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)”

Stressed:dessertS

Stressed:dessertS

The solution to stressed is not desserts. it’s a backwards approach at best. Unless it is simply to back away without caving to the test. Turning to food like a numbing drug is not the answer I know. Give me a run or a paper and pun. ‘Tis a vent so I don’t have to blow. That imag’ry conjures the thought of a whale–the size I approached e’re I’m Possible tale. Ive used AAA to change my attire. From Michelin padded to thin as a wire*. With the Weight Watchers tools and some bright line rules. Awareness, Acceptance, Adapting. No fools.

Stress is a matter of fact part of life. It can’t be knocked out with a spoon fork or knife. Just dealt with: good choices for heart healthy life..

* poetic license. I’m not as thin as a wire, but I wear size small!

I wrote this post with a Weight Watchers prompt. It could seem like it’s all about prose. If you read with a beat, you might find it neat: an amateur poem’s how it goes.

I’m on my way to Denver and then to my daughter’s new home. Where she lives with her hubby, (neither is chubby) in the land where buffalo roam.

I’m leaving New England in winter clothes–landing in Laramie where it still snows.

I’m going to visit a week and a day. I hope to see deer and antelope play!

My plan is to eat three meals a day, drink lots of water, and see brand new hay. I’ll help paint some rooms, shovel some snow and look for spring’s blooms.

I’ll write and take pictures but don’t know if I’ll post. Wyoming’s cell service is scanter than most.

And now it’s time for airplane mode.  I have a 5 hour layover in Denver. Feel ftee to comment. I’ll respond!

Stressed:dessertS

Stressed:dessertS

The solution to stressed is not desserts.
That’s a backwards approach at best.
Unless it is simply to back away
Without caving to the test.

Turning to food like a numbing drug
Is not the answer I know.
Give me a run or a paper and pun.
‘Tis a vent so I don’t have to blow.

That imag’ry conjures the thought of a whale
(The size I approached e’re I’m Possible tale).
I’ve used AAA to change my attire
From Michelin-padded to thin as a wire*.

With the Weight Watchers tools and some bright line rules.
Awareness, Acceptance, Adapting. No fools.

Stress is a matter of fact part of life.
It can’t be knocked out with a spoon fork or knife.
Just dealt with: good choices for heart healthy life…

I wrote this post with a Weight Watchers prompt. It could seem like it’s all about prose. If you read with a beat, you might find it neat: an amateur poem’s how it goes.
I’m on my way to Denver and then to my daughter’s new home. Where she lives with her hubby, (neither is chubby) in the land where buffalo roam.
I’m leaving New England in winter clothes–landing in Laramie where it still snows.
I’m going to visit a week and a day. I hope to see deer and antelope play!
My plan is to eat three meals a day, drink lots of water, and see brand new hay. I’ll help paint some rooms, shovel some snow and look for spring’s blooms.
I’ll write and take pictures but don’t know if I’ll post. Wyoming’s cell service is scanter than most.
And now it’s time for airplane mode. I have a 5 hour layover in Denver. Feel ftee to comment. I’ll respond!
Edit on August 1, 2017: I’ve grouped the top part as a poem. It seems easier to read now I’m home. I had a great time in Wyoming. My daughter and I primed and painted five rooms of her house during a weather event that dropped two feet of snow outside. I’m looking forward to a return trip that probably won’t involve snow or painting.

 

 

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?

 

Chickpeazza.

Chickpeazza.

This is pronounced chick pizza. And you could eat it on a piazza if you has one. I call it chickpeazza because I made the crust from my chick flip (as opposed to flap jacks) recipe wirh a few modifications.

I  wanted pizza for supper tonight,  but I haven’t been eating flour lately because it’s too much like sugar for me.

So I improvised. With a can of chickpeas, some eggs, a little olive oil, salt and baking powder. Oh yes. I added 1 tablespoon of oregano to the batter which was pureed on high in my trusty Oster blender.

I greased my large pizza pan, poured the batter in and let it bake at 425 F for about 15 minutes. I gently loosend the crust from the bottom of the pan with a large pancake turner and left the baked crust in the pan. Then I added some spaghetti sauce that didn’t have added sugar, basil flakes, and mozzarella cheese. On half of the peazza, I used sliced onions, garlic and spinach. On the other half, I used bacon, pepperoni, hot sausage crumbles and garlic. I topped the whole pie with shedded parmesan and baked it for about 10 more minutes.

It wasn’t really pizza, but I could eat it like pizza. The toppings tasted like pizza. It worked for me. And my husband. And our college student niece.

I’ll probably make it again.

In other news, I am really pleased with the boost I’ve gotten from watching and reading the work of Susan Pierce Thompson, PhD.  I feel a renewed commitment to what works for me. Three meals a day. No grazing. A multivitamin, No sugar. No flour. She calls it bright line eating. I call it I’m Possible.