Food.

I just finished my lunch. On the menu today were two pieces of leftover pizza from the weekend. It was yummy.

Lately I’ve been against using the radarange (o.k., microwave) for anything. Earl came home one night last week and noticed that I was heating the brussel sprouts by steaming them on the stove instead of nuking the heck out of them. When I make popcorn I use the latest version of the old-fashioned motorized West Bend popcorn popper, complete with canola oil and dripping butter goodness. Even when I boil water these days I use the stove instead of the radarange.

When I was a kid I thought my grandmother’s radarange was the coolest thing. It was so heavy it took two people to carry it. You needed to lock the door shut before you could turn it on (the rumor about needing lead gloves proved to be unsubstantiated). If you used one of the fancy plates sparks flew around inside while the food cooked. You weren’t suppose to use the fancy plate in the radarange.

While these devices appeal to the geek, today I can’t help but think that using microwaves to cook food is somehow not normal. It’s not that I’m afraid of a microwave oven or think that my head is going to explode by standing near one but with all the radio waves, television signals, satellite signals and cellular chatter in the air today, I feel like I’m contributing to Mother Earth and the welfare of her children a little bit by not adding to the technological mix while I melt butter. So for lunch I heated my two slices of pizza in the oven on our pizza stone. It came out crisp and tasty. If I had used the radarange it probably would have been a mixture of soggy at one end and chewy on the other.

Meatloaf.

Originally uploaded by macwarriorny.

After a successful presentation at school tonight (I got an “A”), Earl and I decided we’d splurge on a snack. Ice cream? Candy bar? Cookies? No, I did the sensible thing.

I made a meatloaf.

I thought I would be a good husband today and do all the grocery shopping while Earl was at work. I figured he has enough on his plate so why make him worry about going to the market.

As I took a leisurely stroll through the store, I made a wonderful discovery in the “Nature’s Place” section. I have fallen in love with “Beet Chips”.

The chips pictured above are not the brand that I purchased, but you’ll get the idea. Basically, these are just like potato chips but made out of beets. They’re sweeter, a little healthier and are absolutely delicious. I could easily eat an entire bag but I won’t, I really won’t, no, I won’t.

Come the first of the year I have agreed to cook more at home. This is in an effort to be a little more budget conscious as well as making strides to healthier eating. In preparation for this great event, I’ve been paying a little more attention to the habits I have in the kitchen and am trying to get a routine down.

The first thing I did was actually locate the kitchen. In case you’re wondering it’s the room with the smaller television.

The second thing I did was assess our stove, declare it unfit for my needs and tell Earl I would like a new one. Something more automatic.

Ah, but I jest. The stove is perfectly functional but I really can’t figure out how the house was built in 1996 yet the stove was manufactured in 1985. I firmly believe our stove came out of a mobile home. It has that “tornado terrified” look in it’s eyes.

As I was preparing my lunch, which involved boiling water, I noticed that I had the habit of putting the measuring cup in the dishwasher after boiling water in it in the microwave. Well now that I think about it that’s just silly. It only had water in it, the water was boiling, so ergo, the cup should still be clean.

Today I was a rebel and put it back in the cupboard after drying it off. I feel like such a rebel.

Chef’s in Buffalo.

Originally uploaded by bluemarvel.

If you’re in the greater Buffalo, N.Y. area and looking for some awesome Italian food, get yourself over to Chef’s Restaurant.

Earl and I joined our friends Steve and Tim for some great wine, great food and great conversation. It’s been too long since we’ve hung out with these guys, it’s good to get together with them again.

I’m finding myself in good spirits today. I’m a little surprised by this because Earl is out of town on business and in order for him to catch his flight this morning he had to get up at 3:45 a.m. and make a lot of noise in the bedroom and bathroom. And flash a few lights on and off too. I was able to catch an hour or so of sleep after his departure, but it was still early when I got up and I’m easily not a morning person.

I’m attributing my good mood to vegetables. You see, Earl and I went on a desperately needed grocery shopping run and stocked up the cupboards and refrigerator with moderately healthy stuff, including a nice variety of raw vegetables. Earl packs the lunches in our merry little household and always slices up some vegetables and packages them up as a daily compliment to my lunch. I love eating raw vegetables, even onions (to the dismay of my co-workers) and I suspect they contribute to a sunnier disposition.

Maybe Mom was right when she said to eat my vegetables.

Today I thought I’d try this juice fast type drink that suppose to cleanse your body of toxins, clear your skin, make you regular and just give you a great outlook on life. The drink included:

• 10 oz. distilled water
• 2 tablespoons of juice from freshly squeezed organic lemons
• 2 tablespoons of organic grade “b” maple syrup
• 1/10 of a tablespoon of cayenne pepper

It’s recommended that you drink six glasses of this a day and nothing else. They say you can do it up to 40 days. Of course, that ain’t happening as far as I’m concerned, but I thought I’d give it a shot today to see how I survived. Perhaps I wouldn’t have this holistic experience that is expected but at least I’d see a glimmer of something. So I made a double batch for breakfast and chugged it and somewhat expected a miracle.

I have to admit I felt pretty good until around 11 a.m. when my stomach started demanding some food. I guess if you feel hungry you’re suppose to drink a glass of water and then more of this special lemonade. So I drank the glass of water and headed home for lunch and tried to chug another round of the stuff.

I got through a quarter of the container and decided to catch up on blogs before pressing onward.

That’s when I came across Karl talking about his nice dinner out last night. Determined to show off willpower, I moved along to Chris’ adventures at the Arizona State Fair, including the consumption of various fried foods such a twinkies, oreos and Coca-Cola.

I took another swig of my potion and decided that enough is enough. The cayenne pepper was making me sweat and the stuff was giving me an ass ache. I dumped the remaining stuff, pledged to use the lemons to make normal lemonade and heated up a bowl of soup.

Life’s too short to eat stuff you don’t enjoy.

I’m not one to awake to the sound of a screeching alarm clock. I prefer to use the more humane sounds of a radio to knock me out of my slumber and for the past couple of years, since getting out of the Top 40 radio “biz”, my clock radio has been set to the local NPR station.

This morning I awoke to a news story about the city of New York’s efforts to reduce trans-fats in restaurants. While noble in it’s intent, I’m not in favor of this ban.

First of all, I don’t believe that it’s anyone’s business but my own as to what I do to my body, and that includes what I eat. If I want to go to the local Burger Bomb and down a heaping plate of innocent potatoes that were fried up in an artificial goo, well, that’s my business. I don’t need some do-gooder wagging their skinny finger in my face for eating something that I knew wasn’t good for me. Unlike these wretched smokers, I’m not inflicting these trans-fats on anyone but myself, save for some poorly timed farts. And if I didn’t know that this concoction wasn’t good for me and I ended up dying because of it, well, I chalk that up to natural selection.

Look it, we’ve all been taught what we’re suppose to eat and what’s not good for us. If a french fry can live under a car floor mat and still resemble it’s original intent ten to twelve weeks later, it doesn’t take a brain surgeon to figure out that there’s something unnatural going on there. If it can live in your Chevy through two seasons, imagine what it can do to your insides.

Now I’m not saying that restaurants should be loading up their food with all this unnatural, artificial crap and be playing sweet and innocent. I’m not saying that at all. Like all products available at your local market, consumers have a right to know what’s in a dish and other assorted vital statistics. The majority of it is available at all the fast food chains and on the internet. It’s up to the customer to decide if they want to eat the chicken nuggets that have been fried in plentofentonoilyoila. “You feel up to the task? Eat hearty!” Just be smart about it.

If the do-gooders are going to ban anything in food it should be that hellish substance called “Olestra”. To this day I can’t drive down the Thruway through Albany without pointing out to Earl the tree I used as a rest room after eating my first snack pack of Pringles made with Olean (the cute name for Olestra) back in 1994. “Why didn’t you wait until the service area?” “And risk permanent damage to the car?” Explosive bowels indeed.

Did I sue Pringles? Did I threaten the convenience store? Of course not. The label was clearly marked “fat free living with Olean” or something like that and I made the conscious decision to eat the chips. It was a learning experience and it made me stronger and a tree along the Thruway taller.

So no, I don’t believe there should be a ban on trans-fats. Educate yourself and just don’t eat the stuff. Consumers should take responsibilities for themselves. Our freedom is being eroded away on a daily basis.

For the love of Ronald McDonalds, let us enjoy the french fries if we want to.

Please note that I am writing this little blog entry after three “tall” Michelob Ultra draft beers. The room isn’t spinning, but it’s not the most stable of environments either.

I don’t know how many people in the world vacation in the hotspot that calls itself Erie, Pa. You have to pronounce it “Erie P-A” because that’s the way it’s pronounced. I don’t know why it’s that way, but that’s the way it is so just do it.

Anyways, if you’re vacationing in this little city along Lake Erie, you should take a moment to enjoy a dinner at Joe Roots Grill. The whole thing about who the hell Joe Root is is explained on the website, so just click it so I don’t have to type too much.

Now I know that the weary traveler staying just off the freeway is going to be tempted to go to one of the chain restaurants on Peach Street near Interstate 90. First of all, traffic is horrendous with a capital H and secondly, Earl and my beloved “Red River Roadhouse” at Millcreek Mall is all boarded up, so I just say skip the whole Peach Street retail hell strip, go west on I-90 one exit and take I-79 north until there’s no more freeway. From there take PA 5 WEST towards Cleveland to the entrance of Presque Isle and right there will be Joe Roots Grill. It’s locally owned, the bartenders speak with that delicious Erie Pa. accent that can’t be replicated in a blog and the prime rib is out of this world. Who the hell had the idea that I should become a vegetarian? It was a stupid idea and I’m glad I didn’t listen. You’ll be glad too with a side of horseradish as a garnish and an impromptu serving of 1000 Islands salad dressing, because they don’t really offer that and the bartender does the best she can do to make the customer happy,

I think I’m rambling.

If Earl were here right now, he’d tell you that I was passed out asleep, but since he’s not here, I’m not asleep, I’m writing in my blog instead.

Anyways, if you’re in Erie, Pa. (don’t forget the P-A) for the night, be sure to stop at Joe Roots Grill for dinner. Skip the Peach Street retail hell. It’s not worth it.

Thank you and good night. Be sure to tip your waitress. Then set her back upright when you’re done.

When I got back to work this afternoon I just knew that I had jinxed myself by my lunch time blog entry. Here I am proclaiming that I was eating healthy and sticking to it in order to reach a “magic number” by Thanksgiving.

That “magic number” must be two. Because I just downed two honking big tacos from the local Taco Bell not five minutes ago. I chased them down with a big gulp sized Diet Pepsi because after all, I am counting calories.

Before dashing off to school I had some popcorn made with PAM and iced tea. Doesn’t that sound sexy? I wasn’t even in the classroom yet when I started thinking about food. Any kind of food. The teacher talked, I paid attention and went through all the exercises we were given but I couldn’t stop thinking about food. What did Wendy (to my left) have for supper tonight? Does Dan (to my right) like diner food like we do? He seems like the type. Then the instructor mentioned he was going grab a snack after class because he’s been running around like a maniac today. I wasn’t even running around and I was feeling like a maniac. I wanted Taco Bell. NOW. Damn the convenience store down the road from us for getting rid of their Taco Bell franchise license. DAMN THEM. So I drove over two towns and whipped through the drive thru window and got myself a combo number one.

The food was freakin’ awesome.

I find it rather comical that I can’t be talking on a cell phone here in New York State while I’m driving, but I can balance a Taco Supreme on one leg, drive with the other knee and shift between bites and slurps and not get a ticket for it.

So here I am admitting it. I eat tacos. I love them. And you don’t even have to call me Anastacia Beaverhausen.*

*See your local Will & Grace fanatic if you don’t get the reference.