For the last year, I’ve been undergoing what is politely called a transition. But really, it’s more of a home remodel that starts with a wrecking ball.  Divorce is the mother of personal reinvention.  That sounds damn near inspirational.  But trust me,  it’s suckier than it sounds.

So in my attempt to magic myself from jobless housewife and mom on the west side of the state into an employed, self-sustaining, single woman and mother in a strange new city……well… all the writing turns into whiny, self-indulgent contemplations and total shit, honestly.  I’m a real self-involved bitch say the rumors, but even I am kind enough to spare you a moment of that.

So, as I get back to writing, the first thing I am going to do is point you to something excellent to read.  It is an article I have read and re-read.  I chew on it.

If I still had a locker to decorate, I’d hang Henry Rollins picture.  He’s dark and moody, tattooed and angry, artsy and muscly, introverted and literate, pissed off and sober.   All rolled up in one ass-kicking package.  Sigh.  Fucking perfect.

Christmas is coming people.

This is Henry’s reflection on the mind-body connection.  What building a strong body has meant to his development as a person.  He gives words to something I haven’t quite been able to explain.  I find many discussions on the matter are of the “where your mind goes your body follows” sort of opinion.  While certainly this is true, I think that development of the body can  carry the mind along as well.

I am going to throw in two short paragraphs of self-centered contemplation. (I can’t go cold turkey)

In the past year I have felt disconnected, insecure, afraid and alone.  Had my body felt weak or incapable as well, I think it all would have been too much to bear.  Somehow, knowing that I had physical endurance pulled the rest of me along, and continues to.

So when everyone told me to give myself a break and lay off the gym, that was the last thing I needed. What I needed was to keep going.  What I need is to keep going.  See, Henry gets me.

The Iron  by Henry Rollins

I believe that the definition of definition is reinvention. To not be like your parents. To not be like your friends. To be yourself.

Completely.

When I was young I had no sense of myself. All I was, was a product of all the fear and humiliation I suffered. Fear of my parents. The humiliation of teachers calling me “garbage can” and telling me I’d be mowing lawns for a living. And the very real terror of my fellow students. I was threatened and beaten up for the color of my skin and my size. I was skinny and clumsy, and when others would tease me I didn’t run home crying, wondering why.

I knew all too well. I was there to be antagonized. In sports I was laughed at. A spaz. I was pretty good at boxing but only because the rage that filled my every waking moment made me wild and unpredictable. I fought with some strange fury. The other boys thought I was crazy.

I hated myself all the time.

As stupid at it seems now, I wanted to talk like them, dress like them, carry myself with the ease of knowing that I wasn’t going to get pounded in the hallway between classes. Years passed and I learned to keep it all inside. I only talked to a few boys in my grade. Other losers. Some of them are to this day the greatest people I have ever known. Hang out with a guy who has had his head flushed down a toilet a few times, treat him with respect, and you’ll find a faithful friend forever. But even with friends, school sucked. Teachers gave me hard time. I didn’t think much of them either.

Then came Mr. Pepperman, my advisor. He was a powerfully built Vietnam veteran, and he was scary. No one ever talked out of turn in his class. Once one kid did and Mr. P. lifted him off the ground and pinned him to the blackboard. Mr. P. could see that I was in bad shape, and one Friday in October he asked me if I had ever worked out with weights. I told him no.

He told me that I was going to take some of the money that I had saved and buy a hundred-pound set of weights at Sears. As I left his office, I started to think of things I would say to him on Monday when he asked about the weights that I was not going to buy. Still, it made me feel special. My father never really got that close to caring. On Saturday I bought the weights, but I couldn’t even drag them to my mom’s car. An attendant laughed at me as he put them on a dolly.

Monday came and I was called into Mr. P.’s office after school. He said that he was going to show me how to work out. He was going to put me on a program and start hitting me in the solar plexus in the hallway when I wasn’t looking. When I could take the punch we would know that we were getting somewhere. At no time was I to look at myself in the mirror or tell anyone at school what I was doing. In the gym he showed me ten basic exercises. I paid more attention than I ever did in any of my classes. I didn’t want to blow it. I went home that night and started right in.

Weeks passed, and every once in a while Mr. P. would give me a shot and drop me in the hallway, sending my books flying. The other students didn’t know what to think. More weeks passed, and I was steadily adding new weights to the bar. I could sense the power inside my body growing. I could feel it.

Right before Christmas break I was walking to class, and from out of nowhere Mr. Pepperman appeared and gave me a shot in the chest. I laughed and kept going. He said I could look at myself now. I got home and ran to the bathroom and pulled off my shirt. I saw a body, not just the shell that housed my stomach and my heart. My biceps bulged. My chest had definition. I felt strong. It was the first time I can remember having a sense of myself. I had done something and no one could ever take it away. You couldn’t say s–t to me.

It took me years to fully appreciate the value of the lessons I have learned from the Iron. I used to think that it was my adversary, that I was trying to lift that which does not want to be lifted. I was wrong. When the Iron doesn’t want to come off the mat, it’s the kindest thing it can do for you. If it flew up and went through the ceiling, it wouldn’t teach you anything. That’s the way the Iron talks to you. It tells you that the material you work with is that which you will come to resemble. That which you work against will always work against you.

It wasn’t until my late twenties that I learned that by working out I had given myself a great gift. I learned that nothing good comes without work and a certain amount of pain. When I finish a set that leaves me shaking, I know more about myself. When something gets bad, I know it can’t be as bad as that workout.

I used to fight the pain, but recently this became clear to me: pain is not my enemy; it is my call to greatness. But when dealing with the Iron, one must be careful to interpret the pain correctly. Most injuries involving the Iron come from ego. I once spent a few weeks lifting weight that my body wasn’t ready for and spent a few months not picking up anything heavier than a fork. Try to lift what you’re not prepared to and the Iron will teach you a little lesson in restraint and self-control.

I have never met a truly strong person who didn’t have self-respect. I think a lot of inwardly and outwardly directed contempt passes itself off as self-respect: the idea of raising yourself by stepping on someone’s shoulders instead of doing it yourself. When I see guys working out for cosmetic reasons, I see vanity exposing them in the worst way, as cartoon characters, billboards for imbalance and insecurity. Strength reveals itself through character. It is the difference between bouncers who get off strong-arming people and Mr.Pepperman.

Muscle mass does not always equal strength. Strength is kindness and sensitivity. Strength is understanding that your power is both physical and emotional. That it comes from the body and the mind. And the heart.

Yukio Mishima said that he could not entertain the idea of romance if he was not strong. Romance is such a strong and overwhelming passion, a weakened body cannot sustain it for long. I have some of my most romantic thoughts when I am with the Iron. Once I was in love with a woman. I thought about her the most when the pain from a workout was racing through my body.

Everything in me wanted her. So much so that sex was only a fraction of my total desire. It was the single most intense love I have ever felt, but she lived far away and I didn’t see her very often. Working out was a healthy way of dealing with the loneliness. To this day, when I work out I usually listen to ballads.

I prefer to work out alone.

It enables me to concentrate on the lessons that the Iron has for me. Learning about what you’re made of is always time well spent, and I have found no better teacher. The Iron had taught me how to live. Life is capable of driving you out of your mind. The way it all comes down these days, it’s some kind of miracle if you’re not insane. People have become separated from their bodies. They are no longer whole.

I see them move from their offices to their cars and on to their suburban homes. They stress out constantly, they lose sleep, they eat badly. And they behave badly. Their egos run wild; they become motivated by that which will eventually give them a massive stroke. They need the Iron Mind.

Through the years, I have combined meditation, action, and the Iron into a single strength. I believe that when the body is strong, the mind thinks strong thoughts. Time spent away from the Iron makes my mind degenerate. I wallow in a thick depression. My body shuts down my mind.

The Iron is the best antidepressant I have ever found. There is no better way to fight weakness than with strength. Once the mind and body have been awakened to their true potential, it’s impossible to turn back.

The Iron never lies to you. You can walk outside and listen to all kinds of talk, get told that you’re a god or a total bastard. The Iron will always kick you the real deal. The Iron is the great reference point, the all-knowing perspective giver. Always there like a beacon in the pitch black. I have found the Iron to be my greatest friend. It never freaks out on me, never runs. Friends may come and go. But two hundred pounds is always two hundred pounds.

This article originally appeared in Details Magazine

Another viable gift option.

Sparky the Thanksgiving Turkey

Like:

• Healthy and happy little boys that make me laugh.
• Family that has come through with unmatched love, support and generosity. For giving me and my kids a safe place to live, money in my pocket, phone calls when I need them, and candy bars in my purse.
• The opportunity to have had a wonderful mother. A loving father and the good fortune to have an amazing and wise Stunt-Mother (stepmother) that loves me like a mother bear and doesn’t get mad when I use the “F-word”.
• Loyal friends that will give me house keys, storage space, a couch to sleep on, a tent to sleep in, an understanding ear and beer delivered to my porch.
• Control of my life, it’s direction and the people in it.
• The courageous women I know.
• The  faith that jeggings and animal hats are but a passing trend.
• A job at a wonderful place at the moment I needed it.  The cool people that work there.
• Doors that close and doors that open.
• A functioning and painless right arm with decent circulation and a dexterous middle finger.
• Laffy Taffy.
• Dr. Lu and Mindfulness training that helped me find clarity and see things for what they are and not what I wish they would be.
• For the birth parents and baby that just came into my friends family and heart.
• Coffee.
• Exterminating Angel Press, Tod Davies and her encouragement to write.
• Smelly Mel that made me write, the crazy redhead that makes me paint, sets my shit straight and packs an amazing car.
• The resurgence of interest in zombies in popular culture.
• For a trip across the ocean that introduced me to beautiful new friends and new ideas.
• People that read my stuff, no matter how bad it is.
• Ugly moments that reveal everything.
• WordPress is free.
• Cockroaches that show up at just the right moment.
• Giving up most everything and the new understanding of the difference between want and need.
• Good books.
• Google.

Zombie Bugs Eat Thanksgiving Dinner. A work in Bendaroos. Stewart-Reynolds-Keefer Art Co-operative 2011

I could go on and on, but it’s Thanksgiving morning.  I have things to do.  Things in the kitchen involving pie.  Things in the kitchen involving cranberries.  I get to go to work later.  There will be smart and wonderful people there with fast smiles and good hearts.  Families having babies and nurturing sick ones.  It is a place where I can ONLY be thankful.

Around 7 million viewers tune in for the Victoria’s Secret Fashion Show. Probably a good number of them are women self-flagellating with a Diet Coke in hand wondering why the hell they don’t look like THAT. As it turns out, Victoria’s Secret is dehydration, protein shakes and two-a-day work outs.  I’m guessing there are more than a few ladies on the runway that also eat cotton balls and opt for amphetamines.  But that is probably TMI for an article in the Telegraph.   So if you have ever wondered what it takes to look like an ‘Angel’ this article has the answer – self-abuse and starvation.  Shocker.

Starve Like an Angel

No water thanks. I'm dieting.

That article should be helpful to the kids mentioned in the following linked article.  Research shows that overweight teenagers that try to lose weight go about it the wrong way.  This article from Science Daily says they tend to exercise with a cigarette in one hand and a soda in the other.  Great.  But thanks to the VS Angels, now they will understand they need to starve and dehydrate to look really hot.

Overweight Teens Want to Lose Weight

I'm naturally thin.

Appearances do and say a lot about physical and emotional health.   I thought this was an interesting essay available on Salon.com written by a woman after leaving an abusive relationship.

I transformed myself when we split, but it wasn’t just about reclaiming my self-worth. It was about becoming normal

If you can’t find a hammer to hit yourself with, or you don’t have a super-dooper magnifying mirror to make yourself feel bad, you can check this out.  Why are we so effing obsessed with celebrity culture? So right now teenagers are dehydrating, having a cigarette and examining Posh Spice from every angle.  Jesus.  Go to the gym and take a water bottle with you.

The Skinny

Why do we care?

When Tod Davies, the editor, announced that this edition would be themed ‘children’, I got real excited that this would be a great time to talk about boobs. Of course.  Since starting at the hospital I have spent, no kidding, hours and hours learning about breastmilk and the incomparable benefits to child health.   What I have noticed is that it creeps people out.  They don’t like to hear about that part of my job or my workday. And why is that?  Why do they make that gaggy-face?   I  knew this when I had my own kids and fed them full-on mammal style.  Now that I say the word ‘breastmilk’ no less than 150 times a day, it’s become even more apparent.

In this edition of Exterminating Angel Press, I take a look at breastfeeding and child heath.  It’s supposed to be a readable discussion of benefits and attitudes for a general audience.  Ideally, it will help desensitize a good number of people to the word ‘breastmilk’.  More likely though, it will creep people out and they will pass over it in the Table of Contents.  I hope you don’t.  Grab a pillowcase of candy, some coffee and pull up a chair to talk about boobies.

Oh, I am pretty excited too, that EAP added me to the list of authors on their ‘About Us’ page.  I hope that means they let me write more.

Exterminating Angel Press

Unlike previous years, I’m a little stuck on my costume.  I don’t like to rerun costumes, so Spock and Daphne are out.  Someone suggested I should work on Carrie – like the Stephen King kind of Carrie.  I may just go with that.  All I need is a center part, a tiara, and to hot glue a few tampons on a prom dress.  I don’t know, I had set my hopes on being Elvis, but I am not sure I am going  to get all the BeDazzling done that I need to if I really want the costume to ‘Pop’.

It is the only time of year I whole heartedly endorse the use and consumption of Jell-O, and only because it can be used for creations like this

Best use of Jell-O

I don’t like to be a braggy pants, but I do think this is some of my best work. See! My father didn’t think there was any good reason to take those art AND anatomy classes. I showed him.

There are a million fun food ideas out there for Halloween.  Tomorrow I am going to try my hand at turning fresh mozzarella into eyeballs… If you want to stick to witch cupcakes, stick with Martha Stewart (that bitch). But if you are looking for some darker inspiration, try this instruction and recipe guide for a cannibal themed dinner party.  Please, if you stuff a life-sized human skeleton with pulled pork, will you promise to invite me?

Guess who we’re eating for dinner?

Pure Genius

Divine Dinner Party has a special Halloween page where you can find recipes for everything from cutesy mummy hotdogs to gag-worthy tapeworm sandwiches. Check it out.

Dead Dinner Party

Nom Nom Nom

If you are not feeling up to all that work, you can just pack up some Good-n-Plenty, Laffy Taffy (banana only) and Runts and send them my way, please.  I want candy.  Lots of it. UPS, if at all possible.

]]> http://condensedstew.wordpress.com/2011/10/26/its-the-most-wonderful-time-of-the-year/feed/ 0 Heart Best condensedstew Heart Best Thorax Cake Tapeworm Sandwiches http://condensedstew.wordpress.com/2011/10/19/rumor-has-it-i%e2%80%99ve-found-someone-knew%e2%80%a6/ http://condensedstew.wordpress.com/2011/10/19/rumor-has-it-i%e2%80%99ve-found-someone-knew%e2%80%a6/#comments Thu, 20 Oct 2011 01:20:15 +0000 Kelly Reynolds-Stewart http://condensedstew.wordpress.com/?p=3526 ]]> Surely a girl doesn’t leave Stepford unless she has another man lined up, right?

It’s true. I met him on the Internet.  That’s the new way to do it I hear.  We met sort of accidentally, when I registered for a Red Cross CPR class online.  He is stoic and silicone.  He’s fucking perfect. So go ahead and talk, bitches.  He doesn’t even care I don’t iron and we like all the same movies.

So here is the story of how we met. I signed up for this Red Cross CPR/AED/First Aid thing-y as a part of my quest to become a Spinning instructor.  See, here in this alternate universe I have created, I have to try to turn every little hobby into something that can pay the rent.

I ride a bike, for hours and hours.  A bike that goes nowhere, just like…well never mind. Anyhoo, why not get paid to ride to nowhere? Gyms like the idea of you being able to resuscitate anyone that you might cardio into defib.  So I sign myself up for CPR.

When explaining to my kids the purpose of knowing CPR the eldest said, “Oh, I wouldn’t want to do that, that would be scary.”  Yes, it is scary and no one wants to do it.  It is, however, our obligation to help people that are sick or hurt.  It’s part of being human, it’s part of your job here on planet Earth.

You may not be a life guard, teacher or nurse. You may not be professionally obligated to have these skills.  You may be a careful person, eat your vegetables, and be all ‘glass half-full’ and shit.  Congratulations.   I have compiled a short list of reasons that you may want to  consider when deciding to certify yourself in CPR or at least visit the Red Cross’s web page to get some basic information.  Here’s the list:

• You are human.  So are the people around you.  Bad shit happens sometimes.

Here are a few statistics that may convince you.

• Adults with diagnosed heart disease  just walking around, 26.8 million
• 795,000 people experience a stroke annually
• In 2007, 277,193 death certificates mentioned heart failure
• Every 39 seconds someone dies of cardiovascular disease
• 25.8 million children and adults in the United States have diabetes. Adults with diabetes have heart disease death rates about 2 to 4 times higher than adults without diabetes.

Those statistics make for plenty of opportunities that might have CPR/AED/First Aid training come in handy.  It’s sort of scary really.  The cardiovascular health of most American’s makes them a bit of a ticking time bomb.  Chances are someone in your family has heart disease or diabetes.  This could be a good thing to know.  Follow the link, sign up for a class.

American Red Cross

My mind has opened to a lot of possibilities in the last three months.  So when I found out the man of my dreams goes by the name Anne, I didn’t write off our relationship.  Anne was no Uma, that was for sure, but she taught me a lot.  This is Ann Arbor and love transcends gender.  After all, she didn’t ask, and I wasn’t going to tell.  Wait ’til they find out about her in Stepford….

Here is a calculator that I find helpful.  You may enjoy checking it out. 

Determining Daily Calorie Needs

Knowing your calorie requirements is only one side of your calorie accounting.  The other side is being HONEST and KNOWLEDGEABLE about your intake.  That may be the hardest part.

Happy Thursday!

Most popular

Buzz Kill

Everyone seemed to like this one.  I think it has something to do with the chick falling face first out of her car.  I prefer to think that it is my informative, yet non-preachy tone.

Radio Silence

Knock Knock

I posted this one on my birthday.  The response was crickets.  Crickets.  I really liked the approach to the issue of aging, body image, birthdays and carrot cake.  But whatever, you all didn’t seem to like it.  That or I made you so horribly uncomfortable you were left without reply.  That’s okay too.  I invite you to revisit it, now that perhaps you better understand my humor and my ability to laugh at myself.  Oh, and if you haven’t made the cake, you are completely missing out.   Jesus, at least make a bowl of the frosting and get a spoon.

Personal Favorite

Those Lucky Charms Are Only Irish If They’re Swimming in Jameson

This is one of my earlier posts and one of my favorite.  I am pretty proud of it.  I think it has a little bit of everything and it came together pretty well and got all tied up into a nice little bow.  First, I managed to get it done in a timely manner.  Second, it offers a good recipe, a funny story, a little anger and even a musical interlude.  Hell, what more do you want from me?

Best Rant

Put a ring on THIS

I think this is a decently informative rant about one of the most dumb-ass ideas in health and nutrition – the detoxifying fast.  What total, utter, bullshit.  Don’t fucking starve yourself to be pretty or fit in a dress.  Do I need to keep saying this?  Oh, and Beyonce, suck it.

Biggest Change Up

In Chinese Your Tattoo Means Doorknob

I guess this is the post were I started to be a little more reflective and share a little more of my personal nonsense.  I was pretty committed to the idea of not doing this up until the time I posted this.  I really don’t like people knowing much of anything about me.  Then I realized maybe if I shared, someone else might benefit blah..blah..blah and all that other touchy feely shit.  It took a really long time for me to have the balls to hit the POST button on this one.

Pretty Helpful

Be Sure to Get Your RDA of Irony

I think this article is a helpful combination of snark and information.  It was one of my first attempts to cram a lot of nutrient-specific information into an article and have it turn into something pleasantly readable.  Read it and see if you think I succeeded.

Hey Look at Me!

How Chows Brown Cow?

I wrote this piece for Exterminating Angel Press and I was pretty freakin excited when they published it in July of this year.  It’s a long article, but I hope it is readable and informative.  It was the moment I started thinking that maybe I could write.

So there they are, my greatest hits, or maybe misses.  I suppose it’s a matter of opinion.  Here are seven other blogs you might enjoy.  Some are food related, some not.  Happy Saturday.

Love Through the Stomach

Carbolicious good from Valerie!

Foodwise

Pretty, Pretty things from Regula.

Jungle Frog Cooking

Pictures by Simone to make you lick your computer screen.

Clearer Than Memory

Insightful reflection from Laura.

Melissa Not Dusting

Take a break with nature pictures by my friend Mel.

Growing in a Family Way

My girl Deanna chronicles her journey through the adoption process.

Cooking Emancipated

Sara from Spain and her beautiful recipes for those just out from under the wing.

It’s pretty easy to sit in judgment of that.  A full time, upper middle class wife and mother can manage that pretty easily – though many don’t.  Just a few weeks ago I spent my time ratting-out at the gym only to go on to purchase fresh produce to whip up a healthy meal and bake a loaf of bread before everyone rolled in from their day.  Yup, June Cleaver with killer cardio.  Donna Reed in bike shorts doing push-ups and dropping the f-word.  That was me.

But things change. Tomorrow I start my first full day of work.  It requires a forty minute commute.  It requires getting my kids up and to childcare at an ungodly hour.  I will have to have those healthy snacks and lunches packed extra early, mine included.  I’m a morning person, but damn.

Sadly, I will not be able to spend my afternoons deconstructing and experimenting with recipes to be revealed with fanfare at dinner that night.  I did love that part.  No, dinner is going to have to conserve time and money.  Things have changed now.

I will have to channel my inner Wonder Woman to master a new work environment, not  mastering Preset Interval Level 8 on the treadmill.  I won’t be able to hit the gym before or after work.  It’s just not possible.  I am going to have to find some alternative.  Right now, I work out like a beast when the kids are gone for the weekends, I take the stairs to the laundry room by twos, and I do calf raises at the counter while waiting for water to boil and skimming legal documents.   I take walks with the kids and do pull-ups and box jumps at the park while they play.  This is a far cry from hour long lap swims and the two hour spins in the days of yore.

Like my new ink?

In my ‘off’ time I’ll need to prepare my application for the dietetics program.  Finishing my degree is more important than ever now.  So somehow I’ll need to squeeze school in here at some point.  Easy Peasy. Sure. No sweat.

Don’t mistake me for complaining.  I willingly set out on this course.   I consider myself quite fortunate to have a job in this economy.  Not just a job, but a position that is relevant to my area of study, with a fantastic institution, that I can feel good about at the end of a work day.

Maybe it doesn’t seem like a good idea, you know, for a girl who has a hand turn black and lifeless under stress, to do something like this.  (Not following this hand business? Catch up by reading my blog entries under Chinese Medicine about my rickety-ass hand and auto-immune issues.) Surprisingly, through this stress, my hand is soft and pink as a baby’s ass.  Hmm. Who knew?  Maybe it’s the kind of stress that matters.  Maybe the stress of not living much of a life, or an unhappy one, was more deleterious than living a life full bore and maxed out.  I am going to use my hand as a barometer of my stress management.  And, hell, if it turns bad I’ll be working in the same damn hospital as the rheumatologist that told me to relax.  Oh, the irony….

I’ve realized that the easiest way for me to keep my head – and hand – about me is to look at things as an experiment, or demonstration.   To approach it like a challenge, “so let’s see if I can…..” It is an approach that tends to make me more objective, and leave me less frustrated and overly emotional.

So, I am going to have to use this approach, because right now I am a tad overwhelmed and wondering how I am going to manage to keep things prioritized.  Truthfully, I am completely going to have to re prioritize and some things are going to have to slip to a previously unheard of low rung on my ladder.

A few years ago my husband bought me tickets to go hear David Sedaris read.  Sedaris is one of my favorite authors.  As gifts go, this was one of the best ever.  Way better than anything sold at a Brookstone, just sayin’.  It stuck with me.  He talked about this theory of four burners.  It comes from an essay in the New Yorker called, Laugh Kookaburra.

I suggest you read it.  No, I’m telling you to.  We all have four burners like a stove.  Family, Health, Career and Friends – those are your burners.  If you’re going to be successful you need to turn off one.  If you’re going to be really successful, you need to cut off two.  I really want to believe he’s wrong, because I don’t want to pick a burner.

Let’s see.  Let’s see if a girl can keep health and fitness as a personal priority while having a full-time job, while financially stressed and raising two little boys to be healthy and well-adjusted people.  I simply can’t let my health go to shit.  I can’t let my children think that it is acceptable to sacrifice your health for anything, right?

So far, I have ordered a six-pack of Wonder Woman Underoos.  I’m a little worried though, because that means if I don’t do laundry, on Day 7, I’m fucked for inspiration.  I’m gonna need inspiration and I hate laundry.  What I really need is a good wife.

Today I am making one of my kids’ favorite dishes for dinner.  It is a time intensive vegetarian dish.  It is perfect for a chilly fall day like today.  Funny enough, the stove I am using has five burners.  That gives me hope.

Green Lentil Kulebyaka, from Roz Denny

• 1 sheet puff pastry dough, thawed
• 2 large onions thinly sliced on a mandolin
• 8 oz white button mushrooms
• 1 cup brown rice, cooked
• 1 cup green lentils, soaked and cooked
• vegetable stock (homemade or purchased)
• 4 eggs, hard boiled
• salt and fresh ground pepper to taste
• butter (or soy alternative)

Cook brown rice and lentils separately in half vegetable stock and half water.

Heat a generous amount of butter (2 Tbsp) in a large skillet over medium heat and add thinly sliced onion rings.  Cook until caramelized, but be careful not to allow them to stick to the pan.  Add more butter if necessary, don’t rush it, this takes awhile.  Never caramelized onions? Here is a guide: Allrecipes Step-by-Step.

Saute mushroom in a small skillet until they are well done.  Slice hardboiled eggs.

Roll out puff pastry as thinly as possible and lay it in a deep dish pie pan, allowing it to overhang the edges.  Layer lentils, rice, caramelized onion, mushrooms, and sliced eggs.  Lightly season after each round of layers.  Use a generous amount of course ground black pepper.  Repeat layers until ingredients have been consumed.  Fold the puff pastry up into the center of the pie.  You may brush an eggwash across the pastry to create a glossy shine if desired.

Bake at 375 degrees until the pastry is puffy and golden, approximately 40 minutes.

]]> http://condensedstew.wordpress.com/2011/09/07/cooking-on-five-burners-in-my-underoos/feed/ 4 tattoo-meat-june-cleaver-steak condensedstew Housewife Bullshit tattoo-meat-june-cleaver-steak wonder woman underoos http://condensedstew.wordpress.com/2011/08/21/tea-and-food-porn/ http://condensedstew.wordpress.com/2011/08/21/tea-and-food-porn/#comments Mon, 22 Aug 2011 00:32:52 +0000 Kelly Reynolds-Stewart http://condensedstew.wordpress.com/?p=3250 ]]>

Nom Nom Nom

“Food conference? In London?  That seems strange.  But you don’t look like a food writer either.  You fold up much smaller in an airplane seat than I would expect a food writer.”

“I’m not so much a ‘food writer,’ I write about health, fitness and the value of the food on your plate. I am studying dietetics in the US.”

“Oh that makes sense now.  You’re thin, so you tell people NOT to eat.”

“Umm, no, not really.  I believe strongly in eating.  I really like to eat, just not so much my airline meal at the moment.”

“I see. You’re quite narrow for a foodie.”

“Sure, umm, I guess. I try to make sure I stay fit. I go to the gym so that if you try to steal something off my plate,  I can kick your ass. Does that make sense?”

“Brilliant.”

“Indeed.”

Food is more than eating, more than nourishment.  While it is those things it goes beyond.  It’s love, it’s lust, it’s shared experience.  It’s beautiful, it’s sexy, it’s sensual.  It’s community, it’s personal and it’s cultural. It’s science and alchemy.  It’s art and it is history.

Click to view slideshow.

I have never been in a place where food was so appreciated and thoroughly enjoyed at Food Blogger Connect 2011.  What a collection of writers, chefs, food pornographers and enthusiasts.  I am so inspired to cook that I have been neglecting the very blog that gave me reason to go.

Other attendees asked, “Why come all this way? Why not go to a conference in the states?”

Why not come all this way,  I thought.  A food blogging conference in Dayton, Ohio sounds downright charming but London seems like much more of an adventure. So much more to learn.  I have new friends from the UK, Spain, Belgium, the Netherlands to Moscow now.  What a shame it would have been to miss out on meeting these creative and beautiful people just because the plane ride seemed a bit long.  Lesson learned. Make the most of your opportunities.  Try everything on the buffet.

If you would like to sample the writing of talented food bloggers that can provide you with excellent recipes and much more satisfying and slutty pictures of their culinary escapades, check out these links

My splendid roommate from Amsterdam and fellow carbivore, Valorie writes at Love Through the Stomach.

Regula from Belgium makes everything beautiful and concerns herself with the ethics of her food.  I love that in a girl, read her at FoodWise.

Simone is a food photog from the Netherlands and she takes pictures you will just absolutely want to chew on.  Prepare to drool on your monitor at Jungle Frog Cooking.

Bethany is the talented organizer of the event.  She blogs at Dirty Kitchen Secrets.  I recommend it for those of you that love Lebanese chow, like I do.

A gourmet who thinks of calories is like a tart who looks at her watch.

-James Beard

Indeed Mr. Beard, indeed.

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