Tag Archives: Food

Glimpses of Significance

October has been chaos.  Not a little chaos; a lot of chaos.  And I haven’t handled it by writing; I’ve handled it by avoiding writing.  I don’t have one long story to tell, because the chaos has crowded out lengthy experiences that are worthy of being retold.  Instead, I’ve mined the month of October for a few glimpses of significant moments; times when I’m sure I am where I am supposed to be.

Bowling with John

It’s the final countdown of our hour-long bowling game, and in three minutes they will shut down our lane.  It’s John’s turn, and he’s slowly walking up to the line.  I hand him his ball and tell him this is his last turn, so he’d better make it count.  He swings the ball by his knee like the pendulum of a grandfather clock, and finally lets go.  It cruises down the hardwood floor and knocks down all but three pins.  The screen above our head flashes a warning sign of sixty seconds.  “I’ll go grab your ball and then you have one last turn,” I tell him.  “We only have a minute!” 

I pass him the ball and he starts swinging again, faster this time.  He releases it down the lane and, to everyone’s delight, he gets a spare.  We cheer and he lights up with the joy of victory.  We’re all gathered around him and he’s clapping furiously, and then it dawns on us:  he gets an extra turn.  I race back to the retrieval and hand him the ball, but I’m too late — the lights have dimmed.  It doesn’t matter, because John is glowing.  “Throw the ball anyway, John,” Mike instructs him.  “You earned it.”

***

Death Cab for Cutie

 
“…they would make your name sing, and bend through alleys and bounce off other buildings…” we sang as we danced, all shoulders and elbows, until the purple light turned toward our faces and Lindsay asked, “Is that a spotlight for us!?” and my reply was, naturally, “what else would it be?”  And so we kept dancing.
 
 
 
***
Family Birthday Lunch for Mom
 
After a month of coordinating schedules and switching appointments, we all finally gathered at Mom and Dad’s to celebrate our number one gal: my mom (you know, the volunteer of the year).  She’s officially gluten-free now, which presented its challenges, but we dove in head-first.  Everybody brought a dish, we all gathered around the table, and we proclaimed that we were just as satisfied without the pesky wheat products.  Even the cake was rich and chocolately, despite being made with garbonzo beans.  “Who knew we could be so progressive?” we thought.  “We’re so cutting edge.”
 
As we left, we realized it wasn’t gluten that we missed at all, but each other.  Flocking from our respective homes to one table became a fresh priority, and we renewed our dedication to family gatherings.

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The Chicken, the Whole Chicken and Nothing but the Chicken, so Help Me…

Let me be clear: I have an aversion to chicken.

It dates back to my childhood years of poking my meat with a fork to check for veins or other signs that my entree used to be a live animal.

I wish I was past this.  I wish I didn’t care that there are things in chicken like fat and “gristle” (a word that still makes me shudder).  Mostly I just wish I was a vegetarian.

But then I couldn’t have steak or fish, both things for which I salivate.

So.  The chicken.  I deal with it on a semi-weekly basis because it’s easy, cheap and the husband enjoys it.   I usually just cut it up and cook it with some simmer sauce.  But do I like it?  Unclear.

Recently I’ve been flipping through various cookbooks and the same recipe keeps jumping out at me: whole roasted chicken.  Every single recipe taunts me with how easy it is, how low-maintenance, but they all seem to forget one little tidbit:  I have to TOUCH the chicken to make it.

So, without actually touching it, I managed to get this 4.5lb chicken from its packaging to my chicken-only cutting board.

Ten minutes later, the chicken still looked like this, because I was pacing back and forth in front of it after reading the following in my cookbook: “Remove organs from cavity of chicken.”

Surely there must be some other way.

I finally decided that without rubber gloves I was going to have to resort to using a paper towel.  I wrapped my hand in the paper towel and stuck my hand into the “cavity.”   It only took about two seconds for me to realize that I could not feel a thing, nor could I move my hand to grab at anything.

I was going to have to do this the hard way.

I took off the paper towel, counted to three and dove my hand in so fast I convinced myself I wouldn’t feel a thing.  But I did feel a thing.  His organs.  How do people do this?!

I promptly threw them in the trash and then washed my hands within an inch of their life.  Only I should have kept reading because it wasn’t long before I was rubbing salt and pepper all over the bad bird and then shoving a lemon up his rear.   Good times.

I became a huge fan of rosemary in the process, because I quickly discovered that I can jam it into the chicken without ever touching the slimy flesh.

My jaw really hit the floor when the cruel authors of the cookbook demanded that I lift the skin away from the meat with my finger and put whole garlic cloves underneath. Excuse me?

I put the whole thing in the oven and instantly realized why people love cooking chicken this way: you can walk away for an hour.  This, in cooking, is priceless.  Usually when I cook chicken, it’s stir-fry style and I have to stand there and move the chicken pieces around for twenty minutes.  With the whole chicken method, I’m watching Bethenny Getting Married and having a glass of wine.  Why didn’t I know about this sooner?

The resulting bird was really a thing to behold: all golden brown, perfectly crispy on the outside and tender and juicy on the inside (and by inside, I mean the meat…not the “cavity”).  Mike was astonished that such a thing of beauty would come from the work of my hands, especially since he knows about my aversion to poultry.

So now I am caught in a bind: do I make the chicken more often, considering how easy it is and how much Mike likes it?  Or do I banish forever the image of my hand up the backside of a bird?

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Rephs 1, Carbs 0

As cliché as it is to write this in the month of January, I am on a diet.

Mike and I decided to eat healthier and lose a little weight in the process, and we just happen to have a trip to Cabo on the horizon for that extra hit of motivation.  Nothing like exposed flesh to make you reach for that proverbial carrot (or in this case, a literal carrot).

We have always been very active, running about three times a week and doing yoga once a week.  But the more we researched, the more we realized that food and exercise fall into that most classic of rules: 80/20.  It turns out that working out like a fiend while eating whatever one wants isn’t as effective as eating really well and working out moderately. 

And let’s face it: any excuse to work out less is music to one’s ears, am I right?

So, after a few Bing searches for easy-to-follow diets, we decided on the 4 Hour Body.  It’s written by the same man who wrote 4 Hour Workweek, which is a major bestseller, but from what I’ve heard infuriates a lot of people (the concept is so simple, yet almost impossible to apply).

We didn’t even bother to buy the book, since all of the rules were listed online.  It really is quite simple:

1.  No white carbs (we had to resist hosting a funeral to pay our respects to our favorite foods: rice, pasta, and bread).

2.  No fruit (ouch.  I usually eat two pieces of fruit a day).

3.  Don’t drink your calories (sayanara, beer.  Though you are allowed two glasses of red wine per day…clearly this is the life raft we cling to).

4.  Eat the same meals over and over (well, when you can only have certain foods, you tend to repeat them).

5.  Take one day off a week  (sweet Moses Saturdays!! Sign me up!!).

We started on Jan 3, so it’s been three weeks.  We’ve each lost a pound per week, which supposedly is the healthiest way to lose.   We haven’t changed our exercise routine, though if we miss a workout we feel far less guilt, because we can easily turn to each other and say, “Who cares?  We’re eating so well!”

Not that eating well is easy. 

The two of us at a restaurant is not a pretty sight.  A mere three seconds after opening the menu one of us says, “But, OK, like what if we traded this meal for one meal on our day off?  That would work, right?  I mean, really, what’s the difference?” 

That’s when the other one of us has to turn into a drill sergeant and yell, “Pull yourself together, Reph!  You’ll order a salad and YOU’LL LIKE IT.”

But honestly, it wasn’t until this diet that we realized how carb-heavy restaurants really are.  If we’re looking for anything more interesting than a salad, we may be looking for a very long time.

Last week we ate out with another couple at a Thai restaurant (read: noodle universe) and Mike found the only way he could be satisfied is if he ordered half of a chicken.  Nothing else.  It was the strangest looking plate. 

I ordered stir fry.

Waiter:  And white or brown rice?

Me:  (Gritting teeth, barely able to get the words out) Ahhhhhh, no rice.

Waiter:  (Eyebrows raised higher than the ceiling) Um, Okaaaaaaay.

It’s reactions like this that motivate us to invite people to our house rather than accept their invitations to eat out.  If we plan ahead, it’s really easy to cook according to this diet at home.   

And even though it’s gotten easier (I no longer fantasize about a French baguette dipped in olive oil), it’s still not something I could continue indefinitely.  We’re only planning on doing it for a month, and that’s because life without pasta, rice and bread is not a life I want to live forever.

…though since I do want to live as long as possible, I’m going to scale back the consumption of carbs even after the middle of February.  I’m going to try to see them as treats, rather than the incomparable force of nature that they are.

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