Daikon And Carrot Noodle Salad With Sesame Ginger Dressing

I haven’t sat down to write in this space for three months.

Well, that’s not entirely true. I’ve come here. I’ve flipped the lid of my laptop. I’ve stared blankly into the screen. I’ve opened up a fresh document and wrote over a thousand emotional words about the hollow exhaustion I feel on this lengthy health journey–plus, just all the feelings.

Feelings about shootings,  infuriatingly flippant rape convictions and all of the tirelessly troubling news that seemed to hit over and over again during the summer. The 2016 political climate and how IDONTUNDERSTANDWHATISHAPPENING.  I wrote about why I wasn’t writing. I just wrote all the words that came up. The word vomit. Out of my finger tips. Finger vomit? Feelings vomit? Finger feelings? I wrote those.

How do I say all the things I need to say? How vulnerable is too vulnerable? Do I even have anything important to say? I’ve been silent for too long. Do I even remember how to blog?  This is a food blog, should I even talk about rape here? So many important things are going on, not to mention the crippling exhaustion I’ve faced these last months struggling with my own health. Should I let them know that sometimes, even though I’m strong, I cry and sincerely fear that I will never be healthy again? Should I really just write about salad? Look, here’s a nice salad. Surely I can’t come back from not saying any words, and being silently overwhelmed with emotions, just to jump back in like nothing ever happened and make you guys a salad!! […]

Instant Pot Chicken & Ginger Noodle Soup {Gluten-Free + Paleo} // A Health Journey Update

I know a handful of things to be absolute truths. For example, kindness is better than judgment, It’s essential to stay hydrated, life is never what you think it’s going to be, it’s impossible to get Adele concert tickets without selling a kidney, and when in doubt, MAKE SOUP. Always and forever, style. Like, tattoo a steaming bowl of chicken noodle onto my biceps. Do you think I could make the noodles dance when I flex? Maybe. I will probably never find out.  […]

Spiced Ginger Kabocha Pie with Maple Coconut Cream {Gluten-Free, Grain-Free, Paleo}

In an effort to make fall arrive here in California, I’ve been consuming pie as if it were some sort of fork to face rain-dance.

Really, it’s just something I’m trying out for the greater good. I will eat pie for breakfast in the name of chunky sweaters, and tall boots, and the California drought. I’ll happily open my pie hole for dessert, in the hopes of bringing a changing of the leaves, crisp fall air, hot toddies, and the right to stop sweating. Please, someone… anyone… turn off my armpit glands. I know this isn’t “healthy” to do, but since it’s divine intervention I’m asking for, I figure you can find a way to divinely redesign this girl’s pits so they’re no longer weeping under the weight of pie baking in summer temperatures. Speaking of my armpits– did you all catch episode seven of The So…Let’s Hang Out Podcast? It’s a doozy. […]

Grain-Free Ginger Cherry Berry Scones

A couple of weeks ago, I found myself sulking outside of a local bakery. This isn’t a gluten-free bakery, but they do make a fantastic gluten-free scone. I arrived too late in the day, and as usual, they were completely sold out. However, my wheat-eating husband bought himself some ridiculous looking apple-stuffed, almond-stuffed, hopes and dreams-stuffed croissant. I was irrationally upset about this situation. I could feel my blood pressure rising as I watched bits of pastry flake off onto his shirt, and tiny bits of apple adhere to his adorable mouth corners. All I wanted was a scone. I briefly considered not eating breakfast at all. How could I? I had been dreaming of that scone for… well, at least the last thirty minutes. I could taste the flaky bits of berry filled dough in my mind. No other breakfast would measure up. I was on a scone only hunger strike. I was quickly becoming an insane person. This happens when hunger sets in. I’m still myself, but the drama is cranked up to eleven, and the tears start to nag at my ducts, begging to be released. It’s as if I’ve melded my physical person with the frenetic emotional instability of Buster Bluth, and the overly emotive face of Oscar The Grouch. If you’re wondering, my husband really loves when this happens (he doesn’t).  May I remind you that all of this is happening OVER A SCONE. Ugh.  […]

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