Apologies for the delay, hams, I’ve been spending the weekend with my bifocals on and my rosé-colored highlighter clutched in my sun-deprived paw, reading up on Kathy’s new laws ofteni food. They’re kinda like Michael Pollan’s three commandments — eat plants, but not a lot, and nothing that ends with -ables (e.g. Lunchables, Uncrustables, Franzia Drunkables*) — I think, except they’re more like 1. Trendily wholesome covers up sugar, 2. Meat is almost as icky as onions! and 3. Maintaining a food diary that looks like a bloodless Real Simple magazine sidebar passes for a penetrating and passionate interest in a tradition every person on earth shares joyfully with every person who ever existed. Kathy calls her laws a “Thought Collection,” and also “Another debate” —
— I guess because that’s a more concise way of referring to what could also be called ways of bragging about how she likes a variety of food, how she only overeats because she is a “foodie” and a blogger, and because she’s only thinking about “nutrition” when she adds another item to a meal, and she could totes go without them.
My aunt once told me that her mother ate the exact same breakfast and lunch every single day of her life. I can’t remember the exact meals, but I think breakfast was something simple like an egg with toast and lunch was a scoop of tuna over a tomato. She maintained her weight to a T for years. Clearly she was not much of a foodie to want to eat the same meals her whole life, but she must have enjoyed those foods very much.
Clearly, Kathy isn’t a professional tennis player, but her backhand is something to look at. (Inasmuch as demolition derby drivers aren’t too good at not crashing into stuff, but their driving is something to look at.)
I feel the need to taste everything – particularly on dessert buffets! – because I can’t stand to miss out on a flavor. Often I think this is at the cost of my waistline. Foodie tasting > intuitive eating.
See what I mean about reading her new laws? I had no idea eating cookies and not onions had been re-classified as “foodie tasting” and taken out of the squeamish, fussy, and dull category.
And also, her toppings? Just for looks, you guys! She’s only “heavy handed with toppings” because it looks “prettier.” She could totally go without eating that cheese and nuts, but she’s only doing it because “they say you should always” pair something like an apple with fat or protein. She’s a professional — she knows what she’s doing.
Truly, since “foodies” are defined by eating food for reasons that have nothing to do with being hungry for it, nothing to do with it smelling or tasting good, nothing to do with drooling over it.
I guess it all comes down to listening to hunger and fullness cues. If you put those at top priority, neither should interrupt a weight maintenance or loss plan. But it has made me wonder if I should stick with the same oatmeal for breakfast and salad for lunch to simplify my life like my aunt’s mother did.
No it doesn’t. You just want your readers to tell you to keep on rocking on. And by the way — I’m guessing that Kathy’s aunt’s mother wasn’t some dullard who couldn’t tell pastitsio from pistachio. I’m guessing that, instead of pretending thinking about If Your Almonds From Khufu’s Tomb Are Going To Keep You Full For 2.6 minutes or 26 minutes, your aunt’s mother just had better shit to do.
So on Friday’s post, which is Part 2 of a guest post that didn’t need to be split into two, Bath Matt refers to worms as “wrigglin’” and finally reveals what he plants in the garden (spoiler alert: “braisin’ greens” and carrots that squick out his wife because they have to spend time in dirt, says the woman who encapsulated her placenta).
•”curly and russian kale” (what do the Younger-Smugsons have against capitalizing things?
Between this and “greek” yogurt, I feel tempted to send them a letter of apology and, like, a case of toilet paper or hamburgers or something.
• Eight kinds of tomatoes.
• Okra, which takes just six plants for two people to have it a few times a week. On the downside, you have to eat okra a few times a week.
• Spinach, arugula, and lettuce, because when you’re trying to come off like someone who cares about a hobby, don’t raise things from seeds and pick easy plants because fuck effort:
You’ll really feel like you’re eating your bounty when you have great salads every day. Swiss chard may be the easiest thing ever to grow – you can literally just toss the seeds on top of the soil, lightly rake it around a little, and then water occasionally. I think people get too excited about the idea of having something like unlimited bell peppers for the summer,
Gawd, i know. That happens all the — wait, what the hell kind of people do you know that they get “too excited” about unlimited bell peppers? And why don’t they have their own, so-intensely-boring-it’s-fascinating reality show?
• Eggplant and peppers (which one can only assume are bell peppers, since Kathy doesn’t like seeing numbers go above the mid 150s even on the Scoville Scale.
• carrots from last fall they ate and gave to the baby, so as to cultivate an appreciation for Produce We Could Have Bought Fresh For $1.99 But Didn’t.
Saturday’s post is a bunch of photos because Grandma Menstruation Blog and Grandpa Only Person In The Family Without A Blog Because He Has A Day Job came to visit a few weeks in advance of Sister Ethnic Meat Dish’s wedding. Kathy ate strawberries and eggs and toast and oats without yogurt because they were out and there’s no way she was completely angling for her parents to take her grocery shopping to buy her the big honking container of Fagos. For lunch, she had a couple salads, including one with chips and slices of cheese (just melt them and make nachos and at least enjoy them) and another with fish. Another time, she put cinnamon almonds
and avocado and some eggs that look so much like sheets they could be duvet covers on top of her salad.
The rest of the time, she had entitlement. Here’s Grandma Buzz listening to Baby Carbz pontificate on Euro finance (or, I don’t know, maybe bears or the repo work he did that week)
over a meal Bath Matt’s mom Karen made:
slow-cooked short ribs with salad and sweet potatoes and blackberry pie
as though any reader of Kathy Eats Consumes Fake Desserts Dressed Like Breakfast would ever think Kathy made ribs and their own blackberry pie.
Her parents supposedly loved the pancakes and fishy salads she made them, while Baby Carbz loved the brightly colored non-neutral, non-chevroned regular plastic baby toy and “interacting with the Bears”
I think what he’s actually saying is, “No, Mom, seriously — you’re joking with this bear shit, right?”
Since they had company and all, they totally treated them to a nice time — oh, who am I kidding? They pretended like Buzz and PeePaw were their own personal assistants, and “bar hopped all around Cville” and “had too much fun” by ordering pasta and mixed drinks, and repented with dour at-home plates of fish and collards and rice and then tofu and asparagus and leftover rice. Sorry, a few fizzy drinks
and sodden pasta dishes aren’t worth having to choke this down before and after like a pageant-stressed 11-year-old:
Kathy’s fourth post is about some people who sent her free bags of $4/bag granola and how it’s acceptable, even though some of it looks like a desperately sad battlefield death scene, or the death scene of the last of an endangered animal made of oats:
After describing more than a dozen varieties as everything from
Nice n spicy!
sweet n smoky
chewy and crunchy at the same time (texture!)
Really fun – like BBQ chips meet almonds
She ends with a ringing endorsement, saying she ate the “flax chips”** out of one entire bag and “there aren’t any real duds” in any of the sample bags she was sent. Gee, they didn’t entirely suck? What a ringing endorsement.
NatureBox would be ideal if you have hungry teenagers to feed or get bored of your same old bulk bin options.
Know what else is acceptable, Kathy? Eating a bologna sandwich if you’re desperate enough to have to be asking for the help of a soup kitchen. Even if eating four of them belies your non-foodie-According-to-Kathy status.)
*Don’t know what these are, but someone should invent them immediately.
** There is something about the idea of flax chips that makes me want to just sob like a little child.
Kathy’s weekend was so “fun” she used the word itself twice and 23 exclamation points to show us how much fun it was! There was exercise, more exercise, salad, and free cookies! First, she went for a “hot & sweaty run” with her baby and her jogging stroller.
Warm weather = exercise motivator!
(Yeah, revisit the Sonoran Desert when it’s 116 and report back on how that goes.)
Toting a asparagus and cilantro pesto and whole wheat (of course) pasta and spinach and zucchini and walnut salad
and a blanket with the “water-resistant bottom,” she and Bath Matt and Baby Accessory — I mean Carbz — went to Fridays After Five so they could get buttercream cupcakes from the cupcake food truck —
— and eat their friends’ “munchies,” high on going to a free concert sponsored by Bud Light where a random crowd shot shows four strollers, two children, and a grassy knoll of white people bored by their own procreative abilities. As are we, bored white people. As are we.
On Saturday, Kathy and her child
got up bright and early (like we do everyday…)
and went to the farmer’s market, where she made so many new friends because she was pushing a stroller and wearing an “Eat More Kale” shirt. His Royal Highness Her Kid also entertained an audience with the chicks who make patties out of not meat, and declared their lentils “baby approved.”
Duly adored, Kathy rewarded herself with a cinnamon pecan scone, but only because she knew how to eat it:
I don’t just pick a random baked good and dig in very often (because I’m obsessed with breakfasts at home), and I enjoyed this mindfully with every bite.
After returning home for “morning nap,” Kathy decided to head back to the market for “more walking exercise” — and so she could continue to procrastinate making a meal by eating one of the aforementioned meatless patties on fakery bread, “washed down” with a mint kombucha.
The afternoon disappeared into a black, scuffin-shaped hole while Bath Matt made a pizza containing:
Sauce, smoked gouda, sun-dried tomatoes and tomato sauce.
The big green strips covering everything? THOSE ARE SAUCE. IT’S ALL SAUCE. And because their child was asleep, the couple “celebrated” his unconsciousness “parent-style,” because who thinks of celebration without picturing poorly photographed dirty wine glasses sitting on planks that should have been put out for the grappler instead of made into furniture?
Bath Matt presented his blushing bride with the kind of gift you give some vague in-law you’ve always had a chilly relationship with: Some earrings you could have basically pulled out of a Claire’s and put a $28 price tag on, and a white card Bath Matt painted a bluejay on, to symbolize… his wife’s interest in millet?
Opening the card, we go from assisted living lobby bathroom art to a 2-second BOOBIES scrawl with riot-a-second Bath Matt.
But it’s okay. Bath Matt had more important things to worry about. Like the fact that his wife all of a sudden looked like she was being rescued from some tragic, period piece flashback sanitarium deathbed by a jar of random stuff she called a “parfait.”
Exhausted by the efforts of the morning, Bath Matt fell asleep and Kathy went to the gym, returning to the brunch (scorched bacon, bagels, mangos AND fruit, mimosas and Bath Matt’s quiche — the one he makes with that delightful thick wattle and daub crust) at what was apparently some kind of festive rendition site, so hush-hush are the details.
They left the mysterious brunch for “family fun time” and a glimpse into the puddle that is Kathy’s self-reflection pool:
<3 this little guy who made me a mama! Sometimes I still don’t even believe I’m a mom. I told someone recently “I have an 8 month old son” and it was a bit surreal.
And that’s what we get before the topic swings wildly to buying a few drab off-trend-for-your-”Seinfeld”-finale-viewing-party-15-years-ago items — jars, a wallet, a piece of cloth — at World Market.
Kathy concluded a weekend of being a “foodie” who can’t stand preparing food by going to her neighborhood association’s picnic.
Nothin’ like a potluck!! Especially the dessert table…
That’s right. There is literally nothing in the entire world like an event where you eat bean salad and pizza and brownies and things with toothpicks in them off paper plates. This is a singular occurrence. Potlucks with cookies and shit. This makes Stonehenge look like your neighborhood Smart & Final.
Also, Kathy, do we have to see your feet in every potluck shot?
Considering what horrors I thought this italicized opening promised
I am so lucky to be married to a man who loves to experiment
I’m just glad it’s a guest post by BathMatt about gardening (the “first of several,” apparently!). I live off basement door-slot deliveries of ham, or something, and therefore don’t know shit about whether what he’s doing in the dirt is ridiculous or not. All I know is that 1) his wife still can’t wrap her mind around carrots not being gross just because they came out of dirt and 2) this topic is so serious it needs to be split into more than one part, like that “Full House” where Uncle Jesse parachutes into a tomato truck and almost misses his wedding.
Anyway, Bath Matt leads by complaining about how you can procrastinate all you want but if you want to start a garden you’ll still have “an afternoon” of work ahead of you. Gee. What a bummer. Here’s a teaspoon of cement.
But before I talk about Garden 2013, I’ll share a bit of info on how I built our raised beds.
Please, Bath Matt. Don’t keep us in suspense with the raised bed info!
Despite how it looks in these pics, our yard actually has a good bit of shade.
Oh, you’d be surprised at how many overexposed aspects of your life have a good bit of shade on them, hon.
So Bath Matt talks about how many hours of sun he has every day, how many planks and how many screws he used to put the compost-filled boards together, and how his “trellis thingy” is made out of from posts, clothesline, “the most interesting part — turnbuckles” …
… and how “laborious” it was working the boards into the massive 2.6-degree “hill” of their yard, and includes a picture of the neighbor’s cat sitting in what he probably thinks are the kitty litter equivalents of Dooce’s $35,000 Bathtub.
Welcome to Kerflandia, where picnic salads are fun and screws that adjust the tension on lines are interesting.
Bath Matt ends with a whine about how hard his “trellis thingy” is to move, leaving readers on the edge of their seats — in anticipation? dry heaving from boredom? — in breathless anticipation of a post slated for Friday, in which he talks about what’s planted there (spoiler: kale and shit Kathy won’t stop calling “braising greens” because she read it on a package at Trader Joe’s once and it makes her feel upper middle class or something).