Baby Steps

I’m intimidated by homemade ravioli. They look so pretty and dainty on other people’s blogs, and if you know me at all, you know that pretty and dainty aren’t really my forte. Rolling out dough of any kind is liable to induce a barrage of cursing and possibly crying.

That’s why I’ve been avoiding making these ravioli since October. However, I’ve managed to be on call for the past 3 days without being called in for an excruciating 8 hour Dachshund disc surgery or to extract socks from a Labrador’s bowels, so I had some time on my hands for the first time in months.

These were far less tedious than I anticipated and more delicious than expected. There wasn’t even any swearing involved, promise! (Except when a horrid choral version of “The 12 Days of Christmas” interrupted my instrumental Pandora station).

P.S Bragging about not getting called in is the surest way to hear your phone ring. Get rid of your metal lawn edging, people. It slices up your dog, and then I get called in to sweat in the OR instead of sipping eggnog on Christmas.

Pumpkin Ricotta Ravioli with Sage Brown Butter Sauce
Barely adapted from savorysimple.net

This recipe made 20 large ravioli with leftover filling. You can either double the pasta, roll it thinner than I managed, or save the remaining filling for another meal.

Filling:
1 tablespoon butter
1 shallot, diced
2 cups pumpkin puree
1 cup ricotta
1/2 teaspoon salt (3/4 tsp if your ricotta is really low sodium)
1/4 teaspoon dried sage (I added 2 T of fresh as well)
fresh grated nutmeg
pinch of cayenne

Fresh Pasta:
up to 2 cups all purpose or cake flour
1 teaspoon salt
2 eggs
1 tablespoon olive oil

Sage Brown butter sauce:
5 tablespoons unsalted butter
1/4 cup chicken stock
1 T chopped fresh sage
Salt and pepper to taste

Directions:

Make the filling:

• Sweat diced shallot in butter until soft. 
• Combine all ingredients in a bowl. 

Make the pasta:

• Make a well with 1 cup of the flour and salt. 
• Beat the eggs and olive oil in the well with a fork and begin slowly incorporating the flour with a swirling motion. Start forming a ball with your hand and squeeze the dough together with your fingers. You want the dough to be a bit "tacky.” You don't want it too dry. Add flour as needed, up to 2 cups total. 
• Once the dough is formed, wrap it in plastic and allow it to rest in the refrigerator for at least 30 minutes. 
• If you don't have a pasta machine, you can use a rolling pin, but a machine will make the job easier. I rolled my dough by hand, like a boss. 
• Sprinkle some flour onto a cutting board to prevent the pasta from sticking while assembling the ravioli. 

Assemble the ravioli:

• Egg wash one sheet of pasta. Drop filling by tablespoon, evenly spaced on pasta sheet. 
• Bring a second sheet of pasta over the first, slowly pressing the dough around the filling and removing the air. 
• Cut ravioli to desired shape with a knife or cookie cutter. Hand press or fork press the edges, and allow to dry for a bit before cooking. 
• Drop into simmering water for 2-5 minutes, depending on size. 

Make the sauce:

• In a saucepan over medium-low heat, melt butter and then slowly brown the milk solids. This will take about 5 minutes. 
• Once the milk solids begin to brown, add the chicken stock and reduce the heat, allowing the sauce to simmer and thicken a bit. 
• Add sage and salt and pepper to taste

Breathing fear

As I step out of the teaching hospital into the crisp night air, I contemplate how long I’ve been afraid of the dark.

I live in the darkness this time of year. Get up in the dark, run in the dark, bike in the dark, stay sequestered under artificial light indoors all day, and contemplate my career choice in the dark while shoveling in some nutrients before tripping into a dark bedroom to sleep.

The motivational signs on the bike paths (you can do it!), for whatever reason, have recently morphed into lurking rapists.

That, coupled with my extreme fatigue, has been motivating me to drive more frequently. Trouble is, I don’t have a parking pass. I park on a road about a ¼ mile from the teaching hospital, so I’ve taken to running to my car. I tell myself that it’s to get home more quickly, but truthfully, it’s because I’m scared.

Clutching my car keys splayed out like brass knuckles, I shoot out the barn door, around the flower beds of the diagnostic lab, through the parking lot for richers with parking passes, across an unlit road and bridge, through the unlit university tennis court parking, across the rotting plank spanning the gully entering the field, and faster through the field until I finally pop out on the lighted road parking.

My wobbly platformed Dansko shoes occasionally betray my ankles. My heavily laden messenger bag flops painfully against my ribs. But when I reach the light, I smooth my crumpled up clinic smock and pretend I’m a normal person. One who doesn’t work 12 hour days and 80 hour weeks for no pay. One who doesn’t cry in the bathroom when her equine patients tear themselves apart in the recovery stall. One who isn’t eating white rice for dinner, again! One who remembers what it is to stand in the light of day.

I don’t consider myself to be an especially fearful person, but I’ll admit that I tend to become especially preoccupied by my fears. As much as I try to play this routine off as a casual jaunt, there’s no denying my breath is unusually quickened, and my ticker is rhythmically pulsing on my sternum.

Yet by the time I reach the field, a subtle shift has occurred. My fist unclenches, my vital signs return to this atmosphere, and my arthritic jaw pops back into its rightful locale.  As soon as I allow the fear to wash over me, I am able to embrace it as an ally.

By the time I reach my car, I’ve forgotten what all the fuss was about and wish my car were miles away, so that I might continue to level my head.

P90X and Insanity

In the past year, I’ve had the opportunity to try both of these Beachbody programs. Here are my candid impressions.

In general, I loathe jumping around my basement covered in sweat when I could be outside enjoying the fresh air and scenery. However, I do believe these programs benefit people who need their workouts to be rigidly structured. I think it’s easier for exercise newbs to push play on their DVD player and be told exactly what to do in the comfort of their own home.

P90X helps keep me honest about how often I’m weight training, and I do enjoy modest changes in muscle tone from the videos. Insanity is more cardio focused, but I didn’t see any benefit of using these videos over my normal running routine.

Overall, if you’re already comfortable in a gym, own some free weights, and have your cardio routine down to a science, don’t bother with either of these programs. If you struggle with motivation or have never regularly exercised, they might be worth a shot.

P90X

Pros: the form demonstrated is good, and tips are given to reduce possibility of injury. Focus is toning muscles through free weights. Tony Horton is somewhat irritating and a total meathead, but he’s somehow still likeable. Good variety within the program.

Cons: Cardio portions of program are very basic and easy for someone of reasonable fitness. If you already regularly lift free weights, there isn’t much benefit from this program. The warm-ups in some videos are tedious. Need some equipment.

Insanity

Pros: solid cardio workouts. Most people find Shaun T to be inspirational (but I found his commentary to be completely inane).  No equipment necessary.

Cons: poor form demonstrated by many individuals in the videos. Lots of high impact—which was fine for me, but I honestly think this is too much strain on joints of people who are overweight. In my opinion, if you’re overweight and not used to strenuous exercise, you’re just asking for injury. The videos are all very similar. The warm-ups include a lot of running in place, which I found to be frustrating (if I want to run, I go outside).

In the kitchen:

I made a huge batch of injera bread, which kicked off a flurry of curries in the past few weeks. Injera bread is a sour, yeasted flatbread that is served under many Ethiopian dishes to be used as the utensil. I had a failed experiment with this bread last year using buckwheat flour, so I looked around town for the traditional flour—Teff. For those of you in FTC, I found it at the Indian market at the corner of Drake and Shields.

 

Injera can be very sour, so if you’re not adventurous, I’d recommend sticking to something a little tamer, like naan.

3 cups teff flour 

3 cups lukewarm water

1 tsp. salt

1 tsp. yeast

Combine ingredients in a large bowl, cover, and leave on the countertop for 3 days. You could feed this like a traditional sourdough starter, but I didn’t.

On the 3rd day, pour off the sour smelling liquid that has collected on top. Add enough white flour to make a firm dough. Knead for 10 minutes, return to bowl, cover, and leave overnight.

In the morning, add enough lukewarm water to the dough to make a very thin batter—like crepes. It should coat the back of a spoon. If it’s at all chunky (mine was), run it in batches through a blender or use an immersion blender. The yeast should still be working, but if it’s not, you may add a sprinkle of yeast at this point.

By the evening, the thin batter should be bubbly again. Using high heat and a non-stick skillet, sprinkle a little pinch of salt in the bottom of the pan. This helps form the bubbles and prevents sticking. When pan is hot, swirl enough batter in pan (again, kind of like a crepe) to cover the bottoms of the pan. For my 12 inch skillet, I used about ½ c batter. Immediately cover with a lid, and allow it to cook for 1-3 minutes (depending on heat and thickness). They’re done when the edges start to lift off the pan and the center is just set. They get tough and chewy if overcooked.

Repeat for remaining batter and serve with your favorite curry. This recipe made a very large quantity of injera, so we ate various curries all week. 

First, we started with doro wat, the Ethiopian spicy chicken and egg stew. The spice mixture in this dish is called Berbere. You can find recipes to make it yourself, but you can also buy a really nice mixture at Old Town Spice Shop.

Next we made an eggplant and red bell pepper curry. The main seasoning in this was garam masala.

Potato curry was last on the list, featuring light coconut milk (99 cents at Sunflower) and green curry paste.

Stay back!

Recently, Cooper and I were just finishing a long downhill section in Horsetooth Mtn Park when a young male runner approached us. When we’re running on singletrack, I often have Cooper run behind me, so I can see the ground and hopefully circumvent me lying bruised and broken at the bottom of a hill somewhere. Knowing the trail was narrow and wanting to avoid tripping this poor schmuck with my giant dog, I told Cooper to “stay back!” The man immediately stopped, put up his hands in an “I’m innocent!” fashion, and slowly backed away.

This is not the first time a dog command has created social awkwardness for me. Our slow down cue while running is to say, “hold up!” Numerous times, I’ve said these words in the presence of a fellow runner or walker only to have them hesitate and turn in my direction with a perplexed or expectant look.

A well-intentioned cue to calmly meet a stranger also blew up in my face when I calmly announced, “say hi!” Cooper obediently sat for his greeting, but the stranger looked confused, and stuttered, “Umm…hi.” Yeah, dude, I was talking to my dog, but thanks for being polite.

We abandoned the “say hi” cue shortly thereafter, which may explain why greetings have a propensity to devolve into getting whipped to death by Cooper’s exuberant tail.

Unwittingly, I’ve created the perfect “attack” cue, as several men have indicated that his tail is decidedly nut height.

In the kitchen:

Hummus 

This is a very basic recipe. It’s a great base for any other flavored hummus you can imagine.

1 can (15 oz) chickpeas, drained and liquid reserved
2-3 cloves garlic
3 T olive oil
2 T lemon juice
3 T tahini
Salt to taste

Place chickpeas, 1/3-1/2 cup of reserved liquid, garlic, lemon juice, and tahini in a food processor. While processor is running, add olive oil until desired texture is reached. Add salt to taste.

All ingredient quantities can easily be adjusted to taste.

Multiple Choice Hell

This is a bit belated now that I'm in my 4th year.  We no longer have exams--just long shifts and oral rounds for clinicians to evaluate our knowledge.  Last year, though, these were my feelings precisely.

I am the quintessential product of the American school system, for better or for worse. I am not particularly innovative, but I can follow directions like no one’s business.

And I excel at taking multiple choice tests.

Filling in little bubbles was the only thing I could handle with aplomb as an awkward child. My ITBS scores were peppered with little graphs that clearly illustrated my superiority.

Naturally, I enjoyed these exams. They were easy, garnered much-desired praise, and stroked my burgeoning ego. I’d sit, pencil poised, ready to conquer the world.

I could ace those puppies in my sleep, and my continued academic success made my study habits rather complacent. I got slightly more ambivalent in high school and nearly apathetic in college. I studied less and less. The exams were progressively more difficult, but my grades never dropped. I guess my memory is just photogenic enough to scan through my notes to find enough key words, eliminate enough distracters, and prevail with the correct answer. If I heard or read it at least once, I can sit quietly, often tugging at my right eyebrow, and the answer will come to me, as if it’s highlighted on the page.

I hate this skill. Abhor it.

It made me feel like a fraud.

It’s kind of like doing a stupid party trick hasn’t been funny since you drank your first beer, but you’re compelled to whip it for the amusement of others because the routine is firmly ingrained in your psyche. But secretly, you wish you’ll choke on it, so you have an excuse never to perform again. You are a freak show at best.

I do feel deserving of my grades now that I have been forced to study in vet school. There are often hundreds of pages of notes for each exam, and every exam past the 2nd year is essentially cumulative. I can’t memorize every page of my notes anymore. I drink obscene amounts of coffee and jiggle my feet compulsively to keep my body seated in front of my notes while every neuron in my brain resists being held captive. Still, my multiple choice skills are serving me well. But I don’t get that warm, fuzzy feeling of accomplishment during the exam. I actually feel physically ill. Not nervous (although I do sometimes wryly think that missing one question will probably drop my class rank 10 places because many others in my class possess a similar talent), just like I’m gonna hurl. Actually, on second thought, that part probably comes from the pot of coffee I drink on test mornings…

Mostly, I’m just really tired of taking exams. I’m 26. I might be 34 by the time I’m completely done with school, and I’m a little bitter that my ovaries might be sad, shriveled little marbles by the time I even have a real job. I don’t suppose parenthood comes in a multiple choice format?

For today's pure randomness and nostalgia, here's my dog howling at me playing the clarinet last winter and me charmingly yelling at him.

Tough Mudder and my heavy ovaries

Obstacle races punctuated with copious volumes of mud have swept the nation. Colorado can also heighten the stakes with a hefty dose of altitude. I’m a tepid fan. They get a few more people off the sofa, but they tear up a bunch of land with massive swarms of runners, and many people are barely in shape enough to walk the course. Nevertheless, we made our way to Copper Mountain ski resort for the Warrior Dash last year, and we ended up at Beaver Creek ski resort this year for the Tough Mudder. Tough Mudder is a little different because it emphasizes team work. Many obstacles would be exceedingly difficult to scale without a helping hand.

It was about a month after Quad Rock, and I hadn’t run much in the meantime, so this was one to let out the steam. I felt amazing. My lungs and legs cooperated, and I felt like I could go for miles more. When the trail headed directly up a ski run, my heart plodded along, completely content to allow my head to enjoy the wildflowers. When the scheduled 10 mile race suddenly turned into 12, it rolled right off me. It didn’t matter to me whether the race were 5 miles or 20. I was just having fun, reveling in the capability of my body and mind. I did derive some additional satisfaction by making it over every.single.upperbodystrength.obstacle without falling in the water.

A coworker of Jason’s had put the team together, and several of his non-running friends had also come out for a celebratory weekend of drinking and sitting by the hotel pool. They had all brought their wives, and I started to become painstakingly aware that I did not fit in with these women in the slightest. I was the only woman on our team, which I hadn’t thought of until I saw their blonde wives in high heels that probably don’t run, get dirty, or drink beer.

I asked Jason if he wished I would stay on the sidelines and drink prim cocktails with the girls instead of plowing my way through the mud with my legs that hadn’t been shaved in a few days. He grinned and followed my gaze to the women daintily dipping their manicured toes in the pool. “Those guys are fools.” Yup, reason 1251 why I’m marrying this man.

So several rounds in, I was the last woman standing. To be fair, many of their wives left to attend to their kids. But others left in a snit, annoyed their husbands were ordering another round and flirting with other men during their grand exit. I found myself talking to a guy I don’t know, a friend of a friend, who has been giving me an incredulous, inquisitive glance all night.

As we peered at each other with the frankness that can only come from drinking heavily with a complete stranger, he leaned in with a familiarity of someone about to take you deeply into their confidence.

“You know,” he said, shaking his head, “I still can’t believe you kept up the boys!”

Though my senses were slightly dulled, I couldn’t keep the smirk off my face. I had just enough self presence not to unleash a diatribe against someone who had just bought a round of drinks for the entire group. Practicing my maturity and sangfroid, I did NOT say, “Yes, my ovaries are extremely heavy and often hold me back from the men’s pack, but today, I managed to tuck in my enormous breasts and keep up.” Instead, I just said, “Well, the boys helped me over some of the tall obstacles. But we run on this kind of terrain quite a bit. It wasn’t too bad.”

I neglected to tell him that I was honest-to-god hungover at the starting line. Like, elephant sitting on head, sun hurting my eyes, wish I were still in bed, kind of hungover. But the pace was slow enough the entire race for me to clear my head and enjoy the run. In fact, those boys, except Jason, were dragging at my pace mightily.

I’m sure he meant it innocently. I mean, let’s face it, the women’s times in speed events are almost uniformly 90% of the men’s times. But those are elite athletes. Among the average Joes with beer guts, particularly as someone with no athletic inclination as a teen, it was strange to be suddenly fitter than guys who likely enjoyed celebrity status as high school athletes. I kind of missed being nearly the slowest runner on a course like at Quad Rock. That felt real. I earned that. Tough Mudder was a fun time, sure, but I left it hungry for another “serious” trail race. So I signed up for the Blue Sky marathon in October. I’m already preparing to be humbled.

Heirloom tomatoes are easily one of my favorite things in the world.  That is all.

Inaugural Quad Rock trail race

Two months ago, Jason and I ran our first marathon. It was a trail marathon that ascends 5500 vertical feet. Technically, it was 25 miles, but the course was a little long, and we ran ¼ mile to the starting line from our car, so we’ll call it 26.2. This was perhaps not the ideal choice as a first marathon. Without a doubt, this was the most challenging run I have ever attempted, and at times, my body was wracked by the most intense pain I’ve ever experienced. It wasn’t pretty, but I finished!

Stones left purposefully unturned are laid bare by the miles and the hours, forcing you to examine the deepest, ugliest parts of yourself as you wade through the mental gymnastics necessary to cajole your legs into moving. The mind is very vulnerable at this point, yet malleable. Despair can swiftly turn to elation, and humor bubbles up unexpectedly.

After a close save involving my toe and a root, I thought to myself, “Boo-yah, I am a mountain goat!” Several miles later, as I stooped to fish a rock out of my shoe, I was crippled by muscle spasms, leaving me flopping at the edge of the trail, valiantly attempting to maneuver myself into an upright position. Ever seen a video of myotonic/Fainting goats?  It looked pretty much like that.

The race was well organized, and the trails were fantastic (and familiar, since this was on our home turf). Once again, I am amazed by the talent and generosity of the Fort Collins trail runners. I look forward to this race becoming a local staple!

In the kitchen:

Veggie burgers



Recipe adapted from Ohsheglows.com

These put those nasty frozen patties from the grocery store to shame. Makes 6 large or 8 smaller burgers.

-1/2 cup onion, diced
-3 large garlic cloves, minced
-2.5 tbsp ground flax + 1/2 cup warm water, mixed in bowl (could use 1 egg, instead)
-1 cup oats, processed into flour
-1.5 cups bread crumbs
-1 cup grated carrots
-1 cup cooked black beans, rinsed and roughly pureed or mashed
-Heaping 1/4 cup finely chopped parsley (or fresh herb of choice)
-1/3 cup almonds, chopped
-1/2 cup sunflower seeds (I used toasted, unsalted)
-1 tbsp. Extra Virgin Olive Oil
-1 tbsp soy sauce
-2-3 tsp chili powder
-2 tsp. cumin
-2 tsp. oregano
-Kosher salt and black pepper to taste (I used about 1 tsp salt)

Directions:

1. In a large skillet, sauté onions and garlic in 1/2 tbsp oil. Mix the flax and water together in a small bowl and set aside for at least 10 mins while you prepare the rest of the ingredients.

2. Place all ingredients (except spices and salt) into a large mixing bowl and stir very well. Add seasonings and salt to taste.

3. With slightly wet hands, shape dough firmly into patties

4. Cooking methods: You can brown the burgers in a bit of oil on a skillet over medium heat for about 5 minutes on each side. If baking in the oven, bake for 25-30 mins (15-17 minutes on each side) at 350F, until golden and crisp. For the BBQ, pre-bake the burgers for about 15 minutes in oven before placing on a pre-heated grill until golden and crisp on each side. I thought they were great in the skillet!

The kinder, gentler me

I was not looking forward to my vet school rotations that require overnight shifts. I anticipated it might be difficult to adjust and tedious to sleep during the day. In actuality, it hasn’t been too bad. Other than destroying all quality time I have with J and setting the stage for a spectacular gastrointestinal gremlin, it’s all been pretty low-key.

Most notably, the lack of sleep tones down my personality by a factor or two. I wander around, glassy eyed and placid, with a dull, slurring speech. My thoughts are sluggish, if they exist at all.  Early one morning, I coolly considered that this is what it might be like to be cripplingly dumb.

It’s really not as bad as I imagined.

You don’t ever have to think about how you fit into the world because everything, including yourself, simply exists. The mysterious world of interconnectedness melts away to very simple truths, which are purely your emotions in that moment.

I am slower to react to perceived insults and have an increased tendency to seek physical contact. Unfortunately, J is at work while I’m sleeping, so I have to spoon with the dog. Equally bad is our initial veto of the dog’s presence on the furniture. Since he learned the rules with steadfast compliance, he won’t even indulge me a little by joining me on the bed. He just looks confused and curls up on his dog bed. So I join him on the floor while the cat roosts and preens on the bed.

This, I think, is what it might be like to be a nice, laid-back person.  Maybe, just maybe, I could adopt some of these traits while fully rested.

  

Nope, screw it.  It makes me lazy.  As soon as I switch back to day shifts, the cynicism and snark is making a return.  Be prepared.

In the kitchen:

Granola bars 

I have been looking for a good recipe for a long time. I love all the ones I try, such as the one from Smitten Kitchen, but they’re always a little too cookie-like to travel well or too sweet. Finally, this recipe, which is a conglomeration of dozens I’ve perused, fits the bill. They’re less crispy than the Nature Valley brand bars—still a little chewy. Feel free to mix and match the ingredients, particularly the dried fruit. I threw some chocolate on top as an afterthought, but they really didn’t need it.

2 cups old-fashioned oatmeal
1 cup sliced almonds
1 cup shredded coconut, loosely packed. I used unsweetened.
1/2 cup toasted wheat germ
¼ cup flax seed meal (I’m sure you could use whole flax seeds, but you might want to soak them in a little water)
3 tablespoons unsalted butter
2/3 cup honey
1/4 cup light brown sugar, lightly packed
1 1/2 teaspoons pure vanilla extract
1/4 teaspoon kosher salt
1/2 cup raisins
1/2 cup chopped dried plums (prunes)
1/3 cup chopped chocolate. I used semisweet

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees F. Line an 8 by 12-inch baking dish with parchment paper.

Toss the oatmeal, almonds, and coconut together on a sheet pan and bake for 10 to 12 minutes, stirring occasionally, until lightly browned. Transfer the mixture to a large mixing bowl and stir in the wheat germ and flax seed.

Reduce the oven temperature to 300 degrees F.

Place the butter, honey, brown sugar, vanilla, and salt in a small saucepan and bring to a boil over medium heat. Cook and stir for a minute, then pour over the toasted oatmeal mixture. Add the dried fruit and stir well.

Pour the mixture into the prepared pan. Wet your fingers and lightly press the mixture evenly into the pan. Sprinkle chocolate on top and lightly press. Bake for 25 to 30 minutes, until light golden brown. Cool for at least 2 to 3 hours before cutting. This is a crucial step. They are sticky and crumbly when hot.

Backhanded Compliments

It always cracks me up when women tell their friends, “You look sooo skinny in this picture!” Or, “Wow, you look so pretty!”

To me, it sounds like, “You’re totally a heifer, but this camera angle miraculously makes you look somewhat slender.” Or, “Gee, your ugly mug actually looks decent in this photo!”

Of course, I don’t have to worry about my friends saying things like this to me because they’re too busy talking about emerging infectious diseases, contemplating the merits of caffeination for overnight shifts, and fretting over residency/internship applications.

But if do manage to dole out a compliment between wrestling drama llamas, lancing abscesses, and scrubbing for surgery, I would make sure to say, “Wow, you ARE so pretty with that pus in your hair!”

In the kitchen:

Skillet Blackberry Cobbler

When we lived in Idaho, Jason and I used to hop in my 1987 Volkswagen Cabriolet and jaunt down to the river to pick blackberries.  We'd come back, dehydrated, fingers bloodied, and make this recipe.  It's quick and easy.  You can't screw it up unless your oven door is defective and bounces at the bottom of its hinge, rebounding to burn your arm as you remove the skillet, causing you to drop said cobbler face down in the oven.  This may or may not be the reason the cobbler in this photo is unbaked. 

2 T cornstarch

1/4 c. cold water

1 1/2 c. sugar

1 T lemon juice

4 c. blackberries, rinsed and patted dry

1 c. flour

1 tsp baking powder

1/2 tsp salt

6 T butter, cold, cut into small pieces

1/4 c. boiling water

1) In a large bowl, stir corn starch into cold water until completely dissolved.  Add 1 c. sugar, lemon juice, and blackberries.  Combine gently.  Transfer to 8-12 inch cast iron skillet.

2) In a medium bowl, combine flour, remaining sugar, baking powder, and salt.  Blend in butter with fork or fingers until mixture resembles coarse meal.  Add boiling water and stir just until batter comes together.

3) Bring blackberry mixture to a boil on the stove.  Drop spoonfuls of dough onto boiling mixture.  

4) Bake cobbler in skillet placed on a foil lined baking sheet (to catch spillover) at 400 degrees for 20-25 minutes until topping is golden.  Serve with vanilla ice cream or whipped cream.

What my mother taught me about food

Mom, I didn’t buy you anything for Mother’s Day. I’m sorry! I am a wretched child. Here’s a little blurb about your awesomeness, instead!

As a child, my favorite place to be was the kitchen counter, stirring something gurgling on the stove and chatting with my mom. It was a safe, comforting place. My mom likes company in the kitchen to this day, so I suspect that’s a major reason she encouraged us to cook. However, it also had some additional (maybe unintended?) consequences. It brought healthy eating into our consciousness at a very early age and taught us, above all, to be self-sufficient.

My mom didn’t cut the crust off my sandwiches because she didn’t make me sandwiches. She taught me to make my own lunch. I learned to eat the crusts because cutting them off was wasteful, and besides, some things in life suck, but you just have to deal.

She was firm about things like soda, but she wasn’t militant. We certainly did eat some sweets, but after my third fudgesicle on a summer day, she'd definitely throw down the kibosh. If I asked for a bag of pre-made cookies at the store, my mom would reply, “Sure, you can have cookies…” As I’d dart toward the crinkly packages of unnaturally flexible chocolaty goodness, she’d temper her response with, “You may make a batch when we get home.”

And this, my friends, is the sentiment on which I modeled my current eating habits. Never buy pre-packed food that’s heavily processed, particularly if it’s something you can make at home. It’s too easy and too easy to abuse. With three kids, I’m sure finances were part of my mom’s motivation, so I’m not sure if she consciously tried to teach me this.  The lesson was learned, regardless.

Every time I see a morbidly obese child perched in a grocery cart on a mountain of Poptarts, microwave dinners, and tater tots, I pity how much they will have to learn as they move into adulthood. Then I give thanks for my mom, who set me up for success at an early age by perching me next to the stove.

Happy early Mother’s Day, mom! Love you.

What I’m cooking:

Saag paneer and homemade naan

I looked at a bunch of recipes before I started and ended up using THIS saag paneer recipe.  It was very good, and I'd definitely recommend it.  I love that paneer has the texture I always hope for in tofu.  It is similar to tofu in that it's bland on its own.

However, the pièce de résistance of this meal was easily the naan. Recipe here.  Shockingly yummy, really! I think the bread flour is clutch. I ate the leftovers smeared with almond butter and had a little food-gasm. Trust me. Make this naan!

Whatever works

Jason seems to have natural propensity for hill running, but it’s a trait we don’t share. He waits for me at the top because he’s a good boy (or maybe it’s because I have the keys?).

At first, I tried to minimize the gap between us with the power of positive mantras.

I would repeat things like, You are stronger than you think; You are faster than you know. Just keep going! One step at a time!

Not seeing results, these mantras gave way to excuses.

Well, you’re tired. You’ve been studying a lot, he has more muscle mass than you, you can’t be good at everything.  Etc, etc, etc.

Then I started placating my bruised ego with, You’re gaining fitness even if you’re a terrible runner!

Finally, I surrendered to my natural instincts.

Bitch, I told myself, get your lazy ass up this hill!

That works.

 

Collard greens

Heirloom tomatoes with hop vines behind the chair

I have been studying and not cooking, so here are some pictures of my back porch "pot garden," instead!

Running Update

Man, this weather has been amazing! The grass is green, the trees are blooming, and all of my plant starters are growing like crazy. It has not, however, been kind to my running.

My olive skin loves to soak up the sun. I’ve stopped counting the times people have said to me, “Holy crap, you’re tan,” which makes it even funnier that Jason is a ginger kid. We’re practically a biracial couple by fall.

But, when I run in the heat, I throw up. I think I’ve finally acclimated a little, but there were a few rough weeks of 70-80 degree weather when I threw up on 4 occasions, and very nearly a few other times. There’s really no way to apologize for throwing up on someone’s lawn yet again, so I just kick some dirt and scurry off quickly.

My mileage is still much lower than I’d like for Quad Rock, the 25 mile trail race in May. I’ve been busier at school than I expected, but I’ve also been having some tendinitis issues. Last week, I put in 21 miles, and we did 32 this week. I’m kind of embarrassed by these meager numbers, but when I consider that I can now run the trails that I used to hike (huffing and puffing), I’m completely happy with my progress.

Year to date: 246 miles—which means I am still pretty much on track to complete my goal of 1000 miles this year. That only is about 20 miles a week, which isn’t a lot, but I have never run consistently for an entire year. I usually get ready for a race, then stop running, get chubby for a few months, wallow in self-loathing, and then pick it up again, thinking, “why the heck did I stop?!”

What I’m cooking:

Matzo ball soup!

Believe it or not, I had never had this before. Let’s just say there wasn’t a terribly strong Jewish influence in Northern Idaho. Besides, Jason makes amazing dumplings, so I always figured matzo balls were similar. They aren’t. Delicious in a completely different way.

This recipe is a conglomeration of several that I’ve tried over the past few months. With the advent of Passover, I thought it’d be an appropriate time to share.

Serves 2 very generously or 4 as a side dish

Matzo balls:

-¼ cup chicken stock or club soda (I use stock because I have it on hand)
-1 T canola oil
-2 eggs, lightly beaten
-2/3 cup matzo meal
-1 T chopped fresh dill (I like the dill, but if you like bland food, you may want to leave it out)
-½ tsp salt
-¼ tsp ground pepper

Soup:

-Desired quantity of chicken stock--about 8 cups (Please use homemade! I assume everyone knows how to make it. Or do I need to write a blog post about it?!)
-2 chicken breast halves (Optional! I really like this soup without meat)
-1 cup diced onion (Some chopped leeks are very nice, too!)
-2-3 sliced carrots
-2-3 stalks of sliced celery
-2 T chopped parsley
-1 T chopped chives (Optional—I like them, but I’m not sure I would miss them much)

Directions:

Mix matzo ball ingredients together in a small bowl. Cover and refrigerate for 30 minutes.

Meanwhile, cook onions, carrots, and celery in a soup pot with a small amount of oil over medium-low heat for 10 minutes. Add chicken, if using.

Pour in chicken stock, and bring to a simmer. Cook until vegetables are nearly tender, about 20 minutes (depending on how thick you sliced them).

Lightly shape matzo mixture into ½-1 inch balls, and drop them into the simmering soup (12-24 balls). Simmer for 20-30 more minutes. Taste one or two as you go—if they’re dense and chewy in the center, give them a few more minutes. When chicken is cooked, pull it out, allow it to cool for a minute or two, shred coarsely with two forks, and return it to the soup.

Add parsley and chives in the last five minutes of cooking. Season with additional salt and pepper as needed. Enjoy!

Trust us, we’re connoisseurs

As we slowly plan our wedding, Jason has decided to branch out from beer brewing to make some wine. He started with a Pinot Noir and an Old Vine Zin. But we continue to taste commercially made wine, just in case we accidentally drink all the homemade booze by the time we get around to getting hitched. 

I know what I do and don’t like, but I absolutely haven’t picked up the lingo used to describe the mouthfeel or scent of a wine. Jason will prompt me to describe what I’m tasting, and I’ll stammer, “Umm…well, it’s a little thin…kind of young, maybe? Yeah, it definitely has some sharpness like it’s angry. Yup, young, thin and angry. We should call this one teenage angst!”

I’d make a crack about not giving up my day job, but heck, I don’t even have a job!

What I'm cooking: 

We make pizza once or twice a month. And by we, I mean Jason. This is definitely the Elizabeth-has-to-study meal. It’s also a very cost conscious meal if you don’t go overboard on the cheese and makes great leftovers. The dough recipe is adapted from the one in Mark Bittman’s How to Cook Everything. Jason uses the food processor because his mom generously gave us one as a gift, but you could make it by hand.

First, let’s talk about sauce, toppings, and techniques. The dough recipe follows. Here are some general rules from our experience:

• Use a pizza stone. They are cheap, and you can also bake bread and cookies on them. 
• Place the pizza stone in the oven while it’s preheating. If you put your cold stone in the hot oven, you might end up with 2 or 3 smaller, oddly shaped stones. 
• Wash the stone with water and scraping, if needed. Soap can soak in and give everything a funky flavor. We rarely have anything spill off our pizza, so we usually just need to dust off the corn meal. 
• Slice veggies very thin. If they won’t cook in about 10 minutes, you’ll need to par-cook them. For example, onions, mushrooms, and peppers thinly sliced will easily cook in that time. However, something like asparagus spears need to be partially steamed or sautéed. 
• The sauce must not be watery. It should be roughly the consistency of tomato paste (or a very thick white sauce). Otherwise, you have puddles in the center of your pizza and may have to use a fork instead of your fingers. See point below about garlic.  
• Use lots of veggies and get creative! We've used things like thinly sliced potatoes. It’s also fun to crack an egg in the center of the pizza during the last 2-5 minutes of cooking. 
• If your veggie combos seem kind of bland, sprinkle on some balsamic vinegar or salt. Have you seen the research that shows reducing sodium intake isn't effective for controlling hypertension? Plus, most of your sodium intake is coming from processed foods, not what you add to your homemade foods. So go on, live a little.
• In my opinion, picky eating is a sign of emotional immaturity. You’re an adult. Put on your big girl pants, and try something new. You wouldn't believe how many people we’ve converted to goat cheese lovers by sneaking it into the sauce. 
• Roasted garlic is your friend. Douse an entire head with olive oil, wrap in aluminum foil, and roast at a moderate temp (350ish) for 30 minutes or until your entire house smells like heaven. Squeeze the cloves out and mash with a fork. Mix with 2 tsp of tomato paste, a little olive oil, and some goat cheese, and that's a pretty standard "sauce" for us. 
• Fresh herbs are also your friend, especially basil. Either hide it under some veggies so it doesn't burn, or add it in the last minute of cooking. 
• Lighten up on the cheese. Seriously. And don’t use the pre-shredded garbage. That is not cheese. That is disgusting. We like to use many different combos of cheese (whatever is in the fridge), but most commonly, we use a mix of fresh mozzarella, goat cheese, and some parmesan on top—once again, not the crap you shake out of the green cylinder. Buy a block, and grate it…you know, by hand. It’s almost like exercise. Try not to sweat on the pizza.  Bottom line: mix and match cheese for more flavor depth.
• I despise meat on my pizza, so I have no tips on that topic. I imagine you’d want most of your meat selections to be pre-cooked. We did put some prosciutto on a pizza once. That was pretty good. 

Dough recipe

Makes enough for one large pizza

3 c. flour
2 tsp yeast
2 tsp salt
3 T olive oil
~1 c. hot water
~1 tsp freshly ground nutmeg
~1 tsp freshly ground black pepper
Corn meal for sprinkling on peel 

Place pizza stone in oven and preheat oven to 450.

Pulse flour, salt, yeast, pepper, and nutmeg in food processor. Add oil and pulse to combine. As processor runs, add water just until the dough forms a ball and clings to the side of the bowl. Turn it out on a lightly floured surface and knead a few times. Wipe inside of a large bowl with olive oil (or use spray if you feel like huffing weird fumes). Place dough ball in bowl, turn once to coat, and then cover bowl with damp towel or cling film. Set aside in a warm place for about 2 hours or until dough ball has doubled in size.

Press the dough down and turn out onto a wooden pizza peel or large cutting board that has been sprinkled with a thin layer of corn meal. Press dough into a disc, and allow it to rest for 20 minutes. This allows it to relax, making it easier to handle. 

Finish pressing dough into desired size and thickness—ours is usually 15 inch diameter and a medium thickness crust.

Top with desired sauce and toppings. Gently shake peel back and forth to get the pizza moving (this is where the corn meal is clutch), and transfer pizza onto stone. Bake for 10-12 minutes until crust is very lightly brown.

Remove from oven, and allow to cool for 1-2 minutes before cutting. We cut it on the stone. I’m sure it dulls our pizza cutter, but it definitely hasn’t damaged the stone.

Relics from another lifetime

APRIL is the cruelest month, breeding

Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing 

Memory and desire, stirring 

Dull roots with spring rain. 

Winter kept us warm, covering 

Earth in forgetful snow, feeding 

A little life with dried tubers. 

--The Waste Land, T.S. Eliot 

Spring is a reminder of renewal and rebirth that typically sends people into a frenzy of housecleaning or scurrying to find the perfect seeds for their garden.

I do these things, too, but for me, spring is primarily a time of remembrance and reflection. It is a time when memories from the past seep into my present, and two wholly separate worlds collide into a tangled mess of celebration for all that I have and mourning for the time I lost.

I gain a propensity for seeing faces in crowds that should be 1000 miles away, and otherwise innocuous scents can melt the existence of a decade.

Mostly, though, I think about the boy who radically changed the way I think about love and life.

Gage’s doe eyes could turn steely in an instant as they clouded with hurt and confusion, which culminated in a ferocious rage expressed in a way only an emotionally altricial 7 year old could fathom.

He would wave at me from his room as I sat in my hallway exile. Occasionally, when drama was occurring elsewhere, he’d sneak out to talk to me.

He asked earnestly, “Will you be my girlfriend?”
I was 16.

“I think I’m a little old for you, buddy, but I’d really like it if you’d be my friend.”
His chubby little cheeks darkened and twisted into a scowl. He bit his lip and turned his face.

“People don’t like me because I get angry” he said quietly.

I wanted to tell him that we were trying in vain to control things we did not understand while bearing the repercussions of a carrying a burden most people never confront. I wanted to tell him that we were sent unprepared into a battle not of our making with weapons better suited for self-immolation than salvation, but we were doing the best we could, which is all anyone could ever ask.

Instead, I wiped the wet track from my cheek and said, “Everything is going to be ok, you know?” My voice sounded hollow.

He looked appropriately unconvinced and followed my steadfast gaze.
Pointing, he said, “I’ll drink that for you if it’d make you happy.”

I smiled wanly. “You should head back before you get caught.”

I wanted to hug him tight and fight to the death to protect him from everything and everyone. 

We were separated soon after, and I never spoke to him again.

My thoughts drift and rest on him every day.

Maybe I should be a real vet after all…

Man, there are some days in the clinic that reignite my initial desire to be a vet. A sweet golden retriever bonded to my leg after a little face scratching, and the apparent comfort she derived from my presence roused my protective nature. I followed her around the various services in the hospital through my lunch break until I had to leave for afternoon classes. As I walked away, she tried to pull the leash through the senior student’s hand to come with me.

Today reminded me that we are, above all, advocates for our patients. While the human side of things has completely scared me off from private practice, it makes me feel like less of a monster to know that my desire to relieve animal suffering hasn’t lessened in the slightest.

What I’m cooking:

Roasted Asparagus and Potato Soup 

This was a weeknight, “we need dinner fast” creation that turned out quite well!

½ onion, diced
Several cloves of minced garlic. I used 4, I think.
2 TBSP olive oil
1 lb asparagus, chopped into 1-2 inch pieces
2-3 small potatoes, chopped—I used Yukon Gold and didn’t peel them
1 bay leaf
1 tsp dill
Vegetable or chicken stock—I used homemade
Salt
Freshly ground pepper
2 TBSP milk
Gruyere for garnish

Pour a bit of olive oil over asparagus on a cookie sheet. Roast at 425 for about 15 minutes, until they get some color.

Meanwhile, sauté onions and garlic in a soup pot with a bit of oil or butter over medium-low heat. Toss in the chopped potatoes and the bay leaf once the onions are translucent. Pour in enough stock to barely cover the potatoes.

Bring to a simmer, adding asparagus once it’s finished roasting.

Simmer until everything is very tender, about 30 minutes. Add dill and remove bay leaf.

Use an immersion blender or transfer in batches to a blender until very smooth. Season with salt and pepper. Stir in milk as desired.

Serve with a little more dill and some shaves of Gruyere.  I was planning on using Parmesan, but I changed my mind when I saw we had a chunk of this in the fridge.  Really, really tasty! 

Beware the sexy running men

I’m kind of anti-social when I’m running. I’ll do the acknowledging head nod or a brusque, “g’morning,” if I’ve accidentally initiated awkward eye contact, but otherwise, I’d prefer to use the silence to organize the spastic thoughts floating within the vast empty space of my head.

That’s not to say certain people don’t catch my eye and momentarily divert my thoughts. Like the heavy-set guy wearing bilateral knee support who was crying as he shuffled along the trail with what looked suspiciously like vomit smeared on his shirt.  I saw him intermittently over the next year and eagerly craned my neck to gauge his progress as he passed. By my estimate, he lost about 100 lbs and increased his speed by about 3 minutes per mile. The guy is pretty much my hero, and I don’t even know his name.

Then there are the sexy running men whose confident strides and rippling six-packs blur the reality of their chronological age. I’ve been fooled more times by a half naked man than I’d care to admit.

I’m thinking, “Hola, Mr. Eye Candy,”... until I realize he’s at least 10 years older than my father. Or I realize as he’s a stride away that he’s not even old enough to shave. How does a 16 year old even have that much muscle mass? Gah! I can’t decide which scenario makes me feel creepier!

So I’ve given up ogling shirtless men. From now on, I’ll just grunt and turn away to blow my nose on my sleeve. No offense, sexy men. I just don’t want to risk having to retract my gawk mid stride.

I’ll stick with my usual view—the rear end of my dog and my own sexy man.

What I'm baking:

As promised, here’s my favorite chocolate chip cookie recipe. I’ve tried many over the years, and this one’s still tops. If you’re a die-hard Tollhouse fans, try this one at least once. I wager you’ll kick yourself for using a sub-par recipe all these years.

You’ll notice that the dry goods are listed by weight, not volume. You can convert them, but I’d highly recommend the scale. The bread flour has a higher protein content, which gives a nice chewy texture and keeps the cookies from spreading out to a thin, crispy wafer. I don't make any altitude alterations for this recipe.

Recipe here: http://www.foodnetwork.com/recipes/alton-brown/the-chewy-recipe/index.html

These cookies have repaid many favors and even opened career opportunities, simply because the recipient will actually remember my name the next time I show up unexpectedly in their office.  I'll have to budget for weekly bags of chocolate chips during my senior rotations!

Socially inappropriate magnetism

I like eccentric people. There’s something very genuine and honest about being socially inappropriate. I screen my friends for too much normalcy because I find it to be utterly suspicious. People who constantly smile terrify me.

My tolerance was tested last week, though. I had been trying to contact a certain professor, and I knew from past experience that he didn’t answer his e-mail…ever. This annoyed me, as I consider answering e-mail at least weekly to be part of your job as a clinician at a teaching hospital. I attempted to track him down in his office in the 10 minutes between classes for a week and a half. His office is on the other side of the building and on the third story, so I got a pretty good workout, but no reward. His office was stubbornly empty.

Finally, I caught him. He was very nearly obscured by the stacks of papers on his desk, but the quick glimpse I got revealed thick glasses and a face that hadn’t been shaved in a while. After introducing myself, I asked him about a rotation, got a satisfactory answer, thanked him, and turned to go.

Inexplicably, he called out, “Do you bake cookies?”

He acted as if this were a perfectly natural and relevant question to ask.

“Umm, yeah, I like to bake,” I replied, still winded from climbing the stairs. Feeding off his impish grin, I haughtily arched my neck. “Actually, I make very excellent cookies.”

He turned back to his computer and said, “Good. Prove it!”

After a few more exchanges, he settled on chocolate chip.

Normally, if an old white man I barely know insisted that I bake him cookies, I’d tell him to shove it. But this guy’s eccentricity won me over. I’ll be making those cookies, and I’ll share my recipe with you later this week.

What I’m cooking:

Vegetarian Steamed Dumplings 
Recipe from Alton Brown

Ingredients
1/2 pound firm tofu
1/2 cup coarsely grated carrots
1/2 cup shredded Napa cabbage
2 tablespoons finely chopped red pepper
2 tablespoons finely chopped scallions
2 teaspoons finely minced fresh ginger
1 tablespoon chopped cilantro leaves
1 tablespoon soy sauce
1 tablespoon hoisin sauce
2 teaspoons sesame oil
1 egg, lightly beaten
1 teaspoon kosher salt
1/4 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
Bowl of water, plus additional water for steamer
35 to 40 small wonton wrappers
Non-stick vegetable spray, for the steamer

Moab's Red Hot 33k

We did it! We finished within 10 minutes of each other with smiles on our faces. Jason palmed the camera during the run, for which he deserves a medal.

I’ve had a really busy week at school (the busiest of the semester, I think/hope), so I won’t write up a traditional race report, but here are the salient features of my longest race to date: 

• The Fort Collins Trail Runners are fantastic beyond words. Fun, welcoming, and just the right mix of crazy for my taste! I came home with some sore quads and calves, but my throat was equally sore from post-race laughs and storytelling. 
• My mental toughness is improving! I was under-trained for the race due to general busyness, a bit of laziness, and some babying of my IT bands, so I expected a really tough grind for the last 5 miles of the race. When the slickrock started to tear my legs to shreds, I was able to dig deep, sans the ensuing vomitus I typically provide. 

• Jason and I ran the first 6-7 miles together. This was the first time we've run together for any significant portion of a race, and I loved it. I kept blabbing about the song I had stuck in my head, and Jason didn’t miss a beat when joining me in belting out the chorus. “Oooh weee oooh, I look just like Buddy Holly-- Oh, oh, and you’re Mary Tyler Moore. I don’t care what they say about us anyway; I don’t care ‘bout that!” (That would be Weezer, for those with crinkled brows.) 

• My nutrition worked out perfectly. Oatmeal and ½ banana for breakfast. I carried 10 oz of electrolyte water and topped off at miles 8 and 15. I ate my first Clif Shotblok 45 minutes into the race and ate one every 30 minutes thereafter, even if my stomach was lurching. I also had a small but glorious handful of pretzels at the 2nd aid station. To be honest, I really wanted to suck the salt off them and spit the remainder on the ground, but I figured that would be considered uncouth. (Ha, coming from a group of people who belch, fart, snot-rocket and god knows what else on their way to the finish line, uncouth seems pale in comparison! Wasteful, though.) Ended up with a total of 200 calories. 

• 3.2% beer possibly has a place on this planet as a post-race recovery beverage. It seems blasphemous, but I rather enjoyed my low alcohol beer all week. Ska Brewing’s True Blonde (5.3%) rehydrated me, and then I moved onto New Belgium’s Sunshine Ale as a throwback to a previous Moab trip, and its 4.8% ABV was also quite tolerable to a sketchy stomach while still allowing for my grandiose proclamations regarding future races.

• Finally, and most importantly.  The awesome thing about being slow and inexperienced is having tremendously low expectations of yourself.  "What? I finished, and I didn't throw up or die?  F*ck yeah, I'm a rockstar!"

A Love Story

In honor of Valentine’s Day, I will tell you the story of how I decided I would marry my boyfriend, who is now my fiancé.

Four years ago, my sister moved out of the apartment we shared in college, and Jason filled in the empty space. I had recently turned 21.

I went to a bachelorette party at a nearby apartment. Jason offered to come pick me up if I decided to drink. I said (exact quote), “No, it’s ok. I don’t really feel like drinking tonight.”

The party had a “cock”tail theme, so I wore a black dress and heels.

Innocent bystanders cropped out of incriminating evidence 

…that’s pretty much all I remember.

Then I am jarred awake to the sun rising and a pounding headache. I’m naked…I’m in a bed. I panic, thinking I have possibly just made the worst mistake of my life.

I glimpse a shock of red hair as I roll over, which releases my heart from my throat a little.

I dimly recognized my own bed, but I was on the “wrong” side, which provided a surprisingly significant change to the scenery.

“Oh God, I don’t remember how I got home,” I croaked.

Jason peeled his eyes a little and then sat up in bed. He looked cranky.

As he spoke, he got decidedly crankier.

“I got a call saying you’d been over-served. When I got there, the girl at the door didn’t know me. She didn’t believe I was your boyfriend and kept glaring at me like I’m some pederast. Then, you couldn’t walk, so I had to carry you OVER MY SHOULDER from the car to our apartment [on the 3rd floor]. The damn football players on the 1st floor were having a party in the parking lot, and I’m pretty sure they thought I rufied and claimed a sorority girl.  I couldn't tell if they were going to kick my ass or congratulate me.”

I stared at him uncomprehending, trying vainly to remember the previous evening. I started to quantify the number and content of drinks I had drunk to elucidate the etiology of my very first blackout, but it made me nauseous, and I had to stop.

I tried to lighten the mood by teasing him “Why I am naked? Did you have your way with me?  Did I miss anything?”

Jason’s jaw flinched as he replied, “You were dry-heaving for 3 hours. I went to bed after I figured you wouldn’t f*cking die.”

“Well, that would explain why it feels like Rambo donkey-kicked me in the abs…”, I thought.

But then, he sighed, kissed my forehead, and got me some soup. Of course, he commemorated my shame by snapping this photo, which I will share with you for his gratification.

Drugs are bad, mmkay?

I decided if someone stuck by me through the worst decisions of my life, albeit with a little snark and a bit of humor, he was someone I should try to snag.   It took four more years, but dammit, I have a ring. And a dog, and a cat...and a joint bank account.  Let's face it, he's stuck!

(In reality, the premise of this story is entirely a lie because we’d already been dating for almost 2 years when this event took place, and I had decided many months prior to that point that this guy was a keeper. But hey, I’m only concerned with the semantics.)

What I’m cooking:

We had STEAK! For the first time since….I can’t even remember, sadly. A long time. Since they were on sale, we also had some oysters as an appetizer. Paired with some nice red wine (also on sale) and an easy chocolate recipe, we had ourselves a little Tuesday night party until I got a nosebleed…which is why I’m sitting on the couch typing this with a Kleenex shoved up my nose instead of snoozing with my beau. 

All together, the meal cost $40 total. That’s really steep for an average meal but totally a steal when compared to going out to eat. 

Here’s to finding someone who loves you, scars and all. Cheers!

Chocolate bread pudding recipe courtesy of Cooking Light magazine

http://www.myrecipes.com/recipe/chocolate-chunk-bread-puddings-10000000421669/

Nom, Nom, Nom

Yes, we still have our college dishware

Mormon college friends,
If I hadn't mortally offended you yet, I certainly have now.  Nice knowing you!
With apologies to my parents, also

The Great Plague of 2012

I tend to be a fairly healthy person, not prone to episodes of undignified sniffling (unless I’m complaining about something). Every so often, though, I am reminded of my mortality as I succumb to a contagion.

This one knocked me on my butt, likely in retribution for my holier-than-thou, I-never-get-sick attitude.

Cold medicine and I have never gotten along well. Even though I generally take a half dose, I always experience what is most accurately described as severe mental disturbance. I am over-excitable but irritable, unfocused, disoriented, and prone to episodes of nonsensical gibberish. It doesn’t seem to be a specific ingredient. It’s the combination of decongestants and expectorants that somehow bring out the crazy in me.

As I was sitting in class on Friday, my peripheral vision began to distort. It was like a wormhole was sucking me into the cardiology PowerPoint. Ever seen Donnie Darko? It was like that. I felt my jaw go slack, and I couldn’t for the life of me get it to stay closed, which was probably good, since it provided my only consistent supply of oxygen. As the pressure started to build in my head, I felt detached from the lecture hall surrounding me, as if I were watching everything from a distance. This jarring dissociation, plus the wormhole phenomenon made me casually consider that I was, perhaps, severely mentally ill.

Finally a friend said, “You look terrible. Go home. I will take notes for you.”

Seeing my confusion, which she may have interpreted as hesitation, she said a bit more forcefully, “Go home!”

I mumbled something and wandered off, trying valiantly to remember where I lived.

I spent the weekend curled up in the fetal position on the couch, moaning and wheezing, according to Jason. I was forced to take full doses of medication on a regular schedule, which began to make me paranoid that my liver was putrefying from the onslaught of acetaminophen. I left the house only once to resupply food. I touched about 20 avocados at the King Soopers on Timberline, trying to find a ripe one, so if you got the plague from your guacamole, that’s a gift from me. You’re welcome.

Obviously I’ve survived. My running suffered horrifically, but I’m back on track now, just in time to taper a bit for Moab. Although I’m not expecting a very good showing running-wise, it should be a weekend filled with good friends, awesome scenery, plentiful food and drink, and the obligatory road trip!

What I’m cooking (ahem, baking):

Thin Mint Knock-offs

Recipe here:
http://www.mnn.com/food/recipes/blogs/all-natural-thin-mint-cookies-even-better-than-the-girl-scout-version

I used a 2 inch biscuit/cookie cutter

I haven’t had a Girl Scout version in several years, but it seems this recipe produces a richer and less sweet cookie. I was in a hurry while I was making these for a party a few weeks ago, so I didn’t roll them thin enough, which I think detracted from the final product.

I also didn’t bother digging the iodized salt out of the pantry, so I made the mistake of using kosher salt, instead. We use kosher salt for cooking because it’s easy to pick up a pinch, sprinkles evenly, and we like the taste of it. But it really should never be used for baking. Its larger flakes don’t distribute well in the dough, and the measurements can be off when the recipe is written for iodized salt. Learn from my mistakes, and I think this is a solid recipe.

Kosher salt.  Repeat after me: cooking good, baking bad!

As a side note, I’ve been following the news coverage of the GS transgender hullabaloo. I don’t generally buy GS cookies because I hate buying pre-made items, but I feel compelled to donate some money this year because I applaud their inclusive policy and am saddened by the ensuing backlash from those whose minds inexplicably gravitate toward crying “sexual perversion!” in any situation that makes them uncomfortable.

Running:
February current total: 14 miles
January: Apparently, I can’t do math. My total was actually 98 miles for the month

What Jason’s brewing:  Coconut Porter
This has been a fan favorite, so it’s one of the few brews that he’s made more than once. It will have a slightly different malt profile this time. I’m really excited for this one!