The problem with eating really clean is finding and drawing and enforcing the line between Yay, Good for You AND Good for the Planet! and Okay, You’re Kind of Nuts. It’s such a slippery slope. It’s so easy to go overboard. I buy organic produce because I don’t like the idea of chemicals on my apples. Fine. But then, what about other foods? What about my meat? So now I’m buying organic, free-range, hormone-free chicken. Okay, but what about my bread? It’s whole-wheat, but it does have sugar and preservatives, so now I’m buying artisan 100% whole-wheat bread. But what about when we eat out, who knows what’s in it? Best not to eat out, I’ll bring my own meals everywhere I go. Nothing processed because there’s always some mystery ingredients, so out goes sausage, string cheese, crackers, pretzels, juice. Did you hear they bathe baby carrots in chemicals to keep them fresh? And suddenly I’m that person who only eats spinach I grew myself and is talking about buying a goat.
It’s so hard, if you justify caring about one aspect of healthful eating, to find that place where you have to stop caring about it and actually, like, live and eat like a normal person.
I think I might talk about this too much, so skip if you want, but, you know, it’s my blog and I’ll navel-gaze if I want to. Deal.
I am still kind of boggled by the change I’ve gone through in the past year. I used to eat macaroni & cheese - like, blue box style, also Velveeta. Velveeta. - at least twice a week. Often more. With added cheese. Exercise was hoisting some brown liquor to my face, exercise was walking up the stairs to my apartment because I was too drunk to work the elevator.
And tonight I ran 5 miles at an under-10-minute pace, then had quinoa for dinner. And made kale chips for my lunch tomorrow. Kale chips! And I think they’re delicious! I want to eat them right now! Who is this person and what has she done with Fattyass McCheese?
YES. PLEASE. NOW. THANK YOU.
I don’t experiment with weird ingredients or unfamiliar methods. I’m a child of hard-working suburban parents whose favorite dinner is, to this day, roasted chicken, boiled rice, and salad with iceberg lettuce. I stick to simple stuff.
But I just tossed some cauliflower in olive oil, sea salt, and fresh rosemary and then roasted it in a hot oven and holy shit, you guys. Nothing in the world could be better.
There’s nothing like fresh food, perfectly seasoned, cooked simply.
But just know that I basically had a religious experience tonight. I’m a changed woman.
And I WANT IT NOW.
There’s no food in my house but any minute now, onions and mushrooms and zucchini and spinach and goat cheese and almond butter and couscous and greek yogurt and apples and strawberries and peaches and I’M HUNGRY GODDAMMIT.
As with so many of my culinary adventures, she ain’t pretty, but she sure is tasty.
Lemon sage panko-crusted turkey breast. (With garlic parmesan sauteed spinach.)
I’m sure I’m not the only one who has experienced this phenomenon, but the dinners that I’ve meticulously prepared, with complicated recipes and French names and fancy ingredients, rarely turn out as toe-curlingly good as the dishes I think up at the gym or in the meat aisle at the grocery store and throw together without any real idea how they’re going to turn out.
This phenomenon, part 1000: Shrimp and zucchini sauteed with garlic and a very generous amount of red pepper, served over brown rice with a healthy sprinkling of fresh parsley. Simple as fuck, but incredibly delicious.
It may not be pretty, but holy fuck it was delicious.
Garlic turkey burger with balsamic caramelized onions, baby spinach, and feta cheese.