion King, and very well done. I expressed an opinion about the character of Mufasa, and my son told me that the actor was the backup; the original Mufasa had suddenly left to be homeschooled. Oh! It was all very impressive and enjoyable. On the weekend we had an early birthday celebration for my older, Seinfeld-obsessed son. I baked this cake, which he was delighted with:

For peace and harmony, let’s look to the cookie, people. Look to the cookie. xo

Not-Really-Spring Cleaning

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People who live in similar climates will understand my pure joy last Friday when it was finally, finally warm enough to wash my car without fear of the doors freezing solidly shut. My car was layered with crusts of road salt, such that it was difficult to see out the parts of the windows that wipers cannot touch, and my side mirrors were similarly fuzzy. You may be asking yourself why wouldn’t I just wash the windows when filling up for gas, but when it is that bitterly cold the thought of having washer fluid drip on my already frozen Reynaud’s hands was just too much to bear. Happily, the weather has changed, but not without a few snowfalls in the past week, which have sadly resulted in my car being fuzzily covered with road salt and muck yet again; although with a mild forecast, this feels less depressing.

The car was not the only thing benefiting from a wash last week; I also cleaned my oven. This might not seem like the most exciting news, but it certainly was to me. I know it’s not a popular thing to admit, but I houseclean a lot. I have many friends who enjoy cleaning services, but here’s the thing: I LIKE cleaning. I know! It’s not an interesting or exciting personality trait, but it’s the truth. My bathrooms are cleaned every other day, as are the floors, the kitchen is always fairly sparkling, and all surfaces are dusted weekly. Every month or so I’ll crazily go on a cleaning-binge on things that are not on the regular rotation: the fridge, the kitchen cupboards, the baseboards, the walls in the mudroom. But the oven is largely neglected because it feels like such a COMMITMENT. I use the oven almost daily and so in order to clean it I need the ultimate trifecta: a day of no oven usage, a can of oven cleaner, and a free afternoon. It’s hard to get all three at the same time, and I feel that I must make a note here: I have previously tried cleaning the oven with various hippie homemade products utilizing vinegar and baking soda, and I will say that the results are less than optimal. So I put on my shopping list a can of fume-free Easy Off, despite my general aversion to such products, because there was going to be no way that I would spend that kind of time and energy for an oven that was largely unchanged in appearance. I did, however, soak the racks in hot water and vinegar, with decent results.

Last Thursday I had nothing to bake – muffins having been baked the day before and even my kids do not consume an entire batch in less than 24 hours – and it was Wrap Night, so I liberally sprayed the oven with the fume-free-but-probably-really-toxic cleaner in the morning before going to teach. And I will tell you this: by the time I got around to cleaning it, at approximately 3pm, it was like magic. I felt like I was in a commercial, smoothly wiping off the grossness of my oven with one clean swipe. The exception was the oven door, which took two applications of Easy-Off and killed two scouring sponges.

Behold!

I was so excited by this, I felt the need to carry on. Maybe it was the fume-free oven cleaner, but I moved all the furniture in the living room to sweep underneath, I scrubbed the floor tiles in the downstairs bathroom and hallway, and then I wandered around the house feeling exhilarated and in need of more things to clean, like a zombie searching out brains or my dog searching out discarded tissues on the sidewalk. MUST CLEAN EVERYTHING. By the time I finished all that and wandered around, though, it was Dinner Prep Time, so I had to settle myself down a little and be contented with cleaning out the kitchen sink.

Years ago my friend Hannah (HI HANNAH) wrote about the Flylady’s method of shining one’s sink. This is not a euphemism, we are talking literally about making your kitchen sink shiny. It made me laugh hysterically and also covet a shiny sink. I followed the directions, and I will tell you, that is one miraculous way to clean a sink. I have not done the full thing since then – the first step is to fill the sink with bleach and hot water, which I don’t want to do as it seems wasteful – but every morning before I leave the house I spritz down the sink with my hippie non-toxic cleanser, wipe it down, and then – this is the KEY, people – dry it off with a soft towel. The Flylady talks about how shining the sink is a way to give yourself a little love and motivation, which is absolutely ridiculous, and yet, it is the most satisfying thing to do. Why that is, I don’t know. All I know is that when I get home later in the day, I derive great satisfaction from my clean, shiny sink. Hello, you, I say to the clean sink in my head, before filling it up with dishes and soap suds.

I remember back in university, a friend expressed great disbelief on the discovery that I make my bed every day. What a waste of time, she said, You’re just going to make it messy again. Well, isn’t that EVERY household chore? Should we all just wallow in our own filth because things will get dirty after we clean them? Should we wear food-stained clothes and stop showering? Why floss your teeth if you’re just going to eat again? Even more than a shiny sink, a made bed gives me much satisfaction: it’s nice to look at, and at the end of the day, it is lovely to get into a cozily straightened bed. Also, it takes me less than sixty seconds to make my bed, and that includes pillow shams and decorative pillows. It takes me longer to put on my compression running socks. It takes me longer to put on normal clothes. It takes me longer to do every single thing I do every single morning, so I do not see this as a waste of time. One of the first chores my kids ever had was to make their beds, and I always feel a little vindicated when I see some kind of meme that talks about bed-making as some kind of indication of personal success.

Well, we are all different. I shyly told a friend who owns a cleaning service that I actually really like cleaning the house. I know! she said cheerfully, It’s instant gratification. Some of you might find that a sad way to get instant gratification, but here we are. My Grandma Fern was a force to be reckoned with, and one thing she absolutely hated was any child, but particularly one of her grandchildren, saying “I’m bored.” You would never say that to her without consequences, and I was never stupid enough to do so, but one day when I was staying with her I told her I was looking for something to do. A project, if you will. I didn’t say the loathed words, so she did not snap at me, but she did suggest maybe I’d like to mop her kitchen floor. I’ll never know if she was serious, but I excitedly grabbed the mop and went to town. I was probably ten or so; by the time I was sixteen I was thinking about the day I’d move out and get my own apartment with my very own cleaning supplies. I am now living the dream, people. I can buy any cleaning supplies I like. Follow your dreams. xo

Eating a Rainbow: Greek Salad and Pita Night, a.k.a. the best night of the week

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On Barkley’s last eye check – he has a propensity for eye infections and is now, sadly, on drops for life – the veterinarian said that in all her time in veterinary medicine, she has never encountered a dog like him. Now, this has to be taken with a grain of salt as she is a young woman – her name, for example, is Madison, a name that conjures up images of youth – but it turns out that he is the most cooperative dog she has dealt with when it comes to people jabbing his eye with a handheld pressure machine, putting weird little litmus-like papers in his eye, and, of course, giving eye drops.

The reason is that Barkley is literally a Pavlov’s dog. From the first time I gave him eye drops, I would also give him a treat, and now he one hundred percent associates food with eye drops. He is part Labrador, after all, which makes him extremely food-motivated. He licks his lips the second I bring out the drops; he also has an internal clock that is so accurate, he begins to nudge me with his nose at 7:00 am and pm, when he is due for his drops. “Eye drops” is right up there with “walk” for words we cannot say without consequences.

Speaking of walks, I am looking very much forward to the day that it doesn’t take me five minutes to get dressed to go out for twenty-five minutes. Barkley has also associated my legwarmers with walking; from the moment I go to my bedroom to pull on my thickest, woolliest legwarmers, he follows me from room to room, staring at me until I get the leash.

So I’m looking forward to the weekend even more than normal, because – ALLEGEDLY – this extreme cold is going to break and we may even have plus temperatures. PLUS TEMPERATURES. I don’t even want to get my hopes up too high, but PLUS.

I always look forward to the weekend; I do make an effort to enjoy each day, each day is a gift, blah blah blah, but I love the flexibility and family time that the weekends bring. I especially enjoy the food. Fridays are my favourite weeknights because a) they involve wine, and usually lots of it, and b) it’s Greek salad and pita night!

You know those quizzes that say if you could have only one meal for the rest of your life, what would it be? This would be my meal: Greek salad, pita, and hummus. When I was pregnant with my youngest I ate it every other day. It’s just so good! So full of nutritious vitamins, protein, iron, and deliciousness. Most people associate onion with Greek salad but mine is onion-less, due to my dislike of raw onion. And cooked onion. And any onion that is not disguised by being pureed into a dish. It’s not the flavour I abhor, it’s the texture. And so, I give you my Greek salad and hummus recipe.

Greek Salad and Hummus, The Best Dinner of the Week

Chop up a whole bunch of cherry tomatoes, peppers, and cucumbers (I like baby cucumbers but will use regular ones in a pinch). How much? Let’s say two peppers, five baby cucumbers (or most of one Long English), and a LOT of cherry tomatoes. I don’t know how to measure them; a couple of cups, maybe? Add black olives – the pitted Kalamata ones from Costco are the bomb – and some feta cheese. If you’re a non-dairy person, you could make some almond feta. For the dressing I use 1/3 cup olive oil, and then almost 1/3 cup of red wine vinegar and 2-3 tablespoons of balsamic vinegar. I like my dressing ZESTY. Add some garlic powder, basil, and oregano in indiscriminate amounts. Just shake it in there until it looks good. Pour over top and toss.

For the hummus I use a big can of rinsed and drained chickpeas, 1/5 of a pound block of tofu (bear with me here, explanation to follow), 1/4 cup each of lemon juice and olive oil, 2-3 cloves of garlic, a heaping tablespoon of tahini, a teaspoon of cumin, and some salt and pepper. I have no idea how much. Then I blend it all in my food processor until it’s nice and smooth. The tofu makes it super creamy. Usually I buy a block of tofu and freeze it in 1/5ths, individually, and thaw when the need for hummus is imminent. Occasionally I’ve pulsed in roasted red peppers or pitted Kalamata olives, but usually I prefer my plain-Jane version.

I warm up those cute little mini “party” pitas in the oven, and the guys get sauteed chicken breast as well, which I prepare while drinking large glasses of Cabernet Franc.

Photos from my old YMC posts, back when I used to stage my food. Let’s drop some feta artistically on the placemat! And allow the peppers to hover around their chopped up friend!

Who needs a filter when you can crop out your forehead? Yes, that glass does say Queen of Everything; my parents gave it to me for my birthday and I love it!

Eating a Rainbow: Pita Pizzas, Wraps, and Tacos

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God bless the junior high teachers. Yesterday the boys brought home their gym clothes to be washed, and they were much more toxic than normal, thanks to a random kid spraying Axe body spray all over the boys’ locker room and in the tote boxes. My house is now a hazardous waste site. I thought back to my years in junior high and realized that the poor teachers must have put up with all the fumes from our Salon Selectives hairspray, which we would use between classes to keep our vertical bangs at an appropriate stiffness, plus all of our cheap drugstore perfumes, like Love’s Baby Soft and Exclamation. It takes a very special type of person to deal with that age group.

Happy March, everyone! Although it is minus 28 with windchill this morning, at least it isn’t minus 30. This is my new bar. The bar, it is low.

But who wants to talk about the weather? It’s boring and depressing and there is nothing we can do about it anyway, except perhaps sell everything and move to Maui which, frankly, isn’t really all that practical. Bundle up, buttercup. I’m considering a post that would contrast my normal weight with my weight when wearing all my winter gear. It would be an interesting, yet depressing, experiment. Maybe I could take a poll – how much does all my winter gear actually weigh? Well. This is a sad topic.

Let’s talk about food instead! As you know from my weekly meal plan, Wednesdays are generally pita pizza night, and Thursdays are for wraps or tacos. You may notice that as the week goes on my zest for cooking evaporates, so that by the time Thursday comes around, dinner is a very simple affair. Taco Thursday happens about once a month; the rest of the time it’s all about the wrap, which is the simplest dinner to make – literally we can go from zero prep to dinner on the table in about 25 minutes.

Pita Pizzas

No one needs a recipe for this. It is literally the easiest thing to make: buy pitas, put toppings on them, bake. Everyone can have whatever they want on their pizza, making this a very easy way to cater to vegetarians and meat-eaters. I always make extras so that the boys can take them cold in their lunches the next day. Do you know what makes a kid the lunchtime envy of all his friends? PIZZA FOR LUNCH. And these pizzas are way healthier than takeout, as well as being way cheaper. The only person who does not love pita pizza night is my husband, but we can’t have everything we love for dinner all the time. Well, we can, but only if we are making the dinner, and the only person making dinner is ME, which is why all the dinners are things that I personally enjoy. I am a Kitchen Dictator.

Because pita pizzas aren’t veggie-heavy on their own, I serve them with a giant – GIANT – plate of vegetables with dip. We are talking 1 pepper, 3 carrots, A FULL POUND of mushrooms, and broccoli.

I start dinner prep when the boys get home after school. They hang out in the kitchen and eat – as they are walking bottomless pits these days – and tell me about their day. Something about me being occupied with knives and vegetables allows them to open up and chat before they scatter to parts of the house that I am not in. If I could give one piece of parenting teen advice, it would be to figure out WHEN they are willing to chat, and then BE THERE at that time.

Back to the pizza. My own pizza is less of a pizza and more of a pita smothered with as many veggies as I can pile onto it, plus Daiya mozzarella shreds. Most vegan cheese tastes like sadness, but Daiya is…pretty okay. At least it kind of melts. It’s decent and serves the purpose, is what I’m saying. I also put sundried tomatoes on my pizza, which you can’t see, but which elevate the whole thing.

Wow, that does NOT photograph well. This picture reminds me of my Norwegian grandpa; he was, shall we say, not interested in consuming ethnic foods such as pizza. He was noted for saying, when viewing a pizza, “Who threw up on the lefse?” Oh, Grandpa. It’s not like all Norwegian cuisine is something to write home about; let’s not forget such atrocities as lutefisk. Whose idea was it to soak fish in lye and then EAT IT? Between my Norwegian and Scottish roots (HELLO HAGGIS) I’ve really covered all the Gross Food Bases here.

Wraps

Truly the easiest meal in the week; slice up vegetables and saute some chicken in olive oil for the guys. Serve with cheese and salsa for those who like it. I even buy shredded cheese which I never used to do but which ironically is less expensive in the long run as there is no waste, since only 2/4 of us actually eat cheese. I do not use Daiya on these because unmelted cold Daiya is pretty gross. Warm up tortillas and everyone serves themselves. Mine consist of a whole lot of avocado, pepper, and tomato, with heaping spoonfuls of salsa.

Will you look at that avocado? Is there anything better than a perfectly ripe avocado? Is there? Sex, I guess, but not too much else.

Taco Thursday

Not quite as simple as wraps, but almost, Taco Thursday is pretty popular. I use ground chicken for the guys, with just your standard package of taco seasoning. For me, I sprinkle black beans with completely unmeasured amounts of cumin, onion flakes, garlic powder, coriander, and chili powder. I just sprinkle until it looks good to me, and then I squirt some lime on top. Delicious and full of iron, protein, and all those good things that people ask about when you say you don’t eat meat. Where do you get your protein? Those questions always make me want to make ribald and scandalous jokes, but I generally try to refrain.

Today is Friday, which is my favourite meal of the week, and which also includes wine! Hooray! I’ll chat about that next time, and until then, stay warm, my friends! xo