Tag Archives: Food obsessing

Busy Bodies

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Any of those pesky remaining gutterflies are getting crushed by my higher-self head fingers.

That’s the last I’ll ever say about that.

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Oh look, THIS again.

green juice

Turns out the Depth Charge at The Daily Juice is 1000000x better than the green energy drink at Whole Foods.

1. It’s COLD. Serving this green muck up room temperature is an affront to humanity.
2. Well, actually there is no # 2, but listing just #1 doesn’t really work.

Apparently eating fast food and any/everything fried or covered in berries and cream for a couple of weeks straight isn’t very good for you. Did I say apparently? I meant, allegedly. So I’m feeding my body green muck because it’s good for me. Allegedly.

Things are looking up.

  • * Lonestar Deathstar won our match night and now it’s on to the FINALS on Saturday.
  • * Sold our iPhones for cash money on ebay and now there’s a fancy new bottle of Prada Candy that will shortly be MINE.
  • * Book two of A Song of Ice and Fire, Clash of Kings (AKA — A Game of Thrones, part two) is amazeballs.
  • * Bossypants, however, wasn’t.
  • * My sister SOLD the Armadillo and with that, goes a big NOLA memory.
  • * This means I’ll probably be visiting NOLA in the next few weeks to soak it in before it goes.
  • * Still not a passport vacation, though. And the lack of that still sucks.
  • * Deadlines are being rocked and names are being taken.
  • * Baked banana bread last night. Haven’t baked in MONTHS, so it’s kind of a big deal.

  
That’s about it. I’m working tonight and missing my improv class, but that’s what happens. Big girl pants, y’all.

“All of the Lights”

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Two posts in one day? Not hardly. But back-to-back postings? YES.

Look at this GIANT photo of this healthy crap I forced myself to drink. It looks toxic. It tastes toxic. It’s supposed to be good for me.

CLEANSING SUCKS. Also, mental note, if your cleansing routine means eating whole, natural foods, staying away from dairy and meat and caffeine and sugar and alcohol, try not to go out for antelope tartare while sucking back Harvey Wallbangers after class with Lindsay. Just sayin’.

I have more things to say about improv. Deal with it.

Last week I took a group workshop taught by Craig Uhlir, who plays/teaches at Second City and IO in Chicago and has an all-around reputation for hilarity and improv-awesomeness. Whenever I take workshops (and I’m a bit of a workshopaholic) I’m always nervous about who else is taking it, whether I’m bringing the class down by being the least-experienced improvisor, whether I’m going to be shamed and berated for breaking improv, etc.

This particular workshop was exactly this, times 129,033. Because not only were most of participants graduates and regular, incredible performers in their own right, my instructors were taking the workshop. Krilov from level one, (the! most! excellent!) Ratliff from level two (and who am I kidding, pretty much most of level three) and Coldtowne faculty I haven’t even met yet.

It was a four-hour workshop, which I didn’t realize (I kept waiting for him to cut us off, every few minutes, after the two-hour mark) and I learned so much.

But you know, the thing with me learning so much? I STILL IMMEDIATELY FORGET. Ugh with this goldfish memory bringing me down all the time. I took notes as soon as I could (hello nifty, new journal shout out!), but I could actually feel important things slipping away as I was trying to get it all down.

What stuck with me:

    If you’re nervous, think about group work in fractions. If there are six of you on stage, you’re responsible for 1/6. (Hey look, MATH IN REAL LIFE.)

    If a scene is happening (in my case, this pretty much applies to shows and exercises, too.), think about it like a freight train. The longer you wait, the faster it goes by, making it that much harder to get on board. (Pretty much JUMP, THEN JUSTIFY.)

DOING this is such an essential part of this work. I can talk about it, write about it, read about it all day, but until I DO it, it’s nothing.

Everything from nothing, jump then justify, yes and — these are essentially the keys. This, and supporting your team.

So, that being said, in class last week Michael put in a call for volunteers for the Sit-ins. I’m doing it.

Today, Ed asked if I wanted to sit in on Dr. Doctor this weekend. I’m doing it. (Double the panic, double the pain.)

I may fall down (literally, you all know how clumsy I am), I may fry, I may break improv. But I’m going to DO until I don’t.

God Save the Queen

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I managed to wake up at 4 a.m. this morning to get my royal wedding on. This was my spread:

WF sold out of scones by the time I got there (I took a last-minute improv elective last night — SO WORTH IT) and in my post-playing butterflies and giddiness I went a little balls with my breakfast feast: (almost) scones (AKA cream biscuits), raspberry jam, Devon clotted cream, Lincolnshire cheddar, Branston Pickle, tiny bottle of champagne, OJ and sticky toffee pudding.

I didn’t share any of it with the asshole cat, who got angry with me for waking him up so early (I understand that timber of meow, thank you.) and made it all the way through half of a giant pot of tea and everything but the pudding. SO FULL at 6 a.m. Decided to do laundry.

THIS IS SUCH AN INTERESTING BLOG. Food! Laundry! Please tell me about brushing your teeth.

I might go back to sleep. Sleep would be good. I have to work at 9.

Friday, Friday, what’s good to do on this Friday night?

Chicken Fried Olives Stuffed with Pimento Cheese

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For whatever reason, over the last 24 hours this page has skyrocked in new visitors searching for “Chicken Fried Olives.” Would you please leave a comment and let me know what’s behind the sudden upsurge?

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You have not lived until you’ve noshed on a plate of these.

Chef David Bull’s new restaurant Second Bar + Kitchen serves these up, as well as the most ridiculous lip-smacking burgers, black truffle and pecorino fries; pulled pork pizzas and buffalo fried pickles in Austin. Even their ketchup is blog worthy — smoked tomato goodness, right there. UNF, NOM NOM TO THE MF NOM!

Whoa. Carried away a little.

I had the smallest dessert ever, which was a perfect offering of two bites of a perfect oatmeal cookie with foie gras buttercream sandwiched inside. It was dusted with powdered sugar and you’re on crack if you eat this and don’t think there’s a God in heaven smiling down on you at that very moment of blissed-out perfection.

And that’s not even getting into the drinks. You like the drinks at East Side Show Room? You’re going to LOVE the cocktails here.

Did I take any photos? Not a one. But Matt Chow over at NomNomNom.com has some great shots of the food.

All in, another perfect meal. Can’t wait to get in next door to try out the swanky eats at Congress proper!

Where’s the Beef?

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Yeah, so …

When I was taking all those brain-surgery meds I wasn’t hungry at all. AT ALL. So I became super obsessed with food. Now that I’m downcycling/spiraling back to normal, my appetite is returning. My incredible obsession and affair with all things cooking and food is starting to wane a bit.

Which may mean this blog might revert back to a HI RANDOM, HI blog. Or, not.

Not sure yet.

Something awesome I want to talk about? Improv. I’ve been taking classes at Coldtowne and it’s been a blast. I’m learning a ton of things and interacting onstage and getting my feet wet with everything and even though I NEVER WANT TO TALK ABOUT DISHWASHING AGAIN (Oh man, such a bad choke moment) I’ve never loved the magic of Groupon more.

Something else? We closed on my childhood home on Friday. My cord to Cove, NEVER TO BE CUT. We’ll be renting it out soon. Extra awesome.

SXSW around the corner. Jazz Fest lineup released tonight at midnight.

Springtime around the corner. That’s what’s up.

Here’s a photo that expresses the happy. (In England, Christmas hat on. And yes, I wear the shit out of this sweater.)

Food Porn

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I’ve really, really got to stop cruising food blogs like a lusty old perv wearing a trench, hanging out by the back racks in a XXX store. I mean, really. Last night I ordered this gem by Kim Boyce, all about baking with whole-grain flours simply because I LIKED THE WAY THE WEDNESDAY CHEF TALKED ABOUT A CAKE.

A couple of days ago I salivated on several food magazines at Book People the other day before bringing home America’s Test Kitchen 10-Year Special Issue, because the pictures were pretty. The pictures. I’ve flipped through this magazine several times since then, furtively getting a thrill, but not actually cooking anything.

And about an hour ago I bought two tickets to see Anthony Bourdain talk about his new book, Medium Raw. Just, you know, because. I seriously need to step away from the computer and put my check card back into my purse before someone gets hurt.

To be fair, this probably has a lot to do with that teeny, tiny little side effect of the brain medication that has completely taken away my appetite. I mean, in context, if I didn’t have nails I would probably pine for nail polish. So it goes, I want food — gorgeous, stunning, fabulous, amazing food — because my body doesn’t want food.

Am I cooking through all this? Not really. I baked one thing. Okay, I baked it a couple of times. I have come close to perfecting this fabulous recipe for Old-Fashioned Chocolate Cupcakes. They are seriously the most amazing cupcakes I’ve made, and I’m not even a fan of chocolate.

I need to branch out from cupcakes though. I’m turning into a one-act play. Wait, that’s not the analogy. It’s something else. A one-tune Tony? A one-trick playa? Oh that’s going to drive me mad.

What food blogs are making your stomachs rumble with gastronomical glee?

Breathing — good. Eating — bad.

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Two things — today is day two in my SuperDiet.

Sunday afternoon I put on a swimsuit and almost choked. It’s gotten bad, ya’ll.

So I’m off the Tori Amos “Girls who eat pizza never gain weight” diet and on the “Advocare, slimfast, healthy choice frozen food and 888 gallons of water a day” diet.

I *know* diets are bad wah wah wah, but this is an emergency.

I play tonight.

Yep, my first gig since March of 2000. Ruta Maya. 4 songs. I’m nervous. So nervous…

I know it’s only 4 songs, but the band hasn’t been together that long and I *swear* we change the song every time we rehearse, which is good when you factor in how much the songs have grown, but bad when you factor in short-term memory.

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I raced out of here at 11 today, took an early lunch because I knew there was a gorgeous warm body sleeping in my bed. I didn’t sleep at all, but stayed there in his arms the whole hour feeling completely peaceful.

I love that man….