#I miss getting the little loaves though. they were the perfect size to put in our sandwich press at home...

[david-watts]

it’s nearly two am why did my brain go ‘the only thing that will satisfy you now is a ham and pickles sandwich made from leftover christmas ham and a fresh loaf of plastic bread’ like c’mon

[douxreviews]

The Handmaid's Tale - ‘Unknown Caller’ Review

Serena Joy Waterford. What a character.

Seriously, though. What a complicated character, and what a continuing, exceptional performance by Yvonne Strahovski. I have absolutely no idea what is going on in Serena's head, and yet, everything she does is completely in character. I desperately want Serena to be the one to lead the nationwide Resistance in Gilead because she would be the perfect one to do it. At the same time, I have no idea if she will ever shake off the hold that Gilead has on her psyche.

The vibe between Serena and Fred has changed; he seems to have taken June's marital advice to heart. He included Serena in the commanders' meeting about baby Nicole, and actually asked her what she really wanted. I completely believe that Serena loves baby Nichole to distraction; her emotional state during the airport scene said it all. Does Serena want Nichole to grow up a free woman or not? Is she so selfish that she'd bring her back to Gilead to be raised in slavery? Or are we being misdirected here? The fact that she saw Tuello's gift of a satellite phone ("If you need me") and didn't say anything about it to the Guardian suggested that she might have some Machiavellian plot in mind. I hope.

One major topic that this series hadn't yet addressed in depth is June's marriage and how her strange love affair with Nick might affect it. I think this was the first time June even addressed how much she missed Luke. "Absence makes the heart grow fonder. Maybe." Their communication in this episode was just heart wrenching, both times. Gold acting stars for Elisabeth Moss, as well as O-T Fagbenle, who did an incredible job as Luke in the phone scene, at the airport with Serena, and on the bridge, listening to June's voice on the cassette tape.

The phone call was particularly jarring because of the contrast. Luke stood in the rain crying, overwhelmed with emotion, while June kept her face a mask and her voice a monotone, her eyes focused in the distance so that she wouldn't cry, swallowing to keep control of her tears, or her anger, or both. In her room afterward, she stood with her head bowed and body slumped as if she had been physically beaten. In contrast to the phone call, June cried as she recorded the message for Luke, where she told him that she was still in Gilead to find a way to rescue their daughter Hannah. That Nick was the father of her baby and that Nichole/Holly had been conceived in love. That June wasn't the woman Luke remembered. How could she be, after what has happened to her?

All through this episode, I expected the Gilead people to find a way to kidnap Nichole, but no. Tuello was there to welcome Serena, and to give her a change of clothes so that she wouldn't stand out at the airport. (I live in an area of the United States with a good-sized Amish population, and I always think of them when the Gilead uniforms are a part of the story. Most of the locals don't stare at the Amish, but the tourists certainly do. Serena would most certainly have been noticed.)

Everything seemed to go so well, and Serena was so sympathetic that she even wore down Luke's understandable anger and hostility to the point where he let her hold the baby. That seemed to be the last straw for Serena; she lost it in the waiting room where she was supposed to change back into her Gilead uniform.

And now, the case of baby Nichole is becoming an international incident. (What a clever way to connect the Waterfords to our refugee characters in Canada, by the way.) How could this possibly turn into a win for Serena? Would the Canadian government take the baby away and return her to an oppressive theocracy like Gilead that has enslaved her mother? Again, is Luke legally her father if his wife gave birth to her while they were still married? Luke knows now that Fred isn't the baby's father – Nick is. Will the baby's paternity make a difference at some point? Will Nick become involved in this situation?

What was June expecting after the Guardians picked her up at Loaves and Fishes and tossed her into a van? How cruel to have June think that maybe she would be punished or executed when all they were planning to do was dress her up and put her on television. June's fury was totally visible, threatened punishment or no. She obediently kept her head down, but she was making fists. And then she looked up at the camera. I kept thinking "hostage video." That video was so strangely set up, too, with the Waterfords on the couch and June far off to one side.

This series always uses jarring musical cues, and there were quite a few this time. How adorable that Joseph Lawrence romanced his future wife Eleanor with mix tapes, and that Eleanor missed the man that made them for her. How clever of June to realize that she could use one of those tapes to send a message to Luke. The flip side, so to speak, of the forced phone call where she couldn't say anything personal to him.

Joseph and Eleanor Lawrence playing "Cruel to be Kind" in his study made me think that that song title was all about him and his role in helping to create Gilead. "Sunday Bloody Sunday" started with "I can't believe the news today," and no kidding. And of course, "You Make Me Feel Like Dancing" at the beginning of that taped message made me think of that brief flashback scene of June and Luke dancing on the night they conceived Hannah. That felt like a personal message to Luke that only the two of them would know.

Bits:

— Clearly, Luke should never have taken baby Nichole anywhere that she could be photographed, but how could he know? He's angry about his wife being held against her will in Gilead, after all. Of course he would go to a protest.

— Ofmatthew continues to be fascinating. That scene where she confided the news of her pregnancy to June as they were standing in Loaves and Fishes in front of a row of jars of pigs' feet (or something else equally grotesque) was jarring. Pun intended. Four babies for the State. OMG.

— Serena told Tuello that she hoped he'd get back to Atlanta someday. I'm sure they brought Tuello back for a reason. I hope it was a good reason.

— The packages confused me. I thought Serena brought photographs from home with her to Canada because she planned to defect. The paper bag with the cassette tape was still in Serena's bag when she left Luke and Nichole, but it got to Luke somehow.

— More exceptional photography. Many of the scenes featured light in the center, or bits of striking symmetry.

— The cassette tapes were a callback to the book. Offred had used them to tape her story.

— Did Elisabeth Moss look different in this episode, or is it just me? Her eyes looked bigger, her face thinner and paler; she looked more striking somehow. Did they change whatever subtle makeup they're putting on her?

— Luke said that Nichole wasn't a fan of the peas. In the beautifully photographed opening scene at Loaves and Fishes, June chose dried peas. It's little details like this that add to the quality of this series. It's fascinating.

Quotes:

June: "Nobody dies from lack of sex. It's lack of love we die from."

Ofmatthew: "Under His eye." June: "Bite me."

June: "Do you think he's in danger?" Lawrence: "We're all in danger." What an interesting thing for the father of Gilead's economy to say. He doesn't even believe himself to be safe.

June: (to Eleanor) "It's okay to take a sliver of someone, and hold on to that. Especially if it's all you have."

Serena: "God bless you." Luke: "Fuck you."

This was my type of episode. It was emotional and thoughtful and beautifully acted, and there was no horrendous violence. Would that make it four out of four packages?

---

Billie Doux loves good television and spends way too much time writing about it.

[imreallykneady-blog]

Weekend bake 8/21/19

It's been a few week since I started my current job. It's okay, I mean, it's definitely not the pits but it's not the baking I was hoping for. I can't complain about settling though. July was coming to an end and I hadn't been working for five weeks. I was starting to get stressed from the lack of busy work and there are hardly any bakeries in town that focus on the the loaves I'm looking for. This is for the best though, I don't have a work record out here and I still have some basic skills that need work (coughtimemanagementcough, coughcommunicationcough). So I'm hoping I can make it work for at least a year. I suck right now, butter creams and large batches of batter are kicking my ass, but at least there's pizza dough.

What I'm enjoying so far is my morning ride to work (there's a great cemetery I get to ride through) and my hours/schedule. Eight and a half hour days, five on and two off. It's pretty tight. My off days are in the middle of the week, but that's alright. I mean two days off in a row? That's pretty damn good. To make up for the lack of bread in my life I'm going to try to dedicate these two days to turning out some loaves whether they be from what I did over this past school year, a new recipe, or trials for the sake of experimenting. I need to get the practice in somewhere after all.

My last weekend I finally broke out the lesson plans from my baking program. They've been tucked away since my boxes arrived from Halifax at the end of July. I'm trying to rewrite the year's notes to reflect what I learned in the lab as well as information I found on my own after the Boulanger program finished. One thing I'd like to do is include recipes that reflect the skills and concepts from the rotation's work to go along with the notes. To kick off this little project I pulled recipes for an overnight whole wheat and a blueberry, oat and walnut loaf.

My relatives that I'm staying with really love their carbs, like really. I've baked a few loaves for them since I arrived. They weren't my best by far but they devoured them regardless. My aunt isn't a fan of the long process and whenever I try to explain why I make bread the way I do she just turns back to her kindle and tunes me out. She's used to a loaf that is made within a couple hours, I'm not faulting her for this and I'm not saying a simple pan loaf is bad, but if I'm going to feed my family I'm going to put the effort in and show them what their bread could be. I figured I'd start with something simple. Something that wouldn't raise eyebrows. The whole wheat was perfect for this. It baked well, sitting nice and tall, and I snuck in an extended fermentation to bring out some more flavour. I lost a lot of gas turning the dough out of its container after the bulk the night before, and I feel liked I missed an opportunity to try stitching in my shaping of the loaf as it was little loose, but other than that there weren't any other major issues. My cousin finished the loaf without letting it cool.

The blueberry, oat and walnut loaf is a fave of mine. in class we were baking them eight at a time, the aroma from the decks was incredible. Though my planning for this loaf was poor as I had to wake up at five in the morning to go to the grocery store for milk rather than start the day's bake, the prep for the berries and nuts was fast and the mix was quick enough. Since I scaled for a single loaf the smell wasn't nearly as strong as I remembered but it still turned out. This dough was wetter than the whole wheat though not a loose. It also held its form better as I shaped it compared to the much slacked whole wheat. My slashing was shit but no blowouts occured. Maybe the scores weren't even necessary, I can't remember how it went down in class. The density of the crumb was right on the money for my relatives, but my uncle and I both agreed that the about of berries and nuts needs to be bumped up.

I scaled both of these recipes to one loaf each after finding their percentages. Clearly one loaf of each wasn't enough. I know my aunt wont be a fan of this, but I'm going to need to up batch sizes to keep up with their eating habits. Hopefully what I can do is pop out a couple pan loaves like the whole wheat to cover their daily bread as well as one or two more...."exotic" loaves to them to try and for me to practice on. Eventually I hope to swap out the whole wheat to something like a country or seedy loaf as well as bumping up production to many four loaves.

[artnerd1123]

Not My Fight

Chapter One --------------------

Y’all asked, so y’all shall receive ;3c Happy reading yo Chapters list can be found here

-------------------------

The sounds of swords clashing rang out in a small courtyard; the metal glinting in the afternoon sunlight. Two opponents faced off together. One large, and one small.

“Give it all you've got! Don't just block my attacks, counter them!” The larger one yelled. With a cry, the smaller one tried for a stab at the larger one’s middle, but was too slow. Their sword fell to the ground with a clatter as the larger leveled theirs with its neck.

“You'll never be a knight if you don't learn to attack, Avery,” huffed his teacher.

Avery bit back a smart remark, instead saying “I'll try harder next fight. Just give me more time, Peter.”

Peter just rolled his eyes.

Peter was the older of the two, and a lion to boot. He had a regal looking mane, and it was a deep maroon in color. His fur was golden and shimmered slightly under the sun. His large muscled form was enough to silence most who were thinking of fighting him hand to hand.

“You've said that every time. You never improve. Maybe if you spent more time training with your weapon instead of your magic, you'd be better,” he snarled. Avery took a step back. Peter wasn't someone you wanted to make angry while he had a sword in his paws. “Get back to training. I'll expect better results tomorrow,” Peter growled. Then he left the training courtyard, ears back and tail twitching.

“Magic is easier to control,” Avery mumbled after his teacher left. He picked up his sword. “Why can't I be a knight with magic…?” He got into his fighting stance and brandished his sword at an imaginary enemy. Might as well do some training, he thought.

Avery was a young silver goat and lion hybrid. He had the long tufted tail, paws, and the retractable claws of a lion, but otherwise he looked like a goat. His paw ends, tips of his ears, and tip of his tail were black. This was due to his hybrid status as well. His father was a black lion and his mother was a silver goat. His mother told him that his coloring made him look unique. He thought he looked a little odd, and not in a good way. Though he was proud of his short horns. All goats, and goat hybrids with horns, began to grow them around age 10. He was 15 and a half.

After a little while of attempting to go through some fighting moves, Avery set his sword down. He didn't like the weapon. It felt dangerous and unwieldy in his paws.

His magic, however…

He took in a deep breath, then exhaled it slowly. Small purple flames erupted in the centers of his paws. Their heat was comforting. He smiled, slowly circling his paws around one another. The flames grew as they came together until he was holding two medium sized fireballs. He shifted his stance, eyeing a target at the far side of the training yard. He drew back his paw and threw one fireball, then the other. Both seared through the air to hit perfect bullseyes. He stomped his foot on a small panel nearby, and more targets popped up. This time, they were moving. He grinned. Myrick, his magic advisor, had made them faster. Myrick knew how much Avery liked a challenge. Racing back and forth, jumping to reach the high targets, he barely missed the center of any of the targets.

Many people said he could've been a deer with talent like that.

But that was not what Avery wanted. Magic wasn’t his real passion. He may have been slightly better than others with his magic, but he wanted to be a knight. His parents had been knights, as had their parents, and their parents, and so on. The thought of protecting a noble or even the royals made him almost glow with pride and excitement. The only problem was that knights primarily used weapons, not magic.

Avery sighed, extinguishing his paws and stamping on the panel again. The targets slowed to a stop, then lowered back below the flagstones. He picked up his sword from where he’d put it down. Looking it over, he sighed. What use was a knight that couldn't properly use a sword?

-----

An hour or so later, Avery left the training yard. He’d practiced his stances and fought off a few invisible foes, but he knew it was no good trying to practice while he was in a bad mood. He walked through the long halls of the castle quietly. Some servants, mostly bugs, scuttled about. They bowed slightly when he passed, and he nodded and smiled in turn. It wasn't long before he’d reached the magic corridor. He wanted to thank Myrick for fixing the magic targets in the training yard.

As he pushed open the door to the room, a huge wave of papers came flurrying out. In the ensuing panic of the magic specialists’ he was nearly trampled. From the frantic ramblings of the specialists, he gathered that someone had accidentally broken open a jar that had contained air magic. More specifically, a wind spell.

He squeezed past the group of distressed magicians into the room. It was usually an untidy place, with stacks of scrolls, books, jars, and ink pots everywhere. Now it looked even worse. The wind spell had blown half of the room into a chaotic pile of paper and ink. Avery shook his head and looked around. A small deer with large ears, short antlers, and thick glasses was kneeling down by a shattered jar. It's fur was rumpled, as if it had gotten caught in a blast of wind full on.

“Hey Myrick. Bad day?” Avery asked, tilting his head. The small deer, Myrick, looked up and sighed, ears drooping.

“I was j-just trying t-to organize the j-jars…” he mumbled, pushing up his glasses with his slender hoof.

“Ah… well at least it was while you were trying to help. They can't yell at you for that,”Avery replied. “Here, why don't I help you with that?”

He kneeled down and helped Myrick pick up the glass shards. There was a scrap of paper stuck under one of the larger pieces of glass. Avery picked it up gingerly, wondering what it could be a part of. Myrick gave a small gasp and took it from him.

“Oh my- this is- aaah thank you A-Avery!” Myrick exclaimed, “this is the p-paper the spell was c-cast from! S-someone can replicate i-it now!” Avery grinned, and gave Myrick a pat on the back.

“That’s great Myrick! Maybe you can try and replicate it too,” he chuckled.

“M-maybe… my magic m-might be air magic!” Myrick stammered hopefully, “maybe th-this will help me u-unlock it!” With that, the little deer rushed from the room, chattering excitedly. Avery shook his head, still smiling. He was glad he was able to help his friend.

Myrick still hadn’t discovered what his magic was. Monsters usually found out when they were young, about five or so, but very delayed cases were possible. However, it was highly unusual for deer, especially a 14-year-old like Myrick. Despite his best efforts, no magic would come from his hooves. But he was a hard worker. Avery knew he’d find it eventually.

At least he can use his magic once he discovers it, Avery griped.

He shook his head to dispel the resentful thoughts. Slipping out of the door and squeezing past the magicians, he continued his walk towards the castle exit. There was another monster he wanted to see. But this one didn't live in the main castle.

The main town in the kingdom of Eitilte was small but homely. Everyone knew everyone else. The appearances of the ramshackle shops and houses were enough to lift most’s spirits, as well as the cheery chatter that wound through the air.

It was busy, as usual, and monsters moved quickly through the streets. But there was something off about the whole scene. Avery stood hesitantly at the main walkway. The difference came to him after a moment of listening.

It was quiet. The town was barely ever quiet. Everyone seemed tense and suspicious.

Avery wondered what he had missed.

Quickly, he made it to a small bakery. The smell of freshly baked bread drew him in as much as his want to get out of the strange silence in the streets. The warmth of the inside instantly put him at ease.

There were small shelves lined up against the walls, with the center of the main room left open. On these shelves were the goods that monsters came to buy. The fresh loaves of bread, small pastries, and salted pretzels created a mouth-watering smell. Avery felt himself start to lean towards the nearest shelves and shook himself out of it. As good as the food looked, he had someone to see.

“Can ah help you?” A soft lilting voice called from behind the counter. Avery turned and smiled upon seeing the owner.

“Hello Krystal.”

“Oh! Howdy Avery! Sorry, ah didn' recognize ya at first,” Krystal said. She hopped over the counter and landed by him. She was a rabbit, about his height and age, with fluffy purple and brown fur.

They had first met years ago when Avery had been sent in by his parents to pick up some bread. he’d gotten confused and krystal was sent over to help him. They eventually forgot all about the bread he was to be purchasing and got lost in conversation. They’d been good friends since that day, and went out to walk the town streets or fool around in the woods that surrounded the town as often as they could.

Krystal smoothed out her apron before speaking again.

“Whut brings ya here today…?” She asked in a low whisper.

“I just wanted to go say hi since I hadn't seen you in awhile,” Avery responded hesitantly, “is something wrong…?”

“Haven't ya heard?” Krystal asked, shooting him a surprised glance, “there’s been a whole heckova lot of thievin recently. Shops ‘n bakeries are bein’ robbed left an’ raht. You castle folk must not hear anythin about the town, all cooped up like a bunch a squizzers in a squrrow.”

Avery’s mouth dropped open slightly. The past few weeks had been so full of training and swords and official business concerning a royal ball that he hadn’t had much contact with the town. He shook his head.

“No, I hadn't heard anything about this,” he mumbled.

“It's alraht,” Krystal said soothingly, “yer workin’ hard like the rest of us… Just… Maybe try an’ stay more in the loop, ok?”

Avery nodded, then huffed, his tail flicking uneasily.

“Has your bakery been hit?”

“Nope,” Krystal replied proudly, “my family and ah’ve been puttin empty buckets an’ bowls by the windows an’ doors during the naiht. We take turns watching the store front during the day too. Ain’t no thievin’ varmints takin our stuff.” She seemed to swell with pride and determination.

“Well at least that’s something… does anyone have any idea who’s doing it?” He queried.

“Naw. Besides the usual rats n monkeys, we don't know. They claim they're innocent, an they ain’t got no money, so we gotta take em at their word,” she huffed, foot tapping in irritation. “Ah jus don' know who would do this kind of thing. It's making erybody seem all untrustworthy.”

“No kidding,” Avery retorted, “it’s way too quiet outside. I got too many suspicious glances for my liking…”

Looking around, he was still amazed that Krystal’s bakery remained unrobbed. The food was delicious and always warm. Then there was the fact that the family of bunnies had a little more gold than the average monster family. Avery just hoped they could outlast the thieving streak.

“Ya probly have to go now, don't ya?” asked krystal, shaking him out of his worried thoughts.

“Oh, yeah…” he sighed, mumbling, “not that I want to go…”

“Is that gosh darn lion giving ya trouble again?!” Krystal demanded, her ears swiveling back in anger.

“He’s my teacher. He’s supposed to give me trouble,” Avery grumbled, “it wouldn't be so bad if I could just use my magic during sword training.”

Krystal raised and eyebrow and tapped her foot, looking him over. Avery caught himself staring at her and glanced away.

“What? Why are you staring?” He inquired.

“The only one stopping yeh from usin yer magic is yerself, ya silly goat,” she replied with a giggle. “Ya need ta stop tryin ta do erythin the traditional way. It's alraht to branch out,” she said softly, putting a paw on his arm. He twitched a little at her touch. A soft warm feeling welled up inside him. He wasn't sure what it was about. Pushing the warmth in his chest away, he smiled over at her.

“Thanks Kry, but try telling that to Peter,” he snorted, “he and everyone else in the castle is bent on preserving old traditions. Trying to get him to change his mind is like arguing with a fuzzy wall.” They both stared at each other for a minute, the mental image of a fuzzy wall occupying them, before erupting into laughter. It was quite some time before they both managed to quit, as when they glanced at each other they simply began laughing again.

Finally, they both managed to stop the giggles.

“Well, I gotta go Kry. I'll write you letters every day in case I don't get to visit!” He explained, tail swishing behind him eagerly.

“That sounds mighty nice Avery,” she smiled, “Ah'll look forward to em. See ya around!”

“See ya!” He called, then left the store. A soft purr rose in his throat. He allowed it, and a small smile, to make themselves known. He loved spending time with Krystal, but there was just barely any time at all these days.

Between training, studying, and all the formalities of castle life, he felt there was never enough time.

[annarosenblumpalmer]

JEW-ISH. ON EATING AS A CULINARY JEW

In a town that had more jews than gentiles levels of Judaism were carefully parsed. Would you skip school only for high holy days or for all holidays? Do you go to Sunday school or Hebrew school? Would your Bat Mitvah be more about the torah or the hora?

I termed myself a culinary jew. Very little temple, missed school as a nod to religion not to practice religion. But I was all in on the eating. There were the delicious things like the latkas and matzoh ball soup. Then there were the questionable things like gefilte fish. There is no second example needed. That fish (or ground pressed combo of fish in pickle jelly) really can hold its own. I ate them all. On that one horrible day when we couldn’t eat (like, the holiest day of the year) all I thought about were the holes in the bagels. Where they went. Why we couldn’t have them the way dunkin’ donuts let us have the donut holes. I was a decade before Einsteins. Now bagels are in airports everywhere.

Speaking of bagels when you are Jewish bagels have no calories. It is incredible. It is also incredibly not true. What was true was the existence of a  Jewish Bakery directly on my walk home from the T that I rode from highschool.  It had hallah or challah or challa ( its the food version of the Channukah problem) for shabbat. It had humentaschen (it never ends with the spelling confusion) for Purim. It had loaves of rye with perfectly chewy crusts and pillow soft insides for every other day of the year. “I am like rye bread.” I used to tell myself as I walked to my house from they bakery which was halfway home from the school train. “Not all people like me but the ones that do are passionate about me. Also I have a hard outside and soft inside.” It was a meta experience untwisting the red wire twist tie and reaching in to grab a slice to eat as I passed by gardens. It was weird to eat myself but delicious too.

ON THE FRESHMAN FIFTY

This is probably vegan

My freshman year college roommate was Anna Moore Lappe, the daughter of Frances, who wrote Diet for A Small Planet. This was the very first time I experienced eating as a political act. I had always though vegetarianism was virtuous in a “somehow it is our moral imperative not to walk around with an upper butt” sort of way but I didn’t know I could save the planet by eating kale. This was years before kale had a PR machine. I was shocked. But not changed. So the full result of my food education at the hands of the other Anna was a new type of guilt as I loaded my plate at the “Ratty.” Killing myself and my earth with each bite of burger and fries.

Although we have all heard of the freshman 15 no one told me about the four year 50. The rate at which I gained weight was alarming. The only break in my progress towards fat was the summer of my freshman year when I went to excavate on an archaeological dig in Israel. Latkes! I thought. Brisket! I imagined. Hummus? I compromised. But no. In the Kibbutz dining hall there seemed only to be tomatoes and cucumbers. I know this couldn’t have been true. But it seemed that way. Cucumbers are a hard no. Those of you who feel neutral about cucumbers (most of the world I have learned) can’t understand. “They are like water.” You argue with arched eyebrows. “No, they are like…I don’t know what they are like because their proximity to innocuous things like lettuce make me compost my whole plate (this of course was before composting but I couldn’t even get myself to type “throw away” because, you know, I am a composting queen). So no cucumbers. And no eggplant. How can something be both impossible to chew and slimy? It seems at odds with itself. And I am at odds with it. So I settled on tomatoes. They also had disgusting slimy centers but I found the outsides with a little salt were OK. So low fat cottage cheese and tomatoes were my meals. After a while I stopped thinking about food because I was so hungry I couldn’t think about anything at all. But between the digging and the walk to the site and the walk from the tent to the “there is no dining in here hall” I dropped 15 pounds.

When I returned to college Sophomore year I walked the streets of Providence at a quick clip never losing my breath. I navigated from my new dorm to the athletic center alone, limbs still brown from the Israeli sun planning to exercise. Behind me I heard voices. “That looks like Anna, but it can’t be, she is way too thin.” That was enough to bring me back to my reality. There would be no gym. My arms, , muscled from excavation would return to their doughy state (mmm rye bread) and my weight would continue to climb to the point that I lied about my weight on my drivers license.

ON THE ATKINS CULT

When I left college I was ready to drop some weight. Like most people who are overweight I ALREADY understood nutrition, portion size and the equation: “calories in -calories out better equal a negative number or you will be an even fatter ass.”  None of that “simple” stuff worked for me. According to Slate magazine 97% of dieters gain back all the weight they loss (and then some for me).  So I would not diet. Fuck the D word. I would never speak of it again. Instead I would change my eating habits for life.

So I melted cheese on a plate and ate steak with butter sauce and had no fruits at all. I bought little strips from the drug store to measure my urine and make sure I stayed in the magical state of “ketosis.” The fact that those strips existed because ketosis is pathological in diabetes and needs to be avoided was not important to me. I was losing weight and eating as much brie as I wanted.

Until I realized I couldn’t chew anything on this fucking diet. Or whatever word can replace diet.

There was no crunch. OK. Almonds are crunchy. I crunched my way through so many days of 10 almonds a day that I think the almond growers owe me money for the crown I had to buy last year. This was before I knew about the gallon of water that it takes to grow an almond and had to give them up. My teeth thank me. Pecans are good too. Though not as crack-y. Take that as you will.

In addition to losing 30 lbs I gained an endless exhausting topic of conversation. Conversation is a kind way to put it because it was really a ceaseless monologue. I exhaust myself just thinking about it. Its possible some of my weight loss was from calories burned moving my mouth talking about a diet free of carbohydrates.

ON EATING WHEN YOU OWN A RESTAURANT

Join your staff for staff meal. This is a must. You are part of the team. The fact that staff meal was often hotel pans of mystery material covered in melted cheese was secondary. Solidarity wins everytime.

If you have close friends in the restaurant send them free food. Then say yes when they ask you to join them. Since the food is free it is not stealing when you have a taste. Plus, solidarity.

Have your manager meal. Take a booth in the back. Order the hearts of palm and tomato salad. Enjoy it. Maybe add on some fries. The staff can then pop by the back and pop in some fries before heading to wash their hands. It is a mitvah really. Solidarity.

ON EATING IN VERMONT

Just add wildflowers.

I think back to how much more wonderful my life would have been if I had embraced veganism in 1991.I would have owned a vegan restaurant or no restaurant at all  I would be able to unironically wear Tivas as I scrambled up a mountain with my babies slung to my back. In reality slings baffled me. The Baby was twisted. Or the Baby was about the fall out. Or I pinned my right arm into submission. I was brought to tears by the sling which seemed an important symbol of Vermont motherhood. Steve gently replaced the sling with the Baby Bjorn. This thing had plastic in it. It was like formula instead of breast milk. But it kept the baby safe and my hands free so I tried not to judge myself which was possible except when I went to the farmer’s market.

Ah, the Vermont farmers market. It is the best and the worst.  On the upside there are whole cows and micro greens from one acre urban farms. There are trees to hug and pottery to buy and wildflowers to lie carefully across your woven basket. There are so many things to eat that aren’t vegetables. When people started farming empanadas I don’t know but I am not complaining. That said the farmers market is the Vermont version of the night club. Instead of bandage dresses and stilletos there are boyfriend jeans and flip flops. There is patagonia and burton hoodies.

Most of all there is the glow of fitness.  Thats the way to feed a Vermonter. Keep it as green as the green mountain state.

+ nothing.

ON FEEDING KIDS

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When Oliver was very young he had a fiend who called Bananas “nana.” She loved them almost as much as her small stuffed toy also, efficiently, called Nana. Her mother used to portion out her bananas, each cut neatly in half making it seem much more appealing to me but not my son who refused the fruit as he did everything that was more than a simple carb. When we sat together sipping coffee (mine mostly on my shirt)  this mother was the one I measured myself against. She was the mom with healthy snacks and a laundry room so well organized that any random stranger could find band aids and stain sticks. When she prepared dinner for the children of the neighborhood she served local pizza which see snipped neatly with kitchen shears (?!) into perfect sized portions. The pizza was not the only thing on the plate. There were fruits and veggies and foods in colors other than cardboard.

The melamine plates that served up this kid friendly bounty were BPA free and funny.

After our first group lunch I went out and bought these plates for our house. When her family came to visit I carefully selected the “top banana” for her daughter. I’m not sure if she noticed. Over time my plates took on a horrible brownish black color. I tried to wash it off in the super hot dishwasher but it turned out that the sanitize setting on the dishwasher was the problem. She must have handwashed her kid plates to keep them looking good. This, like so many things, felt beyond my capabilities.

In those early years I was the fattest mom and my kid was the pickiest eater. They felt like opposite failings of the same coin. Today Leo eats everything but mostly berries and salmon and grilled chicken. He is a walking ten year old superfood billboard. I take no credit for this and neither does Steve, who with his midwestern plate featuring M E A T, P O T A T O E S , and, what is that? over there? a veggie? also shrugs his shoulders at Leo’s laudable eating. I tell myself that if I take no credit for Leo’s colorful fiber filled meals I can take no blame for Oliver’s box of crackers. But unless I am at my best parenting doesn’t work that way…and neither does my relationship with food. I accept the blame with ease and eschew the credit.

It is easier to eat potato chips off of the sweet pea plate than peas.

ON THE FOOD REVOLUTION

In the past year I have gone on and off of a low carb diet, I have followed the Always Hungry meal plan (aptly named), I have done 7 day juice fasts, and I have gone semi vegan with the TB12 diet.

Sometimes I just want some fucking bread. Maybe I should stick to the bagels. They have zero calories after all.

  What about you? Anything revolutionizing your eating?

    Eating for the Ages. More years = more pounds JEW-ISH. ON EATING AS A CULINARY JEW In a town that had more jews than gentiles levels of Judaism were carefully parsed.