I ate a sample of something pizzaesque yesterday at Trader Joe's that was so good, I went home and made it for myself.
Trader Joe's sells frozen naan bread in both plain and garlic variates. They're really good and I almost always have it in my freezer--typical dinner for me is a piece of naan, greek yogurt with olive oil, and veggies. Anyhow, the sample was garlic naan topped with lemon pepper zucchini. I took this idea and ran with it when I got home.
First, I thinly sliced some zucchini that I bought last Thursday at the Riverdale farmer's market. Then, I tossed it with some olive oil, salt, pepper, basil, oregano, and red pepper flakes. Then, I halved a few heirloom cherry tomatoes that I also purchased at the farmers market. I took the zucchini and tomatoes and sauteed them for a few minutes on the stove top, till they juuust started to soften, while also preheating the oven to 425. Then, I arranged the veggies on a piece of frozen garlic naan and sprinkled some parmesan on top, and put it in the oven for 2 minutes. Viola, really, really tasty light persona-size pizzaesque thingbobbit.
It was way better than tonight's dinner. Tonight's dinner was a big romaine salad...and I guess I just didn't wash the romaine well enough, cos halfway through debo-ing it, I noticed a large quantity of neon green aphids chillin on the romaine, wondering what they were doing doused in vinegarette. Ick.
Tuesday, July 13, 2010
Thursday, July 8, 2010
Put on some lipstick...maybe some eyeliner...i think you'll find that things are fine and they're gonna get much finer.
When I feel at my worst, I tend to take care of myself in the best ways. I'm in bed fast asleep by 10:30 (and I nap after work, too). I stay very hydrated. I cook only very healthy meals...and don't have much of an appetite. I run and I run and I run. Think of that seminar paper in May of last year: I ran so much that I gave myself a stress fracture in both the literal and figurative sense.
It's when I'm happy that I eat and I don't care. Pizza. French fries (man, what is it with my level of happiness and my love of french fries? I think I was hitting up five guys once a week for the month of june), ice cream...when i'm in it, i'm a pig in dirt. when i'm in it, i'm a wagonload of devils.
It's like...when I started this blog, I was trying to force myself into some happier mood via filling the happiness void with pizza. You'll remember it didn't work, even with a steady pizza intake. I wasn't ever really enjoying it. I was kinda faking it. I was just throwing myself into something (not unlike a long run) to keep my mind off the problems at hand. And...what didn't really make it in here was the fact that those 3 or 4 pizza meals per week were like, compensation for the 20 salads with flax crackers that I'd been eating (and lettuce wraps stuffed with cheese, alfalfa sprouts, tomato, and horseradish. actually...that sounds like a good lunch...hmmm).
And then, boom. Stuff got better. I graduated. I met a guy. I had a job. I had a house that came equipped with a large garden, concrete countertops, washer, dryer, and a laboradoodle. I was eating pizza all the time (and why not? it was for the blog! it was in the name of...literary science! And the best new years resolution ever, to boot!) and thinking I'd blog about it...later. When stuff stopped feeling so good. When I had time. When I wasn't out doing something awesome.
Gosh, what's my point? My point is...look at what I do when I'm unhappy. When I need to stay preoccupied. I get the bills paid early. I follow a healthy diet and exercise plan without trying. I read books and yet still manage to get 8 hours of sleep. I submit to publications. I study for the GRE. I finally catch up on Daria. I write poems. I write journals. I write papers. I write blogs. I'm...a better version of me? I'm proving some point? I socialize on weekends. I go to house parties and basement shows and dancing. I dress really nice. I wear more eyeliner. Is it the general haze of glumness that settles upon me when I stop moving for too long that motivates me? Is it something deep in my subconsious breathing down my neck about some version of the American dream? "Do this and you'll find streets paved with gold. You'll be happy. You'll be happy!"
Is this what we all do? Or am I crazy?
It's when I'm happy that I eat and I don't care. Pizza. French fries (man, what is it with my level of happiness and my love of french fries? I think I was hitting up five guys once a week for the month of june), ice cream...when i'm in it, i'm a pig in dirt. when i'm in it, i'm a wagonload of devils.
It's like...when I started this blog, I was trying to force myself into some happier mood via filling the happiness void with pizza. You'll remember it didn't work, even with a steady pizza intake. I wasn't ever really enjoying it. I was kinda faking it. I was just throwing myself into something (not unlike a long run) to keep my mind off the problems at hand. And...what didn't really make it in here was the fact that those 3 or 4 pizza meals per week were like, compensation for the 20 salads with flax crackers that I'd been eating (and lettuce wraps stuffed with cheese, alfalfa sprouts, tomato, and horseradish. actually...that sounds like a good lunch...hmmm).
And then, boom. Stuff got better. I graduated. I met a guy. I had a job. I had a house that came equipped with a large garden, concrete countertops, washer, dryer, and a laboradoodle. I was eating pizza all the time (and why not? it was for the blog! it was in the name of...literary science! And the best new years resolution ever, to boot!) and thinking I'd blog about it...later. When stuff stopped feeling so good. When I had time. When I wasn't out doing something awesome.
Gosh, what's my point? My point is...look at what I do when I'm unhappy. When I need to stay preoccupied. I get the bills paid early. I follow a healthy diet and exercise plan without trying. I read books and yet still manage to get 8 hours of sleep. I submit to publications. I study for the GRE. I finally catch up on Daria. I write poems. I write journals. I write papers. I write blogs. I'm...a better version of me? I'm proving some point? I socialize on weekends. I go to house parties and basement shows and dancing. I dress really nice. I wear more eyeliner. Is it the general haze of glumness that settles upon me when I stop moving for too long that motivates me? Is it something deep in my subconsious breathing down my neck about some version of the American dream? "Do this and you'll find streets paved with gold. You'll be happy. You'll be happy!"
Is this what we all do? Or am I crazy?
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