I forgot to take a picture of what we had for dinner, so I’m posting this one off of someone else’s Web site. It seems like everyone in our Whole 30 Challenge is eating this and talking about how awesome it is, so, well, i hate to be left out, (not true, I more hate to be included,) so I made it. Sure, it was fine. Actually, it was fucking delicious, (I added Kalamata Olives and Sun Dried Tomatoes and tons of garlic and onions and…) but it was not anything like Pizza. Calling it “Pizza Pie” is absurd. “Pizza Bake” is what most people I know call it, and that’s kind of like calling a glass of milk “liquid ice cream.” It’s just NOT. And this would have tasted better had it just been sold as “squash casserole,” because that’s what it was. Instead, the whole time, I was just all like, “this is not pizza.” But it is good. It’s just not pizza.
This would be “the usual,” if a friend of mine hadn’t just had a monstrous haul of white truffles from Oregon. I’ll be making a bunch of Truffle Butter, but tonight just grated one little one and mixed with some ghee for Whole 30 complaint “truffle butter.” Truffle Ghee…. It made a less-than-awesome steak downright decadent.
The steak was left from a cow that we bought, and, I dunno, it wasn’t aged long-enough, I think. Just a little gamey for my taste…. And honestly, I’m tired. And I want to finish writing an article about poop. And one about fun things to do with penises. So I’m gonna do that.
Sometimes you build a meal around a condiment. Especially if it’s a condiment that is a mind-bogglingly good Whole 30 compliant version of Sriracha, that is made by one of the most awesome humans on the planet, without whom your life would simply not be complete. That is how we wound up eating these incredibly delicious Vietnamesish Lettuce Cups for dinner.
Super simple, if you do a little advance prep.
INGREDIENTS: Continue reading
Put down your forks, because I totally fucking won dinner tonight. I do not care that it was not a contest, I still win. And I won right after the Seahawks won, so there was a lot of winning in this town tonight. But only my win was delicious. The skin was sooooooo perfectly crunchy, melt in your mouth salty that if Richard Sherman himself had come in and asked for a pice of my skin, I’d say “NO WAY.” (I’d definitely try to get him to take a bite of my real skin, which would be totally awkward, seeing as I was eating dinner with my husband, his mothers, my ex husband, our daughter and my dad.) Continue reading
New mantra in the house: Pressure cookers are slow cookers for people with procrastination problems. I realized a little too late that we could have lamb tonight. Why? Because Brady is at the firestation, and he hates lamb, so I never get to make lamb. Luckily, I remembered that somewhere in the hoarder’s mausoleum that is our garage, there was a pressure cooker.
After horrifying my daughter by spending 30 minutes rearranging 14 years of accumulated crap in the garage – including the unearthing of tutus that she probably didn’t want to picture her step father in, and great clouds of dust from years of Burning Man – I found it. It was under the chair that was under the wire book-case that was under the paddle boards that were under the tents. It took both of us, but we got it. Continue reading
Okay, Whole 30, day 9? I think. Here’s how I spent it: HUNGRY. I kept waiting to get hangry, but I didn’t. Just hungry. Uber was doing a big fundraiser in Seattle, during which they sent personal trainers out to anyone who paid $30 for a 15-minute session. I suspect that most people did it for the “free” stuff they got for their $30: A bunch of fresh squeezed juice, a stainless steel water bottle and one of those fitness tracker band thingies. But they also got me (or one of my cohorts) spending 15-minutes with them either giving them a solid workout (I’m a CrossFit trainer, 15 minutes is LONG for me) or working on goal-setting and general inspiration. The latter is what most people seemed to want from me. Continue reading
Today was, or I guess still is Wednesday, which means I was in the gym at 5:30 in the morning. Which, in case you are unclear, is really fucking early and nobody should be doing anything at this hour. I do not, for the life of me, “get it.” At least it wasn’t Tuesday or Thursday, which means class would START at 5:00, and I would have to be there are 4:30. I don’t coach those days. For a reason. Continue reading