(Or that of all the many jazz greats out there, I like Dinah Washington best 'cause she sounds a little dirty. Or that I strongly disapprove of SUVs. Or that I'm better at thinking about meditating than actually meditating, which I try to convince myself is sort of meditating one step removed.)
OK, so among the many many things that people know about me is that I don't really cook. I can make a mean PB&J, or some very excellent Annie's gluten-free mac and cheese (secret is, less milk and more butter). But my repertoire is, shall we say, limited. For the most part, I believe that the kitchen is where the wine glasses are kept.
Well, as Dinah would remind you, what a difference a day makes. This ol' dog learned a new trick and cooked something today that met even the high standards of The Resident Chef. Yep, me--the chick with the wine glass!
See, now that I'm not burning an extra five or six hundred calories a day running (curse you, stupid knee!) I need to think more carefully about what I'm eating which means no more candy bars for lunch. I have some very exacting criteria:
- It has to be something that can be made ahead of time and stored ready-to-go in the fridge. (If I'm not getting up at 4 a.m. to run, I sure as hell am not getting up at 4 a.m. to cook.)
- It has to travel well. Specifically, it has to survive 12 miles in a panier bag bouncing along with me on the bike path.
- It has to be vegan. My beloved does most (read: all) of our cooking at home, and his idea of "vegetarian" usually means just one kind of meat. So lunch at work is my one chance to give my heart and arteries a bit of a break. Also, see numbers one and two, then think about a pre-cooked, bicycle delivered piece of meat. See what I mean?
You can get the recipe here. So grab a glass of wine, crank up some Dinah Washington and take heart in the fact that if this old broad can pull off doing something new, anybody can. (And keep your fingers crossed for me that I can run again soon. I mean, this coconut oil is FANTASTIC but not exactly low in calories, you know?)
And yes, Mom. That is the funky old pyrex Spag's bowl you gave me from Grandma's kitchen--still going strong after all these years.