Things are starting to gel.

Things are starting to gel.

As in the jam jammed, for one.

I went to my exercise class this morning. My new studio shoes are working quite well. I had noticed a bit of knee and hip pain creeping in, but new shoes seem to have taken care of that. Continue reading “Things are starting to gel.”

Comfort. A Peace of my Mind. Better than Fat Her’s Day. 

Comfort. A Peace of my Mind. Better than Fat Her’s Day. 

This morning I did a search for a phrase in my blog collection. I was was wondering if I had ever written a piece about Fat Her’s Day.  For some reason, this post showed up.

Source: Comfort. A Peace of my Mind.

Feel free to click the link and read it. Or just keep reading here. I’m not really sure why that one matched, but I’m glad it did. It helped me recognize that I have been numbing with food for a few days. It’s not comfort. It’s numbing. Just masking discomfort. Continue reading “Comfort. A Peace of my Mind. Better than Fat Her’s Day. “

Whatcha June? Ate? (Written on 6/8/2017)

Whatcha June? Ate? (Written on 6/8/2017)

It’s one of those days. I was making my smoothie this morning. Fresh ginger. Fresh mint (picked from my back yard moments earlier). Frozen mango. Whey powder. Acacia Fiber. Chia (good chia). Baby spinach. Grapefruit seltzer. MCT oil (that’s Medium-chain triglyceride derived from coconut oil). As I poured the green goodness into my quart-sized canning jar, I thought it resembled a shamrock shake. Continue reading “Whatcha June? Ate? (Written on 6/8/2017)”

Chick chick chiladas.

Chick chick chiladas.

I thought about making enchiladas on Wednesday. I didn’t have tortillas but I wasn’t too chicken to try to make some with chickpeas.

I decided to make a thinned chickpea batter with a can of chickpeas, 4 eggs, a teaspoon of salt and about a half cup of water. The idea was to make pseudo crepes and use them instead of tortillas. I got a ceramic coated frying pan heated up and poured about a quarter of a cup of batter in and swirled it around to thinly coat the bottom of the pan. Then I let them cook until the top was bubbled and dry. Then I flipped the pan upsidedown to let the crepe fall flat onto a dish. By the 6 or 7th try. I wasn’t fowling them up too much.

I think I ended up with three pancakes that resembled crepes. I  filled the nice ones with a mixture of cooked chopped chicken breast, Greek yogurt, hot salsa, cheese and chopped green chilies. The rest I layered like lasagna. With more salsa and shredded cheddar cheese.

When our niece arrived, we had supper. I was thinking I could call it scrambled enchiladas, but she came up with the recipe name of chick chick chiladas. We laughed because it was like old Macdonald’s farm with everywhere a chick chick. At least in my kitchen that’s how it is.20170503_181943.jpg

It was fun to laugh together, but it was also fun to eat together and find out that this new twist on enchiladas tasted good, too!

Revisited peazza.

Revisited peazza.

“How does that sound?”

It has occurred to me that a question like that regarding a food choice is a little strange. Pizza. How does that sound? Crunchy. Yummy. High in calorie. Rich in satisfaction of the moment. Easy. Hard. Just right. But how does it feel? In the mouth and in the mind? And how does it taste? And how does the aftertaste work?

There’s a certain conundrum that happens literally with folks who are soundly literal. (Maybe not so literate. But that happens with the mouth.) How does it sound? Do I respond with an adverb or an ad for pizza? Yikes. It’s just food.

Or is it?

I wrote about last night’s supper experiment. My niece seemed to roll her eyes when I said I was going to do an experiment for supper. It wasn’t in a negative way.  I actually didn’t see her eyes roll. It was just in the banter back when I made the semi obvious announcement about supper being an experiment. She acknowledged, in her tone, that more (e’en) often than not, my cooking is an experiment. After two semesters of hanging out with us on the weekends, she’s pretty used to it. (She’s pretty, too.) And she’s a good sport about eating what I fix. (Even if it might still be a little broken.)

This morning, I had leftover cold chickpeazza for breakfast. And I got my eyes opened. As in: I realized something I’d never really thought about before. Hot pizza’s goodness is pretty much about the crust. Thin and crispy. Or thick and airy. Or chewy. Or whatever it is you’re looking for in a fresh pizza eating experience. Hot chickpeazza is a little disappointing compared to good hot pizza.

Cold pizza, though, is about the toppings. Not so much the crust. In fact, I’ve eaten the toppings off of cold pizza and thrown away the crust. But cold chickpeazza is really good in my book (or blog, or mouth). Because the crust isn’t noticeable other than it being a nice edible shelf for the toppings. Not only that, there’s some good garbanzo bean and egg goodness to it instead of it being very much like sugar to my body.

Some people my turn up their noses (and shut their mouths) to cold congealed pizza (or peazza). But my nose is naturally turned up and my mouth is open to the taste and feel and aftertaste (or effects) of cold peazza.

So why did pizza sound good to me last night? I don’t know. But it did. Perhaps it was a conglomeration of memories associated with eating pizza. At the Pizza Pipes restaurant in Washington State when Pipes meant organ music and sometimes bubbles floating through the air with the sounds and scent of fresh hot pizza. (How does that sound?)

Pizza holds the memory of a cousin asking if anyone wanted the last piece of pizza and declaring, “Speak now, or never hold a piece!” It brings to mind my grandfather who delighted in pizza from The Casa Mia.

Pizza is memories of family gatherings with grease lined cardboard boxes. The boxes aren’t the great part of the memory, but they were there. And they jog the memory, if not the body. Pizza brings back memories of trying to achieve a pizza parlor taste from my own ovens. And the thrill of getting it right.

I remember being a little girl and visiting someone with my family. The little old lady (who might have been younger than I am right now) asked if we liked peaches for supper. At least, that what I thought she said. And it sounded a little strange to me. The zz’s got twisted somewhere between her larynx and my ears. I was confused until the hot pies were delivered. (Anne V., if you’re reading this, it was your dear little grandmother. EKaye. But it’s Okay. I love the memory.)

So pizza. How does that sound? I think I’ve established that there’s a lot wrapped up in a pizza. What comes around goes around. (Unless it’s square or free form.) I choose to not eat traditional pizza made with flour. But I like the sound of it. And I like to make it for other people. I enjoy the memories of it. And in the rare time that I really want to eat it, I now have a recipe for something that works for me.

Chick Peazza Crust.

4 eggs, 1 can chickpeas (drained and rinsed), 2 T olive oil, 1 T dried oregano, 1/2 T baking powder, 1/2 tsp salt. Puree in blender and pour in greased pizza pan (mine is 16 inches in diameter). Bake at 425°F for 15 minutes or until set. Loosen the crust from the bottom of pan and load preferred toppings before returning the pizza to the oven to bubble and brown the cheese.

In another experiment, with a pizza stone in my oven, I might transfer the crust to a pizza peel to load with toppings before returning it to the oven for the final bake. Hmm. I could call it biscotti peazza. Or not.

How does that sound?