I like writing this blog. All my favourite recipes are collecting in one place, and it’s a good outlet. The voices in my head are weird…even for me, so letting some of the oddness out in a constrictive way has to be a good thing. It makes me less likely to ask for hug on the bus as least.
Anyway, I usually make a bit of an effort with my recipes or my writing; and sometimes both. But not today. It’s hot as balls, and I can’t be arsed to do anything other than write, “I can’t be arsed” and give you the stupidest recipe from my favourite children’s cookbook.
Lo siento.
Maple Snow
*Variations:
Urine
Toil for forty-five minutes with ice cubes and your cousin’s Snoopy Snow Cone machine for a paltry tablespoon of ice-shavings.
A few days ago I was thinking of all the neat things I’d like to accomplish by my 40th birthday. Then, it struck me that I already have a very long list of stuff from New Year’s that I’m actively not accomplishing.
These were my 2016 goals:
Get my UK Driving Licence.
Perform at least one pull-up.
One month of Whole Food 30.
Learn to sew.
Write for thirty minutes a day.
Commitment to 4 days a week of exercise.
Run the Buffalo Marathon.
Tell my shrink what those voices in my head are really saying.
Yoga once a week.
Floss twice a day. Real dental floss. Not just that pipe cleaner bullshit.
Read two books a month.
The only thing I kinda did was run the marathon. And I know I didn’t exactly run it…but, I’ve lost three lesser toenails, and I’m about to lose my big toenail. THE ONE THAT EVERYONE SEES. Therefore, given I’m about to have Mother Teresa’s feet for the next 9-12 months, I’m going to allow myself that accomplishment.
The rest of my resolutions have gone the way of slutty girls in horror movies. Dead…stabbed, bludgeoned,or drowned in the tub. Maybe I’ll try again next year? But for now, I need to learn to play the accordion to surprise my brother with a fresh version of “You’re So Vain” for Columbus Day.
Anyway. Here is something real in this world of vapours, mists, and “should do’s.”
Macadamia Chicken Fingers
*I forgot to take a picture. This was all that was left.
Chicken breast, cut into finger strips
1 egg, beaten
Nut mix
Preheat oven to 425f/225c.
Line a baking tray with parchment paper.
Dip the chicken in the egg and roll in the nut mixture.
Place on the lined tray and cook for 16-18 minutes.
Eat as you would normal chicken fingers.
Nut Mix:
1 cup ground macadamia nuts (almond meal works great too)
1 tsp salt
1 1/2 tsp paprika
1/2 tsp ground coriander
1/2 tsp ground cumin
Mix together and place a bowl.
Take a small portion onto a shallow plate and follow the directions above.
This makes extra, which can be kept in the freezer for use at any time, so try to only use what you need to coat the chicken.
I’m not oblivious to the fact that this blog has devolved into a self-piteous testament to my homesickness. But please cut me some slack. It IS, after all, the 4th of July. I am missing barbecues, my town’s 10K race, and some sort of red, white, and blue jello salad.
If I were in the grand old US of A, somebody somewhere would definitely have a pool, and they might even invite me over for a swim. A dog or two would be dressed up (against his or her will) like Abraham Lincoln. There’d be a small parade, with a high school marching band in suffocating polyester uniforms and elaborately adorned shakos. At least one child from that marching band would pass out, mid-tuba-blow, from heatstroke. There would be hot dogs, hamburgers, and hope that the one guy everyone loves to hate will toss a firecracker down his pants, or at least into his mouth. All that is missing from my ultra-comforting vision is me…drawing a penis in the inky night sky with the trailing glow of a sparkler.
But, I’m in London. My only plans are taking some crappy English breakfast tea to the river and dumping it in. If I’m alone I will surely shout, “NO TAXATION WITOUT REPRESENTATION!” and “WE HAVE IT IN OUR POWER TO BEGIN THE WORLD OVER AGAIN! But really, that’s not what the 4th is about.
It’s about this: Sitting under the stars with your big sister, getting nibbled by mosquitos as fireworks explode way up above. A man in a cowboy hat screams “WHEEE!!” every single time a firework goes off. It’s about your sister, waiting for the perfect, moment to say in her loud, clear, sweet, twelve-year-old voice, “He mister, you watch them, you don’t ride them.”
Or at least that’s what it’s about to me.
All is not lost though. When the sun goes down, I have one sparkler left.
Happy belated 4th of July.
Smoked Haddock mini pies/frittatas
300 g/.65 lbs smoked haddock
50 ml/1/4 cup milk or cream
2 TBS coconut oil
2 leeks cleaned and thinly sliced
1 garlic clove crushed
2 tsp fresh horseradish grated or 1TBS horseradish sauce
1/4 cup parmesan cheese grated
1/4-1/2 tsp salt
ground black pepper
Preheat oven to 180C/350F and grease 8 muffin holes.
Put the smoked haddock in a shallow dish and pout milk or cream over it.
Cover with foil and cook for 15 minutes.
Drain and set aside, allowing the fish to cool. Once cool, remove skin and flake into pieces.
Heat the coconut oil and add the leeks and garlic.
Cover and salute for five minutes until the leek is softened, then remove the lid and cook off the liquid.
Beat the eggs with the salt and pepper. Add 2 TBS parmesan cheese, horseradish, and flaked fish.
Pour into the eight holes of the muffin tin.
Sprinkle the remaining parmesan over the muffin/pies.
Bake for 20-25 minutes.
Allow to cool a few minutes before removing from the muffin tin.
I don’t really have anything prepared for today. Since I’ve gotten back from the States, I’ve been living on pork rinds and and the delusion I can’t fasten my jeans because of “water weight.” I haven’t felt much like cooking. Or…showering, brushing my hair, wearing anything that doesn’t have sharks on it, or fully committing to my 20 step skin care routine. All I want to do is watch “Eastbound and Down’ and pull off my dead toenails. Three down, two to go.
I did have the energy to make this cauliflower sandwich bread, which made five tasty sandwiches. The bread is good, and dare I say…has a cheesy flavour.
Cauliflower Cheese Bread
1 head cauliflower blitzed into small pieces
100g ground almonds
1/2-3/4 tsp salt
1/2 tsp onion powder
2 TBS nutritional yeast *optional
4 eggs (lightly beaten)eggs
Heat oven to 200C/400F.
Line a baking tray with parchment paper.
Mix together the cauliflower, ground almonds, salt, onion powder, and nutritional yeast.
Make a well in the centre and add the eggs.
Mix together to form a dough.
Spread on the dough on the baking sheet and cook for 20-25 minutes.
Allow to cool before removing the parchment paper and slicing into bread pieces.
Today, I’d like to talk about cold sores. Otherwise known as “fever blisters” (by people who are in denial that they have cold sores), or “facial herpes” (as my niece keeps reminding me).
Until two blissful years ago, I was a sack of poop who would say something along the lines of, “Gosh, I’ve never had one of those before.” to anyone expressing discomfort at the moistly pulsating scabs on their lips. Then, I experienced my first cold sore. The virus must have certainly been there awhile…buried and dormant, like Angelina Jolie’s painfully thin Russian sleeper cell character from the movie “Salt.” And like the movie, my cold sore sucked something fierce.
It troubled me. Every conversation I had, whether it was with a family member or total stranger, revolved around my rebirth as a person with a finicky, yet virulent, and contagious facial virus.
“I have a cold sore,” I’d start, making eye contact, hoping they could see beyond my weeping disfigurement through to the same, emotionally-stunted and insecure person I’d always been.
“I have a COLD SORE.” I’d add, again, when they invariably steered the conversation away from my cold sore.
When all else failed, I’d fire out the question I really wanted to know; “Do you still love me?” (Which was mostly aimed at siblings and ex-boyfriends.)
Surprisingly, most people did not want to be drawn into the drama of discussing my HSV Type 1. I mean, nobody wanted my face anywhere near them, but they treated it as a temporary disturbance. On the faux pas scale of “full blown Ayn Rand obsession” to “spinach in the teeth,” the cold sore ranked closer to spinach. Mostly, people want to talk about themselves, or ride the bus in peace.
Anyway, I have another one. I confided to one of my sisters the plan to share my not so secret secret with the three people who read this blog. She told me, in no uncertain terms, that I should absolutely NOT write about my cold sore on a food blog. She also said that I was still an attractive person who did not need people knowing all this junk about me.
So…you still love me, right sis?
Without further ado, here’s a recipe for Gochujang
Gochujang (Korean Hot Pepper Paste)
This stuff is great on any meat or vegetable, as a marinade, or mixed with mayo for a delicious dip.
It is a probiotic, which helps with gut health, which may help bolster the immune system of those with AIDS or cold sores.
1 cup water
3 TBS brown sugar
1/3 cup korean chilli pepper powder
3/4 cup miso
3/4 TBS salt
1 tsp rice vinegar
Sterilise a jar.
Mix water and sugar over a low heat until the sugar is dissolved.
Add the chilli powder and blitz with a stick mixer if you desire a finer texture.
I can’t decide where I want to be, and it is something I’ve been struggling with for a while. I think I’m coming to realise that wherever I am is not the place for me. Which is awesome. I think I might move, because 1 in 3 road accidents happen within a mile of home.
Years ago a friend of a friend asked me, “Where would you prefer to live, the US or the UK?”
“Well,” I told him, “I’d like spend my time between the two.”
“In the middle of the Atlantic Ocean, then?” He asked, with an expression only a 24 year old named Percy can pull off…self-satisfied, and with a mouth set like a butthole.
Really, what a dickhead, but so, so funny.
Now, I’m back in limbo. I had a great time in Buffalo. Mostly, I ate like the bulimic character in Meridith Baxter Birney’s Lifetime movie, “Kate’s Secret,” but without the purging. But, of course, there was more to it.
The US has my sisters, friends who accept chicken wing eating challenges, parents, and the early summer scenery that keeps “Little Pink Houses” on a constant loop in my head. The UK has my kitchen, …is London, and has a seven and a half mile park I can run around in complete safety. It’s awesome, but adds a touch of Cowslip’s Warren to my soul. (Sorry, I can’t help but reference “Watership Down” when I’m blue.)
But, if you can’t be with the one you want, love the one you’re with. Right? At least geographically speaking. So, I’m going to love London to the max. Like, an all encompassing “make out for hours” and “sit on London’s face” kind of summer love. Then, I’ll see how we are by September.
Avocado Pesto
This was the first meal I made when I arrived back to the idyllic London suburb I now call home. I threw it over some rotisserie chicken and courgette/zucchini noodles.
Top with some parmesan. It’s good and keeps surprisingly well in the fridge.
2 avocados
1 1/2 cups Basil leaves
3-4 cloves garlic
1/3 cup toasted pinenuts
2 TBS lemon juice
1 tsp salt, or to taste
1/4 cup olive oil
Pulse all the ingredients except the olive oil in a food processor until finely chopped.
Add the olive oil, with the motor still running, until incorporated and creamy.
I have a dear friend called Clau…well, I’ll call her “ChiChi Meringue.” She’s 45 percent of the reason I come back to Buffalo to visit, and is 80 percent of the reason I want to move back permanently. We go way back. ChiChi rescued me from living with a girl whose cat pissed on my bed, and then tried to cover it up by pouring ammonia over the mattress.
The years I lived with her were the best of my life. We cracked each other up, smoked marlboro lights, drank enough amaretto sours to be constantly phlegmy, cooked food together, and had opposite tastes in men. In other words, bliss.
There were, of course, a few bumps along our road.
Like the time we had a heated argument at four in the morning where I accused her of pulling a knife on me. Really, she was only making a tasty sandwich.
Then, there was the time I walked home from The Old Pink, drunk out of my mind. Along the way I picked up a stray cat. I believed the cat and I needed a fresh new beginning that could only be accomplished as team. ChiChi said “NO” to the cat, and I left him on the porch, miles from the life he had known.
And of course, arguing about something, (can’t remember what) where I punished her, (but mostly myself) by inexplicably sleeping in our clawfoot tub.
Wow. Seeing it in writing, I’m an absolute nightmare.
In honour of my beautiful, wonderful friend; here is her famous rice recipe. She’d make this when I’d be super sad after getting dumped by yet another man with frosted blond hair. So, at least twice a month for two years.
I’ve always wondered if I could just run a marathon. Like, get up out of bed, go to the starting line, and run 26.2 miles. On May 29th 2016, I was given the opportunity to satisfy my curiosity. Yes, I can mostly run a marathon. To be precise, I can jog 17.5 miles, and then bow-leggedly amble the rest of the way like a forlorn sasquatch seeking a mate.
A while back I wrote about how I had begun marathon training. And I did train. I completed my long runs, short runs, tempo runs, and endurance-building weights sessions. I had some injuries, but I also had a physiotherapist who looked like a young Ernst Hemingway. Twice a month he adjusted my pelvis and attached electrical suction cups to various parts of my body, turning up the voltage as high as it could go. Honestly, I felt on top of the world.
But, other parts of my life crept in and made me sad. So, I took it out on the Buffalo Marathon. I quit. Not running became the protest of my unhappiness. I refused to train. I made kimchi and fed water kefir grains. I felt very sorry for myself.
Yet, on race day, there I was at the starting line, unawares of how I had gotten there…like a politician who wakes, covered in blood, alongside a dead prostitute. Since I was there, I figured I’d jog a little. A very long story short, I put one swollen foot in front of the other and crossed the finish line almost SIX HOURS later.
I’m proud of myself in the way idiots who survive boxing a deer or lighting their farts on fire are proud of themselves. I’m so stupid, but I’m still here. I got a medal too.
Hot Chocolate for Idiots
*This is from my favorite cookbook, Many Hands Cooking-An International Cookbook for Girls and Boys. Because it’s geared towards children, it is also useful for adults who make stupid decisions and fuck up a lot.
I arrived in Buffalo late on Wednesday. I had every intention of eating as I have been…i.e., like a human being who doesn’t hate herself. But please allow me to jump to Friday.
What I Ate on Friday
1/4 homemade Danish puff and five cups of coffee with cream.
Three sour cream Timbits donuts, and a small coffee with cream from Tim Hortons.
A plate of 49’ers with two slices of thick bacon, and 1/4 of my mother’s leftover raspberry waffle from The Original Pancake House.
Two hamburgers (without the buns because I’m being super healthy) with cheese, bacon, and avocado alongside a five-inch oven-baked egg roll.
Vanilla soft serve sundae with hot fudge, whipped cream, and nuts.
There was other stuff too, but I blacked out and can’t remember.
I won’t lie. It was awesome. I feel like absolute shit, but I’m owning it.
All I have for you today is how to cook bacon in the oven. You may think this is a cop-out, and it is, but it is still a useful skill.
Oven Baked Bacon
Preheat the oven to 400f/200c.
Go get some bacon and put it on a greased, foil-lined baking tray.
Cook for 15-20 minutes, but start checking on it after 12 minutes.
Drain on a paper towel-lined plate.
It lasts for a week in the refrigerator and three months in the freezer.
Keep the fat if you’re a disgusting human being.
*I feel embarrassed posting “American Girl,” but I’m doing it anyway. I like the song. It moves me. And it is not my fault there is no rocky/bluesy/hint-of-country anthem for dual-nationality middle-aged women.
Next week’s post will be about how crack is pretty good stuff. The week after that will be a tutorial on giving handjobs for quick cash.
I’ve been taking my time traveling down the paleo/primal/sugar-free route. All in all, it has been nearly three years of denial, attempts to recreate foods I used to enjoy, resignation, and timid implementation. Then, last month I read Mark Sisson’s “Primal Blueprint.” One month in, and I’m doing well. I feel good. I thought I’d miraculously be able to fit into my senior year homecoming dress, but realised that was a super creepy aspiration. Like, why would I try to recreate the body I had at the most awkward and sexless point of my life?
Anyway.
The General Guidelines:
Diet: Meats, fats and vegetables. I’m eating moderate amounts of lower-fructose fruits such as berries. I’m avoiding potatoes, rice, grains, corn, and any other high starch foods. No gluten or sugar. The only oils I use are coconut, avocado, macadamia and olive. I stay away from the rest. I eat NUTS in moderation. Mostly macadamia. Any dairy I have is either super fatty or probiotic. But, I think I might try to eliminate it for a time to punish myself.
Exercise: Two weight sessions. One intense 30 minute session, and a quick 10 minute, less taxing session. I walk as much as I can, and aim for one two-hour hike a week. One sprint workout. Just 8 or 10, 15-30 second bursts as quickly as possible.
I”m trying channel my mealtimes into a 9am-6pm window. It helps to pretend I’m a Gremlin.
That’s it. And I occasionally have a couple glasses of prosecco to convince people I’m still the drunk and slutty friend they can feel good about comparing themselves to. Eating this way is a big change that is not always easy or convenient, but for the first time, perhaps ever, I’m not constantly obsessed with food. I don’t feel like my world is about to end if dinner takes an extra half-hour to get on the table. Actually, that’s a lie, but my moods are calmer and my thoughts are clearer. I’m still a neurotic mess, but just a tiny bit less so.
I want to make it clear that this is working for me, but you need to do what feels right for you. Just like some people give birth in their bathtubs, and some people give birth in hospitals; both groups are insufferable know-it-alls. I’m a complete weirdo when it comes to food, but I believe there is no “right” to be a freak. I just enjoy sharing my journey and hearing about yours. Do what makes you feel great.
Chicken Zucchini Carbonara
This is a recipe I made up. I’m not bragging. I once made a huge batch of jerusalem artichoke soup that gave me terrible wind. The problem was that I had put £12 pounds of seafood in there and felt obligated to eat it. It was a harrowing four days. So, I choose to celebrate my triumphs. This gem is a win that almost makes up for smelling like a rhino for the better part of a week.
3-4 spiralised zucchini
1 TBS coconut oil or fat of your choice
4 slices of bacon
A few mushrooms, chopped *optional
2 cloves garlic chopped
2 TBS very finely chopped red onion
2 cups leftover cooked chicken, chopped
2 egg yolks
1 TBS Gochujang *optional (I make my own and will include a recipe next week.) I think it adds a nice savoury and spicy flavour.
1/2 cup heavy cream
1/2 cup grated parmesan cheese, plus extra for topping.
salt and pepper to taste
Melt the coconut oil and fry the bacon until nice and crisp. Drain the bacon on a paper towel. Chop, and set aside for later.
Make the carbonara sauce by whisking he egg yolks, cream, and gochujang. Stir in the parmesan cheese. Add some salt and pepper. I don’t know the exact amounts. Do it your way, baby!
Keep the oil heated and cook the mushrooms down, if using. Add the garlic and red onion and cook until nicely browned and softened, but not burnt.
Add the chicken, and heat through.
Add the zucchini noodles and cook for a few minutes, until any water released by the noodles is evaporated away, and the noodles are to your liking.
Lower the heat and add the cream sauce. Cook for a minute or two. Add half the bacon and give it a nice stir.
Dish out and top with bacon and extra cheese. Add seasoning as you see fit.
The Lunchadora 