I was walking down Broadway this evening, in Fells, and some guy hollered at me from his car.
In my slimmer, sexier days, I got this a lot. I think that this is because people really, really like yelling things out of car windows. I know I do. I have a friend who, days after the release of Harry Potter 6, rolled down my passenger side window and screamed "SNAPE KILLS DUMBLEDORE". People yell stuff out of windows all the time. It's not like the person you're screaming at can get a good look at you, right? So why not? When I used to get catcalled, I'd never see who it was...but I'm lying if I tell you it didn't put a bounce in my step.
I got hollered at today, and the guy yelled "LOSE WEIGHT, BITCH!".
That fucker. That absolutely immature fucker. I could kick him in the balls and lose no sleep over it.
And the worst part about it was, I didn't scream something right back. Five minutes later, I started cobbling together some choice, profanity laden phrases, but my asshole observer was probably half way to the Shot Tower by the time I thought to get my mouth open.
No, when he yelled at me, all I could think was "Oh, my God. Everyone on the street thinks I'm a fat bitch. I need to get off the street." Like there was a spotlight illuminating my every bulge.
I wanted to melt right on the stupid cobblestones.
I wanted to die. I wanted to be invisible.
And that is such BULLSHIT.
I told some friends (and one complete stranger at the Goodwill who turned out to be totally cool) about it, two women and three men. And all three men had the same "that's f'ed up, that asshole" reaction. The women? Both of them, without my even having to go into how I felt about it, said that if it had happened to them, they'd feel awful about themselves. They could tell themselves that it's probable this dude was a) all of sixteen, b) drunk, or c)both, but that that wouldn't matter. These two women both freely admitted that they would be mired in the same emotions that swamped me.
These women that I spoke with, both were funny,and articulate, attractive, and were a pleasure to talk to. Neither of them have, in my opinion, much of a reason to feel any of the adjectives they'd mentioned; "small", "wrong", "worthless". The fact that some jerk's throw away comment could resonate in the same manner with three separate women who all happen to be overweight - is this merely a confidence thing? A case of "I'm having a bad day, and buddy, you picked the wrong time to yell" Or is it the price we pay for being outside of the social norm (though are we really? What's the stats on obesity these days)? Should these comments spurn me into action, get me to the gym more and back on track with my diet, to avoid another such incident, or should I go about my business as usual, since there are assholes everywhere and if it's not my weight, it'll be something else? My...worn out kicks, or something.
There's a memoir-ist named Jennifer Lancaster ( http://www.jennsylvania.com ) who wrote a book called "Such a Pretty Fat", and she talks about being called a fat bitch on the bus. She used this experience to spring board her weight loss efforts, parlayed that into a book deal, and got on with her transformation from fat to "fit bitch". Jennifer, if you google yourself and this blog comes up, I read the book in one sitting, in a Barnes and Noble cafe. It was hysterical. I should also mention that I did not BUY the book, but only because I am po'. I always figured that if something like that happened to me, I'd take it on the chin like Jen did, and keep on keeping on. Instead, it ruined my evening, and inspired a badly written, badly spelled, grammatically incorrect blog post that you people have to sit through.
I would like to say one last thing, though.
In the beginning of this post, I mentioned that I used to get catcalled out of car windows, and that it put a spring in my step. Just as I'm not the only woman who would feel the slow slide of shame and the white hot insecurity seeking floodlight when being yelled at the the Fells Point Fucker, I KNOW I'm not the only one who enjoys a compliment torn from someones lips at 30mph. So, how about we all try that. These compliments don't have to be sexual in nature. If you see some cool pedestrian doing his thing, and he's got some nice threads, would it kill you to yell out "dig your shirt"? Or, maybe "hey man, have a good day", when you're at a stop sign and you wave someone to cross the street. I don't know. Maybe we can start a complimentary revolution, or something. Think about it. Or better yet, roll down your window and yell.
Thursday, March 3, 2011
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
The booze blues and other stomach upsets
You know what they don't tell you about weight loss? Or, maybe they do, and I'm not paying attention. In either case, what they may or may not tell you is THIS:
Ya can't go back to your binging ways after trying to attain a healthier frame and mindset.
Yes folks, like a lazily secured butter churn, I have fallen off the wagon.
And for two days straight last week, I did nothing but down sugar, salt, and all the other delicious things I've been giving up in favor of things on the "right" side of the food chain. And once I got started, I couldn't stop. I was like a diabetic Hoover. Everything just got sucked in.
It. Was. Awful. Awfully freaking delicious.
What's the problem, I know you asked?
The next day.
I thought I had the flu. My head was pounding, I couldn't stray more than five feet from the bathroom, work was hell, all I wanted to do was sleep...and I wanted MORE sugar. DID I have the flu? No I did not. I had a sugar/carb hangover the size of Texas. I've been to Texas. I'm not exaggerating here.
Did that learn me? No. Two nights later, I was sitting in the bar with my newly 21 brother, downing rum and pineapple juices like we had ahold of the last three pineapples on earth and had to drink them before they spoiled.
I feel like a louse. A lumpy louse at that.
Maybe I need chips or something. Not Utz, I mean, like poker chips. I survived a week without sneaking off for some Oreos, where's my reward? Because the fats not flying off fast enough for me to have to buy a new wardrobe yet, and I'm not patient.
That's really what's bothering me, I think. I'm not patient enough to lose weight. It seemed to me to be much quicker and more interesting GETTING fat (I watched SO many movies, ate SO much good food), and I know it doesn't work that quickly in reverse. But there's still that part of big ol' me that thinks "fuck it". I'll just be big. I can dress well for my size, with a little effort, who cares. It's not like I have trouble in the guy department, and I'm going to be a school teacher, but not GYM. Who is really going to care if I stay a size 14 or not?
And on that note, for reasons I can't fathom right now, I'm probably going to the gym tonight. Isn't that just peachy.
Ya can't go back to your binging ways after trying to attain a healthier frame and mindset.
Yes folks, like a lazily secured butter churn, I have fallen off the wagon.
And for two days straight last week, I did nothing but down sugar, salt, and all the other delicious things I've been giving up in favor of things on the "right" side of the food chain. And once I got started, I couldn't stop. I was like a diabetic Hoover. Everything just got sucked in.
It. Was. Awful. Awfully freaking delicious.
What's the problem, I know you asked?
The next day.
I thought I had the flu. My head was pounding, I couldn't stray more than five feet from the bathroom, work was hell, all I wanted to do was sleep...and I wanted MORE sugar. DID I have the flu? No I did not. I had a sugar/carb hangover the size of Texas. I've been to Texas. I'm not exaggerating here.
Did that learn me? No. Two nights later, I was sitting in the bar with my newly 21 brother, downing rum and pineapple juices like we had ahold of the last three pineapples on earth and had to drink them before they spoiled.
I feel like a louse. A lumpy louse at that.
Maybe I need chips or something. Not Utz, I mean, like poker chips. I survived a week without sneaking off for some Oreos, where's my reward? Because the fats not flying off fast enough for me to have to buy a new wardrobe yet, and I'm not patient.
That's really what's bothering me, I think. I'm not patient enough to lose weight. It seemed to me to be much quicker and more interesting GETTING fat (I watched SO many movies, ate SO much good food), and I know it doesn't work that quickly in reverse. But there's still that part of big ol' me that thinks "fuck it". I'll just be big. I can dress well for my size, with a little effort, who cares. It's not like I have trouble in the guy department, and I'm going to be a school teacher, but not GYM. Who is really going to care if I stay a size 14 or not?
And on that note, for reasons I can't fathom right now, I'm probably going to the gym tonight. Isn't that just peachy.
Saturday, January 1, 2011
Happy New Year!
Happy New Year from OneChin!
I hit the gym this morning, and it was practically empty...I wonder how many people are staying in and nursing hangovers today.
Here's to a new year of shrinking, strengthening, and being somewhat sugarless (I said somewhat. Let's be realistic here).
Cheers.
I hit the gym this morning, and it was practically empty...I wonder how many people are staying in and nursing hangovers today.
Here's to a new year of shrinking, strengthening, and being somewhat sugarless (I said somewhat. Let's be realistic here).
Cheers.
Thursday, December 16, 2010
Here's a recipe! And a bonus recipe!
I think it's stopped snowing. School is out early, gym plans are shot, but we're hopefully in for the night, and working on getting cozy.
What a perfect time to try out an inventive new recipe sure to make your tum warm and happy, while you're stuck inside with your family. No one will go on a murderous, cabin fever induced rampage with THESE babies down the ol' gullet.
This first recipe is one I picked from Jamie Oliver, the naked chef (www.jamieoliver.com). His book, "Happy Days", was an amazing find at my local Salvation Armani. If you can score a copy, please do so. The pictures are rather glossy, and he does look a bit silly in some shots, but the recipes are solid. He writes like someone who is monologing on a cooking show, which is quite charming. My book is stained and dog-eared already. So, without further adieu, give it up for HAMILTON SQUASH!
Hamilton Squash
1 small handful of dried porcini mushrooms
• 1 butternut squash, halved and seeds removed
• olive oil
• 1 red onion, finely chopped
• 1 clove of garlic, finely chopped
• 1 teaspoon coriander seeds, pounded
• a pinch or two of dried chilli, to taste
• 2 sprigs of fresh rosemary, leaves picked and finely chopped
• 5 sun-dried tomatoes, chopped
• sea salt and freshly ground black pepper
• 100g basmati rice
• ½ a handful of pinenuts, lightly roasted
Preheat oven to 450 degrees F. Soak porcini mushrooms in boiling water; after 5 minutes, drain and reserve porcini plus half of liquid.
Slice the squash in half, and score it. De-seed and remove the flesh, give it a rough chop, and set aside.
Heat olive oil in sauté pan over medium-high heat, and saute onions for approx. five minutes, until they are soft.
Add squashy innards, garlic, coriander seeds, red pepper flakes, rosemary and sun-dried tomatoes. Sauté until softened, 5 minutes.
Add porcini (or b.p., if using) and half of the cooking water; sauté another 2 minutes.
Season to taste with sea salt and black pepper. Stir in rice and pine nuts. Stuff mixture into butternut squash halves, then press squash together into original shape. Rub outside of squash with a little olive oil. Wrap stuffed squash in aluminum foil. Bake at 450 degrees 1 hour and 15 minutes. Carefully unwrap squash and serve.
Makes 4 servings.
A few notes from yer blog girl - I had no porcini mushrooms, but baby portabellos worked just fine for me. I upped the garlic a bit, because that's how I roll, and used a mixture of basmati and short grain brown rice as filler. The tricky part was keeping the squash together for the presentation. The olive oil made it hard to handle, I'm not above jamming a couple of toothpicks through it in order to achieve the "ooh, ahh" effect next time, so feel free to try that. When next I make it, I'll post pictures.
Enjoy!
RECIPE TWO. Hot Milk.
One day, I will get around to naming this recipe something cool, like Cup o' Canada, or the Steaming Meanie. Until then, Hot Milk it is.
This is something that I made up, in that "thousands of people make this very same thing, but I don't know any of them, so HEY! Look how creative I am", kind of way. (Is there a word for that?)
I'm a big tea drinker, but once in a while I get an urge for something not so...thin. Even if you put milk in it, tea is just deliciously trumped up hot water. And when I wanted a change, I used to reach for hot chocolate. Now that I'm off caffeine though, that's also out. I rooted thru the fridge the other day, and this is what I came up with. It's so damned good. It's a great alternative to hot chocolate. And it takes five minutes.
You Will Need:
Milk, however much you want. I use the mug I'll be pouring into as a measuring cup. Be sure to leave a little room at the top, as a) You'll be adding other things, and b) Milk expands when heated. For the sake of the rest of the measurements, we're assuming 8oz.
1 tsp good maple syrup
1 cap full (if you've got one of those small brown bottles) or 4 drops vanilla extract (if you've got a big ol' squeeze bottle).
Cinnamon to taste
Nutmeg, for garnish
Add milk, maple syrup, and vanilla extract to saucepan, flame on low.
Add cin now, it'll hang out on the surface, infusing things.
Stir pretty occasionally to avoid skin.
When the milk is hot, but not boiling, pour into glass, garnish with nutmeg, and enjoy!
NOTES: If you think a tsp of maple doesn't sound like much, taste as you go along. A little bit of maple goes a long way, but who am I to stop you if you wanna sweeten the pot even more?
What a perfect time to try out an inventive new recipe sure to make your tum warm and happy, while you're stuck inside with your family. No one will go on a murderous, cabin fever induced rampage with THESE babies down the ol' gullet.
This first recipe is one I picked from Jamie Oliver, the naked chef (www.jamieoliver.com). His book, "Happy Days", was an amazing find at my local Salvation Armani. If you can score a copy, please do so. The pictures are rather glossy, and he does look a bit silly in some shots, but the recipes are solid. He writes like someone who is monologing on a cooking show, which is quite charming. My book is stained and dog-eared already. So, without further adieu, give it up for HAMILTON SQUASH!
Hamilton Squash
1 small handful of dried porcini mushrooms
• 1 butternut squash, halved and seeds removed
• olive oil
• 1 red onion, finely chopped
• 1 clove of garlic, finely chopped
• 1 teaspoon coriander seeds, pounded
• a pinch or two of dried chilli, to taste
• 2 sprigs of fresh rosemary, leaves picked and finely chopped
• 5 sun-dried tomatoes, chopped
• sea salt and freshly ground black pepper
• 100g basmati rice
• ½ a handful of pinenuts, lightly roasted
Preheat oven to 450 degrees F. Soak porcini mushrooms in boiling water; after 5 minutes, drain and reserve porcini plus half of liquid.
Slice the squash in half, and score it. De-seed and remove the flesh, give it a rough chop, and set aside.
Heat olive oil in sauté pan over medium-high heat, and saute onions for approx. five minutes, until they are soft.
Add squashy innards, garlic, coriander seeds, red pepper flakes, rosemary and sun-dried tomatoes. Sauté until softened, 5 minutes.
Add porcini (or b.p., if using) and half of the cooking water; sauté another 2 minutes.
Season to taste with sea salt and black pepper. Stir in rice and pine nuts. Stuff mixture into butternut squash halves, then press squash together into original shape. Rub outside of squash with a little olive oil. Wrap stuffed squash in aluminum foil. Bake at 450 degrees 1 hour and 15 minutes. Carefully unwrap squash and serve.
Makes 4 servings.
A few notes from yer blog girl - I had no porcini mushrooms, but baby portabellos worked just fine for me. I upped the garlic a bit, because that's how I roll, and used a mixture of basmati and short grain brown rice as filler. The tricky part was keeping the squash together for the presentation. The olive oil made it hard to handle, I'm not above jamming a couple of toothpicks through it in order to achieve the "ooh, ahh" effect next time, so feel free to try that. When next I make it, I'll post pictures.
Enjoy!
RECIPE TWO. Hot Milk.
One day, I will get around to naming this recipe something cool, like Cup o' Canada, or the Steaming Meanie. Until then, Hot Milk it is.
This is something that I made up, in that "thousands of people make this very same thing, but I don't know any of them, so HEY! Look how creative I am", kind of way. (Is there a word for that?)
I'm a big tea drinker, but once in a while I get an urge for something not so...thin. Even if you put milk in it, tea is just deliciously trumped up hot water. And when I wanted a change, I used to reach for hot chocolate. Now that I'm off caffeine though, that's also out. I rooted thru the fridge the other day, and this is what I came up with. It's so damned good. It's a great alternative to hot chocolate. And it takes five minutes.
You Will Need:
Milk, however much you want. I use the mug I'll be pouring into as a measuring cup. Be sure to leave a little room at the top, as a) You'll be adding other things, and b) Milk expands when heated. For the sake of the rest of the measurements, we're assuming 8oz.
1 tsp good maple syrup
1 cap full (if you've got one of those small brown bottles) or 4 drops vanilla extract (if you've got a big ol' squeeze bottle).
Cinnamon to taste
Nutmeg, for garnish
Add milk, maple syrup, and vanilla extract to saucepan, flame on low.
Add cin now, it'll hang out on the surface, infusing things.
Stir pretty occasionally to avoid skin.
When the milk is hot, but not boiling, pour into glass, garnish with nutmeg, and enjoy!
NOTES: If you think a tsp of maple doesn't sound like much, taste as you go along. A little bit of maple goes a long way, but who am I to stop you if you wanna sweeten the pot even more?
Tuesday, December 14, 2010
"That's a lot of weight for a...woman."
Bwhahahaha.
I promise I'll get to the recipe tomorrow. You've got to have it (especially you, Bunny). But I've just got to write about this.
Tonight I was at the gym, doing my weight lifting thing. I know that strength training is important, especially for my weight loss goals, and I find that I'm enjoying it quite a bit. I actually look forward to my lifting days. No apparently physical changes to report as of yet, but every night that I lift, I come out feeling like I can kick ass and takes names.
And so.
The leg press has been busted for a few days, and I was psyched to see it working today. When the occupant hopped off, I ran over and asked if I could work in. I figured he had to rest between sets, and I'm happy to slide in during his two minutes of rest time, change the weights out, and do my own sets. We all work together, sharing makes the world go 'round, blah blah blah.
The guy tells me he's done, and asks if I want him to re-rack the weights. I glanced over and saw that there were 3 45lb weights on either side of the press, which is a about 20 lbs less than I usually do. So I said "thanks, but no thanks", and went about my business.
Only it seemed heavier than usual, a LOT harder. I pushed thru my a couple sets, but I was bummed that I seemed to be having an off night. Until I notice the back of the press. Which has another bar to put weights on. The same bar that has TWO MORE 45lbs weight on either side.
450 lbs, guys! I leg pressed 450 lbs!!! I am so excited!!
I dreading the DOMS, but I'm really, really happy. And of course, I had to tell him. I ran over and said "I didn't see those weights on the back when I told you not to move the weights. Man, that was hard!".
And he said
"I was really expecting the leg press to fall on you. You really impressed me. That's a lot of weight for a...woman. Good job".
A lot of weight indeed.
I AM WOMAN! HEAR ME PRESS!
I promise I'll get to the recipe tomorrow. You've got to have it (especially you, Bunny). But I've just got to write about this.
Tonight I was at the gym, doing my weight lifting thing. I know that strength training is important, especially for my weight loss goals, and I find that I'm enjoying it quite a bit. I actually look forward to my lifting days. No apparently physical changes to report as of yet, but every night that I lift, I come out feeling like I can kick ass and takes names.
And so.
The leg press has been busted for a few days, and I was psyched to see it working today. When the occupant hopped off, I ran over and asked if I could work in. I figured he had to rest between sets, and I'm happy to slide in during his two minutes of rest time, change the weights out, and do my own sets. We all work together, sharing makes the world go 'round, blah blah blah.
The guy tells me he's done, and asks if I want him to re-rack the weights. I glanced over and saw that there were 3 45lb weights on either side of the press, which is a about 20 lbs less than I usually do. So I said "thanks, but no thanks", and went about my business.
Only it seemed heavier than usual, a LOT harder. I pushed thru my a couple sets, but I was bummed that I seemed to be having an off night. Until I notice the back of the press. Which has another bar to put weights on. The same bar that has TWO MORE 45lbs weight on either side.
450 lbs, guys! I leg pressed 450 lbs!!! I am so excited!!
I dreading the DOMS, but I'm really, really happy. And of course, I had to tell him. I ran over and said "I didn't see those weights on the back when I told you not to move the weights. Man, that was hard!".
And he said
"I was really expecting the leg press to fall on you. You really impressed me. That's a lot of weight for a...woman. Good job".
A lot of weight indeed.
I AM WOMAN! HEAR ME PRESS!
Monday, December 13, 2010
My Time Management Skills Suck More Than Yours
Why am I up at 11pm on a school night, steaming collard greens? Because if I don't, I'll be foraging the vending machine at work for a decent lunch.
I'm tired, dude.
Tomorrow, I'll be posting my first recipe (squee!) - baked, stuffed butternut squash.
If I could bathe in this dish, I probably would. It's quick, cheap, and tastes even better the next day.
Readers (both of you), I have a question. Some background info, and a question.
On Sunday, I went to the FM, and wanted to buy breakfast for the homeless man across the street. I considered and rejected quite a few food choices (no spicy, as he has no private bathroom if it backfires, no nuts, as he might have an allergy, no crepes because they're just not portable, etc...) and I ended up with some clementines and a chocolate muffin.
The chocolate muffin was a safe bet, I figured, because who doesn't like chocolate. And, I know it sounds silly, but I felt good helping him combat scurvy, with the clementines.
I had hoped that he had a banquet under his poncho, that other people were giving him food too, but I don't think that's the case. And so here's what I want to do.
Every time I go into the city, I'd like to take extra food with me to give out to people who need it. I'd rather give them food, than money, and at least then I'd feel like I'm giving back, instead of like a louse.
But what? If you were making quick, cheap, portable food packages to leave the house with, what would you throw in?
I'm tired, dude.
Tomorrow, I'll be posting my first recipe (squee!) - baked, stuffed butternut squash.
If I could bathe in this dish, I probably would. It's quick, cheap, and tastes even better the next day.
Readers (both of you), I have a question. Some background info, and a question.
On Sunday, I went to the FM, and wanted to buy breakfast for the homeless man across the street. I considered and rejected quite a few food choices (no spicy, as he has no private bathroom if it backfires, no nuts, as he might have an allergy, no crepes because they're just not portable, etc...) and I ended up with some clementines and a chocolate muffin.
The chocolate muffin was a safe bet, I figured, because who doesn't like chocolate. And, I know it sounds silly, but I felt good helping him combat scurvy, with the clementines.
I had hoped that he had a banquet under his poncho, that other people were giving him food too, but I don't think that's the case. And so here's what I want to do.
Every time I go into the city, I'd like to take extra food with me to give out to people who need it. I'd rather give them food, than money, and at least then I'd feel like I'm giving back, instead of like a louse.
But what? If you were making quick, cheap, portable food packages to leave the house with, what would you throw in?
Wednesday, December 1, 2010
Shaking my locavore motion.
Far be it from me to fly the fad flag (yes I do schedule my workouts around Glee, what of it?), but I do want to take a second to praise my local farmers market, and locavore-ism in general. Localvore, it seems to me, is turning into a trendy urban buzzword, and while I admit that this was a bandwagon I jumped on, it won't be a passing fancy. It has been brought to my attention that a great deal of the produce found in my local big box (chain) supermarket is grown in California, or Mexico. That makes sense, considering that their growing season is a lot longer than ours here on the East Coast. I used to think it was pretty nifty to be able to get strawberries year 'round (or I would, if I liked them), but now all I can think about is how much gasoline it takes to truck all of that food across the country. And if food prices are jacked up to meet the higher gas costs, how much of that money is actually putting the gas in the truck? How much of it is going to the farmer? And how much is going into the supermarket chain? Call me a streetcar named suspicious, but I'd much rather see my money in action.
Helpfully located underneath a major highway, our farmers market is pretty easy to get to (Unlike parking. Parking can be a bitch. The trick is to go early, if you can roust yourself out of bed on a Sunday). It's also pretty damned huge. One can buy their entire grocery list while being pushed and shoved (gently) by liberal moms with their sling babies, and be-dreaded Rastas who smell like my high school auditorium. If you can beat or bear the crowd (and think on this - yes, crowd surfing is a pain, but this placed is crowded for a REASON), you've got your pick of veg vendors, honey havens, and yes, even the meat markets. Want mussels? Got it. Have a hankering for bison (ethically raised, majestically delicious bison)? They've got that, too. Plus homemade rice krispy treats, more mushrooms than I've ever seen in my life, jellies, jams, pies, goat milk, free range eggs, and what is possibly the worlds best coffee (Here's looking at you, Zeke's.). If your fridge is stocked, but you want a hot breakfast, there are crepe makers, Cajun food slingers, Omletters, and homemade donuts. Mango and sticky rice. Freaking CURRY CHICKEN WRAPS. And the best part? All of these foods are made by people who care a lot about what they're doing. At one of the veg vendors, I was able to ask questions about how the farmers went about their work. The couple at the egg stand were happy to share with me what makes their eggs "free range". They were proud of their products, and why shouldn't they be? Their time and effort went a long way.
The guy who hands me my sack of zucchini, for example, he pulls them out of the ground himself. The gourmet mallow makers are a family business. They take their son (the same son who's picture is on the packaging) to the market every week. These people groove on food. And I'm starting to do the same.
The produce that I get there is always fresh and local, and usually lasts longer than the stuff I pick up at my local big box store. I could swear that it tastes better. Had I been this healthy an eater all along, this blog wouldn't exist, but I found myself with a hankering for purple broccoli stir fry the other night (don't fear the purple. It tastes the same as the green, and it's more local-football-team oriented).
The point I'm trying to make is that this localvore thing, eating honey that came from half an hour away, and picking my own peaches when I can, it's changed the way I look at food. It's changed my whole life. What I'm going to do in the winter, when the market shuts down, is a completely different story. Maybe my next post will be about CSAs.
Helpfully located underneath a major highway, our farmers market is pretty easy to get to (Unlike parking. Parking can be a bitch. The trick is to go early, if you can roust yourself out of bed on a Sunday). It's also pretty damned huge. One can buy their entire grocery list while being pushed and shoved (gently) by liberal moms with their sling babies, and be-dreaded Rastas who smell like my high school auditorium. If you can beat or bear the crowd (and think on this - yes, crowd surfing is a pain, but this placed is crowded for a REASON), you've got your pick of veg vendors, honey havens, and yes, even the meat markets. Want mussels? Got it. Have a hankering for bison (ethically raised, majestically delicious bison)? They've got that, too. Plus homemade rice krispy treats, more mushrooms than I've ever seen in my life, jellies, jams, pies, goat milk, free range eggs, and what is possibly the worlds best coffee (Here's looking at you, Zeke's.). If your fridge is stocked, but you want a hot breakfast, there are crepe makers, Cajun food slingers, Omletters, and homemade donuts. Mango and sticky rice. Freaking CURRY CHICKEN WRAPS. And the best part? All of these foods are made by people who care a lot about what they're doing. At one of the veg vendors, I was able to ask questions about how the farmers went about their work. The couple at the egg stand were happy to share with me what makes their eggs "free range". They were proud of their products, and why shouldn't they be? Their time and effort went a long way.
The guy who hands me my sack of zucchini, for example, he pulls them out of the ground himself. The gourmet mallow makers are a family business. They take their son (the same son who's picture is on the packaging) to the market every week. These people groove on food. And I'm starting to do the same.
The produce that I get there is always fresh and local, and usually lasts longer than the stuff I pick up at my local big box store. I could swear that it tastes better. Had I been this healthy an eater all along, this blog wouldn't exist, but I found myself with a hankering for purple broccoli stir fry the other night (don't fear the purple. It tastes the same as the green, and it's more local-football-team oriented).
The point I'm trying to make is that this localvore thing, eating honey that came from half an hour away, and picking my own peaches when I can, it's changed the way I look at food. It's changed my whole life. What I'm going to do in the winter, when the market shuts down, is a completely different story. Maybe my next post will be about CSAs.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)