ReDetox: Day Four (or: Palms and Coconuts)

I went to visit my Katie this evening, and it was the sort of visit that has no aim beyond being together.  As such, we went a'wandering the streets of Portland, soaking up the lingering rays of sun as they gave a final dazzle to glass storefronts, and keeping an eye out any adventure that might present itself.

We were not disappointed.

Psychic! declared the sign.  Katie looked at it, then at me, one expressive eyebrow raised.

"Why not?" I said.  "We've always said we were going to go to one, and we never, ever have."

So we make our way into the building, and a Brand New Experience.

Katie goes first, so I sit in the lobby, creating doodles and flipping through a book on back health.  About twenty minutes later she comes out, and it's my turn.

All I've signed up for is the basic palm-reading.  I read my own tarot cards, and I know I will not be able to keep my mouth shut if she tries to tell me something they're not actually saying.  I may be skeptical, but I have enough sense of fun (and hope) to go in with a playful spirit.  At the very least I'm hoping to be wowed by her powers of subtle observation.

Alas, it is not to be.  Even though I gamely feed her plenty of information about myself for her to turn into mystical revelations, she sticks with the basics- and they feel like rote basics, at that.  The only time she seems to go off the prompts cards playing on her eyelids is when she tells me that I will be a mother- to two healthy babies, no less.  (Query: can I get my money back when I hit menopause if I'm still child-free?)

Afterwards Katie and I head over to the Blue Moon to compare notes on our fate.  We laugh hysterically over the aspects that we have word-for-word in common, and agree that we'd make much better psychics than that.

Anyway.

I had lamb burgers on butter lettuce for dinner tonight, and for dessert I tried my hand at making coconut butter.

It's hard to make a jar of white stuff look like... anything other than a jar of white stuff.

It's mighty tasty on it's own, but I also dipped a strawberry in it (really good), and then got crazy and dipped a carrot in it (even better).  Next time I may try Melissa Joulwan's recipe.

ReDetox: Day Three (or: Porcupining the Monkey)

I had my very first experience with an acupuncture this afternoon, and I have to say, I'm a fan.  Even if there's nothing to Qi and meridians, I sure as hell got a great nap out of it.  A nap full of needles, but a restful nap, nonetheless.  The amount of ink adorning my skin might lead you to infer that I do not have any sort of needle-related hang-ups, and you'd be correct.  As such it was more interesting than freaky, especially marking how the needles felt different in different locations.  Most of the placements felt like a) nothing at all or b) a tiny pinch and then nothing at all.  The needle in my right index finger, however, sent a jolt of electricity- like a static shock- through the digit (it did the same thing upon removal).  The needle in my right wrist actually hurt a great deal, and she had to nudge it twice before it faded into the same non-awareness as the rest of the needles.  Then she placed one between my brows, and while it didn't hurt, exactly, I was quite aware of it.  The one in my hairline, however, was fine.

"Wow, my abdomen is so warm!" I marveled after she placed four needles into it.  I hadn't expected such dramatically immediate results.

"That's because I have a heater pointed towards it." I could hear the smile in her voice, and we both started giggling.

She let me be for a bit, so I could start getting into the relaxation groove, but of course my brain would not shut up (I'd left my phone and wallet, at the office and home, respectively, so I had plenty to be anxious about).  She came back in to check on me and said, "How are you doing?"

"Just trying to quiet my monkey mind," I said.

"Oh!  Here, this should help," and she put two more needles in my feet.

Sure enough, it helped.

Witchery.

Eventually I drifted off to sleep, waking twice to the soft gong that was sounding, and then when she came back into the room to de-needle me.  The first one she removed was the one between my brows, which startled me because I'd forgotten it was there.  So now we know that I am, in fact, capable of forgetting that I have about three inches of stainless steel wire poking out of my face.

Anyway.

Nathan grilled up some pork tenderloin for dinner...

Medallions!

and then I had a baked yam with coconut oil and cinnamon!

How did I live before coconut oil?

Technically the yam was supposed to be part of my dinner (and therefore done in a savory manner) but it took way longer than anticipated, so I just made it dessert.

ReDetox: Day Two (or: Sweet is as Sweet Does)

Tonight's dinner was pork chops with apples and shallots.  It had its origins in this recipe, with only a few little tweaks to make it detox-friendly (their book, by the way, is definitely worth the investment).

I sliced up two apples nice and thin, along with a nice fat shallot, and then I sautéed 'em up on medium-high in about five tablespoons of coconut oil, until the apples started to soften.

WARNING: this will start smelling heavenly in a shockingly short amount of time

While that was going on I dumped a bunch of cinnamon (and only a little bit of salt) on the pork chops, and rubbed 'em up right.  Once the apple/shallot mix was done I put it aside in a bowl (using a slotted spoon so as to leave the apple/shallot infused oil) and plunked down the meat to sear for about two minutes on each side.

Actually this step smells pretty awesome, too.

Once searing was achieved I added 1/4 cup water, brought to a simmer, then dumped the apples and shallots back on top, reduced the heat to medium, covered and let it do it's thang for about eight minutes.

Why you gotta' deprive me of my smells, lid?

And then?  We ate it alllll up!

Man, it almost ended up being just plain ol' "pork chops and shallots", because I could not stop eating the apples!  Sautéing them brought out such an incredible sweetness that I couldn't help but feel like I was doing something incredibly naughty by having them for dinner.

Tomorrow is day three.  Day three is, in my experience, when I start to get Cranky about detoxing.  Here's hoping I break that pattern...

ReDetox: Day One (or: Man, I'm Getting So Good at Starting Over)

Yes indeedy, it's that time again- time for me to take all the naughty things out of my diet in an attempt to reset my system back to "not painful".  I've made my meal plan for the month (although, like the first time, I am only committing to three weeks) and I'm psychically girded.  Speaking of the first time, I'm following the same guidelines (minus the gross powder) and cutting out All Things Inflammation Causing (since that is what's causing me so much pain right now).  I'm not sure what it was that I over-indulged (I'm leaning toward dairy or eggs or perhaps even pineapple), but in a few weeks it will be out of my system and I can start fresh.

It's amazing how much my diet has changed since that first detox- for example, I am definitely hard-core carnivore these days, to the point where I don't even really need to report what I have for breakfast each day because nine times out of ten?  It's bacon.  And my lunch?  Is leftovers from the night before.  Which means that primarily my "meal planning" consists of "dinner planning, and it is that, therefore, that I will share in the coming weeks (after this initial one, because you don't know what I had for dinner last night, after all...)

Breakfast: bacon
Snack: apples
Lunch: leftover roasted chicken and Brussels sprouts
Dinner: hash

Open wide!

Of course, "hash" doesn't tell you much, so allow me to describe how we do hash.

First you cube one sweet potato and one yam (thus neatly side-stepping the whole, "Which is which?" debate)...

I recommend using a handsome kitchen aid...

...as well as an onion (or a half- really this meal sort of comes down to "what do we have on hand right now?).  Heat some coconut oil in a dutch oven (or, you know, whatever- I used about three tablespoons this time around) and then saute the fauxtatoes for about six minutes.  Add the onions and some minced garlic (I cheated and used the jar stuff- about a teaspoon), and throw some spices on that business.  Today I used salt, black pepper, lots of cinnamon, a dash of nutmeg, plenty of cumin, and some allspice.  Feel free to add spicier stuff (chili powder, cayenne) if you're not avoiding nightshades.

Add "dutch oven" to my list of Favorite Kitchen Tools, whydon'tcha?

Saute until the onions start to go translucent (say three minutes?), then take a moment to chop up your ground beef, because that makes your life much easier, promise:

It's not NECESSARY to leave bits of onion on the knife, but it makes me feel like a rebel...

Toss it in!  Brown it up!  Once you're nearly all brown, reduce heat to about medium, cover...

True Science Fact: food tastes better when cooked in attractive pots.

...and let that business cook for about fifteen minutes or until fauxtatoes are soft, stirring occasionally.  Serve warm and scarf it up!  Sometimes, if I'm feeling bold, I'll serve it over a bed of nummy spaghetti squash, but tonight was more about laziness than boldness, so we just ate it straight.

It doesn't hurt to serve it in attractive bowls, either.

 But this is the proof that being lazy doesn't have to mean forgoing delicious!

GuitAlong Girl

We're on our way home from a hike, and we make a stop at the music store.

"I need some polish," he explains, and while I'm sure he does, I also know perfectly well what happens whenever we "make a quick stop" at a music store.

As expected, he makes a beeline for the guitars (with a brief detour to the banjos), and I amble along slowly after, admiring the many instruments that I will never play.  Once upon a long lost time I played cello, but... long ago and far away, and all that.  I also did my time on the recorder, like all good primary school children do, and I even spent a year on the piano.

And, of course, there are the many, many times I've attempted to learn guitar.

My father played.  My father was a wonderful guitarist, to the point where he ruined me for all those high school boys who thought they could play.  And my father bought me a student guitar, and started teaching me to play when I was about twelve...

...and then my father died, when I was thirteen.

Needless to say, I did not learn to play the guitar from my father.

Other males tried to teach me, bless them, my husband most recent amongst them.  He's attempted to teach me at least twice, and more likely three times, displaying great patience each time.  And each time I've... not given up, precisely, because that implies a decision being made.  Petered out, more like.

And always, always, I have felt Incomplete for my lack of guitar playing.  I have a list of things that I believe I should be able to do, to be the woman I envision myself being; most of those things I can and do do, but tied for first place amongst the "Not Yet There" items is playing the guitar (tied, if you were curious, with speaking Spanish beyond the level of a particularly slow two-year-old).  That being said, it's been almost two years since the last time I attempted it.

I join him in the room with the guitars, where he is making a surprisingly robust sound come out of an incongruously petite guitar.

"Try this," he says, handing it to me.  "I think you'll like the feel of it."

And I do.  I do like the feel of this beautiful, beautiful instrument, resting so comfortably in my hands, so perfectly scaled for my own smaller size.  He points out the way the curve of the back amplifies and concentrates the vibration of the strings, the way the mahogany gives it a richer tone than the spruce.  And all I can do is clutch it, wanting so badly to make it sing, but being so utterly, utterly helpless to do so.

The salesman must recognize the look of desperation in my eyes, because he crouches down next to me.

"Would you like me to show you how to make a chord?"  His voice is gentle, understanding.  "I can teach you like I teach the little guys,"

"Yes please," I say.  "Teach me exactly like you teach the little guys."

So he shows me how to make "Spider Man" and "Tea Cup" (which rise up from the misty depths of my memory as E minor and A minor, respectively), and I joke that I am one chord away from being able to join a band.

But the dog is waiting in the car, and we must be on our way.  Nathan buys his polish, and we head home... but I cannot get the little guitar out of my head.

I start doing math.  I could buy the little guitar, it would only take about ten weeks of concentrated savings.  But then I correct my thinking- it's not the money I need for the purchase so much as the determination to justify it.  And so I say to myself,

"You can have the little guitar if you practice with the ones we already own, every day for ten weeks."

We begin that night, and Nathan is beside himself with glee.  This is his passion, and to share it with me animates him in a way that I rarely see.  I hope to make him proud.

I hope to make myself proud.

Practice Makes Perfect

Beesweet Salvation (or: Honey-Sweetened, Strawberry Flavored, Coconut Milk Ice Cream)

This is another post about Cravings.

About this time last year I fell off the primal wagon pretty hard.  My downfall?

Strawberries.

Okay, no not just strawberries, since strawberries are about as primal as it gets.  Specifically, strawberries in the form of Burgerville's Strawberry Milkshakes.  Aaaaand they are back in season again, so every time I pass a Burgerville I am full of resentful longing.

Which brings us to today, and my quest to give myself what I want without putting myself in a lot of pain.  The challenge?  Making ice cream without dairy or cane sugar.  As you know, I have already mastered the art of honey-sweetened ice cream, so today was really just about getting exotic with a can...

Kinky.

I'm calling this flavor "Beesweet Salvation" for two reasons: the first being that it is saving me from my own self-sabotaging ways, and the second is that my latest pair of pet missionaries happened to swing by tonight and I used them as guinea pigs (it was a good night for them- I let them read to me from their bible and pet my dog, and in return they let me feed them ice cream and fuss in an auntily manner.)

Now, on to the process!  The only real starting point I used for this one was my own previous attempts at ice cream, and in the end it looked a little something like this:

2 cans full fat coconut milk (apx 27 oz)

pinch of sea salt

2 tsp vanilla extract

6 egg yolks

1/4 c. local raw honey

2 pints fresh, ripe strawberries (more than you need, but if you’re like me you can’t work with strawberries without eating some [or a lot], so it works out just right)

I love paring knives.  Probably because they are so small and cute.

Hull and halve strawberries, put two heaping cups worth into food processor and puree (this comes out to a little over one cup).

Shake up those cans of coconut milk, then whisk together with the vanilla and sea salt until combined, then heat on medium, stirring occasionally until it hits a low simmer.  Remove from heat.

While milk is heating, whisk egg yolks in a bowl until they become pale, then whisk in honey.

Once the milk mixture is ready, have your kitchen-helper ladle in 1/3 cup at a time into eggs, while you keep up the whisking (more coordinated people may be able to do both at once: I cannot.)  Once about half the dairy mixture has been added, pour in the rest, then return to saucepan on medium-low heat.

Add strawberry puree.

 

Stir constantly until it passes the spoon test, then remove from heat and strain into medium bowl.

And then if you're me you EAT THOSE SEEDS IT'S LIKE PORRIDGE YOU GUYS!

Let sit at room temp for thirty minutes, then put in fridge for until the bottom of the bowl is cold (this takes about three hours in my fridge.  I used the time to finish reading When She Woke, which I thoroughly enjoyed and would definitely recommend to fans of socio-scifi)

Follow instructions on your ice-cream maker.

While custard is churning, cut enough strawberries into small chunks to equal a cup, and add to mixture after apx 15 minutes, and churn an additional 5-10 (again, that's just with my ice cream maker- yours may be different).

I love my orange KitchenAid.

The missionaries showed up just as it was finishing, so we all ate it fresh from the churn- but I still had enough to take a photo of the finished results:

Craving Satisfied!

It was definitely exactly what I needed, and I was pleased at how well the coconut milk worked out.  There was a slightly chalky after-texture, but all in all pretty darn good.  Of course, only time will tell how it fares after being frozen overnight...

Scratching an Itch

Every once in a while I get hit with Cravings: capital C, all italics Cravings.  Often it's for something I can't have because of the gluten content (Velveeta shells and cheese, oh dear stars...), but sometimes it's for something I shouldn't have, because of the cane sugar.  Earlier this week I had a craving of the latter sort, for a lemon meringue pie (going on the assumption that I had a GF crust, obviously).

Of course the truth behind my lemon meringue craving was actually a craving for the lemon curd.  I've always been sort of "meh" about pie crust, and have a similar disinterest in meringue, so really I was just jonesin' for some tart, tart curd.  And I thought to myself, "Surely I can make that without cane sugar.  Curd is basically custard, right**?  And I've made plenty of honey-sweetened custards..."

So I decided I would make myself some lemony goodness, just for me (because Nathan doesn't like tart/sour the way that I do), and it was the knowledge that I would be making it this afternoon which kept me from giving in to cheesecake cravings this morning (went with some friends to the Cheesecake Factory to celebrate them finishing up their events in the Spring Showdown).

I decided to start with this recipe, and of course make my own modifications (as I am wont to do).

Software:

Prepared

the juice from two large lemons (apx 1/2 c.)
3 medium eggs (farm fresh- thanks Bekah!)
1/2 c. raw honey (local and delicious!)
1/4 c unsalted butter (room temp and cubed)
the zest from three large lemons (apx 3 Tbsp)

Hardware:

lemon zester
sharp knife
cutting board
lemon juicer (I have one like this and I love it.  Best $5 ever.)
measuring cups
immersion mixer  (it is seriously one of my all-time favorite kitchen tools, you guys)
medium metal bowl
whisk
large pot of boiling water
oven mitt

Zesty!

First I zested the lemons, and then I juiced those suckers.  I put the eggs in a medium metal bowl and beat 'em using my lovely  immersion mixer on level one, then added the honey and slowly poured in the juice while mixing.  Then the butter and zest went in, and I kept on mixing until it was 'good enough' (kind of chunky, but since it was about to go over heat I wasn't worried).

Moved the metal bowl to the boiling water, and clamped on with one hand while whisking like a fiend with the other.

Whisky!

I kept whisking until it thickened, and then I whisked it a little longer because I like a good thick custard.  I mean curd.

And then came the hardest part- letting it cool in the fridge for two hours.  But eventually it was ready for taste-testing:

Sometimes we have to make our own spring sunshine in the PNW.

Sour Girl

And it perfectly satisfied the craving I'd been having.  Huzzay!  The best thing is that I wasn't able to eat more than about five spoonfuls, so I'll have plenty to enjoy throughout the week, whenever I feel in need of a tart treat.







**(sort of...)