My husband and I recently bought a subaru.
Go ahead. Tell me that I'm a liberal, a lesbian or a homeschooling mother of three because to you I will simply say Ha! I am destroying that stereotype, one granola bar at a time. But let's be honest, stereotypes develop for a reason...
Take my car buying experience. As soon as I walked through the door, I was royalty; the most beautiful and interesting person they had ever met (translation: ignorant car buyer going to slaughter). Everything I said warranted a light chuckle and a nod of the head. I could do no wrong in this fantasy world of shiny cars and shinier smiles; all they wanted to do was help me. Or so I thought. Now I'm not so ignorant as to be fooled by these kinds of sales tactics, and fake niceness is right at the top of my list of least favorite things. Believe me, I've been there, on the other side, handing out orchids to tourists and pretending to care about their Hawaiian vacation when I'll I really wanted to do was con them into buying timeshares. And I did. Again and again with the slyness of a used car salesman. All they wanted was directions to the Cheesecake Factory and now they are going to a free luau with orchids behind their ears after buying a timeshare they don't want = Job done (I quit that job to save myself from becoming the slime of the earth). But I digress...
So I'm buying a new car and I don't know about you, but in my estimation there can only be so much conning going on. I know the msrp is a joke and I can work with that. I just have to play their game, hem and haw over everything and scrunch up my face so that I appear to be in deep contemplation. Lie and tell them I'll come back later after I've thought about it some more (even though I already know I'm going to buy the car). I know what I'm doing...
The sales guy I'm working with keeps disappearing with a line like "I don't have those numbers in front of me, in fact I'm not privy to them, but I can check with my manager and see if he can work something out for you". Because I'm special, right? Wrong, they say the same bs to every poor slob who walks in, and you know what, most of them probably eat that crap right up.
I finally get the numbers in front of me after negotiating with the guy for an hour (translation: I ask for a deal, he theatrically sighs and carries on, then talks to the manager, then comes back, then sighs and tell me that they don't normally do this, but he wants me to be happy, etc...bs, bs, bs).
Then it gets interesting...I buy the stupid car so they should be happy, right? Well they are, but not until I've bought all of the extra crap that I don't need. The extended warranty I understand, but why doesn't it include everything? I have to buy tire and wheel coverage separately, dings and dents separately, and the worst of all? A little extra called glasscoat. This is a poly-based paint that bonds to the paint job on the car and apparently protects it (translation: covers it with an extra coat of paint that it doesn't need so the dealership can make more money off of you). As I write this, I'm embarrassed/pissed that I fell for it. The salesman that sold me the car hands me off to the king of slime balls, the dreaded "manager". He's a greasy, baldheaded guy stuffed into a wrinkled shirt, who's about to see how stupid I am. A few stories and two framed photos of his family later, we're big buddies and he's let me in on a little secret: this glasscoat stuff really works, and it's only $7.99 per month. With horror in his eyes he recalls to me the dangers of tree sap and road salt. How could my precious new baby subaru handle it? So I sign up, then realize three days later (thanks to my father's brilliant opinion: "that's *$%^!") that I don't want it anymore. Now upon signing, my "new best friend" had told me that I could easily alter anything if I changed my mind. Yea, right. I called them up and told them I didn't want it anymore. They were shocked! stunned! stupified! and told me I had to bring in my contract and that it was going to be very complicated. Great. So I went in and my same bff tried to sell me on it again with the premise: "I'm not going to try to change your mind, but...(enter sales pitch here)". After he ranted on for several minutes, I told him that I didn't understand why a brand new car needed another coat of paint. He brought up the tree sap again and I started getting antsy.
"I don't want it, period", I finally said. And that was the end. No more glittering smiles and fake chuckles; I had become the dreaded customer with an opinion. He grumbled and started punching keys on his computer, all the while telling me that no one had ever canceled glasscoat before, so he wasn't even sure if he could cancel it. Now I really hate this guy. Not only is he blatantly lying to me, he's making me feel like I'm the problem. I want to say "I'm on to you, you money grubbing snake!" but instead I say, "you expect me to believe that this is the first time a customer has ever canceled glasscoat?" He looks at me with beady eyes and lies to my face again. Then he says he can't change the contract because it's already "in" (in where? a secret vault of untouchable contracts?), so he'll have to write me a check for the amount.
"Does this mean that I'm going to be paying interest on it?" I ask. In a nutshell, yes. Then he asks me if I want the tax back. Um...duh, I think to myself. He says he might not be able to get it back. I am ready to scream at this point and my unicorn friend has decided to test drive the new outback while waiting for me. I whisper to him to park under a pine tree and wait for sap. Then I look back at my enemy, the stuffed turkey of a manager, and ask "if I return something to a store, do they give me my money back and keep the tax? No, because that would be illegal." He smiles and says he totally understands, but somehow this is different, more complicated (translation: he wants to keep the tax because he's a thieving bastard). He calls someone named Debra who must have all the answers, but alas she's unavailable. He's going to have to get back to me on that. Oh, but he'll take my credit card number and call me once he finds out. I look at him square in the face before I leave and say, "you're on my side, right?" His sweaty palm grabs my hand and I want to say so many horrible things to him, but my unicorn friend anxiously flags me down. I go outside and we get into my shiny new subaru, and my unicorn friend tells me that he accidentally stabbed his horn through the sunroof of the outback he was test driving. "Great", I say, "there goes my tax."
It's the middle of winter and you've just gotten screwed over by a car dealership. Solution? Indulge in some velvety smooth key lime tarts to lift your spirit! This recipe is raw, free of refined sugars, gluten free, soy free, and guilt free because it's made from healthy ingredients like avocado! Hooray!
Key Lime & Coconut Tarts
Crust:
1/2 cup almond flour (I use Bob's Red Mill)
1/2 cup dates, pitted
pinch of sea salt
Filling:
2 avocados, pitted and removed from skins
1/4 cup fresh lime juice
1/2 cup virgin coconut oil (I use Dr. Bronner's)
2 T coconut nectar (you can substitute agave nectar or honey)
Topping:
Handful of shredded, unsweetened coconut (I use Let's Do Organic)
Zest of one lime
Add crust ingredients to a food processor and blend until crumbly and moist. Press mixture into six ramekins or muffin tins or vessel of your choosing. Now blend the filling ingredients in a high-speed blender (like a Vita-Mix) until smooth and fluffy. Add a dollop of the filling to each ramekin and spread over crust. Top with a sprinkle of zest and coconut flakes. Chill in the frig for at least an hour before serving. Makes 6 ramekin-sized tarts, enough for 6 unicorns seeking revenge.
Sunday, January 29, 2012
Saturday, January 14, 2012
and now for something completely different / fettuccine with cashew alfredo
Sometimes I like to write poetry. And since I'm on a cleanse right now (translation: no life), I'm feeling less cynical and more contemplative. I know...boring, boring, boring. But what else am I supposed to do when it's 20 degrees outside and I can't drink? Exactly. Poetry is the answer. Here's one that I wrote about my mom and I...
“I had a thought today,” said my mother to me,
“and it didn’t make me sad or glad. It was just there in front of me
like a wide-eyed creature.”
A sparrow landed on the slate patio and picked up a piece of millet.
I asked her what it was.
“That we are insignificant. I mean, in the grand scheme of things,
we don’t matter.”
The sky was ocean blue with white-capped clouds.
“We are dust gathering in a corner, we are blades of grass
hanging onto the earth;
we are the small things that no one ever sees, we are seeds blowing on a wayward sojourn;
we are the raindrops that never reach the ground,
splattered on a bough, a fence, a rooftop—we are nothing.”
The phone was ringing. Mom always answers, but she didn’t get up.
I guess she didn’t hear it.
I smiled. She knew that I knew exactly what she meant because I always did.
I agreed, of course, and asked her how this insignificance made her feel.
“Like a wet blanket lifting from my shoulders,” she said, “like the first burst of radiant sunlight over a sleeping field—shouting—go on and do it Kim!
Go on and wear the clothes you want, go on and tell the world how you feel about it,
because in the end, none of it will matter!”
We shared a maniacal laugh.
The laundry announced that it was clean.
Yes, I thought to myself, this is one of those pure moments.
This is what really matters.
Now that you're feeling nostalgic and want to call your mom and tell her you love her, why not indulge in a sinfully rich dish with your unicorn friends and watch Steel Magnolias? This fettuccine alfredo will blow you away with its creaminess without the added nastiness of dairy. In fact, this dish is soy and gluten free too so I can't think of one person who won't be able to eat this (unless you're allergic to cashews in which case, I feel sorry for you because they are the greatest nut on the planet).
Fettuccine with Cashew Alfredo
for the pasta:
1 box of fettuccine noodles (use whole wheat noodles or brown rice noodles to make it gluten free)
1 large yellow onion, sliced
1 box of button mushrooms, sliced
1 red pepper, sliced
*optional* a few handfuls of spinach or kale or chard (everything I make has greens in it because I am a dirty hippie...and unicorns love their greens)
sea salt & black pepper to taste
for the sauce:
2 cups raw cashews
1/2 cup stock or water
3 T fresh lemon juice
4 cloves garlic (sliced and sauteed in a little olive oil for 1 minute)
1 cup almond milk (I use unsweetened, but if you want to use "original" then omit the coconut nectar)
1 tsp dried thyme
1 tsp coconut nectar (I love this minimally processed sweetener, but you can easily substitute agave nectar or brown rice syrup)
2 T nutritional yeast (buy it in the bulk section of a natural foods store)
1 T tamari (naturally brewed, gluten free soy sauce. You can sub with regular shoyu too.)
pinch of sea salt
Get out a big pot and fill it up with lots of water and a generous pinch of sea salt. Cover, and bring to a boil, then add noodles and cook according to package directions. Meanwhile, saute your onion in some olive oil until soft, then add mushrooms, stir once or twice, then add the rest of your veggies. Season with salt and pepper.
In a high speed blender (buy a Vita-Mix! They're amazing!!!) add all sauce ingredients and blend on variable speed until combined, then pump it up to highest speed until creamy and smooth. If you're using a Vita-Mix, leave motor running until sauce is heated up. If you're using a conventional blender, remove once creamy and smooth, then gently heat in a saucepan until warm (if your blender is a little weak, soak the cashews for an hour first, then add to blender with everything else). Toss noodles with sauce and a bit of the starchy water from the pot to thin out the sauce, if desired. Add veggies and serve to four nostalgic unicorns who want to feed their emotions.
Wednesday, December 28, 2011
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...
"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...
Monday, December 19, 2011
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.
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.
Wednesday, November 30, 2011
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.
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.
Monday, November 21, 2011
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.
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.
Wednesday, November 9, 2011
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...
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...
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)