Jambalaya Jamboree

I was craving something spicy and satisfying with this cold weather and was inspired to make something hearty and full of vegetables. I wanted to keep it low fat and vegetarian so as to not feel so guilty eating a big bowl of rice, that's why I used half brown and half long grain. I haven't been to New Orleans since 1998, but I always love New Orleans cuisine, so every once in a while I bust out with a good jambalaya or gumbo or red beans and rice to cure that craving. The Spartan is a veggie so I can't really throw in all the savory meats, but this version was just as tasty and hard to put down.

I also find it ironic I usually eat these wonderful bowls of goodness or write the recipe while watching "The Biggest Loser" or "The Last 10lbs Bootcamp". I really need to get back to the gym...but for now, enjoy.

Vegetarian Jambalaya


The Goods:
1 tablespoon olive oil (i used garlic infused)
1 medium onion, finely chopped
1 cup chopped green pepper
1 cup sliced mushrooms (fresh or canned)
1 small zucchini chopped
3 garlic cloves, minced
1 teaspoon olive oil
1 can of diced tomatoes (with liquid)
2 cups water
1 cup uncooked long grain rice/brown rice mixture
2 Trader Joe's vegetarian Italian sausage (you can substitute regular if you're a carnivore)
1 tablespoon minced fresh or dried parsley
1/4 teaspoon salt or celery salt
1/2 tablespoon Creole seasoning
1 teaspoon smoked paprika
1 bay leaf
1/8 teaspoon chili powder
1/8 teaspoon pepper
1/2 tsp of Gumbo file powder (you can find it in the grocery store)

The How-To:
In a large nonstick saucepan, saute the onion, green pepper, mushrooms and garlic until tender in the olive oil. Sprinkle with Creole seasoning. After a few minutes, stir in the tomatoes, water, rice mixture, parsley, salt, paprika, chili powder and pepper and zucchini. Add bay leaf.

Bring to a boil, cover, then simmer on low heat until rice is tender. Remove the bay leaf, season with file powder and serve with some chopped green onions if you'd like.

Peanut Noodle Delight

The weather is getting colder and I wanted something yummy and comforting--but not your average run of the mill comfort food. The Spartan had mentioned peanut ginger noodles the other day, and though it was too late that evening, I swore I would make it soon. Soon being, the very next day.

I boiled some udon noodles and set them aside. I sauteed some thinly sliced white onions, crushed red pepper, freshly grated ginger, garlic and cilantro (paste or fresh is fine) in some garlic olive oil and left it in the pan while I worked magic elsewhere.

For the sauce, in a bowl I had about 1/2 cup of warmed peanut butter (warmed in the microwave), 2 tbs of soy sauce, a sprinkling of sugar, 1/4 cup of hot water (play with the consistency, I added more here and there), more grated ginger, minced garlic, 2 tbs of toasted sesame oil. You can use spicy if you like as well.

Noodles alone do not a protein filled meal make, so I wanted to throw in some crunchy tofu. I chopped up some firm tofu, then threw it in a bowl with corn starch, gomasio (sesame seeds and sea salt mix), garlic powder, cayenne and ground black pepper to coat it. I fried it up in some veggie oil, drained it in a bowl and sprinkled some more gomasio on it, then set it aside.

I pretty much threw everything in a big pan in the end, the tofu last, and sprinkled some chopped green onions on top. It's best to serve it immediately so the tofu doesn't get soggy, or the noodles don't get sticky! It was a very satisfying meal indeed.

It's ok to not be your mother.

I haven't written in a long time (again) and for that, I apologize.

Days like rainstorms, minds like mud puddles and hearts like anvils weigh heavy on my chest lately.

I've been busy with work, family, and well, life. Sometimes life isn't so simple, no matter how mundane it may seem to the onlooker.

To most, I work, work out, grocery shop, hang out and sleep. Yet, in the in between times, I think. I rationalize. I compute and I try to forge ahead, road blocks and all.

I haven't had time for recipes, but if there are secrets for sanity, let 'em rip.

Work has had me in a tidal wave, awkward and unusual for my position, but I am happy to be busy.

My father had a heart attack a few weeks ago, so that has been where my mind is. In every tiny mental chamber you can think of-this life, that life, what if's and what I want...and somewhere in the middle of all that, I exist.

I have learned a lot about myself. What I need to survive, subsist on and move forward with. I have learned that free will is available to all human beings and well, free calories are not, but that is a different story. Everyone is capable of making their own decisions and choosing their own destiny.

I have learned that is ok, to NOT be your mother.

Many women struggle with that fact. Many women know off the bat that they do NOT want to be their mother. Many women idolize their mothers and spend their entire lives trying to just achieve a minimal sense of what presence their mothers held in other people's lives. I had been torn this way for many years, and am finally secure in thinking, it's ok to NOT grow up and reflect the person that gave birth to me. I am who I am, and I have taken what I can from my family, but they are not who I am now.

I left home when I was 18. I went off to college in Boston and made the most of it. I wasn't a wild child, even having been held back and under strict rule as a teenager, but an adult fully aware of her surroundings and the possibility around her. My mother was always afraid, while I was always thinking of far off adventures and challenges.

I believe I picked up my knack for cooking, nurturing, comfort food and off the cuff recipes from her. It must be in our genes to make amazing soups, chowders, comfort meals, or massive quantities of bad for the heart/good for the soul meals. There is a line drawn though, when it comes to other things-life things, that cannot fit neatly on a menu.

I was reminded of these other things, challenges and milestones while on my last trip home. My father had a heart attack, and as the sole breadwinner (my mother being the bread maker) it placed a lot of stress on the family. This fear, this lack of direction and impending doom looming in the future-scenarios without my father no one wants to think of, really put things into perspective.

When my grandmother died almost ten years ago, I flew in from LA to attend the funeral. I took care of business, condolences, food and greeted family members. I looked better than I had in years, and felt guilty for it, but was constantly told how "tough a broad I am" by my mother. As if , she didn't give birth to me and the energy stems from there...

My mother was always a tough woman while I was growing up. Family first, friendships later. She was a stay-at home-mother, who didn't work, but worked harder than anyone else in the family. Food was made, friends were fed, clothes were cleaned and ironed, and every fall, my brother and I got lectures and a new wardrobe. My mother never even took the time to get herself a new pair of glasses, sneakers, a hair cut or even a coat.

When I moved away, things changed. I had always been more headstrong, concerned with putting my best face forward and had bigger expectations for myself. I moved across country, cooked the meals I had eaten at home so many times and made them my own, earning kudos along the way from friends who also craved that comfort or sense of familiarity.

My mother is responsible for helping me create the perfect meatball. I would call my mother for tips, recipes, ideas and the like, but after a while, it was me who was offering suggestions and concocting new meals or surprises for guests who graced my dinner table. My mother was slowly slipping away, the connection we had, severed by distances and new technology and life changes. She still doesn't know how to program a VCR, refuses to see a doctor or make any effort to better herself. These things frighten me. Not just for myself, but for her, and there is nothing I can do about it.

And here we are, decades later--myself, older than she was when she first gave birth to me, and miles ahead of where she is in life now. Growing up is never easy, growing apart is sometimes inevitable, but growing into yourself is something that should be acknowledged and accepted.

Me and my father, circa 1982. I still rocked the bangs

Dangerous Curves Ahead

I was wading through the streets of San Francisco today on this unusually warm day. I was headed to the mall--horror of horrors-- in hopes of finding a few things I saw on sale last week before I got paid. One was still there (a cute clutch purse to traipse around town with), the other was not (a delightfully bluish/purple cheetah print cardigan-it was rockabilly and classy).

I had made the mistake of stepping into Ross, a discount shopping department store, for some dance accessories and/or an outfit for Vegas. The Spartan and I are planning to go to LV for a few days mid-September. And that time is rapidly approaching. In between work, taking care of business, the dog (who by the way is almost 20lbs, he's growing like his mother!) I have to find time to get myself together and try to look fabulous.

This is a tall order.

I find myself instead of being fabulous, going to the gym 4x a week, fake tanning my legs, looking up cheap teeth whitening strips, the best times for my waxer and when to get the right pedicure. This is a ridiculous amount of energy for a girl to feel attractive, but I do it.

I wandered Ross until I found the "Special" or "Social Occasion" dress section. Oo la la. Nothing like racks of ill suited fabric stretched beyond belief, tents on hangers or clothes made for Barbie dolls to mock me and make me want to trade burlap sacks for bikinis on any given day. I often forget the mantra I am supposed to whisper to myself now that I am a woman in my (pause) 30's: "You cannot buy clothes from the juniors section anymore."

But I want to! I want to look like Katy Perry in Vegas, sans a deck of cards for pasties or bejeweled cherry underpants. (Ok, maybe I do want the bedazzled underpants) I want to wear cute dresses and sparkle on a random Tuesday in the desert--and NOT have it be at Burning Man. I WANT to wipe that glitter off my face, damnit! Instead, it was the sweat that poured down my face I had to wipe after I got stuck in said Katy Perry wannabe dress I opted to try on.

I saw this gem, a green and black beauty of a party dress which made me think it's a blend of Katy Perry and Parker Posey from Party Girl that my alter ego would like to be. (Un?)Fortunately for the 3 of us, that won't be happening. Squeezing into the satin torture device, I could hear older Asian men wandering the dressing room hall (!!!) continually asking where the restrooms were. Just because it is a circus of fat I hide, the fitting room is not like a Chinatown Bazaar full of goodies and noise makers that you can stumble upon when I'm in there! Those are not firecrackers-that is me stepping on and breaking plastic hangers with my bare feet out of frustration! Get out!

It was hot in there. It smelled like sadness and moldy pantyhose. My choice dress looked so inviting though. It was short and vibrant. It was young. It was like, prom for those with no self respect, but I could pull it off. I got it on, but the reflection of my underbelly in the fluorescent light made me think twice before trying to zipper it. I should've thought again. Third times the charm, no? Right. Because I tried to zip it up.

I got it up to my chest, which was fighting it's way over the brim like a dam about to burst. It reminded me of that scene in Superman where poor Jimmy Olsen is hanging on for dear life as this huge wall of water was about to sweep him away. Except, it was the dress that was Jimmy, and I, this wall of...something. Definitely a force of nature, that I'm sure.

I zipped it up midway to my back, when suddenly, as if the heavens above wanted me zip locked and saran wrapped and vacuum-sealed forever, the combination of rising temperatures, children's voices in the stall over and the sweat rolling down my hemispheres, it trapped me.

I was trapped in a body that I did not want and a dress I could not fit into.

I fought with it for a while. I sat on the ground and tried to slide out of it. Had there been a pull-up bar in the dressing room (maybe there should be) I would have pulled myself taut enough to gracefully shimmy out of the dress. These were dreams though, dizzying hallucinations, for they were getting me nowhere, but more frustrated and more plump than a Ball Park Frank. I toyed around with the idea of asking my neighbor to help me. Do I walk outside and ask for help? Or do I transform into a raven-haired She-Hulk and just rip the damn thing off? They'll never know, it's Ross for chrissakes.

I huffed, and I puffed, and I pulled that thing down. It didn't budge.

I sucked my breath in, I turned the dress around but that zipper was stuck, almost eating itself with teeth that apparently wanted to change direction on me. Finally, after some yoga moves and perfecting the art of elongating myself as much as I could, I was free.

I threw the dress down. It sat there on the ground, looking like the aftermath of something that could've, should've been so much more fun, on another day, but instead it just slumped over. It looked defeated... like me.

I gathered up my clothes and dignity and put it back on the hanger. I can't pretend that body acceptance is easy, but its days like this make me want to wear stretchy pants forever.

Oh wait, I already do.

Obsessed with Food?

I haven't been updating my blog a lot lately. I'm not quite sure why, but I'm sure there are a ton of demons in my closet and/or fridge that are preventing me from doing so. Perhaps it is out of laziness, but methinks not. It's not like I have stopped cooking, as you can tell from the assortment of goodies below produced over the last few weeks-er-months that I have not been documenting it at all here.

Sometimes I am accused of being obsessed with food. Maybe I am. Maybe I shop more at grocery stores than I do clothing stores. Maybe it's my self image I am obsessed with, yet do nothing more about it than a few hours of cardio to fight it. I do a lot of fighting with myself. I play top chef on Facebook, posting photos of lunches, dinners, reviews of meals had or made and what does it really provide me? Fill me in if you know. But I know I'm not alone.

There's a million things that make people happy. Everyone is different. I like making people happy, and I do so sometimes with food. I say sometimes, because I do have other skills and talents other than boiling water or chopping broccoli. Sure, I've been known to be the "meatball gal", but since dating a vegetarian, that really doesn't fly so well in the house kitchen. Trust me, if I can make the veggie meatball that doesn't taste like processed mushroom/shoebox/glue stick/and sage, from scratch, I'll let you know. And I will be famous for it.

Does this mean I'm always happy cooking food? No. I sometimes revel and sometimes I have to rally just to pick up a utensil. I am plagued with guilt with most meals, but we'll save the emotional eater discussion for a later date. Sometimes, I get a real sense of accomplishment from creating something with my own two hands...and pans.

I've always wanted to go to culinary school, but never could afford it. I can remember living in LA looking up schools so feverishly, wondering if I should just move back East and go to NY or RI for the culinary education I desired. It never happened. Of course as I left Hollywood, a cooking school opened up less than a mile away on Sunset Blvd. (shakes fists) I even looked up schools in SF and Napa when I moved up north. I just couldn't justify the horrors of a kitchen and the awful pay behind it once all the classes were done. Honestly, I never wanted to work in a restaurant. I just wanted to cook.

I take classes here and there and study the Food Network with a ferocity that I only wish would follow suit with the gym. If I paid attention to what went in my mouth, rather than my shopping cart, I may be about 20 lbs lighter. That being said, I have changed my diet for the better over the past few years and taken a healthier, gangsta lean. Our bodies are all different, and while some can switch off a craving, a menu plan or dietary habit at the drop of a hat, I can't. I admit I lack the discipline because my desire outweighs it. Maybe that's why I stopped writing, because I started to feel guilty about sharing what I know as joy and talent, which can be perceived as a weakness to others.

I'm no master chef, nor do I pretend to be. I have a sincere passion to learn and create or even recreate healthy, tasty dishes. I'm not your mom, but I've been told I sometimes cook better than she does. I don't have a niche, since I can cook for myself, I can cook for vegetarians and you'd be surprised how easy it is to make something vegan and not want to lick your own shoe instead. What I like to think I excel in is making people feel at home. Satiating a need for comfort, nourishment and maybe show that it's not so hard to do it yourself. I'm a Cancer, what can I say.

I think it's a daily struggle to find out what you like to do, what you like in yourself and how to pull all that together. Then again, maybe it's just me. I've just noticed a lot of people retreating back to their roots or creating new ones with food. It's in our media, our social networks, lives, jobs etc...a true binder for many individuals. I recognize that, and I recognize it's also not for everyone.

It's just a part of me, but not all of me.

Proof that I have been creating:
(recipes to come later)

Homemade Cinnamon Raisin Bread

Kapusta- an old Russian/Polish Fave

Crunchy Tofu with Yellow Curry

Fava Beans, Spinach and Porcini Sage Butter

Crustless spinach, mushroom, basil and tomato quiche

Mango Mango Mango

When I was just a wee babe in San Francisco, i had the pleasure of dining out for Thai on Haight Street at Siam Lotus in the Haight for dinner one night. Little did I know, this mango loving experience would set a precedent for all Thai outings afterwar.

Allow me to introduce to you, my mango thai shrimp soba noodle delight:



This recipe really is simple. It includes green tea soba noodles, chopped mango, scallions, crushed garlic and shrimp. Basically, just cook the noodles according to package, and saute the other ingredients in a pan with some olive oil and crushed red pepper if you want kick. Throw it on top of the noodles, and eat!

Monday Monday

The weekend goes by all too quickly. My allergies have been at an all time high and I woke up in the middle of the night sans pants with the Spartan's old man hat next to me. Did I do a striking rendition of "You Can Leave Your Hat On" and not remember it? I think it's time to put down the wine for a bit...

I feel a tiny bit of sickness creeping in, but I'm hoping it's just allergies. I'd like to stay in this week and just sleep and eat healthy food. It's time for another detox I think.

I've got my new hair in full effect but no new pant size. Meh. I envisioned the day I went all crazy color cool with the hair I'd be able to wear some of my skinny jeans too, so that bums me out.

I subscribe to Self magazine's email newsletter and they usually have great recipes during the week. I think I'll make this one sometime soon.

Avocado-Mango Chicken

Ingredients

* 1/4 cup Worcestershire sauce
* 1 tablespoon soy sauce
* 2 teaspoons adobo sauce (from canned chipotle chiles)
* 2 limes
* 4 boneless, skinless chicken breasts (4 oz each)
* 1 large mango, coarsely chopped
* 1 tablespoon finely chopped cilantro
* 1 tablespoon finely chopped onion
* 2 tablespoons sea salt
* 4 white-corn tortillas

Preparation

Mix Worcestershire, soy and adobo sauces with juice from 1 of the limes in a bowl. Place chicken in a sealable plastic bag and pour in marinade. Refrigerate 30 minutes. Heat oven to 350 degrees. Combine mango, avocado, cilantro, onion, salt and juice from remaining lime in a bowl, then refrigerate. Transfer chicken and marinade to a baking dish and cook until tender and no longer pink, approximately 20 minutes. Remove chicken from oven, place each breast on a plate and top with 1/4 of salsa. Serve with 1 tortilla each.

Mango mango mango. Mmm.

The babbling of bacon

I've been making turkey bacon as of late, and I must say, I really don't love it. I now it's heart healthy and less fat, less sodium, and well, less bacon. It's dry, it makes me sad and I'm tempted to just eat the Morning Star veggie variety...but that doesn't go well with the cobb salad I made for lunch. Sometimes you have to take the sh*t with the sunshine I guess.

In other news, I've decided to give my hair a makeover this Saturday. It's been so long since I've been pampered, regarding the follicles that is. I think hair knows when it's about to go to the chopping board. It starts acting all cute and coy again and soft and falls just so. Oh, nevermind the past 8 weeks of tangles and flatness and downright homely vibe I've been giving off, this week my hair knows what's coming. It's like a significant other or a child who knows they are in trouble for something, and well, they better shape up fast or cover their tracks in hopes of not getting punished. Too bad for you my fine, lame friend. Your look is over.

I've been a redheaded heathen for years...years I say! It's become a part of me, my character, hell, even my burlesque name, Scarlett Fever. Tomorrow I'll be embarking on a journey back to myself with some not so natural highlights. Think, crayola red. I may end up looking like a pale goth girl, a wannabe hipster, or a runaway from the Donnas, but change is good. Then again, look how I felt about the bacon.

At least I'm not crazy enough to wear a bacon bra though. That's just nasty.



But I would still like to try Baconaise.

Ride 'em Cowboy

Alright, so that sounds a little dirty, but who cares.
This post goes out to my salad buddies at Mixt Greens in SF. Sometimes they let me down, sometimes they give me a glorious afternoon culinary orgasm that makes me full til dinner. Today's was, the "Cowboy" salad.



How come when I make my salads, they never look like this? The Cowboy comes with: romaine hearts, herb marinated grilled chicken, roasted red peppers, black beans, sharp cheddar, red onion, point reyes blue cheese dressing with a chipotle honey drizzle--although I substitute the ranch for blue cheese...tummy no likey.

Being Earth Week and all, I figured I'd patronize the tasty and classy Mixt Greens for their "Eco-Gourmet" and organic wonder. It's not something I can do everyday though...a girl's got to budget.

In other news, I worked out this morning BEFORE work (I'll wait for you to pick up whatever you dropped or stop screaming and clapping)...

So I worked out this morning and it felt good. The hardest part is just getting out of bed. Allergies are a real buzz kill when you're up an hour earlier than you need to be (5am), so waking up at 6:15 wasn't easy. I pushed snooze til 630, got dressed in my sweaty finest and left the house. Pros of leaving earlier include less traffic to dodge and avoiding death on bicycle, more seats on BART, and less people at the gym! Who would've thought!?

I worked out for about an hour and indulged in a low carb breakfast burrito for my post workout protein meal. I'm tempted to go to yoga tonight, but that's just being crazy.

A protein sandwich

I had to post this tonight, as I found so much joy in it. It was even funnier when the Spartan actually suggested it first. "Here, take a picture of my creation so you can make fun of me on your blog". How could I resist? May I introduce to you, the open faced protein sandwich:


It's not pretty, but the Spartan was proud. In light of my recent Atkins fail, he told me this was his version of an Atkins meal. It's simply two fake chicken breasts (Quorn again), avocado, bbq sauce and cheese. Truthfully, the bbq sauce makes it not so carb low, heh. I'd be happy using meat for buns any day. Now that just sounds filthy.

That is all.

Earth Day!

Happy Earth Day, folks. I've been gone a few but I'm back, trying to regain momentum in the social networking/blogosphere.

I've started to get a little greener myself, and knowing my love for salads and lettuce, here's a quick little article from Epicurious.com showcasing a visual guide to salad greens. How puurrty.

It's not secret that I have a brown thumb. In fact, anything I try to grow usually dies within a month or so, no matter how easy or popular it is to grow. I've tried to grow herbs, I've tried to plant poppies, I've even tried to keep an already grown basil plant in my kitchen...and all seem to leave this world very soon. My latest adventure though? Tomato plants. A few planties and some sweet basil were brought to the backyard this weekend. We'll see how they are doing in this heat wave, and if my treasured tomatoes can actually come from the yard instead of Trader Joes from now on. How exciting!