Countdown to Food Doctor
Writing down everything you eat,
how much,
when,
where and
who with is really different than just writing down
what you eat. And faxing that big, fat list in an office filled with people obsessed with Paris Hilton is as easy as getting a Brazillian bikini wax at the reception desk.
I meet her at 5:30 and I may have mentioned,
I REALLY HOPE SHE LIKES SMARTASSES. Because I'm the queen and I'm feeling a huge wave of self-deprecating humor.
Food Doctor
Yep, I'm seeing a
nutritionist on Wednesday.
Here's why.
- When I wake up in the morning, while I linger in that primordial state between ooze and human, my first thought is brownie.
- Diabetes and heart disease in my mom's family.
- Cancer on my dad's.
- The pile of trousers on the floor beside my closet that every morning before work, I pull on and take off like some kind of OCD ritual.
- I ran my last marathon over a year ago. I can't honestly say, "I'm a runner".
- See previous post...
It's not so much the physical weight, but the emotional that drags me down. I won't diet. And have the urge to poke people in the eye when they mention South Beach, or Atkins.
So there.
I have no idea what this will be like, but have to keep a detailed food diary for the Doc, including the speed at which I eat, where and with who. Fast, the shower and in a crowd of Hare Krishnas, if you're wondering.
I hope she's specialized in dealing with smartasses. I want help digging myself out of this hole filled with fast food and emotional eating, but there's another practical side of me that thinks, eating is natural, like breathing and getting a pedicure. Why do I have to have someone teach me how? But I do. And I will.
Dodger Dogs, $4 Water and the Sad State of Chipwich Ice Cream
Grateful to be in the shade for yesterday's Dodger game. The Dodger's began hemorrhaging in the second inning and it went downhill from there.
There was nothing to do but eat. And eat. And eat some more.
Here's the list of crap consumed by me and my friends.
BIG bag of homemade Chex mix made by Augusto (snuck in)
Three boxes of Cracker Jacks (snuck in)
Dodger Dog slathered with Dijon and Relish (purchased there)
Big bag of peanuts (purchased there)
Sodas (purchased there)
Water Bottles (snuck in)
Chocolate Malts (purchased there)
Frozen Lemonades (purchased there)
Chipwich Ice Cream Sandwiches (purchased there)
The Chipwich Ice Cream Sandwiches have gotten BIGGER, but the quality of the cookie has seriously deteriorated. Do the Chipwich folks think we would simply be distracted by the big version of the crap cookie? I think not. I'm writing a letter.
Eat at Joe's
I've always known the frozen goods from
Trader Joe's were good solid eating, but have recently discovered they can be fancied up with little to no effort. Last night, I got the frozen mushroom risotto, sauteed some onions and fresh mushrooms in olive oil and then cooked the risotto on top of that. Six minutes later, top the whole thing with a little
Parmigianno Reggiano and that's a damn fine meal. And the organic mint melange tea with mint
and lemon grass is delish over ice. Where would we be without Joe?
Having Almost Nothing to Do With Food
I'm having one of those days where the world just seems bruised. I don't have any screen to discern any kind of pain and seem to be taking it all in like some kind of sieve. I cried last night when the Chinese gymnist cried. I cried when I saw a six foot tall transexual on Western Blvd. this morning, wobbly in her heels with her fake Prada bag perched on her shoulder, her blonde wig disheveled, and not in a Bardot kind of way. I'm on the verge of tears when I hear reports of the awful Peterson trial, and I don't even watch local news. I can't stop thinking about
Sana'a Abu Bekhet and her dreams of a better life. I feel like I'm made of rice paper. I'm going to wrap myself in cotton batting to get through the day.
More Questions from LA Blogs
1. Where is the last place you ate out?
Mamma and Pappa's Pizza on Colorado in Pasadena. Nice extra thin crust and fresh basil. We've been searching for good delivery pizza and I believe we have a winner.
2. How often do you eat out?
Couple times a week.
3. Where is the place you eat most?
Burritto Express on Washington in Altadena. Awesome burritto's and homemade salsa.
4. Where do you tell your friends that they "have to try"?
Everyplace I love. I'm kinda bossy about food.
Cafe Verde on Green Street is a tiny little Cuban place. It's so small that you can pretend you're in NY and the food is FANTASTIC, including the Cafe de la Oya. Yum.
5.
What dish do they have to order when they get there?
Steak and eggs if you're anemic. Roasted shrimp sandwiches, eggs poached in tomato broth and coffee cake, recipe is from Fairfax High School.
6. Where do you eat when money is not a concern?
Chez Panise in Berkeley. I've been married for 7 years and whenever I go there I'm nervous like a first date, fluttery kind of feeling. And
Campanile, for grilled cheese night.
7. Where do you eat when money is tight?
Home, or at my mom's for fried okra.
8. What restaraunt have you wanted to try but haven't been to yet?
Everything. God, I love LA for all the hundreds of places, the mom and pop's that start in the mini-malls, next to the Subway and cigar shops. I love following great chefs out on a tightrope wire to try something new and wonderful, if only for the risk. I want to try burgers at The Bucket... and I want to go
here and
here...
Two Hours on an LA Freeway
Yep, two hours. There were sig alerts on both sides of my freeway and I sat for about 50 minutes and only went about a mile or so. Summer heat multiplied by the intensity of the asphalt and tempers. I saw a squirrel running in the carpool lane. The little guy was going faster than the cars, bless'im. I was on my way to my job producing drek... er, I mean
promos for the network that rhymes with Whee! This is how I make my living, by choosing between these two bites.
(Woman sitting in a doctor's office, indicating her own breasts.) I want them BIGGER!
or
(Woman sitting in her doctor's office, referring to her doctor.) I wanted them to be a B, but he wanted me to have a C.
(sigh) Anyway, I digress.
Did I mention I was on the freeway for two hours? A drive that usually takes me 35 minutes. And that includes stopping for coffee. I had packed my dinner for my long night shift and guess what happened? After I ate my dinner, I fantasized about other great car food. I wanted a snowball, which are great and not too crumbly. Or maybe a bread and butter sandwich, which we used to have when I was little on long car rides, with hard boiled eggs and fried chicken. Yum. My grandmother's best friend used to take her two great danes out for an ice cream cone everyday. They sat in the car, while she reached in with their cones, one through each window.
That's great car food.
Questions From LA Bloggers
1. How long have you lived in Los Angeles? Since I was 9.
2. Were you born here? Nope, here.
3. How long did you plan on staying here originally? Didn't have a choice originally.
4. How long do you plan on staying here now? Got a 30 year mortgage.
5. What keeps you here? Being able to get kickass, organic fruits and veggies, homemade salsa and tacos, tom yum kai soup, and green tea ice cream all within a mile from my house. And Phillipes' Banana Cream Pie, Dodger dogs with mustard and relish, strawberry soda from Pinks, Manis' heart cookies, blackened salmon at Gumbo Pot, ciabata toast and pear tarts from Europane, my friend Deanna's rice balls, my friend Katie's homemade pasta, Nicole's pumpkin curry soup, and Mark's panini's.
6. What makes you want to leave? Sitting in traffic while people gawk and wag their tongues at an accident scene. Talking to someone at a party, as they peer over my shoulder to scan the b-list celebrity who just came in the room. Kobe. Arnold.
7. What is your biggest suprise about living here? There are nine million people in this city and I can't stop running into people I want to avoid. And discovering fantastic ethnic cuisine like this.
8. What is your biggest disappointment about living here? When LA is the sterotype. When Juicy wearing 13 year olds who have more cash in their wallets than words in their vocabulary. Doctors who hate women and have their own reality shows.
Weird, Weird View from the Kitchen
15 Reasons Why the Catering Gig I Did Last Saturday was Really, Really WEIRD.
(Maybe I'm getting too old for this kind of thing. I just did it so I could buy
these guilt-free.)
1. La Canada is
not pronounced like the country. It's filled with rich folks who throw lavish parties, get really, really drunk in the first ten minutes and then brag endlessly about sending their kids to public school.
2. Arriving at the fabulous, La Canada house, complete with pool and waterfall, and Italian-tiled kitchen, I was pea-green with envy. But when I reached out to touch the lovely, pretty thing, I was sliced to bits by the insane hostility that filled the place.
3. When we arrived, we were met by a gaggle of teenage girls. "Hi, we're the caterers. Where's your mom?" Insert sound of crickets chirping. No response. They had perfected the Jessica Simpson/Kelly Osbourne dumb as a box of rocks, pout.
4. It was an anniversary party but the host-couple didn't get within two feet of each other all night.
5. I was taking out the trash and saw the host-dad hugging/groping a guest on the side of the house.
6. You would think that if you see the host-dad in an compromising position with a guest at his anniversary party, the creep might actually TIP.
You'd be wrong.
7. At one point I asked one of the teenagers where the host-mom was, and he pointed to a bedroom on the ground floor, "Uh, that's her room. She's always in there. He sleeps upstairs." Me, "Too much info, boyo. I meant now. Dinner's ready." He slugged back his beer and shrugged.
8. The teenagers were trading insults that were so mean it made my eyes water.
9. The house must have really BIG closets. Three very cute male relatives showed up, I thought, "How nice the teenage girls have gay uncles. Everyone needs one." BUT NO. Everytime I encountered one of the seeming-GU's, he was yammering about an absent "girlfriend" or "Finance-who-lives-in-Germany-and-is-a-dead-ringer-for-Katherine-Hepburn." Sure buddy, sure.
10. The girls did a dance in the living to celebrate their parent's anniversary. They were dressed in
teeny, tiny micro mini's while their family and parent's close friends ogled them. More than one of the older male friends/family members softly chortled and elbowed each other while the girl's skirts flipped and flew. I wanted to call the cops.
11. I'm used to hearing I look like Minnie Driver. I get it twice a week on average, from random strangers. A lady at the party just walked up to me and said, "You look just like...
Jeneane Garofolo."
I do not.
12. The teenagers were drinking more expensive liquor than the guests.
13. When they renewed their vows (with a minister from a certain celebrity-driven-religious-based-philosophy who I do NOT want mad at me) the host-dad said, "Yep" as brusquely and curtly as humanly possible. Host-mom wasn't even asked. Go figure.
14. One of the GU's was trying so hard to be the cool, with-it, grown-up with the gaggle of tweens and teens, that he actually said, "Europe is stupid, you guys."
15. Same GU was intent on getting the tweens rip-roaring drunk, urging them to drink all the hipster beer he brought with funny names, like Arrogant Bastard.
The Joy of International Junk Food
I heard
"Doodling with Foreign Snack Food" by Naomi Lewin on
NPR this morning, which made me remember this...
I went to London for the first time when I was 17. I latched onto a student trip after my parents insisted that I couldn't go alone. I flew into Gatwick with twenty other kids from a nicer, better high school in my district and climbed onto a big bus headed for London. Before we hit the road, the driver stopped at a grocery store so we could stock up on junk food. He knew once we loaded up on sugar and salt, jetlag would sink us like stones and the ride would be quiet. Before I could even focus on the dizzying array of junk in the store, one of the girls from the trip threw a temper tantrum, ranting about how the store didn't even carry Dr. Pepper. It was as though she was in some kind of "Obnoxious American" contest and determined to win the prize for the most narrow-minded, ill-behaved idiot. Someone needed to revoke her passport and send her right back to Hacienda Heights, California. Two things I knew for sure; she and I would
not be friends, and for the rest of the trip, I'd go solo as much as possible.
I've never understood why some Americans abroad seek out only American food. I've
never gone to a McDonald's while abroad and have been known to snarl and bark when walking past all the new Starbucks that have popped up everywhere from Sacre-Couer to Windsor. And I'll never understand why we import our
Dorritos but can't get their
Double Deckers.
The first thing I do at Heathrow is head for the little shops with the newspapers and candy aisles. This last trip, G rediscovered
Walkers Crisps. The flavors include
Prawn Cocktail,
Chicken and Thyme, and
Lamb Mint. G opts for the
Orginal and
Cheese and Onion, and I liked the
Thai Sweet Chili. Thai flavored potato chips, yum. Snacks called
Disco and
Hula Hoops,
Wotsits and
Horlicks hold so much promise. Junk food reveals alot about culture. It's about instant appeal and indulgence, designed and marketed towards the weak moment you think,
I don't want to cook dinner or
I only had salad for lunch. It's a great way to understand where you are, who you're with and what they're like when their shoes are off, feet propped up, relaxed with candy in hand. Not to mention it's tasty.
