Coming up: As temperatures fall faster than attendant condensation, the sultry seductions of a neglected oven raise new temptations. Will the exploding frozen bananas overwhelm the yuergheuahuhs and take new dominance over the (W)right encampments?? Ova-oratorios are waxed and waned, when eco-hippy-dippy-vegarific-yippee girl lashes out through innocuous internet portals and portentuous considerations sire peppy pudlas. Will eco-guilt starve our hapless heroine? Will pancake sandwiches save Andrew's breakfast? And the howling of the hallowed begin in earnest, while socks strike a spooky note.
Plan out your costume, strap on your goggles, and plunge into socktober in all its anomie to find out more!
OCTOBER! I know this because our calendar of cute things now displays a photograph of a hedgehog in a dracula costume. Bring on the ghouls and goblins (especially if by "goblin" we mean "youngish David Bowie in tights as Jareth the goblin king"... do bring that on, please).
Bring on the month long fruit-and-veggie-less deliberations over what on earth I'm going to BE this Hallowedest of all Eve's.
By which I don't actually intend to draw on hard core omphaleskepsis regarding the pith of my being. More like, what am I going to dress up as when I go into work on the 31st. I remain in that twilight-land between active Halloween Bacchanalia: neither in the age/interest bracket of late night drinking parties, nor in the parental milieu of shuttling cute children about to whimsical fetes and feats of tricking and treating. But gosh darnit, I will continue to bomb the office with our Halloween fixings one day a year, and show up in costume for a Halloween party of one to three individuals (depending on whether Leslie and my mom are feeling up to it).
Yes I do take suggestions for costumes. Preferably something I can move around in. Though I'm pretty set on a course towards sock-monkeydom.
In the meantime, I'm slinking back into manic kitchen scientist mode. Making yogurt is hardly that mad these days with my handy dandy yuppie device. I haven't infused my yogurt with onions and garlic in months!
Even with the nifty machine, it is messy endeavor! I have yet to perfect a way of portioning out the premixture into individual jars that doesn't result in milk moats throughout the kitchen. A gal can dream.
This morning, I tried to spice up our morning ritual a little bit with a twist on our "usual" egg breakfast. Since I started taking the synthroid (thus eating a smaller mini-breakfast before work with promises of a heartier one in a few hours), I've been making an egg thingy to share with Mr. (W)right (at a 1/4 to 3/4 ratio). Yes, "egg-thingy" is the fancy culinary term, of course. I apologize for putting on airs.
Said egg-thingy is an olio of two eggs, several egg whites, cumin, cayenne, nutritional yeast, a tablespoon of vital wheat gluten, chopped onions, chopped parsley, and chopped peppers. I throw the mix on an oiled pan and flip it halfway through. Puffs up nicely into something resembling a frittata.
It was all going so well with my several boxes of eggs a week breakfast habits. But then - DUN DUN DUUUUUUUN, just in time for Howloween - the ol' vega-yippee-hippee-eco guilt had to rear its sweetly coiffed head and nip at my palpating cardiac muscle. After an idle debate on whether commercial eggs were fertilized (I maintained correctly that they generally were not), I had to go looking up articles about commercial egg production.
And of course yadda yadda yadda, you all know that sometimes chickens aren't treated too nicely. Of course there are certified cruelty free eggs and all (although apparently the standards are so nebulous that you can't trust virtually any claim on any packaging to be accurate). But this is where vega-yippee-hippee-eco girl locks heads with miserly-depression-era-granny-gal. These humane eggs are, like, three to four times as much as the sadist-eggs! Rationally, this makes sense and is thoroughly justified if cruelty free egg production is something one values. Emotionally, it's a little hard. Particularly given that we've been going through 3.5 cartons in an average week.
And then, of course, lest I even reconcile myself to that cost differential, perpetual bummer PETA pop up gets in there and tells me that organic and free-range animals are treated even worse than their caged peers and are likely full of bacteria (possibly plutonium) and you might as well just fire a nuclear weapon straight into a volcano with your obvious disregard for the value of life and mother nature... and it's all a muck!
I hate you internet; go away; wait, come back; I need you!!!
So now in ecog-vega-guilty-hippy girl world we're up to growing my own creatures (not happening; I can barely maintain our imaginary child replacement sphynx cat) or going full throttle locavore lolling and possibly breaching (horror of horrors) farmers markets and similar terrors.
So lalalala, I can't hear you...
but it did stoke my curiosity about ways to maybe buy the slightly less evil eggs and use less of them.
Begin the google machine!
Vegans eat weird stuff.
And a lot of soy. Which I can't really eat much of right now.
But I did find a recipe for "vegan omelet." Essentially, pudla (Indian crepes) with a little accessorizing to make it eggier. The original recipe combined chickpea flour with "egg substitute" (I substituted egg white... like a substitute, right?), some wheat flour, nutritional yeast, and some spices. I modified this to 3 tablespoons chickpea flour, 1 tablespoon vital wheat gluten (the demon seitan!!! OOOOO Halloween cuisine!!!), 1 tablespoon nutritional yeast, apparently more cayenne than intended, cumin seeds, and the usual onions/parsley/peppers. Oil on a pan, flip halfway through ta-da! So, really, not that different than our usual egg breakfast. Well if you discount taste and texture.
It may have been more of a pancake than an egg substitute. Delicious and nutritionally similar to eggs. But maybe not... eggs.
I got... "it's different" and "I'm not sure how I feel about it yet" from the boyfrianceband. This is a step up from "it tastes like beet ice cream" but perhaps not a rave review implying breakfast from now on will be pudlarific.
It was different. I actually loved it. There was a little crispiness on the outside and that savory supple texture on the inside.
Andrew admitted it probably wasn't best served eaten between toast (this is how he eats his eggs). I may have to return to it in modified forms. But I think the boyfrianceband may not be jumping on the veganish breakfast wagon anytime soon! At least - hopefully - not smooshed between toast which seems a bit like having a bread sandwich at a certain point.
I am also curious to try out a combination of flax and gluten that I used to eat a la microwave. Similar idea, but ground flax instead of the besan. I used to mix it with water, microwave for a minute, flip and microwave some more. The microwave was likely not the best venue for texture, so in the near future I will have to try it in a skillet. Probably only after the bike-and-chain has recovered from his current round of Adellasperimentations though. Or maybe just in my own separate pan.
Oooooh the experiments just take off from there. Beware, it's the month of horror and eeriness. And that may just manifest in culinary form.
Or in socks. Maybe just socks.
Hope your first October day is going well. Work is decidedly non-scary at the moment, but this may change when people come in and the phones start ringing. And/or when I let go of my denial about the upcoming trial at the end of this year and worse trial looming on the horizon of 2015.
Naw. Candy! Treats! David Bowie singing about Dance Magic! Bring on the Howls!!! AWWOOOOOOO!!!!
Pudla Proclivities and Apple Ados A Dromedary Date Night with Culinary Cavorts
While I have decidedly discovered that vegans have no idea what an "omelet" tastes like, I'm grateful for the extra encouragement to dally further into the realm of the pudla. Hell, I've got a bag of besan and I'm always eager to use it. Having decided that the prior day's attempt at "vegan omelet" was not the rip-roaring ovum-obviating tour de nom that it had been heralded as, I decided to recalculate.
You know how sometimes if you take a sip of what looks like water but is, in fact, vodka, the experience is far less pleasant than taking a sip of your favorite little water willingly? This is how I feel about my first take on pudla. Drunk. Yep. Totally mouth-scathingly sotten with visions of pink-elephant pudlas.
So this morning, I was not to be defeated. I made myself a big old pudla with the vegarific touches of gluten and nutritional yeast to keep it from being too traditional. Essentially the recipe I tried yesterday except I left out the egg whites, greased the pan with olive oil for added flavor, and kept the whole thing to myself. I think it will work out nicely. If I make Andrew's eggs beforehand, the skillet is still warm and the flavors don't clash for a follow up of my massive pancake thingy.
Andrew got his traditional two-egg breakfast. Yes, the eggs of wrath: those cheapo eggs from a carton I purchased in the heady happy days of benighted intentional ignorance of all those little triggers to my hippy-dippy-vegarific-eco guilt! Nom nom nom! I am always one to sidestep ethical and moral dilemmas (being one of those vegetarians who sticks with "I just stopped eating it and now it makes me sick" and has more or less avoided all debates on the ethics related to such choices, after all). I have them, so we'll be using them.
I may or may not continue to buy them, depending on just how confident I can become about the more expensive alternatives. Such is life. Yes, this means a few trips to - oh horror of horrors - the hippy stores in town. I did note that Freddy's has their own brand of purportedly cruelty-diminished eggs under their "Simple Truth" line (simple truth is that we here at Kroger love chargin' wealthier people a premium for a thin veneer of moral superiority not otherwise specified") but also then noted a rather hefty lawsuit against them regarding false claims about their poultry farm conditions. Various brands are certified humane by various trustworthy institutions, but it's a bit scattered and I suspect the certification itself is costly. Nonetheless, worth checking out Trader Joe's on a non-busy day (har har, because that exists) and the local Co-op for brands and prices.
Hopefully then I'll grow complacent again. Because keeping adequately informed to make sufficiently informed purchases of anything is exhausting. Let's not even start with the information about environmental impacts of various farming practices or - heaven forbid - dairy production. I am struggling to eat enough as it is. Let's just not go there!
But yes, ok, new awesome morning breakfast meets all prior checklists and reduces the thrice a week carton habit at any rate. Nothing too likely to interfere with my morning synthroid dosage. Simplifies my breakfast routine by two steps, since adding crisp bread "buttered" in avocado feels horribly redundant.
In other hippy-dippy cooking forays, I couldn't resist the siren song of the oven yesterday. I had determined that it was, in fact, date night and I was not going to get caught up washing veggies and prepping them. But the oven and the idea of bakery aromas was too much to pass up. Also, I had made applesauce from my stash of apples before heading to Prague. It needed using. It rather demanded appreciation.
The little apples I got from somebody's tree (by invitation) were deliciously tart and have mellowed splendidly into sauce. I might need to take advantage of the seasonal splendors to bushel up my own bevy of apples for more sauce to last the rest of the year, but I can't guarantee it will ever be quite so spectacular a flavor burst again. It really was worth the effort. Anyways, I'd bought more bananas on the premise that they seem to be one of the most versatile bases for cooking Adella-foods. And I had some leftover rolled oats at home. Plus a spare half hour to mix ingredients and get the oven revved up.
Naturally we needed cookies! With a bit of flax meal. So basically the "bars" I made this weekend, but with applesauce and in a puffier cookie-ball format. They do have a nice mellow sweetness, one that condensed during the baking process. Nothing like the treacle of true cookies, but just about perfect for my speeds.
Clearly my head is up to the challenge of Thursday. think that the jet lag has subsided, and I'm coming to accept this autumnal briskness with vim. Right at the tippee toe of the week, I say Thursday is officially on!
Arachnicoif and the Ookey Spooky Socktober Morning
Because I know how to celebrate the onset of October (glorious, wonderful, spooky, ookey, cozy October), I thought I'd add a bit of panache to my "It's Friday and I take casual to a whole 'nother level" ensemble. A quick jaunt through an impromptu spider's web in my garage has more or less gone the extra meter for my tastes. There are other ways to remind me that I need to get my hair trimmed, universe!
But that's ok. After a very jaunty little jig (and thorough shakedown of my eternally inutile sunglass-diadem) I am pretty sure there are no living creature setting up snares on my scalp.
And it was a very lovely little jig to start this fine Friday morning! FRIDAY! WHOOOOOOOO!
I am technically supposed to hop on the line for an IRB meeting this morning, but I haven't officially RSVP'd and I already know they have a quorum. Needless to say the temptation to bail on the whole endeavor is mounting. Our group consolidated with a much larger one, and this means that meetings are both less fun and less efficiently run. They drag on well into the not-so-wheeee hours nowadays and are unwieldy enough that I rarely can follow the discussion.
And though I'm between busy spells (one should be alighting later today) in terms of office work, I have been neglecting some of my duties as secretary/poet-laureate of the Whatcom Collaborative Professionals. I did finally update our attendance sheets yesterday with all sorts of unnecessary side-lessons about Excel. I've been shy of Excel for several years, but one of my projects at the DRC involves some muck-and-mire delving into the bowels of their Excel spreadsheets. As such, I'm learning-by-doing at a pretty fetid rate. And making pretty but functionless tweaks to our old sheets as I go. Just to see what I can do.
Attendance sheet aside, I have a lot of power over the group resting on the fact that I record what has happened. As such, I tend to be the one people rely on to (1) prepare any necessary records, (2) prepare any necessary outlines or agendas, (3) pay attention to the website, (4) pay attention to dates, (5) um... pay attention? Herding eels and all that. Which means maybe I should have paid attention at all this month? I dunno. There was an intercontinental vacation between our last to-do and the coming to-do list. Even sending out reminders and an agenda will tax my very core.
So, obviously i can't also be distracted with IRB palaver and meandering trudges towards some sort of long-forestalled "aye/nay" pippage opportunity. I've got more pressing work to do! People depend on me to be more prepared than them so that I can look vaguely annoyed when they flounder over things we've already sorted out several months ago. It is my path in life! I practiced it in school. I practice it in love. I just darn well have it down to a polite but icy glare with crepitations of bemusement.
I hope your Friday treats you well and any extra hair product mother nature may throw your way will be the secret to glossy tresses and a keen cool brain!
Dances with Kitties and Outfluenza
Standby for a morning egg-substitute with a side o' #hashtags: Happy #socktober #caturday ! I'm happy to have made it through my first full-bodied - nay zaftig - work week in quite some time. Barely worse for the wear. In fact, I believe I endued myself in work-week quite splendidly. But now 'tis the time for frothy pink flannel and chromatic arm warmers.
Yesterday, I made a trek to the pharmacy. I think I live there recently. My primary goal had been to spend yet another untold fortune out of our HSA for special little prim-and-proper patches. I'm pretty much mainlining estrogen in all available forms these days. I guess the hope is that my upcoming ultrasound will reveal some physical effects... like maybe my guts have turned pink for breast cancer awareness day, or my arteries have been adorned with tasteful lace accents and sandal-berry-sapor-serenity scented votives.
While patching myself up, I figured it was more than time to get myself an influenza vaccine. I'm pro-vaccine generally speaking. It's one of those "we're all in this together" kind of things for me. I may not worry about my own individual risk all that much (I will get some nasty viruses and be sick all winter hell or high water, and attempting to thwart such fate just stirs the norns to be more creative). But there are people who can't get vaccinated and who are incredibly vulnerable. My philosophy of "limit the negative impact your existence has on others" (I shoot for the stars and face plant right directly into a lunar crater here) at least has me taking reasonable steps to reduce my status of incubator for nasty viruses and the like.
Besides, there apparently are still a number of anti-vaxxers out there. Which is shocking to me, because I live in a particular bubble that is decidedly anti-anti-vaxxer. To the point that it seems like anti-vaxxers are a chimerical boogie-man story told to children who are crying about getting their boosters. But I'm anti-anti-science enough to be additionally motivated by the sheer specter of this image.
As having-sharp-things-stuck-in-your-arm-by-a-white-coated-professional things go, it was a pleasant enough experience. A short form and a shorter wait. And I got to see my favorite pharmacist (bittersweet, as it was his last day). I've had so many blood draws recently that I had forgotten how little shots hurts. I even incredulously exclaimed "that didn't hurt at all!" at my pharmacist. He was confused but decided to take it as a compliment instead of an accusation. And they give way cuter bandaids than my blood draw people (who just put some kind of implacably sticky adhesive and a cotton swab over the mess).
Also prettier than my patches, which are hiding on some hip or other. And with fanfare aplenty, I return us to a calm Saturday morning. Mr. (W)right has contracted the plague (not the flu, but something awfully sniffly) and I offered him nyquil last night. We'll see if he wakes up at all this morning* and just how much that aggravates his typical sleep inertia. It's groceries and baking for me**, and some silly bike ride for him*. We'll reconnoiter in the afternoon to discuss further excitement before our date afternoon in Seattle tomorrow!
Epilogue/End Notes:
* Peradventure the norns see me my flu shot and raise me a bedraggled husband fully felled by the lurgy. He did indeed rouse with less inertia than anticipation, but proceeded to spend the day hacking, sniffling, and otherwise exhibiting symptoms of sickness. He even went so far as to (1) cut his four hour gallivant about the Chuckanuts down to a one hour ride around Galbraith, and (2) to reverse his previous initiative to go check out Bellingham BMX and their cyclocross events.
** Groceries involved wandering about in a bit of a muddle in not one but TWO stores. Not entirely sure why I was feeling foggy, but I had the majority of my big ticket items from midweek shopping and I was still in egg-comparison mode. Survey says that actually certified humane eggs are momentarily cheaper at the Bellingham Food Co-op (a rare occasion usually limited to obscure grains in their brobdignagian bulk section). Eggs with similar claims but no certification run a broad gamut of price ranges. We still have a few of the eggs of wrath at home. No subsequent eggs were purchased. And I absolutely shorted myself on bread, only buying one loaf from a sale aisle.
I did end up with a fair autumn harvest at the end. But mostly by impulse
Baking/kitchenry was a flurry of pots, pans, and impromptu decisions that required scuba gear in lieu of actually coming up for air.
Destroying a pumpkin was involved. Those are not easily breached. And Martha may say the peels are "easy" to slough off, but easy is a relative term. I was shocked to end up with any pumpkin meat by the end, although I actually was then surprised by how much diced pumpkin I ended up with. And seeds! So many seeds. I roasted them, which is also more effort than one might imagine. In the interim, there were crackers to be made and protein bars to bake (since the crackers require a much longer cooking time at a far lower setting, they started their odyssey to preparation early in the morning and the protein bars delayed until after I'd chopped several thousand odds and ends of produce in preparation for the massive crock pot of pumpkin chili I'm planning for Sunday's away-day.
It is currently over-full. I made broth yesterday, and there might have been more than the 8 cups anticipated for this little endeavor. It's only sort of leaking with a can of tomatoes left to add.
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