an alien named Santa part two

Santa the alien is still fascinated by my slippers when I suggest he come inside.
"Is your spaceship on wheels?" I ask.
"No, it's a hover craft," he replies.
"So...no wheels?" I just want him to move it out of the front yard so no one sees it.
He looks at me as if I'm an idiot. "It hovers," he emphasizes, "Get it? Why would I need something as archaic as wheels?"
I shake my head and show him where the garage is. After he moves his ship into the bay, he joins me at the door to my apartment. "You're not one of those weird ass scientists that wants to give me a lobotomy and sell my body parts on the black market, right?" he asks.
My raised eyebrows and bulging eyes seem to answer correctly. He steps inside.
"Whoa! What is that?" Santa yells.
My cat, Dragon, seems to be thinking the same thing. She arches her back and tries to make herself as large as possible. Fur standing on end, sideways scuttle, never breaking her gaze with Santa. Frodo is somewhere near Mordor no doubt because I don't see him anywhere. Toast is already licking one of Santa's green legs. I swear, dogs are the most accepting creatures on earth.
"Don't worry, that's just my cat and dog. They won't hurt you."
"What are they doing here?"
"They're my pets."
"What are pets?"
"Companion animals that live with you."
Santa shakes his head, but doesn't reply. Obviously they don't have pets on his planet.
"Nice tree," he says, gesturing towards our Christmas tree.
"Thanks," I reply.
"Where's the menorah?"
"The what?"
"You know, the candle holder thingy that you light. Isn't that for Jesus's birthday? Or it that just Santa taking over again?"
I take a moment to process the question, then ask, "How do you know about Hanukkah?"
"Do I really need to explain it again?" he asks. "The letters, of course."
"But they're written to Santa and..."
"And...?"
"And that's a different religion and holiday all together!"
"Well, don't look at me. You humans are the ones with the strange holidays that make no sense."
Instead of arguing otherwise, I offer Santa some tea, and we sit on the couch.
"So...what's Hanukkah?"
I sigh so loudly that Santa cracks a smile. He doesn't have lips, or teeth for that matter, but I guess you just know a smile when you see one, alien or not.
"It's a holiday that Jewish people celebrate for eight days in December."
"Where are the Jewish people from?"
"All over, but they believe in God and the ten commandments and all that."
"Like the Christians?"
"Yea, but they don't believe in the whole Jesus-born-on-Christmas-day thing."
"What does Jesus think about it?"
"I don't know. I mean, he might not think about it at all, if they're right."
"You mean, the whole thing about Christmas that you told me hasn't been proven?"
"No."
"Then how come everyone celebrates Christmas?"
"It's called a belief for a reason," I smirk.
"Something tells me that you don't agree with it."
"Not at all. Who doesn't love presents and eggnog?"
"Oh, I get it. You're on Santa's side."
I laugh. This alien is funnier than I thought.
"So what do the Jewish people think?"
"That a guy like Jesus is going to come."
"When?"
"I don't know."
Santa and I sip our tea for a few moments in silence.
"You still haven't answered my question about Hanukkah," Santa points out.
"Oh, right. So on a particular day, you light one candle on the menorah, and the following seven days, you continue to light a candle until all eight of the candles are burning."
"Why?"
"To signify the importance of oil."
"What, for fuel? Isn't that what you still use?"
I find myself becoming sidetracked, but resist the urge to ask Santa what his spaceship runs on.
"No, for purifying the Jewish temple."
"Wouldn't oil burn it down? Why not use an antibacterial cleanser?"
"They didn't have cleanser back then. It was a long time ago."
"I don't understand."
My head is spinning at this point, and I barely understand what I'm saying either.
"So a bunch of Greeks took over the Jews and told them to worship their Gods. The Jews didn't want to and they eventually killed all of the Greeks..."
"Gods? I thought there was only one?"
"Some think there are more than one, some don't," I reply. "Anyway, afterwards, they thought their temple was defiled by the Greeks and wanted to purify it, so they lit a menorah, then realized they were almost out."
"Of what, oil?"
"Yup."
"Bummer."
"But it didn't matter because their one day's worth of oil lasted eight nights anyway. Hence celebrating the oil."
"Oh, I guess I get it. I still would've used cleanser, but whatever. So that's it?"
"Well, no," I sigh, "there's more..."
Images of menorahs and bald headed men wearing very small hats float through my head; children eating latkes and chocolate coins while singing "dreidel, dreidel", mothers wrapping presents in blue and silver paper with the star of david all over it, pickled herring and other gross looking foods labeled with the symbol K, Adam Sandler's "chanukah song", and a lot of strange sounding expressions that require a throaty delivery that leave everyone covered in little globules of spit.
Santa senses my hesitation.
"What I don't understand is, where does Santa fit into this whole oil cleansing thing?"
"He doesn't. He has nothing to do with it," I say.
"And yet, it's right there. In my letters. Santa this, Santa that..."
"So Jewish kids are sending you letters?"
"Yup. Always asking for eight presents. Freaking Santa..." he grumbles.
"Well, Hanukkah has become a lot more Christmas-y lately."
"I thought they weren't related?"
"They aren't, but it's the same month and all of the Jewish kids were jealous of the Christian kids because they get all these gifts on Christmas. So now the Jewish kids get eight gifts, one for each night of lighting the menorah."
"Which proves my point again. Santa taking over a holiday that isn't his..."
"You just don't like him because you get all of his mail," I remind him.
Santa grunts something unintelligible and shoots a menacing glare at Frodo, who has just realized that there is an alien in our apartment. He puts the ring on his paw and disappears...

an alien named Santa part one

8:31 am. A man with a hammer begins to hit nails into the side of my apartment. Naturally, I remain calm and go outside to see why the $%&*#^@ he's doing that at 8:31 in the morning. Yes, I know it's monday and most people are already at their junior investment banker jobs, but some people (namely, the unemployed and chefs) have mondays off.
8:35 am. I am standing in the driveway with my slippers on (moose rowing in canoes, stolen from my brother-in-law), trying to generate the most disgruntled expression I possibly can, when something amazing happens...
A spaceship lands in the grass below my porch. Yup, right in the area where Toast likes to take her morning dumps. I turn to the hammer man, but he's already run away. I consider doing the same, but the spaceship isn't very big and besides, three of my unicorn friends spent the night and I know they will fight to the death. No big deal.
Moments later, a door opens with that star wars-ish breaking of a seal sound, smoke billows out of the capsule, and a small alien walks out. He's green, of course, and has those tube-like antenna jutting out of the top of his head (it's amazing how right we've been about describing what aliens look like). He has a bit of a gut (too much freeze-dried ice cream? I wonder with a chuckle), and he's holding a pile of what looks like mail, wrapped in twine. He looks down at my slippers curiously.
"They're not mine, I swear."
"Reindeer?"
"What? Oh, the slippers- no those are moose."
"What's moose?"
"Similar to a reindeer, but..." What the hell is the difference? I ask myself. Nothing comes to mind except an obvious cliche. "Reindeer pull Santa's sleigh and moose don't." (I can't believe I just said that to an alien).
"Santa has a sleigh?"
"Er- yea," I reply, bewildered that he understands me, "how do you know who Santa is?"
"I keep getting all of his mail."
I make a what-the-hell-are-you-talking-about expression. He understands that, too.
"The problem is, my name is Santa too, so I get a lot of his mail every year- always during December, which is kind of bizarre, you know? And I'm not going to lie, I have read a few of the letters."
"And?"
"And they're also totally bizarre...A bunch of poorly scribbled notes asking for strange things for something called christmas."
A pause.
"What the hell is christmas?" the alien asked.
 A flurry of images runs through my head: a fat, bearded white guy in a red suit, women wearing ornament bauble earrings, pine trees on rooftops of cars, miniature nativity scenes with hay, wise men, and baby J, eggnog, presents, and really really bad music.
"Um, it's kind of hard to explain," I reply nervously.
"It can't be as hard as me trying to explain this to my family." He gestures to the pack of letters.
"Ok, well, it's a holiday that we celebrate on the 25th of December."
"What are you celebrating?"
"Technically, the birth of Jesus Christ."
"Who's Jesus? Is that Santa?"
"No, Santa is the guy who delivers all the presents in his sleigh with reindeer who can fly."
Another pause.
"So Santa works for Jesus?"
"No, not really."
"Does he give presents to everyone?"
"Only those who have been nice."
"As opposed to what?"
"Naughty." (I can't believe I just said that).
Santa the alien looks at my moose slippers again. "Who's Jesus?"
"You know what reindeer are, but you've never heard of Jesus?"
"All of my information on your planet comes from those weird letters addressed to Santa."
"Some people believe that he is the savior of the world, the son of God, the Christ in CHRISTmas, and they worship him."
"Where does he live?"
"We killed him a long time ago, but he's not really human, so many believe that he's just living somewhere else, waiting for the right time to return as our savior."
"Does he live with Santa? Are they close friends?"
"No, I don't think so."
"What's with all of the pine trees getting chopped down and decorated?"
"That's where Santa puts all of the presents."
"Oh. Does Jesus have a tree with presents under it?"
"No, he's not into that."
"But the holiday is named after him, right?"
"Yea, but Santa has kind of taken over."
"What an asshole."
"No, he's a pretty good guy."
"He's a fat slob and he's taken over Jesus's birthday party. Not to mention I have to deal with his mail."
"Yea, sorry about that."
"You earthlings are strange."
He's staring at my slippers again.

leaf blowers & men / nutty granola bars

It's a cool, cloudy morning. I've got a cup of steaming hot tea, three passed out pets, and an empty apartment. In a word: heaven. I sit down at the computer, open up my laptop, and take a satisfying stretch before delving into fantasy land, when I hear the most obnoxious sound...
A leaf blower.
Not only is a leaf blower one of the loudest machines I've ever heard, it's also the most useless. People seem to use these odd contraptions to collect the fall leaves from their lawns (translation: hot air blasts out of smelly machine and blows leaves in every direction). And then? Oh, that's simple, you place your pile of leaves into trash bags and put them at the end of your driveway because then your lawn will be perfect again and the neighbors won't judge you. Plus, it gives you a sense of "I am the ruler of this castle and with my bare hands I shall rid it of all evil (translation: leaves)". Ok, so maybe this is more of a guy reaction because frankly, I don't see why you can't just leave the leaves (no pun intended) on the ground. Perhaps it's more of a "man and his machine" syndrome, otherwise known as the urge to lift heavy objects made of metal, gas, and lava that make absurdly loud noises and do manly things like blow, cut, slice, dig, and screw. It also helps if the machine has a hose, saw, or spiky things shaped like...(let's just say- pickles or the Washington Monument). Extreme weather conditions, a midlife crisis, and alcohol will make these machines even more exciting. Because there's nothing quite like a good snow plowing in the middle of a blizzard or mowing the lawn after a bottle of wine or powerwashing the garage after buying that Harley you always wanted. Upon finishing such herculean tasks, a man may enter the kitchen victorious, smelling of gas, sweat and blood. He may have lost some good men out there, but the mission was clear, and he had to see it through. His expression looks like a combination of "the few, the proud, the marines" and John Wayne. He might as well be wearing chaps and saying something like, "courage is being scared to death, but saddling up anyway". This is the time when you must notice his battle wounds (translation: miscalculation of branch height on lawnmower due to alcohol consumption = small cut on forehead) with a level of concern bordering hysteria. "It's just a scratch," he replies, his voice a full octave lower than usual. He is a man and men don't feel pain.
Solution? Bring out your tweezers, and pluck one hair out of his back. It's bliss I tell you, pure bliss...

When you're out on your horse, and there's no time to visit the saloon for a whiskey and some meat, what are you supposed to eat? A nutty granola bar of course! These little guys are easy to make and will fill you with energy when your out on the plains looking for the Indians who stole your cousin, and will make old John jealous (he's only got a piece of dried up jerky).

Nutty Granola Bars

1 cup raw almonds (soaked for an hour = pour water over almonds and let sit, then discard water)
1 cup dates, pitted & any variety (soaked for an hour)
1/2 cup roasted, unsweetened peanut butter (I use Santa Cruz Organic creamy peanut butter)
1/2 cup unsweetened, shredded coconut (I use Let's Do Organic unsweetened coconut)
1/2 cup sprouted buckwheat grouts OR finely chopped raw almonds
2 T sesame seeds
1/3 cup ground flax seed meal
2 T raw honey
2 T virgin coconut oil (I use spectrum organic or Dr. Bronner's organic)
1 T vanilla extract
1 T + ground cinnamon

In a food processor, process dates and almonds until crumbly, not pureed.
Transfer to a mixing bowl and add all other ingredients, combine, and press into a glass baking dish or dish or your choice. That's it! Serves ten sleepy unicorns in the wild west.

thanksgiving / mashed cinnamon ginger sweet potatoes

I find it amusing / scary how quickly the real meaning of this holiday has changed, and let's be honest, how many of us really know the history behind Thanksgiving?
When I think of Thanksgiving, I envision pilgrims with buckle shoes and ridiculous hats gathering around wooden tables with a bunch of natives with headdresses, celebrating their most genuine "friendship" by feasting on a giant dead bird (with cranberry sauce and grandma's pumpkin pie, obviously). However, because I'm highly educated, I know that this is a gross misconception of a holiday that has nothing to do with a dead turkey and everything to do with William Bradford (the badass governor of the 1620 American colony) proclaiming that all his puritan buddies should gather together and thank God for helping them thrive in America...
But let's be honest, this is not interesting at all...
Turkey day (as I like to call it) is a time for families to come together and eat and drink as much as humanly possible, fall into a trytophan-induced coma, then wake up the next day and act like raving lunatics as they shop from 5am onwards to get the best deals on crap they probably don't need.
When I was in fourth grade, we dressed up like pilgrims and sang songs with the "native americans" (fifth graders) about peace and corn and turkeys...then we cut out a giant paper turkey and offered it to the natives (fifth graders), which they happily accepted with "thanks". This was followed by a feast in the auditorium with our teachers and all I kept thinking (between mouthfuls of mashed potatoes) is how much I wanted to be a native (because they had cooler outfits and got to make their own walking sticks). A plump pilgrim nudged me in the ribs and said, "why did the turkey sit on the tomahawk?" I said I didn't know. "To hatchet." A blank stare. "Get it? Hatch-it?" Oh, right, I mumbled. Needless to say, it wasn't until high school that I realized the sweet old puritans weren't so "pure" after all...
"Wait, so they were escaping persecution from King James I and came to America so they could be socialists and practice their own religion?"
Yea, apparently, I said. But then all the indians died from disease and-
"Dude, you can't say indians!?!" 
Oh, forgive me. We butchered the Native Americans, then became a capitalist society and thrived. God bless America...
"Jesus."
I know, right? He's caused us more problems...

So, what do I celebrate during Thanksgiving? Being with my family...because there's nothing better. Nothing. 
Well, except perhaps mashed ginger cinnamon sweet potatoes! This is a simple recipe that's a perfect addition to your Thanksgiving spread.

Mashed Ginger Cinnamon Sweet Potatoes

2 large sweet potatoes, peeled and chopped
1 large yellow onion, peeled and chopped
2 carrots, peeled and chopped
1/3 cup coconut milk
2 T ginger pulp (= peeled and grated ginger root)
1 cinnamon stick
1 bay leaf
salt and pepper to taste

In a large pot, add potatoes, carrots, bay leaf, cinnamon stick, and onion and fill with enough water to just cover the vegetables. Bring to a boil and cover, then reduce heat and simmer until veggies are tender, about 20 minutes. Strain water out and remove bay leaf, then season with salt and add ginger pulp and coconut milk. Use an immersion blender or food processor to puree until creamy and smooth. Serves 6 unicorns disguised as pilgrims.

no power / asian ginger noodle soup

After ranting on about how hysterical people are about the weather, I'm feeling rather humbled. A Nor'easter in October is all I needed to realize why those nutters (translation: Americans) buy so much bottled water whenever there's a storm prediction. And speaking of no power, it's amazing how different your life suddenly becomes when you don't have it anymore...
Day 1: When it first goes off, it's kind of exciting in that "hey, this is an adventure" kind of way. You grab a flashlight and pull out all of your candles, then tell the unicorns that they're not allowed to open the refrigerator door (or any door for that matter) unless absolutely necessary. "We have to keep it cold," you say with authority, "and we need to keep the house warm". Then you converse about the last time you lost power and make predictions for when it's going to come back on. Ten minutes later, you're already missing it...
It's 4:30pm and dark, there's no internet, no TV, no music, no comforting droll of running machines, and you realize that being a pioneer isn't fun at all. There is only one thing you can really do: read. Reading is fun when you want to read, but not when you have to read. It's like when you're at school and your professor tells you that you have to read fifty pages of a book. You instantly feel like reading anything other than the book assigned (and it doesn't help when the book is Chaucer's Canterybury Tales...let's just say that middle english didn't last for a reason). Luckily, there's an old issue of Us magazine with Brangelina and her brood on the cover...
Another hour passes. Then another. Then it's dinner time. You decide to eat all of the perishable food first (translation: one big-ass salad), but it's so dark out now that you can barely see the knife while cutting vegetables...
Another hour passes, and you think, "is it too early to go to bed?" You look at your phone and it says 8:05, so you reorganize a bookshelf. Then you pile the magazines on your coffee table by date, oldest on the bottom, newest on the top. Then you play a game of checkers with your unicorn friend. And then you give up and go upstairs.
Day 2: You wake up to the sound of a distant generator, and look out your window at your neighbor's house. It's lit up like a christmas tree and you decide that you never really liked them anyway. Outside, it looks like a war zone and a branch is lying over your car. "Great," you mumble as you walk down the stairs. Suddenly, a cold gust of wind blows into your face; you reach the kitchen and find a branch lying through one of the windows. This is about the time when you let out one of those high-pitched crazy person laughs and your unicorn friend looks at you with concern.
Day 3: The house is 50 degrees, the refrigerator smells, and you've developed a cold. The best part of the day is when you win a game of Words with Friends on your iphone.
Day 4: You've finally broken down and have begun reading a book, while dressed in a puffer coat and wearing two pairs of socks. Your hair is in a braid, a dog is in your lap, a candle burns on the table beside you, and you suddenly realize that you really are Laura Ingalls from A Little House on the Prairie. 
Day 5: You spend half of the day trying to move a paperclip after reading a short book on telekinesis.
Day 6: Your unicorn friend wakes you up after you fall asleep with a half eaten can of beans in your hand. You mumble something unintelligible and fall back asleep.
Day 7: The most glorious, stupendous, unimaginable feeling of joy washes over you when you hear the noise of a machine. "Ssshhh!" you yell at the unicorn, "Do you hear that?" He perks his ears forward and nods his furry head. Then you see a light on in the kitchen. It's too good to be true. You leap and twirl in the air like a madman and feel positively euphoric as you do the laundry and dishes...
Day 8: internet and cable still don't work and the bliss of having hot water, heat and light is already wearing off. Simple creatures with simple needs? I think not...

Since I've been cold for about a week, I'm craving something warm and comforting. Solution? Asian ginger noodle soup. This is like mom's chicken noodle soup, minus the dead bird. Ginger is anti-fungal and anti-inflammatory, and a great thing to eat when feeling a little under the weather or nauseated. The best part? This takes less than 30 minutes from prep to finish.

Asian Ginger Noodle Soup
4 scallions, chopped
1 package or 2 cups shiitake mushrooms, sliced
1 heaping tablespoon of peeled and grated ginger (I use a microplane grater)
2 cups (1/2 bunch) of collards, stems removed and sliced into thin ribbons
1/4 cup mirin (I use Eden brand)
2 cups stock (or water) + 1 cup water
1 large handful of thin brown rice noodles (I use Annie Chung's)
1 can navy beans (or bean of choice) (I use Eden Organic...no bisphenol-A in lining!)
1 T + shoyu or tamari (naturally brewed soy sauces)
2 tsp. brown rice vinegar
A few shakes of Gomasio as a topping, optional (Gomasio is a delectable combination of sesame seeds and sea salt that is absolutely delicious! I use Eden's garlic gomasio)

In a soup pot, heat oil and add scallions and ginger. Cook a few minutes, then add mushrooms and collards. Deglaze with mirin and allow to bubble for a few minutes, then add stock or water + additional water, cover with a lid, and bring up to a boil. Once boiling, add noodles and cook until soft, about 2 minutes, then reduce heat to low, add beans and allow to simmer, partially covered for a few more minutes. Season with rice vinegar and shoyu, then serve in bowls with gomasio sprinkled on top. Serves 3 unicorns suffering from Vampire Diaries withdrawal...

halloween

Halloween is a strange holiday. Actually, it isn't even a holiday; it's an excuse to dress like a hooker and eat lots of sugar, all in the name of ??? Yea...weird. The reason I'm hating on halloween is because I had no plans so it's convenient to pull the "I didn't want to participate" line.
Halloween has always been a bit of a crapshoot in our family. When we were little, halloween always seemed to sneak up on us so quickly that we were left with 24 hours to come up with a costume. This usually limited our options to clothing already in our house (translation: mom and dad's clothes & some reject costumes from earlier years). My mom's favorite last minute costume? Gypsy. Going as a gypsy was easy because all we had to do was wear lots of ratty looking clothing and wear too much makeup. But after more than 3 appearances as a gypsy...we had to draw the line. Second place outfit? The infamous black cat. Black outfit (teenager = miniskirt, make-up, heels & the obligatory angst, innocent child = Laura Ashley jumper, mary janes, and furry gloves), a set of black, pointy ears and black eyeliner whiskers on your cheeks. Third place outfit? Witch. I pulled this one a lot, but I never had black robes so I just wore one of my mom's black dresses and put on the crooked pointy hat that was always stuffed in our "dress up" chest. The dress up chest was full of the most fabulously random things: grass skirts, hot pink tutus, a witch's hat, a bizarre unitard with a sewn on squirrel tail (it was for the play Chicken Little. I was a squirrel, which wasn't a character in the play, but after they cast me as a daisy, I asked if I could be a squirrel instead. I only had 1 line so they didn't care if I was a rodent or a flower), a red cape with faux white fur fringe (when needing to be a king naturally), several sparkling crowns (worn by us and regrettably, by our dogs), and a beautiful egyptian head piece that we always wanted to wear but never had the right outfit for. We tried doing the whole "trick-or-treating in your own neighborhood" thing, but the houses were too spread out, so our mom drove us from house to house and needless to say, many of the doors we knocked on either never opened or opened to a very shocked resident (and it wasn't because of our smashing costumes). We eventually started doing trick-or-treating with our friends in more populated areas, which was great. But the funny thing is, you collect all this candy, go home, stuff your face, and feel totally nuts for the rest of the night and wake up the next morning to find your candy stash mysteriously missing...You ask your mom and she looks down at you with that deceitful innocence as she makes you some breakfast and then quickly changes the subject or says something like, "didn't you eat it all?"
No, you say to yourself, I most certainly did not, and I was fully intending to go crazy again tonight and dress up as an egyptian king and sing songs from The Sound of Music at the top of my lungs! (this is about the time you realize why your mother would do such a horrible thing to you)...

apartment charm / Rawesome Brownies

Hy husband and I (and Dragon and Toast and Frodo and all of the unicorns...) live in an apartment. Let's just say it's cozy (translation: pet hair is part of my daily protein intake). Actually, I read somewhere that there are crazy cat ladies and dog people who collect their pet's fur and--yes, literally knit themselves sweaters and other clothing out of it. Umm...I already think it's freaky how much pet owners look like their furry companions without dressing and smelling like them too. Zolts). Anyway, our apartment is on the first floor of an old house. Yup, it's old in that charming New England way, complete with rusted sideboard heaters, rotting wood in the bathroom, and closets from the 1800's. What I want to know is, how can a person actually fit all of their clothing in one of these tissue-box sized closets? My husband can't even have his clothing in our bedroom because there's no place to put it, so his stuff is in the "guest room" (translation: office / ironing board / dog crate / musical instrument room, and yes, we have an inflatable mattress for guests...).
The rotting piece of wood in the bathroom drives me crazy. I asked our landlord to fix it about a hundred times, but he suffers from the "sweet but dumb" syndrome and somehow I always end up feeling guilty when I ask him to do something. He looks at me with that friendly, deer-in-headlights stare that says "I don't know what you're asking, but I like cookies". Needless to say, there is a piece of wood that falls out of the bathroom wall and onto the floor, revealing the lovely mold and paint chips and other niceties that one ought to have in a bathroom. I push the stupid piece of wood back into place again and again and again, but every time I return to the bathroom, it's fallen out again (not to mention Dragon plays with the paint chips...hopefully she doesn't eat them, although that would explain a lot).
We also have neighbors. The house is zoned for 2 apartments, but when we moved in there were 4; a wacko living in the garage, a perpetually drunk "carpenter" and his girlfriend in the basement, and an eccentric but friendly loner on the second floor (who gave us a card with a sailboat on it saying "welcome to the neighborhood"). The sailboat guy and the drunk have since moved out, but lucky for us, there's still the wacko in the garage. The landlord is in the middle of a lawsuit with this guy because he hasn't paid rent for over a year. He's got a mullet that would make Michael Bolton jealous, and he's got one of those bouncy walks...you know the ones where people never put weight on their heels? Yup, he's pretty awesome. Does he work? Well, apparently some old lady gives him $500 a week to "help her out" (translation: stealing an old lady's money is not cool). Every time I leave the apartment I check to make sure he's not outside (the problem? He's always at home...one of those annoying habits of the unemployed), because he always smiles and gives me one of those small talk one-liners like "beautiful day, isn't it?" or upon petting Toast, smiles at me with glistening eyes and says, "We rescue them, they rescue us, right?". I force a smile but all I really want to say is, "hey mullet man, why don't you get a job already and stop ripping that old lady off!"
For a while, I worried that we would get new neighbors of the same variety, but then a nice man from Greenwich Town Hall came to my door and asked how many apartments there were. I said "Four" and he said "Really?" and I said "Why?" and he said "It's only zoned for two".
Needless to say, we haven't seen anybody new since...


So I never eat dessert (yup, I'm perfect). It's partially due to my eternal hatred / fear of sugar, but also because of the way sweet things make me feel after I've eaten them: crazy, bug-eyed wildcat followed by something along the lines of a sluggish Eeyore. Solution? A kick-ass dessert without sugar, without wheat, and without baking?!? Yes, I'm giving you the recipe to RAW brownies, and let me tell you...they are so freaking good that you'll want to make them every day. And the best part? This recipe takes about 10 minutes to make. Go ahead and thank me for making your life better. 

Rawesome Brownies with Chocolate Frosting

2 cups raw pecans

2 cups fresh dates, seeds removed

1 cup unsweetened cocoa powder (I use Equal Exchange)

1 cup shredded, unsweetened coconut (I use Let’s Do Organic)

3 T raw agave

1 tsp sea salt

for frosting:

1 cup fresh dates

¼ cup unsweetened cocoa powder 

¼ cup virgin coconut oil

¾ cup water

For brownies, pulse pecans in a food processor until crumbled. Add dates and process until incorporated, then add the rest of the ingredients and process until mixed. Pour mixture into dish of choice and press down firmly. Top with frosting and refrigerate a little before serving. For the frosting, place all ingredients in a blender (I use a VitaMix and so should you). Blend on a slow speed and then increase, allowing mixture to blend until velvety and smooth. Top on brownies. Serves 12 unicorns in need of a sweet pick-me-up after another boring day of eating hay.

passport renewal part 2 / blueberry bliss smoothie

Last night I picked up our mail and was pleasantly surprised to see an envelope from the Department of State. Must be my new passport, right? After an evil post office woman, four hours, a $110 check, and yelling obscenities in the privacy of my car about the inefficiency of government run businesses, I was actually receiving my passport in a timely fashion. I nearly felt guilty for my previous post (see Passport Renewal), but then I opened the thick, manila envelope. New passport? Nope. It was my old passport, all of my filled out paperwork, and a fresh white letter telling me that my passport renewal had been denied. I looked in the envelope for the returned check. No luck; the bastards took my money anyway...and, on top of it all, they had the audacity to tell me in that my check amount was incorrect. I was supposed to send $135 dollars instead of $110 dollars. Super. So why had it been denied? Apparently I had already applied for a passport in 2003.
#$%*@#?! (translation: I am a little bit frustrated) because I sent them my old passport, marriage license, social security number, a hair sample, and even a unicorn friend to vouch for me...and they still turned me down (not to mention my unicorn had to be overnighted which was rather expensive).
Luckily, my husband's passport is up to date, so he just needs to renew his green card (he's from outer space!!!). Isn't it strange how they call non-citizens aliens? Every time I see his "legal alien" card I envision a purple, bug-eyed creature with antennae and sticky fingers like E.T.- not a cute englishman.
And speaking of aliens...Dragon (samwise gamgee) has been mewing all morning and staring at the ceiling as though a demon (no doubt invisible to the human eye) has infiltrated our apartment. I think it may have something to do with the fact that we removed the AC unit from our bedroom window. This is rather catastrophic (no pun intended) for a cat like Dragon. She lives in our apartment, every second of every day, and isn't allowed outside (for reasons I think you may be able to guess...she gets lost in open spaces, remember?). There was a large, grey object that made loud noises and now there isn't (translation: demons are in the apartment and she must alarm everyone to their presence). I also made the mistake of leaving the closet under the stairs (mordor) slightly ajar. Frodo went inside (naturally, because he's got to throw that ring into the fires of mount doom already!) and when Dragon approached the dark, menacingly entrance...she panicked. She could hear the crinkling of bags (translation: roar of mount doom's inferno), and feared for Frodo's life, so she pooped outside the litter box and has been running like a maniac around the apartment for the last ten minutes.
Needless to say, I've been slightly distracted and unable to edit my novel very much this morning. Solution? A raw smoothie to energize my spirits (and an excuse to turn on the blender and further confuse Dragon). Raw food used to scare me because I love cooked, hot, cozy food, and whenever I thought of the word raw I envisioned cold, gazpacho soup, goosebumps, a food dehydrator, and an unsatisfied stomach. But you know what? Raw food is pretty r-awesome. Yup, I just said rawesome...deal with it, haters.

Blueberry bliss smoothie

1 large banana, peel removed
1/2 cup frozen or fresh blueberries
1 cup soy milk (I use Edensoy Extra Original) or non-dairy milk of your choice
A few pinches of ground cinnamon
3-4 ice cubes
1/2 tsp raw agave, if desired (I think it's plenty sweet without agave. Bananas have a lot of natural sugar!)
**For a protein boost, I add a small scoop of hemp protein powder (I use Living Harvest Organic Hemp Protein...nothing but cold milled hemp!)

In a high speed blender, combine all ingredients and blend until smooth. Serve to two sluggish unicorns without passports.

weather & drama / tofu ricotta lasagna

You know how people always tell you that they "don't like drama"? They're lying. Everyone likes drama...it gives them something to talk about, worry about, obsess over, cry over and laugh about. Sure, we've got reality shows, but the funny thing is, it's usually the news and the weather channel that are the most entertaining...

The weatherperson stands before a neon map of the United States with a clicker and a bug-eyed expression of terror. "It's going to be a wet one out there today folks," he says while waving his hand over a green smudge in Connecticut, "expect flooding in some parts and power outages from the wind gusts". This is when you start to get excited and check to make sure that your flashlights have fresh batteries in them. "Gusts could be over 40 miles per hour". You lock all of the windows and check your pantry. Six cans of beans, some mustard, pasta sauce, brown rice, and a hundred other items. You realize that if this turns into as big of a storm as they're predicting, there's no way you'll be able to survive. You must go to the store and buy water (this is one of those strange human responses to any type of weather from a light rain to a full blown you-need-to-evacuate hurricane). "And the traffic is going to be a doozy too". Maybe you shouldn't go on the highway then? Although if it's windy, a tree might fall down, in which case the backroads would be more dangerous than traffic on the highway. Hmm...you'll have to wait and see. 

Several hours and three raindrops later, you go outside and look at the blue sky with disappointment. "Where's the storm?" you wonder. You were so excited to wear your new Hunter rain boots and North Face shell, but since you already called in from work, you throw your PJ's back on and put on the news. "Steve Jobs didn't have to die!" says the newsperson dramatically, with the same voice as the guy who does movie previews. Really? Was he murdered, given the wrong medication, or secretly still living on some tiny island in the caribbean? "He started his cancer treatment too late". Seriously? This is a news story? You pretend to want to turn off the news, but another headline catches your eye. It's about a missing baby (I swear they have one every week, and doesn't it always seems like the parents end up being guilty?). You see an adorable picture of the baby and start feeling emotional, but the next thing you know the newsperson is on to the next pressing headline: "What happened to Lindsay Lohan's teeth?" they announce. "Sources say that smoking cigarettes are to blame." Wow, I had no idea that cigarettes made your teeth yellow...what an astonishing breakthrough! After watching for 10 more minutes and learning about the recent shootings, you feel like the world is going to end and check the bolt lock on your front door. Solution? Put on Pride & Prejudice, snuggle with your pets on the couch, and allow yourself to get lost in Mr. Darcy's eyes...

And since you're staying in and watching a movie, why not whip up some lasagna for those unicorn friends that are stopping by later with a tazer gun and pepper spray? 

Growing up, lasagna was always my favorite dish. I remember one day at school, the teacher asked us to write down our favorite food. Most kids put down chocolate, cookies, hot dogs, or hamburgers, but not me...nope, I was the weirdo who put down lasagna (but it was spelled more like: lazanya). Hey, I was in third grade...give me a break.

Lasagna with Tofu Ricotta

1 package whole wheat lasagna noodles (I use Bionaturae)

1 large jar of Rao's marinara sauce, or marinara sauce of your choice

1 T extra virgin olive oil
1 large yellow onion, diced

3 garlic cloves, diced

1 package button mushrooms, diced

1-2 heads broccoli, finely chopped

salt & pepper to taste

*for tofu ricotta:

2 packages extra firm tofu (I use The Bridge) crumbled
4 T italian seasoning blend or Penzey's Sandwich Sprinkle (not sure why they call it this...weird)
1/4 cup + more nutritional yeast (in the bulk section of WF)
2 T + stock (I use Imagine No-Chicken stock)
2 T lemon juice
salt & pepper to taste

*a note about making the tofu ricotta...I've never really measured out these ingredients before, so I'm estimating for you, but taste as you go and see. It should taste salty, cheesy & herbalicious. If not, adjust accordingly.*

Preheat oven to 350. In a large pot, cook pasta noodles according to package directions. Drain noodles and rinse with cold water, then set aside in a bowl of cool water. In a saute pan, saute onions in olive oil until soft, then add garlic, mushrooms, broccoli and some salt. Cook until soft, just a few minutes. Take off stove and let cool. In a mixing bowl, combine crumbled tofu, seasoning, nutritional yeast, stock (use as much as you need to make a ricotta cheese consistency), and lemon juice. Take out a 9 x 12 baking dish (I use a cast iron or ceramic baking dish), and pour a thin layer of pasta sauce over the bottom of the pan. Now add one layer of cooked noodles, side by side over the sauce. Add half of the veggie mixture and half of the ricotta mixture and pat down lightly and evening over the noodles. Cover with a generous amount of pasta sauce, then repeat the process one more time. Top with a third layer of noodles, and pour the rest of your pasta sauce over top. Sprinkle with nutritional yeast for a cheesy top. Place in the oven and bake for 40 minutes. Remove from oven and allow to cool, then top with almesan sprinkles and pesto and serve to 6 nervous unicorns. 

Optional topping: Walnut pesto

1 cup loosely packed basil, washed and pulled off stems

1/2 cup raw walnuts, toasted (in oven at 350 for 10 minutes or until fragrant)

1 T fresh lemon juice

1 tsp miso (I use South River brown rice miso)

2 T extra virgin olive oil 

sea salt & pepper to taste 

process ingredients in food processor until just a little chunky...adjust seasonings to preference.

Optional topping: Almesan sprinkles (tastes better than parmesan!)

1/2 cup almonds, toasted (see above toasting procedure for walnuts)

1 tsp + lemon zest

sea salt to taste

process ingredients in food processor until crumbly and reminiscent of parmesan cheese...adjust seasoning to preference.

a cat named Daisy...

So my parent's have this cat named Daisy. She was born during the Industrial Revolution and has been known by many names including Fazer, Piss-wagon, Cro-magnon, and most recently, The Yowler. She's hyper thyroid (translation: perpetually starving, but doesn't like the new cat food...ever) and has feline dementia (translation: gets lost in open spaces & pees any damn place she wants to). She's old and she's earned it, I suppose, but the trouble is, whenever we have guests over, they wake up in the middle of the night nearly frightened to death upon hearing Daisy's yowling. The noise she makes is so unearthly that you would swear it was coming from some ghost in the night, some extraterrestrial terror...certainly not from a five pound tabby who's roaming the halls.
You turn the light on and wipe the sweat from your forehead, calming yourself down as you remember what they told you about the cat: "don't be alarmed if you hear strange noises at night...it's just the cat". Feeling better, you switch the light out and began to drift off into dreamland upon a unicorn, when suddenly, that horrible noise "woooowyaaaaooowww" is right beside you! You nearly jump straight out of bed, grasping a pillow between your arms that says "cats rule", and look down with trepidation at the ball of fur next to your bed. It's Daisy of course, but as it's 3am, she's taken on a whole new shape, and you begin to wonder if she's really just a cat or a phantom demon from the underworld who's come to destroy you. Needless to say, after disturbing nightmares involving a deranged "puss in boots" character who's trying to kill you with a catnip toy shaped like a fish, you stumble down to the kitchen and find your enemy passed out like a kitten on top of the stove. But you're not convinced of her innocence (not to mention alarmed by the fact that the cat is napping on the stovetop...my mom tells you that she just loves warm places and not to be scared of her. Besides, she added, she was about to take Daisy to the vet. Sick? you ask. "No, no...we're just going on vacation".
Now before you think, "gosh, this poor, ancient cat has to be subjected to a cage and torn from her house...what horrible people", let me enlighten you. The place Daisy goes to is a cat exclusive veterinary hospital complete with white columns, a fish tank, and new age music. For the bargain price of $38 dollars per day, Daisy gets to reside in a "cat condo". Yup, a floor to ceiling, multiple floored mecca with choice of views. "Does Daisy prefer a view of the road or a view of the woods?" a vet tech asks her. My mom thoughtfully considers this question and replies, "the woods, please". Needless to say, Daisy leapt into her swanky digs and didn't give my mom a second glance.
I told my husband about Daisy's luxe accommodations, and after a brief moment of silence, he announced to me that his upcoming golf trip to vegas was going to be cheaper than Daisy's stay at the cat condos...what can I say? The cat has style.

wine snobs

I like red wine.  A lot.  Pinot noir is my favorite varietal because of its effortless drinkability (no need to decant for half the day) and it's clean, fruit forward style.  Now, before you start ruffling your feathers and dropping big words like: mouthfeel, minerality, barnyard, and super tuscan, let me point out that most people who talk like they know about wine, know very little about wine (this statement can refer to most things actually).  You know the type, right?  You're trying to enjoy your $9 glass of pinot, and Grant Dimwitt III (the very same one from the cocktail party with the swanky pad in Manhattan and the free Yankees tickets) asks you what your favorite pinot noir is (with a horrible french accent).  You smile and get ready to respond to his question, but before you utter a single word he's already started telling you (and everyone else at the bar) about his close connection to the owner of Domaine de la Romanée-Conti ("you know, my buddy at DRC?").  He pauses for a moment to allow for the gasps and whispers of awe to transpire, then swirls his glass and becomes somber and nearly emotional as he describes a Sassicaia, a Screaming Eagle and a Grange as though reciting a Shakespearean sonnet: "No, it wasn't a true red, it was more of a medium ruby, a muddied blood, a purple-crushed velvet" (an insecure junior investment banker tries to hide his michelob ultra behind his briefcase).  "And the nose?  Like the dying embers of a long burning fire: smoke and cedar, with a touch of vanilla...at once muted and multidimensional" (you start seeing unicorns again and the bartender nods his head as though he fully understands how something can be both muted and multidimensional at the same time).  "The palate was lush and tasted of wet leaves after a November rain (this is about the time when you choke on your baguette and have the urge to ask this idiot how many times he's eaten wet leaves).  "A hint of white pepper, and the tannins firm and ripe, with a welcome taste of slate and raspberries, and an elegant finish" (a unicorn chugs the rest of the neglected michelob ultra and gives you a wink).  "It had the most decadent, velvety mouthfeel..." (was he still talking?).  The funny thing about guys like Grant is that they usually impress people, and I always find that rather baffling.  So what if you've googled the top ten wines of the world and have memorized Wine Spectator's tasting notes on all of them, anyone can do that...but only a Grant type will.  Many junior investment bankers will be impressed by his flashy suit, which he says was made custom for him by a small italian mill in Milan that no one has ever heard of (your unicorn friend lifts the jacket from the back of his chair with his teeth and shows you the label: Joseph A. Bank).  He gives a few dumbfounded suits his business card and leaves without paying the tab...

My current favorite?  Domaine Serene Evenstad Reserve pinot noir from Oregon.  Forget europe, drink some A-mur-ican wine already!  

how to open things / mushroom gravy

Have you ever noticed how difficult it is to open things?  So difficult in fact, that sometimes it seems like the manufacturers are purposefully trying to make it a challenge to get into whatever the product is, like a raccoon trying to open the lid to a garbage pail?  Take an aseptic carton of soy milk...narrow spout on top of package with even narrower flimsy piece of silver plastic, and you're supposed to open it by grabbing hold of a 1/2 inch piece of plastic that's about as wide as a paperclip?!?  Needless to say, unless you happen to be a midget or own a chimpanzee, there is almost no way you'll be successful at opening this container.  It will eventually open, of course, just not in the way the manufacturer hoped: a quick and satisfying stab with a knife will split that sucker right open, and even though the milk will pour out the wrong way and end up on your countertop instead of in your tea, you will have won the battle against the container...because that's all that really matters, right?  It's like opening a jar of pasta sauce.  You have to prepare yourself for the exertion, and even though there are hundreds of jars filled with edible things, it's always the damn pasta sauce jar that just doesn't want to open.  Sure, you can try the "tap, tap, tap" maneuver on the side of a countertop (which apparently allows air to escape the jar or something, but I'm fairly certain someone just made that up), or you can use a grippy thing to prevent your hands from slipping, or you can be mature about it and whack the top of the jar with a knife a thousand times while screaming obscenities, then hand it to your unicorn friend with a sarcastic grin (and feel better about your inability to open the jar as he hopelessly knocks it around with his hooves).  And what about chip bags?  This kind of packaging really irks me because it looks so simple: "grab either side of bag and open" or "tear here".  The first one is the worst because when you pull on either side of the bag, the pressure inside builds and you suddenly become nervous, and begin to doubt yourself ("is this bag going to explode?").  So you decide to flip the bag over and try the other end.  Same problem.  What usually ends up happening is you wimp out and grab a pair of scissors or you pretend to be tough and end up with chips all over you.  The "tear here" bag is significantly easier because when you follow the instructions (gasp!) it does actually open, but it usually tears a hole that starts at the top and goes directly down to the bottom of the bag so that all the chips fall out the side.  Hmm.  I recommend scissors in both cases.
Let's move on to my favorite kind of packaging...the old "pull and twist" tab that lies beneath countless screw off lids from lotions to ketchup to shampoo.  This devilish packaging never, and I mean never, opens.  The smallest film of plastic beckons you to fail as the harmless looking directions simply say "pull and twist".  After you manage to grab hold of the 1/8 inch long tab that's as thick as a strand of hair, you twist with your index finger and thumb...and find yourself holding nothing at all. Again, I recommend the knife solution here.  Do you see a pattern forming?  When you need to open something, grab a knife and a pair of scissors, let out a high-pitched "I've completely lost my mind" laugh, and bust into that damn package!
When I was in middle school, everyday at lunch we had to drink milk (this by itself is bizarre for reasons I will not go into at the moment).  They were served to us in mini paper cartons, and although we had small hands on our sides, we weren't rocket scientists.  "Peel glued together paper backwards, then somehow push forward into a spout shape and pour".  What?!? said the girl with the unicorn trapper-keeper.  Let's just say our success rate with these little guys was mediocre.  I usually opened the wrong end (why does it matter which end you open?) and the milk would splash out awkwardly and get all over my oshkosh b'gosh jumper (what was my mother thinking??).  Or I'd try to open both ends and neither one would miraculously turn into a perfect spout, and I'd end up with a large opening more conducive to slurping than sipping.  The worst part is, when you're a kid you can't just pull out a knife and stab your milk carton open (because that will mean that you're going to become a serial killer).  All I can say is, thank god I'm an adult now and can open packages however the hell I want...

I'm giving you a gravy recipe because I love gravy.  The reason it's standing all by itself and not acting as the finishing touch on some vegan masterpiece is because it's a masterpiece in itself, and I put in on everything from panfried tempeh to sandwiches to crostini to pasta (or I just eat it with a spoon).  

Mushroom Gravy

1 yellow onion, diced
1 package button mushrooms, diced
3 cloves garlic, minced
1 T extra virgin olive oil
1/2 cup dry white wine or 1/4 cup mirin (if you want a sweeter gravy...I like it both ways)
1/2 cup stock (Imagine No-Chicken stock)
1 heaping T of freshly minced thyme
1 tsp. arrowroot (this is a thickener like corn starch...you can find it at Whole Foods)
1 T shoyu or tamari (naturally brewed soy sauce.  I don't recommend using Kikkoman or other processed soy sauces, but if that's all you've got, use a smaller amount because they have a higher sodium content than naturally brewed soy sauces)
black pepper to taste

In a deep saute pan, heat oil and add onions over a medium flame.  Allow onions to brown and carmelize (translation: put down the spoon!), then add garlic and mushrooms.  Allow to cook until brown and sticking to the bottom of the pan, then deglaze with wine, loosen the crispy bits from the bottom of the pan with your wooden spoon, and allow the mixture to absorb the liquid until almost dry.  Now add stock, thyme, and shoyu and turn down flame to low, and simmer for several minutes.  Add arrowroot and stir to incorporate, allowing mixture to thicken.  Remove from flame and allow to cool, then place in a blender (I use a Vita-Mix blender = the best blender on the planet) or use an immersion blender to puree briefly, just a few seconds is enough.  Gently reheat if necessary and add freshly cracked black pepper and serve to a few unicorns with boring entrees.  

concerning illness & the quarter-life crisis

Sometimes, I think I'm sick when I'm not really sick.  This strange phenomenon was passed down to me by my wonderful father, who has, in the course of the last 20 years had every ailment from esophageal cancer to bird flu...Luckily, none of these ailments have ever proved fatal, and somehow (miraculously) my father is still alive. When I was young and full of hope, my parents rented the movie Outbreak, and as a result, I developed a fear of monkeys and I contracted the ebola virus immediately upon watching the end credits.  My father once drank his bodyweight in fruit punch on a hot summer's day after skipping breakfast and lunch.  Needless to say, after saying his farewells to my mom and declaring that "this was the big one" he realized that he was just suffering from high blood sugar, not a heart attack.
For my father and I, the illness may start from one of two ways: either a friend is ill and we then think we're ill, or there is an outbreak of some disease in any part of the world (usually a developing country) and we think we've got it.  The symptoms of the illness aren't important because we have the rare ability to adopt to any number of strange or ordinary conditions.  Dry eyes? = rheumatoid arthritis or any other type of autoimmune disease.  Throat swollen or closing up? = anaphylactic shock (translation: anxiety caused by a crowded room, a small elevator, or clothing that generally binds the neck and throat area).  Numbness? = depends on where, but it's always bad...could be a slipped disk, a stroke, the beginning of a heart attack, etc. = death is inevitable.  Random shooting pains?  These plague us all the time; I have them in my head (translation: aneurysm inevitable) and my father has them everywhere else (translation: ready for the box).  Stiffness doesn't bother us much because we're always stiff, and my father seems to be fine with the idea that eventually all of his bones will just fuse together and he won't be able to move at all. Lump?  This is very bad, especially if it doesn't hurt = cancer (translation: usually a bug bite, ingrown hair, zit, etc.).  Solution?  Take a z-pac (concentrated dose of antibiotics).  It doesn't matter if we have cancer, flu, aches, a rare disease, or numbness; no matter what we have, a z-pac will knock it out (translation: it will knock the absurd notion out of our heads that we are sick to begin with).  We have had many miraculous recoveries thanks to the z-pac, and we have also had many miraculous recoveries as a result of forgetting our illness.  The other option is drinking a bottle of wine.  That seems to work almost as well as the z-pac, and even better when the two remedies are combined.
Of course, now that I'm passed my quarter-life crisis period, I have grown an immunity to most life-threatening diseases and rarely become ill (don't act like you didn't have one too: you graduated from college and...and...AND?!  "Oh my god, I have no idea what to do with my life, and I have a useless degree...what was I thinking when I was at school?"  Umm, you weren't...you were having the time of your life and taking courses based on what time of day they were taught, and now you're working as a server at a dive bar and every time that song "glory days" comes on, you finally understand what all those drunk old people are talking about).  Or in my case, flee to hawaii where everyone is always semi-retired and only work so they have enough cash for beer, spam, and sunscreen...mahalo.  

sentimental pillows / cozy butternut squash soup

Why is it that people feel the need to write sayings on clothing, pillows, wallpaper, plates, absurdly small dog collars, cat food bowls, and generally every object found in a child's room?  My husband and I used to live next to a family with a stencil above the doorway that read: "have I told you lately that I love you?".  Oh, crap- no you haven't, but now that it's permanently written above the doorway, I'll always remember that you do love me!  I'm sorry, but there's no way that this kind of blatant gesture of paint on a wall can be interpreted as genuine (at least to me).  And why is it necessary to begin with?  Do we really need to be reminded of these things so that we don't forget to "live, love, laugh"?  I can't even imagine living in a house like our neighbors...
You wake up to the sound of the alarm and slowly open your eyes, but then the bronze letters above your bed reading "dream a little dream" lull you back to sleep. Twenty minutes later, your dog licks your face and you grab a decorative pillow to protect your face, but then you notice the writing embedded in the needlepoint "cold nose, warm heart" and you suddenly feel guilty.  You slide into a pair of slippers that say "pink isn't just a color, it's an attitude" and walk into the kitchen, feeling sassy. Your cats are already standing impatiently beside their bowl "cats make everything purr-fect" so you pour them some food, then heat up some water for tea.  The backsplash behind the stove say's "the queen doesn't cook" so you fix your tea and decide to wait for your husband to make breakfast while you sit in the den.  Then you notice a plaque above the television that says "king of the remote" and you're suddenly annoyed with him for waking up later than you.  Feeling lonely, you wrap yourself in a blanket that says "mother is another word for love" and the next thing you know, you're crying on the couch and have forgotten all about your tea, which is in a mug decorated with the phrase "instant human: just add coffee".  It somehow seems like a lie to have tea in such a mug, so you waddle back to the kitchen in your blanket and dump the tea out in the sink and put the coffee pot on.  Next to the bread basket is a cake stand painted with the words "life is short, eat dessert first", and it suddenly occurs to you that you no longer care about your diet anymore, and besides, "well behaved women rarely make history" stares back at you from the plate in your hand (you know this doesn't mean "stuff your face you rebellious woman" but you're feeling emotional and need some sugary support).  Third cupcake in hand, you sit at your computer and smile at a framed picture of your best friend with sparkly letters that reads "if friends were flowers, I'd pick you" and you decide to write her an email, explaining how you have inexplicably eaten three cupcakes, cried, and felt both guilty and empowered all in the course of the last hour.  Solution?  I think you already know...

In the spirit of sentimentality, let's make some cozy, sit-by-the-fire and watch The Sound of Music (you know you want to!) butternut squash soup.  Butternut squash is my favorite winter squash variety, and with it's natural sweetness and velvety texture, it's just perfect for a yummy soup.

Cozy Butternut Squash Soup

2 T extra virgin olive oil
1 large butternut squash, peeled, seeded and chopped into 3 inch cubes
2 stalks of celery, chopped
1 large yellow onion, chopped
1 bay leaf
1 T dried parsley
4 cups stock (Imagine No-Chicken stock or homemade)
1-2 T apple cider vinegar (I use Bragg's Organic)
sea salt & black pepper to taste

In a heavy bottomed stock pot (I use an all-clad copper core pot and I love it!), heat oil on medium flame and add squash, onions, celery, parsley and the bay leaf.  Add a sprinkle of salt and pepper and saute for a few minutes, then add the stock and bring to a boil.  Once boiling, cover with lid, reduce flame to low, and simmer for 20 minutes, or until vegetables are very soft.  Remove from heat and allow to cool for a few minutes.  Using a blender or food processor, puree the soup (remove the bay leaf first!) in batches, and return to pot.  Gently reheat if needed and add the apple cider vinegar and more salt and pepper to taste.  If you prefer a sweeter soup, you may add 1-2 T maple syrup instead of the apple cider vinegar.  Serve with a crusty loaf of sourdough bread to 4 chilly unicorns as starters or 2 chilly unicorns as a main.

passport renewal / penne perfection

Whenever I have to do something that involves a visit to a government run agency, I realize that those cocktail parties aren't so bad after all...
I needed to renew my passport.  I'm an american citizen and I already have a passport...shouldn't be too complicated, right?  Wrong.  I brought my passport to the post office along with my marriage license, driver's license, american flag, soul, and cross.  This didn't change anything.  I might as well have arrived on a donkey wearing a sign that said I don't speak english, I have no identification, and I don't pay taxes. The woman at the desk looked at me as if I was some sort of criminal, handed me a form, and told me that I had to go somewhere else to have my photo taken.  "Why can't I do it here?" I asked.  "Cannot do it here," was her reply in broken english.  Fine.  I went to AAA and got my photo taken...and you know what?  They're really nice there and didn't charge me anything for my photos (translation: not run by the government).  I started to feel better about the whole process, and brought my filled out form and photos back to the evil post office woman.  No good.  She said that because I had gotten married, I needed to make a notarized copy of my marriage license.  "I have it right here...can't you just make a copy or sign off that I showed it to you?"  She shook her head, and I felt the distinct urge to scream.  Why hadn't she told me this before? In a nutshell...a little power is a dangerous thing.  I was at her mercy and as far as passport renewal went, she was essentially the freaking queen of the passport.  I gave her a fake smile and said "thanks for your help" as sarcastically as I knew how...and off I went to town hall.  The office was in the basement, at the end of a long corridor.  I was feeling sorry for myself until I saw how bad the town hall people had it.  They were all "big-boned" to say the least, with the same kind of crap that you usually find on a sad office workers desk: glass jar of jelly beans or hershey's kisses for everyone to enjoy (translation: just for them because it's the only thing that can momentarily distract them from the monotonous drone of the fluorescent lighting), a plaque that says something along the lines of "Live, Love, Laugh", a framed picture of their pet, and seasonal decorations that try to evoke the feeling of celebrating the season, but somehow just end up looking cheap. Their windows looked out on a slope of dirt with a few gangly bushes.  Solution? Stick scarecrows and dried corn stalks into the ground and hang black spiders and cats above the windows so that you're instantly transported to a scarier version of The Wizard of Oz.  $25 dollars later, I was given a copy of my marriage license from a woman wearing earrings that said "Boo!", and drove back to the post office.  I wrote a check for $110 (they need to pay all these people after all), then paid a few more dollars to mail everything out to the passport processing center, and then...I was done.  Hooray!  It only took me three hours, four stops, four different people, and $140 dollars to renew my passport!  What an efficient system!  

In light of the time I wasted for passport renewal, I will share a lovely pasta recipe of mine that takes 30 minutes or less to make, and tastes so delicious that you'll instantly feel transported to an Italian countryside...with or without your passport!  I use tempeh for an added boost of protein and to give the dish a meatier texture.  If you don't like capers and olives, then I don't know what to say except: I'm sorry.  Capers and olives make pasta extraordinary so if you've never tried this combination out before, now is the perfect time!

Penne Perfection with Tempeh, Capers, and Olives

1/2 bag or 3 cups whole wheat penne (I use Bionaturae brand)
1 jar marinara sauce (if you're not using homemade, splurge a little on the good stuff...Rao's marinara sauce = amazing)
2 T extra virgin olive oil
1 yellow onion, sliced
1 package tempeh, crumbled (I use SoyBoy soy or five grain tempeh)
generous splash of white wine or stock to deglaze the pan
3 cloves garlic, minced
1/2 container or 2 cups button mushrooms, sliced
1 bunch kale, stems removed and roughly chopped
1/2 jar capers + brine (I use Mediterranean Organics capers)
generous handful of kalamata olives, pitted (buy them pitted, otherwise make a unicorn work on pitting them while you do the rest of the cooking)
sea salt & black pepper to taste

Fill a large pot halfway with water, add a small handful of salt (yup, handful.  Water for pasta should almost taste like teardrops), and bring to a boil.  Meanwhile, in a large saute pan, heat oil on medium flame and add onions, cooking for a few minutes until soft and starting to brown.  Add crumbled tempeh and stir occasionally, until cooked through, about five minutes (the tempeh will stick, and that's okay!).  Deglaze the pan with wine or stock, using a wooden spoon to loosen the crispy bits from the bottom of the pan.  Now add garlic and mushrooms.  Once the water is boiling in your pot, use a colander, chinois, or strainer to briefly submerge kale in water.  Press out excess water with spoon, then add to saute pan.  Turn down flame to low and add capers, olives and marinara sauce. allow to simmer for a few minutes while you cook the pasta according to package instructions (usually about 10 minutes for whole wheat).  Once the pasta is al dente, drain in colander and place back in pot with a little olive oil.  Now add the entire mixture in your saute pan to the pot and mix everything together with a little salt and pepper.  Serve to four italian-wannabe unicorns.

unicorns & cocktail parties...

Sometimes people ask me why I wrote a fantasy novel (translation: they're concerned about my unicorn obsession).  My response?  The mainstream fictional world has been mapped out to such exactitude that every scenario of every character seems to have already been written before, whereas in the world of make-believe...nothing is ever certain.  My characters include faeries, elves, dragons, unicorns and even some creatures entirely of my own creation, such as the dragonime.  Together they create a world rich with unique perspective and summon the childlike wonder, the infinite realm of imagination, to burst open and celebrate the bizarre, magical and oftentimes delightfully nonsensical genre of fantasy.  The best part about it?  You can easily relate to these creatures and places even though they are so far removed from our own existence: an elven girl with a broken heart, a deformed boy with a huge secret, an evil dark lord with a tragic past; all manner of creatures in the fantasy world endure the same trials and tribulations of the real world.  Fantasy simply brings to life that joy and tragedy through a much more colorful lens...because let's be honest, sometimes the real world is rather dull... 
Take a cocktail party...wonder why there's alcohol at these types of events? Exactly...to endure the small talk.  "So, black suit man with gingham tie, what do you do?"  This is a required small talk question, and you would think that after saying it over and over again I would remember some of the answers.  Nope, not a chance.  My husband and I have a code word for all jobs that sound the same: "junior investment banker".  This is not because I know a junior investment banker or have any clue as to what one does, but because I find the job answer so boring that it floats through my brain like the whiff of a passing entree.  One minute I'm aware of it, the next, it's gone.  Job titles with the words: manager, communication, research & development, strategist, planner, marketing, finance, creative, associate, senior, junior, etc., automatically become junior investment banker.  This is about the time I start seeing unicorns everywhere: drinking from the punch bowl, nibbling on the crudite (they're crazy about crudite...crabcakes, not so much), and wading into the decorative koi pond for a dip.  If one of these suits or pencil skirts said "I'm a circus performer, I drive a garbage truck, I'm a taxidermist, I'm unemployed (period. not "but I'm doing consulting work for ___(some company made of three capitalized letters)"), I'm a graffiti artist, I have a duck farm, I'm a beekeeper, I'm a drug dealer, I sell origami, etc., then I would emerge from my wine-induced fog, rather dumbfounded.  This rarely happens.  What usually happens is that the alcohol kicks in and all of the sudden everyone seems much more interesting, investment banker or not.  The music changes from elevator jazz to top forty, and I realize that I've been talking to that girl I hated in high school for the last thirty minutes about how great those times were together.  We exchange numbers and promise to grab a drink.  An hour later the suits are asking me if I have a cigarette and I can smell the distinct scent of something burning other than citronella.  The wine is long gone and everyone seems more than happy with their bud light cans and the leftover crackers.  This is about the time that I find out how much everyone hates their junior investment banker job, and they turn to the guy with the duck farm and tell him that he's the only one who's really got it figured out (meanwhile he's stolen a case of wine from the host and taken the last loaf of french bread for his ducks).  A pink-faced investment banker named Grant Dimwit the III invites everyone to his place in manhattan and says he can get everyone free tickets to see the Yankees.  Lady Gaga is playing loudly in the background, while the bartenders supply the guests with cigarettes and become their new best friends.  And then...everyone drives home.
Okay, so maybe cocktail parties aren't always like that, but if I dared to make a whopping generalization, then yea, that would be a pretty accurate description. Solution?  Lace up some boots and go to a hipster party in Brooklyn, drink some Jameson and make fun of all those wealthy, private school kids that only care about themselves!  But wait?!?!  Isn't that what hipsters are too?  Oh, the irony...
The moral to this story?  Fantasy is awesome.  Unicorns are the best.  Go buy some ducks and realize your dream...

the devil is white & sweet (not in a 50's housewife kind of way) / cinnamon-scented poached pears

In keeping with my seitan-ic theme, I will introduce you to the devil himself...the lord of dessert, candy and all things sinfully sweet.  Yup, you guessed it...the devil's name is Sugar.  I know, I know...kind of a sweet (no pun intended) name for a supposedly badass fallen angel, but like so many things that sound deceivingly harmless (sanitary napkin, telemarketer, gynecologist, community marketing agent (see Hawaii post), department of motor vehicles, the I-95, enema, irreconcilable differences, "don't take it personally", "It's you not me", "I need to see you in my office", "you're not fat, just big-boned", etc., sugar is the wolf in little red riding hood's red cape.  And it comes in many forms to further confuse you: white sugar, brown sugar, powdered sugar, raw suger, turbinado, sucanat, sugar cane, cane syrup solids, corn syrup, aspartame, fructose, and sucrose.  Don't be fooled by this little white powder.  It is right up there with cocaine, heroine and all of my other favorite drugs...sounds great, right?  Not so much...this little guy goes into your system, and like a drug, spikes your blood sugar and gives you a rush, a moment of bliss, a fleeting energy, and perhaps candy-coated wings & visions of purple bunnies hopping all over the yard (wait...that's not sugar, that's something else, and you should probably stop doing it right now).  You're probably thinking, fine I get it, but it's not unnatural...I mean it comes from a plant, right?  True, and if you gnaw on a piece of raw sugar cane, it's not so bad because you're eating a food in its whole form, which includes all of the vitamins, minerals and other things that your body recognizes, and can therefore assimilate for proper digestion and absorption.  That is not, however, the form in which most people eat sugar.  The sugar found in nearly everything from soda to cereal to gum (and even in those "natural" energy bars that you think are so good for you), is a crystalline chemical that's been refined and processed to the point of being an "anti-nutrient" (translation: your body leaches vitamins and minerals from itself in order to absorb the sugar).  The sugar cane (or beet) is pressed into a juice, then refined into molasses, and then further refined into a crystalline chemical that is NOT food, and is completely alien to our body.  So what?  Well, it's one thing when you take a drug and know that it's harmful to your health, but it's quite another to blindly consume mass amounts of something that you think is okay.  Sugar is a slow poison, but it's as addictive as any narcotic.  95% of all americans are addicted to sugar in one form or another, whether it's artificial sweeteners, so called "natural" sweeteners, or good old white sugar.  Consumption of sugar causes weight gain, tooth decay, and a slew of other illnesses that would take me half the day to list including diabetes, hypertension, many types of cancers, deterioration of major organs, and suppression of the immune system.  Solution?  Stop eating it.
Easier said than done, I know.  Like any addiction, it's hard to stop...
Say goodbye to your venti, no whip, extra hot, nonfat chai latte in the morning with a low-fat blueberry muffin.  Wait...WHAT?!  I know, I'm totally ruining your whole day.  But I'm telling you, sugar is the reason you can't lose weight, the reason you feel like a truck hit you at 3pm everyday, the reason you become irritable (actually, I'm not sure about that...you might just be a pain in the ass naturally), and the reason why you think you're just one of those people who "have a sweet tooth".  You don't have a sweet tooth, you have a full on, psycho drug addict "I must give into my cravings" / "I eat cake behind closed doors, under my blanket with a flashlight" sugar addiction!
The good news? There are some sweeteners out there that aren't as evil (they're frenemies with the devil...it's complicated), and may be incorporated, conservatively, into your diet.  They include: raw honey, brown rice syrup, maple syrup, and raw agave.

Craving something sweet already?  Don't worry, I have the perfect solution: a dessert recipe without sugar in it!  Hooray!  Every unicorn you serve this to will be convinced that the sticky, syrupy goodness dripping off of the sides of your cinnamon-infused luscious pears is caramel or some other sinfully sweet sugar demon, but rest assured, it's just fruit!  Yes, fruit contains naturally occurring sugar, but it also has vitamins, minerals, and all the goodness needed for your body to happily absorb the sweetness without causing any harm to you!

Cinnamon Poached Pears

2 pears, peeled & stems left in place, then cut in half lengthwise
1 small container of Organic Apple juice (without any added sugar, just apples!)
2 cinnamon sticks
5 whole cloves
1/2 cup fresh blueberries (optional)
fresh mint to garnish

In a medium saucepan, place halved pears cut side down in pan.  Pour apple juice over top until pears are almost submerged, about 3/4 of the way.  Add the cinnamon sticks and cloves and turn on flame to high.  Bring up to a boil, then turn down flame to low, and simmer to a poaching temperature (a little higher than a simmer with a few bubbles popping occasionally) for 20 minutes, or until a toothpick can easily pierce each pear.  Remove pears, cloves, and cinnamon sticks from poaching liquid and place on serving dish.  Turn up flame and bring liquid to a boil and reduce until liquid becomes a thick syrup.  Serve pears as is or slice from stem to bottom and fan out, then drizzle with syrup and garnish with fresh blueberries and mint.  Makes enough servings for four unicorns suffering from sugar withdrawal.

Still need convincing?  Consider this: cancer cells need nourishment to survive and grow...and guess what their favorite thing to eat is?  Yup, you guessed it...sugar.  In fact, many people undergoing treatment for cancer are encouraged to go on a sugar-free or sugar-moderated diet.  Why not start now?

why I love golf / evil seitan stew

My husband (don draper) works in the golf industry (translation: he works weekends and now I hate summer).  In fact, he is the reason we moved to Hawaii in the first place; to learn the ins and outs of the industry, otherwise known as "how to keep rich men happy in the great outdoors".  The short answer?  Give them alcohol, a set of metal clubs and rubber balls, and a motorized vehicle.  It's the simple things.  Of course many women (including myself) like to play golf as well, but let's just say the golf club experience is a little different for us girls.  The first problem is the locker room.  Unless you have a map of the underground, it's nearly impossible to find the ladies locker room.  "Go down the stairs, turn left, and follow the corridor to the end of the hall, just past the laundry room".  Gee, thanks, I can't wait to see the view.  The ladies locker room is typically saturated in some shade of pink, with flowered, pouffy cushions and little bottles of scented creams and plastic hair brushes (because we love pink, soft things like bunnies and puppies and we're very sensitive to dark colors and loud noises).  The men's locker room?  How could you miss it; go straight through the damn entrance and it's right in front of you with a stuffed deer head above the doorway.  What happens inside is a mystery of course, because the women aren't allowed in such places (I'm fairly sure, however, that the men are honing the blades of their swords, suiting up in chainmail, and eating raw meat).  After lacing up my tasseled, white golf shoes and popping up my collar (so that you know I went to private school), I emerge from the locker room, and run into a laundry woman (oops, I'm still downstairs...she gives me directions).
Out on the driving range, men stuffed in pastel polo shirts, shorts with animal prints, and sock-less loafers are demoing the latest clubs and congratulating each other on being masters of the universe.  I love the smell of freshly cut grass, the crisp thrusting sound of a club across a tee as it sends a ball into flight, the muddled thump of the ball as it lands on a moist green...and the laughter of old men quoting Caddy Shack and telling racist jokes.  What more could a woman ask for?
For a couple of years, Tom and I did the whole "following the season" thing, where you go south for the winter, so you can continue to play golf (translation: a never-ending winter of work for Tom).  At first, I was excited about this idea because it meant that we were going to spend the entire winter in Florida.  Sounds pretty amazing, right?  Wrong.  As soon as my flip flops touched the warm sand, I realized that Florida is full of semi-retired, retired, or semi-dead people who eat egg salad sandwiches, play bridge, and eat dinner at 5:00pm.  Needless to say I had to get creative...
Solution?  I Read the entire Twilight series and became so withdrawn from reality that when Tom came home at night, I looked at him with disappointment.  "You really wish I was a vampire, don't you?".  Yes, I replied, I really do...

Speaking of vampires...let's make some Evil Seitan Stew!  This stew is filled with sinful red wine, seitan himself, and tons of naughty vegetables.  Seitan (yup, pronounced just like our old buddy, the devil) is a delicious meat alternative made from wheat gluten that's packed full of rebellious protein.  I love making stews, so even though it's still warm outside, I am channeling my inner autumn princess and forging ahead in the 70 degree weather.  I think you should do the same.

Evil Seitan Stew

1 package seitan, rinsed, squeezed & sliced thin (I use The Bridge seitan, which is locally made in Middletown...Hooray for CT!)
2 T extra virgin olive oil, divided
1 T Earth Balance butter (Earth Balance will become your new best friend because it tastes like butter, but without the nasty dairy and cholesterol!)
1 large yellow onion, diced
2 celery stalks, chopped
5 small potatoes (I use yukon gold), quartered
2 cups butternut squash or sweet potato, chopped in small chunks
3 garlic cloves, minced
4 cups stock (sometimes I use homemade, but more often...Imagine No-Chicken Stock)
1/4 cup + a few splashes dry red wine, divided
2 bay leaves
1/4 cup tamari or shoyu
1 cup button mushrooms, chopped
3 cups, loosely packed kale, chopped
1 tsp dried thyme
Sea salt & black pepper to taste
2 tsp arrowroot (look in spice section of Whole Foods for this thickener, which isn't GMO and heavily processed like cornstarch)

Heat the oil in a large pot over medium heat.  Add the onion and celery, and cook for a few minutes, until softened.  Add the potatoes, squash, garlic, wine, bay leaves, and stock.  Bring to a boil, then reduce the heat to low, cover, and simmer for 15 minutes.  While it's simmering, take out a saute pan, heat the remaining oil and butter over medium-high flame, and add seitan.  Cook for 2 minutes, then add a splash or two of wine, and salt & pepper.  Use a wooden spoon to gently detach seitan from pan and flip over, cooking for a few more minutes until golden brown.  Set aside to cool and tell that unicorn to stop sampling the stew!  Add the tamari/shoyu, mushrooms, kale, thyme, and salt and pepper to taste, and cook until the vegetables are tender, about 10 minutes.  Stir in arrowroot and cook until stew begins to thicken.  Add seitan to reheat, and serve with crusty bread or noodles!  Feeds 4 hungry unicorns.

why I'm vegan / cayenne-dusted cheesy kale chips

"Why are you a vegan?" 

I get this question a lot.  It's understandable, of course, because to most people, being a vegan is like getting a sundae without the toppings.  "That's the best part!" they say; why aren't you eating it?  Well, let's imagine for a moment that those rainbow sprinkles, oreo crumbles, chocolate sauce, and maraschino cherries are cows, pigs, chickens, and fish (I do realize that this makes the sundae idea rather revolting). And let's imagine that those animals had a "typical" life (I'd rather not turn this post into a factory farm expose, but unless you live under a rock, you've probably at least heard of a factory farm and the atrocities committed there...Google it with some tissues in hand).  You know those commercials with the cows out in pastures under a blue sky? Yea, that's definitely not the kind of life these poor animals have. And then imagine that after these beautiful animals are inhumanely slaughtered, chopped up, and sold in plastic packages as steak, hotdogs, burgers, chicken nuggets, etc., you pile them on your sundae and slurp them down only to discover that you are also ingesting pesticides, hormones, saturated fat, and some seriously bad karma...kind of unpleasant, right?  And yet, we still continue to eat them, even though there is a wealth of knowledge out there that supports the idea that eating a plant-based diet is better for the animals, the earth, and ourselves.  So what gives?  In a nutshell...it's hard to change.  Most of us have been raised eating animals and are accepting of the idea that these creatures were put on this earth solely for our needs.  This is a gross misconception of course, but when you suggest to others that cows, pigs, chickens and other animals are sentient beings who share our same passion for life, love & family, they look at you as though you've lost your marbles.  "What would they do if we didn't eat them?"  Umm...live their lives, just like the rest of us!  

Here's something that always baffles me: why is it that we eat some animals and keep other animals as pets?  I mean, why don't we eat dogs, horses, and cats? "Gasp!" cries the fatty with the bacon burger, "How could you eat your dog!"  Well, I couldn't of course, but I don't see a difference between a dog and a pig, a horse and a cow, a cat and a chicken.  

Several years back, my husband and I visited Farm Sanctuary in Watkins Glen, NY, which is the permanent home of hundreds of rescued farm animals who would've otherwise been slaughtered.  It was a magical experience because I realized the interconnectedness of all beings.  The cows reminded me of my horses, nuzzling into my arm with their soft muzzles and long whiskers, the sheep leaned against the fence with their eyes closed while my husband scratched behind their velvety ears, the pigs snored loudly and flicked their legs and tails like dogs in dreamland, and a mischievous, black goat nibbled on my jacket.  These animals have been cursed with the titles: food animal, farm animal, meat, poultry, & bacon, but they are every bit as precious, loving, and playful as the animals we call pets.  

For me, it's simple....

I don't want to cause unnecessary suffering.  I have been put on this planet for some reason, or maybe for no reason at all, but while I'm here enjoying the sun, the rain, the trees, the mountains, and the incomprehensible beauty of this world, I will do my best to live peacefully.  The simple fact is: we don't need meat to survive or to thrive. Sure, back in the cave men days when we didn't have tools and didn't know how to farm the land, gnawing on the leg of a woolly mammoth was probably the best solution, but come on people, let's evolve already!  If you could save the lives of nearly 100 creatures every year, wouldn't you?  If you knew that abstaining from animal products (or at the very least moderating your intake) would make you healthier, wouldn't you?  If you could look into a factory farm where innocent animals were being slaughtered, and you could proudly say that you weren't supporting such a horrific industry, wouldn't you?  

I remember the first time I heard the comparison of slavery to factory farming.  It was in a pamphlet by PETA, and it really stuck in my head.  When you think about how horrible slavery was, don't you wonder how people could ever do such a thing?  But at the time, slavery was a generally accepted practice, and it took a long time for people to wake up and realize that it was unethical, inhumane and completely unnecessary.  Enter factory farming and the mass murder of billions (ten billion to be exact) of animals per year for the purpose of filling our bellies.  

I wonder if a hundred years from now, we'll look back on eating animals as we do on slavery...why did we ever do such a thing?

*** my purpose in writing this post is not to make you feel guilty; I just wanted to share with you my personal reasons for living the way I do.  Food is personal, and irrevocably rooted in the depths of our individual identities, like politics and religion. Most of my friends eat meat, and I love them just the same, but we each must decide which path leads us to a happier life, and for me, veganism is the road of my choosing.  If you feel inspired to incorporate some vegetarian meals into your life, that's great of course, and I encourage you to do so.  Not sure where to begin?  Try having "meatless mondays" every week, or pick one animal and stop eating it for awhile and see how you feel!***

Now that I've thoroughly upset you, I will try to make you happy again with another easy recipe!  Kale is synonymous with health nuts who live on bark and berries (I have literally been asked if I eat those things...sigh), but that's fine with me because it's absolutely delicious!  Kale is chock full of antioxidants, cancer preventing flavonoids, and vitamins A, K, and the mineral Iron, as well as having no cholesterol and barely any fat...Hooray!  Now, add in some nutritional yeast (cheesy yeast rich in B vitamins) and cayenne, bake it in the oven, and you've got yourself some seriously healthy and yummy snacking to do!  Wow your guests with this "potato chip" alternative, and then tell them how it's so annoying that you just can't seem to put on any weight...

Cayenne dusted cheesy kale chips

1 bunch curly green kale (the red russian variety works too), stems removed & shredded into snacking size, then washed and spun dry

1/2 cup nutritional yeast (buy in the bulk section of Whole Foods, the code is 5176...aren't I insane?)

a few pinches of cayenne

1 T extra virgin olive oil

sea salt to taste

Preheat oven to 350.  In a large mixing bowl, mix kale with all ingredients.  ***Note: the amounts I've given are approximations, so use your judgement.  You don't want the kale wet with oil because it won't crisp up in the oven, and a little salt and cayenne go a long way.  The only ingredient you don't need to be conservative with is the nutritional yeast, so load it on!***  

On a large baking sheet (you're going to need at least two sheets or you can make it in batches), spread the kale in a single layer (a little overlapping is okay).  Bake in the oven for ten minutes, stir kale with a wooden spoon, then bake a few more minutes, until kale is crispy and a little brown.  Serve as a snack or hors d'ouvre for a small gathering of unicorns.