About ten days ago, I decided to breakup with sugar. After making (and eating) some of the world’s most delicious grain-free brownies (yes, don’t get weird on me–I’ll still share that recipe with you), I started noticing some things were going on in my body. My joints hurt almost immediately. My anxiety spiked. I felt bad, and generally hungover the next day. But, that didn’t stop my cravings. I wanted another brownie. I wanted a chocolate bar. I wanted a pint of ice cream. This felt like new territory for me. I’ve never been much of a sweets monster. I usually opt for the savory things in life. Steak is my power food. I choose crispy chicken skin over cake. That’s just how I roll. But, recently I began this spiral of chasing my savory meals with a sweet treat. It was a like a switch flipped in my brain upon meal completion, begging for a little bit of sweet sugary crack. After compulsively eating more brownies than one should, I not only felt achy and anxious, but I started to feel out of control. At this point, I ordered The 21 Day Sugar Detox, by Diane Sanfilippo. It was time to call in reinforcements. Continue reading
I know the concept isn’t a new one. Simmer bones with veggies and herbs in order to create a gloriously flavorful and rich liquid. People have been doing it for ages. Chefs make it daily. My grandparents never wasted anything. Chicken or turkey bones were always made into soup. Ox tails were turned into soup. You guys… I ate a lot of soup. But, even though I knew that I could make my own broth, I never did. I’d buy a box or a can, or a box of cans of chicken stock. Leftover bones were always thrown out. It wasn’t until I was in my late twenties (29 to be exact) and in the middle of a full blown health crisis that I started to make my own. Continue reading
Pancakes were always a special treat growing up. The weekend would come, and my mom would bust out a griddle and and a box of Bisquick to make us all banana pancakes. Her knack for getting the pancakes to have those delectable crispy edges is unparalleled. I still don’t quite understand it. I’m just going to chalk it up to Mom having a sort of kitchen magic. I really hope that when I have kids I inherit this perfect-every-time-crispy-flapjack trait. It seems like one that would be useful. I also hope to inherit the I’m-looking-at-you-in-a-certain-way-and-now-you-should-probably-be-scared trait. Very effective in those times when your child (me) won’t stop asking you to make snow cones in January (I did have one of these…so….) while you’re (my mom) on a business call. This look will halt the snow cone whining. Stat. Continue reading
I don’t know exactly how to address this little love letter to citrus, so, I’m just throwing it all out there. I’m experiencing a little bit of citrus fever. It’s a hopeful sunny burst of color exploding out of the dreariness of winter.
Okay, I’m lying a little. Winter here in California is currently not dreary, even though we’re promised some rain towards the end of the week. But, for now, I just went out for a sunny walk wearing only a t-shirt. Oh, and pants. Didn’t forget those. But, still. The sun was shining, I was warm and sweaty in just my t-shirt (and pants), and I had to use all of my self control to not pilfer all of my neighbors’ citrus trees. There are sooooo many! They are all dripping with citrus. How are citrus tree-owning people not jamming and canning and peeling and eating and slicing and dicing and marmalade-ing their way through this season?! How about lemon curd? Don’t even get me started. Continue reading
It’s been three weeks since my oven broke. It’s still broken. There’s this whole commotion about a broken computer piece and if they make the replacements for my particular oven model anymore. It’s resulted in a very confused elderly land lady, and a slightly frustrated food blogging tenant (that’s me).
It’s not like I can’t cook ANYTHING. I have a working stove top, a couple of crock pots, a pressure cooker, a deep fryer, and a dehydrator. But, since I know my oven is broken it only makes me want to use it more. Go figure, right? I’ve found myself lamenting over whole roasted chicken with crispy chicken skin, crispy Brussels sprouts, cookies and scones. I feel slightly incapacitated. How can the girl who makes food for a living not have a functioning oven? I was trying to make analogies and all I could come up with was it feels like I am a concert pianist with lobster claws instead of hands. This metaphor might lean towards the dramatic. Continue reading