Foodie and the Beast: double, double toil-et trouble

Nate, my best half – my best everything, really - and I don’t see eye to eye when it comes to eating. He thinks food is a way of fueling the body to do weird stuff like run, even though no one is chasing him or forcing him at gunpoint to do so. I think of food as a good friend who is always there when I need them, my best go-to pal for when the world is being mean and stupid…which is why I’m fat and he’s not.

 

As Paula Abdul once said, "I'm forever your girl" - oh, and "Opposites Attract" too

 

 

Our Sunday began like this:

 Me: Let’s go get some pies.

Nate: No, we are not getting any pie.  

Me: Piiiessss. Plural.

Nate: We are not getting any pies.

Me: You hate me. You are killing my dream.

Nate: No. You’re killing yourself.

 

Ohhhhh, SNAP. Homeboy got me there.

 

Is he right? Well, yes. Did I force him into submission by threatening to jump out of the moving vehicle?  Not this time. He doesn’t believe me anymore when I say that anyway. Did I pull every other trick from the Book of Crazy to try and get him to feel sorry for me? Absolutely.

 

Here are the highlights:

·  Do you remember Ewan McGregor in “Trainspotting”? You’re making me be him right now.  

·   You’re not my friend.

·   Why did I marry someone with so much hate in their heart?

·   I’m not wearing any underpants.  

·   I bet that guy over there would buy me pie. (Nate: That’s not even a guy. That’s a PICTURE of a guy on a giant billboard and he doesn’t know you).

·  You don’t love me. (Nate: If you can’t see that I’m doing this because I DO love you, you’re insane. I just want you to stick around for a long, long time.)

All this mostly one-sided dialog, and I didn’t even notice we had driven 30 minutes past the pie place.

 

3144 W Adams St, Santa Ana, CA 92704


I survived, just like he said I would. Sure I was mad, but looking back on this discussion now with a brand new Monday under my too-tight belt, I appreciate that he stood his ground squaring off against my food addiction. I’m a pretty formidable opponent. But then again, so is he.

Krav Maga - yellow belt ceremony

 

Nate really is such a good egg and he rarely gets upset with me, even when I make him drive home from wherever we are – no matter how far we are - to use the toilet (since the thought of dropping a deuce anywhere but the confines of my own bathroom makes me cry). I mean, we could be in Germany and I'd ask him to take me home. Would he? Jesus, no, of course not! He draws the line at international.

 

I do so appreciate him though. He got me this little gift over the weekend with a reminder to make wise decisions in life.

Side note:  the one time I made an honest attempt to use a public restroom, someone followed behind me, and out of the 10 stalls that were completely open, took the one right next door. BUT FOR WHY!!!

 Well, she must have been suffering from stage fright too, because we both sat there for 2 minutes straight rustling toilet paper, tapping our feet, and fake coughing our way through the impending doo(m). Alas, after the 5^th minute of our clumsy attempt at a pas de deux-doo, during which time many others had bravely come and gone, I realized I had met my match. I pulled up my pants, tipped my hat to the winner of the universe, and drove my own ass home.

And on that note, I present to you:

 

Baked Brownie Birthday Cake Oatmeal!

Ta-da! I want to stick my face in you every day!

 

This was truly delicious. It tasted just like a brownie! I believe in the Internetz again! The base recipe calls for:

·         1/3 c of oats

·         2 tbsp flour

·         1 tbsp unsweetened cocoa powder

·         ¼ tsp baking powder

·         A little salt

·         1/3 c of almond milk

·         ½ tbsp honey

·         1 tsp of melted coconut oil

·         1 tsp vanilla

    ·         Chocolate chips (I used milk)

 

I added:

·         A handful of chopped pecans

·         A few mini marshmallows

·         Sprinkles and more chocolate chips

 

Mix all this crap together, throw it in a greased ramekin (I used 2), and bake at 325 for about 15 minutes.

 

Can you guess which one's for me and which one’s for Nate?

 

 

 

 

 

Misadventures in baking: Hello...from me and Adele and some muffins

 

When it comes to weight loss, I know myself. I put all 115 lbs of ME into almost everything I do.

Ok, let’s start again because I can’t even type that with a straight face. I haven't seen 115 since the big amoebic dysentery fiasco of 1994.

 

More like 115 lbs of LAUNDRY

 

I know myself. When it comes to trying to lose weight, I put 100% into almost everything I do - - - at the beginning of each venture, that is.  Then things start to get hard: work gets stressful…the smallest of victories need celebrating (denying myself pizza at lunch means I can have cake and ice cream and spaghetti and butter fried chicken all rolled into one, big, fat-ass rice wrapped burrito for dinner)….memories and thoughts of what could and should be cause mental and emotional breakdowns…whatever. Pick your poison. Life happens. I’m as good at staying the damn course as a Kardashian is at saying no to plastic surgery. And sex tapes.

The hell is this?



 

The other night, as I was eating an old burrito I found in the back of the fridge and questioning most of my life decisions apart from marrying Nate, I realized, “WTF – I’m eating an old burrito over the kitchen sink at midnight. How do I expect to belt out Adele’s new song “Hello” to my former fat self when clearly there’s nothing "former" about this situation? I’m not on the other side with you yet, Adele! I can’t even say at least I tried! I totally suck at this song!”

Hello from the side I never left?

And so it was time to change course. Again. Steer myself away from the carnage asada. So what better way to do that than to make carrot raisin mini muffins using oat flour, stevia, and organic maple syrup for breakfast the next day?

 

I'm only pretty on the outside, but I pretty much taste like feces 

Oh, Internet – sometimes you lie. You lie so bad. Sometimes I find recipes that sound good in theory, but should never be put into culinary action. This was one of them. Of course, it could be me not understanding how stevia works exactly, and how many packets should be substituted for actual sugar. With more sweetener, these could’ve worked. They were super moist, but the only burst of sweetness came from the raisins. Who in the hell wants a mouthful of raisins?

So – this recipe definitely needs improvement before I share it. I’m a big fan of oat and almond flour these days, though! Do these substitutions taste as good as the real deal? HELL NO. But if you don’t want diabetes and you don’t want cancer and you DO want to have a baby before your biological clock starts belting out “Hello from the other side”, it’s time to stop with the bad shit. Again.

Apparently, I like hanging out in my garage

 

Where ya been all my life, almond flour?

 

 

 

 

 

 

Misadventures in cooking - tonight's guests: Justin Bieber and Drake

You are the jalapeno of my eye

I thought this chicken tortilla soup would be quick and easy. But now, with an eyeball full of jalapeno juice and my nasal passages burning with the heat of a thousand Pablo Escobar like suns (I’m kidding. I have no idea if cocaine is a hell of a drug), I will never trust myself again. 

It’s not entirely my fault, though. I blame Justin Bieber. Drake, too.  While pinching the bridge of my nose and furiously shaking my head at the rando choice of YouTube channel I selected as background music for my live action cooking show – audience of ZERO, go figure - I managed to get some jalapeno in my eye.

See, our wifi at home sucks. Almost as much as the music of today’s youth....almost. There were two songs that lasted about 10 minutes EACH due to that buffering thing going extra long and hard for me this evening: Justin Bieber’s “What Do You Mean” and Drake’s “Hotline Bling”. 

FML – this is music???  Partially blinded by jalapeno juice and oxygen deprived due to an inability to inhale, I started to hallucinate and carried on a conversation in my head with these dumb-dumbs:

Bieber: What do you mean?

Me: What do you mean what do I mean?

Bieber: What do you mean? First you wanna go to the left then you wanna turn right.

Me: WHAT? WE’RE NOT EVEN DRIVING RIGHT NOW.

What do you mean? What do you mean???

 

And then there was Drake:

Drake: You used to call me on my cell phone.

Me: Well, I’m more comfortable using text as a medium.

Drake: You used to call me on my cell phone.

Me: No, really…I’m funnier in writing.

Drake: You used to call me on my cell phone.

Me:  This is getting awkward.

I has cellphone

 

 



Despite all this musical nonsense, my homemade chicken tortilla soup turned out delicious! If you follow me on Instagram, you know my ass has been working hard at eating clean these days. I’ve been cooking at home almost every day, and not only saving money, but saving my damn life! One almond flour recipe at a time. I’ve practically eliminated white rice and white sugar from my diet, and even though it makes me want to choke a bitch and cut a vato at various times throughout the day, it has gotten easier. I even hiked last weekend with a minimal amount of belligerence towards Nate.

 

There's a buffet up there on Mt. Baldy!

 



Speaking of my best half and how our lives imitate (F)art, this happened when he got home from his Krav Maga class:

Me: I got jalapeno in my eye.

Nate: Why did you put jalapeno in your eye?

Me: What do you mean?

Nate: I mean, why did you put jalapeno in your eye?

Me:  You used to call me on your cell phone.

Nate: WHAT DO YOU MEAN???

Touché, Bieber. Touché.  

 

The soup that burned my eye

http://www.food.com/recipe/the-best-chicken-tortilla-soup-104086

 

I can't call you on your cellphone right now Drake, I'm on a bike.