You knew this was gonna be weird, you just didn’t know how weird.
I have to begin by saying that this is not at all an unusual breakfast food combination for any of the four guys I live with. But somehow the pepperoni-sausage-and-black-olive pizza, hard boiled egg, and cantaloupe just demanded I take a photo, and The Maker was willing, if not yet fully awake.
And I was fairly pleased about his choice of whole grain toast, I might add. Fiber!
Take a look at this incredible food, and don’t be a hater.
I started with a whole-wheat, low-carb wrap, which I always have in the fridge unless the boys have been voraciously eating them and I’ve not been to the grocery. They have a total of 15 g of carbs, but 8 grams are dietary fiber, so the net carb gain is only 7 grams. Pretty good.
It’s slathered with red pepper hummus, which you can hardly see in the picture because I piled it with other goodies, but it’s there. I actually prefer a plain garlic hummus, but this red pepper version looked a pretty shade of orange and I do love bell peppers. I haven’t been making my own hummus lately, so this batch came from the Whole Foods.
Above that is a good handful of clover sprouts, which seem to be the greenest options in the row of sprouts in my grocery, and thus I’m forever picking these up out of the line-up.
Then comes a pile of sprouted legumes: adzuki beans, lentils, and peas. Again, I could do this myself, but they are so easily available in the produce section and they add a wonderful crunch to any sandwich, salad, or wrap.
Finally I added jalapeno peppers, for which I have a weakness, and a few slices of yellow bell pepper. I cut and eat the entire pepper every time; they are such juicy goodness!
Nothing better than a spring wrap like this. It’s like eating sunshine and happiness. Go ye and make your own!
It started coming down in earnest about 7 pm on Friday night, and by then the Ice was over his misery at being forbidden to go to a skating party that was due to run until 11 pm in a town 30 miles away. The First, however, had already made good his escape and was blissfully seated next to his girlfriend at a play. He’d promised to be home by 9 pm, so I sat up worrying until 10:40 pm when I finally heard him crunch up to the front door.
“But we went really really slow on the road, Mom,” he said, as I ranted. Sometimes I despair of ever managing this parenting thing gracefully.
After sending him on to bed I sat up in the darkened kitchen, watching the snow hurtle past the streetlights, and by midnight the peace of the thing had worked its magic and I turned in. For a bit.
Because at 2 am I heard the thump-thump-thump of my nine-year-old thundering down the stairs, followed by a delighted gasp, some scrambling, and the open and slam of the front door. No, no, no, I groaned, and elbowed Lance awake. “He’s locked himself out,” I whispered, just as the knocking began.
Lance shuffled out to the front door, let the Maker in, and growled at him to go back to bed. Which he did. For three hours.
By 5 am the Maker and the Ice had turned on all the lights, gone in and out of the house a half dozen times, and engaged in several arguments before I dragged myself out of bed to insist that they go upstairs to read and allow me to sleep for at least another 2 hours. “But it’s five,” the Ice insisted. I squinted balefully at him.
“Two hours,” I intoned, pointing up the stairs like the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come pointing into the grave. “Goooo.”
By the time I got up the boys had made a lavish breakfast of biscuits, sausage, eggs, and orange juice, which went a fair distance toward diverting my lecture, and besides, a five-inch snow in North Carolina is a rare and magic thing; it’s hard to sustain a really hefty grouchiness in the face of such beauty.
By noon our house was vibrating with the energy of six boys under the age of 12 playing Uno and Monopoly, four teens upstairs playing electric guitar, and the effort of our dryer to keep up with the constant load of cold, soggy gloves, hats, and jackets. The coat pile in our foyer was deep enough to lose a small animal in. Ooo. Sorry I even thought of that; no telling what may be loose in our house.
I felt domestic enough to make cookies, which inspired the hasty manufacture of a dozen peanut butter and jelly sandwiches (note to self: we’re now out of jelly), since lunch is a prerequisite for dessert. I watched the melee with a small measure of amazement and poured a finger of scotch into my coffee as the boys settled into a belching contest over PB & Js. I love having all boys, revolting though they may be.
I called my parents, who live on the same block. “How many boys do you have in your house?” I inquired over the din.
My father chuckled. “None,” he replied, “and all the doors are locked. But you know where the key is hidden.”
He leaves it to me to use my powers for good or for evil.
My office mates are convinced I have no love for them. I do feel a little bad, but I can’t help it. Onions are just so delicious! And onions, tomatoes, and yellow pepper with a bit of olive oil and Balsamic vinegar are absolutely heavenly.
And given how cold and crappy it is outside, doesn’t this pretty salad make you feel like summer is just around the corner? The only way this tri-color treat could be any better is if there were a bit of fresh chopped basil mixed in. Or fresh, spicy cilantro!
Your friends will forgive you. This salad rocks the winter.
As Queen of Labor Day I have decreed that everyone lay around in their pajamas all day (I am leading by example) and eat their favorite foods. I just finished my mustard sandwich.
That’s right, the Carb Nazi is off duty today and I’m having TWO, count them, two slices of squishy white bread with great beautiful globs of mustard (both slices) and salami, Oh, salami! With swiss cheese and spinach thrown in out of habit. But it’s really about the mustard. Even my kids gape when they see me loading it on this one.
I’m kind of a blue-collar (that might be yellow-collar) mustard lover; sure I dig all those $9-a-jar kinds in multiple shades of brown with seeds and specks and stuff, but the best mustard is the same wonderful yellow as a Lego, or Pikachu, or (trying to think of something grown-up)…the old pre-1971 yield signs. I miss those yield signs. Thank God mustard didn’t change.
Mustard’s marvelous canary color amazingly does occur in nature. Turmeric gives the other five ingredients (vinegar, water, mustard seed, salt, paprika) their brilliance. This color makes your pronto pup glow in the twilight — or broad daylight for that matter — at the State Fair. Btw, the best places to buy corn dogs are the ones that actually dip your dog in a bucket of mustard, all the way to the stick, before laying it in a frilled paper boat. I also ask for extra packets too.
In fact, this is why God invented State Fair pronto pups: as a vehicle for mustard. It may be why arena sporting events were invented, as well. Fourth of July, for that matter. All to highlight the glorious gastronomic wonders of my favorite food, which some people call a condiment, mustard.
I first discovered this trend of Inventions Supporting the Enjoyment of Mustard when I was growing up in Memphis, Tennessee. Less than a mile from the suburb where I lived an entire forest was razed for the new mall, which was anchored not by the Goldsmiths department store (where I later bought my wedding dress), but in fact by the tiny 8×12 Hot Sam’s pretzel place. Is there anything in the world better than a fat, hot, salty pretzel happily drowned with mustard? I think not.
My favorite movie line involving mustard is in the Albert Finney version of Scrooge, where Ebeneezer is visited by his dead partner Jacob Marley’s ghost. Scrooge tries to explain Marley away by saying he’s a hallucination: “That’s what you are. A bit of undigested beef, or a blob of mustard, or an old potato.” Everyone in my family quotes this one to me, in that creepy-whiney little Scrooge voice.
I tend to have several giant yellow plastic squeeze bottles of mustard in my fridge at any given time. I have this fear of running out of mustard, which would be almost worse than running out of toilet paper (I keep lots of that on hand, too). It’s like I’ll be in the grocery, see those beautiful yellow rows, and think, “We may be almost out, who can tell with those opaque containers?” and I’ll pick one up just in case. My family no longer comments on this phenomenon, they just shove the other two bottles over and make room. I think the mustards like to be together.
Oh, would someone please post a mustard haiku on your own blog, or in the comments? I looked on the intarwebs but couldn’t find a good one. Consider this post unfinished until it has a mustard haiku.
How could anything be finished without a mustard haiku?
Image credit: i. m. bitter on Flickr
When the boys were little and forever standing in front of the refrigerator I used this write-on wipe-off board to suggest some foods they might want to eat. I am just SURE I wrote down healthy choices, simple things that I kept on hand that they could prepare themselves. Like tofu, and tabouleh.
I’m just kidding. Things like cheese and crackers, celery sticks and peanut butter, ham sandwiches, and stuff like that. I haven’t done it in years, though, and we’ve moved the write-on wipe-off board to the side of the fridge and ignored it.
Until recently, when I happened to see that the Ice had renewed the practice. When I saw it I had to laugh, because this is definitely the kind of thing they most love to eat, and it’s true that I buy all this stuff for them. There isn’t a single item on there other than fruit and oatmeal that I will eat myself, but that’s okay. I’m pretty comfy in my “Bad Mommy” outfit.
It comes with a ripped black sash and bayonet-style wand, which I adore.
Okay, people. You need to get more protein into your mornings, and ease back on the Lucky Charms. Anyway, you’re wasting money on the Lucky Charms when all you do is eat the marshmallows and leave the oat-y bits. So save those for a dessert and listen up.
You work, play, and train hard, so you need a power start in the morning. The sugar / empty carb overload plan is not going to do it, and don’t fool yourself into thinking that whole grains on their own will, either. I cycle through the following four breakfast menus:
Steel cut and rolled oats with cinnamon apples and ham
Put half a cup of water in a pan on high. When it boils, add a quarter cup of steel cut oats. While those boil, chop up half a big apple. Turn the oats to low and add a quarter cup of rolled oats. Chop a 3 oz slice of lean ham and put it in the bottom of your bowl. Take the oats off the stove, mix in the apple, and dump the whole thing in your bowl over the ham. Sprinkle heavily with cinnamon. Heaven.
Protein berry smoothie
I buy frozen berries and use them when I need them. On a protein berry smoothie morning, fill a large bowl with frozen strawberries and raspberries and defrost them slightly in the microwave. Dump them in your food processor and add frozen blueberries, soy milk, and a giant scoop of soy protein powder. You can also add a scoop of creatine if you’re working to build muscle. Don’t add orange juice! Too many super-sugars, and you will find the berries are plenty sweet enough. Lovely.
Eggables omelette crammed with veggies
I use Eggables (or the generic grocery version) in cartons because they have less fat than regular eggs. Shake the carton and pour a layer into a medium-sized preheated iron skillet. The mix should sizzle going in. Grind fresh pepper over it, and leave it to cook on medium while you wash and chop half a box of mushrooms. Put mushrooms in a giant bowl with about 4 cups of fresh spinach leaves in the microwave with a plate over the top to hold in steam and wilt it all down. I throw in some chopped onions too (I keep some in a baggie in the fridge). Your omelette should be cooked through; slide it out onto a plate, peel a stick of mozzarella string cheese over it if you like, and pile the veggies on top. You might be able to fold the monster, but you might not. Powerful!
Cottage cheese with red pears, raspberries, and almonds
I’m lactose intolerant so I don’t eat this as much, but I take a tablet for that if I am going to have this breakfast. Chop half a red pear, half an apple, and a full cup of defrosted raspberries into your bowl with a cup of cottage cheese. Top with chopped almonds. Pure pleasure.
Saturday afternoon I was sitting in the kitchen happily enjoying a solitary lunch and reading a book. The Maker was over at the kitchen counter with an apple and a paring knife, making himself a snack. I only barely noticed that there were a lot more cutting and chopping noises than it normally takes to slice up an apple. Snick, snick, snick. Pause. Snick, snick. Pause. Snick, snick, snick.
Finally my spidey-sense made me glance up to see what was going on and I was rewarded by a huge grin from the Maker. He hopped off his stool and pogoed over to me with one hand behind his back. “Guess what this is!” he squealed, whipping out one dirty fist and slowly uncurling his fingers to reveal a fragment of apple about the size of a bottle cap. I was aware that he was not going to be looking for the answer “A dirty bit of apple,” so I racked my brain. The bit looked randomly chopped, but not chewed. It reminded me of an injured square. Ahhh, I had it.
“A rhombus?” I asked. “Quadrilateral? Dodecahedron?” I can’t remember any of my geometry.
“Noooo,” he groaned. “Nevada!”
Oh. My. Heavens.
“I don’t even know what Nevada looks like,” I told him, but he had already boinged off to the schoolroom to retreive the globe.
“Look!” he said, pointing. “Nevada.” He displayed the apple bit again.
“Well, I’ll be.” I nodded. “Your apple is indeed Nevada. It’s quite obvious now. Yep. Nevada.”
He popped Nevada into his mouth, grinning, and disappeared back to the counter. I went back to my paperback, enlightened.
Thirty seconds later he brought me Oklahoma.
The Pie Cheese Story from Lisa Creech Bledsoe on Vimeo.
One of our family’s favorite stories of mistaken food identity, as only the Maker can tell it.
I have four guys in my family. Nobody really cooks much, so I try to keep reasonably healthy and easy-to-eat (read: no actual cooks are used in the making of this item) foods around for them. Bananas are on the list.
But my family is funny about bananas. They will love them, devour them, never let them go bad some of the time. I may pick up bananas twice, or even three times in a given week because they are eating so many of them. But sometimes I buy a bunch of bananas and they sit there. Growing their inevitable brown spots. And I will say brightly to my boys at every new opportunity, “Banana for your cereal, hmm?” or “How about a peanut butter and banana sandwich tonight?” or “Would you like to take a nice banana for your lunch/snack/friend today?”
I am a terrible banana salesperson. They never go for this.
I am slowly coming to grips with the fact that my family has a collective banana toggle switch and it’s either on or it’s off. There’s no place I can check on this switch, either. The only way to know if everyone is “banana on” is to actually purchase some and see. It’s exactly like playing the lottery. Insert money, receive bananas. Sorry, you’re a big banana loser today. Please buy again!
I used to have a fantasy about making banana bread after losing the banana lottery. I would in complete good faith tuck my bananas into the freezer beside the pot pies, pizza, burritos, and the few other “instant” freezer foods I stock. “Sleep well, little bananas,” I would whisper, “I’ll be back for you!” Six months later one of the boys would drag them out and shout (because they always shout) for someone (who, do you think?) to throw them out to make room for more pizzas, a science experiment, or even (this is a true story) six Tupperware containers full of rare North Carolina snow.
So now the losing bananas feed our worms. Which, by the way, are now free range worms. Of course I feel guilty, starving children in Haiti and so forth.
But three times in a row now I’ve brought home bananas and they’ve all been eaten. I’m on a lucky streak, and I really feel like I can win. I plan to play again.