One Week Down

Well, the first week of my summer season is behind us. I survived; obviously. We had two school field trips this wee and I generally consider field trips  the hardest parts of my summer, so it's all downhill from here. (Or uphill, if you're Zach Galifianakis.)

I'd love to tell you all about the wonderful summertime routine I've fallen into, but the truth is, I haven't quite gotten there yet. I've been trying to get up earlier in the morning (especially since it's light out at 5 a.m. around here) so I have time to exercise, get some chores done, and eat a decent breakfast before heading to work. The breakfast below looks decadent, but those "pancakes" are actually just two eggs whisked together with a mashed banana and some cinnamon. I usually don't buy bananas, but in the last couple weeks, our taste buds must have shifted for the summer because suddenly we can't get enough of fresh produce. I stocked up on berries, fruit, veggies, and salad greens on Wednesday and we're already running low.

It's been a little different week around here. I haven't fallen into having set days off yet (due to the aforementioned school field trips) and this week I re-learned just how hard it is to keep up with exercise, housekeeping, and freelance obligations this time of year. I actually missed my first run on Wednesday morning because we'd spent the night in town so we could get laundry and other errands wrapped up early so I could have a full day in the garden. (Don't worry, I'll make the run up tomorrow morning.) Then on Wednesday night, a good friend came for supper and spent the night. In addition, we've got the gardens completely planted starting Monday and wrapping on Wednesday. We've also been experiencing our first real "summery" weather (yuck - why can't it just be 65 degrees all the time?) and yesterday evening we had a crazy bout of wind that created  - swear to God - five foot swells in the bay.

How was your week?
 

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Why We Exercise

Obviously, women's body image has been screwed up for a good long time now. When I was a pre-teen and teen, a lot of fuss was made about anorexia and bulimia. A mere decade later, the country's in a full fledged obesity epidemic. In true Goldilocks style, we went from too thin to too large in no time flat and all because our reasoning about body image seems to revolve around three basic axioms: Being skinny is better. Exercise is awful. Cupcakes are delicious.

No wonder we spend a lot of time frustrated and, dare I say, not so very happy.

Somewhere along the lines, we started viewing exercise as a necessary evil, something that's time consuming and painful. Something with no intrinsic value beyond possibly burning up the last "bad" thing we put in our mouth. We became obsessed not by how much better exercise can make us feel, but by how many calories we've burned. 

What the heck?

Source: toneupnyc.tumblr.com via Ada on Pinterest

Even though weight loss is supposedly 90% eating and 10% exercise (I'm not sure the research is conclusive enough to prove this ratio, but I do believe our eating habits play the biggest role in our overall weight), we repeatedly turn to exercise as the sole means to weight loss, even though people can exercise their hearts out on a regular basis and not lose a pound, or may even gain a pound or two. (Oh hey, there muscle mass.) While exercise is a surefire way to tone your body and maintain your weight, you're going to have a hard time exercising out a shitty diet. When I was at my chunkiest, I was actually playing hockey 3-4 times a week. And let me tell you, no amount of killers ("Again!") could compete with my hitting up the ice cream freezer in the dorm dining room each night. (Oh hey, there freshman fifteen.) 

As I've started exercising more over the last few months,  I'm reminded of just how miraculous exercise is. Even if running is hardly my favorite exercise in the world (Apparently running one minute and walking 90 seconds is no big deal. But bumping up that ratio to two minutes running and one minute walking? Death. Death surely must be coming for me soon.) I find myself looking forward to my morning runs because I know I'll have more energy and focus the rest of the day. The endorphin boost I get from 30 minutes of exercise is fantastic enough that I'm willing to overlook the beached whale feeling I experience while running. And that's saying something.

If we want to feel happier and be a bit fitter, we need stop using exercise as a torture device. We should view exercise as a necessary challenge which serves up way more pay out then that ever tempting cupcake. We turn to sweets and alcohol because "we deserve it" after a hard day or a long stretch of "being good," but we rarely, if ever, apply that same reward concept to our exercising. Don't our bodies "deserve" exercise for being our always faithful sidekicks through this entire one wild and precious life?  Dare I suggest that exercise should be viewed as just as much of a luxury as a fatty treat, because what is exercise if not a sweaty celebration of what our bodies are capable of. 

Exercise to feel better: more energy, more concentration, more self confidence, and less stress. Exercise to be stronger. Exercise to make the answer to the question is, "Can I do it?" a resounding "Of course I can." Our body images will never improve if we insist on seeing exercise as a temporary means to punish our eating habits.
 

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Foods I Don't Get

Andy grilled up some venison steak last night. They came off the grill beautiful: juicy with charred grill marks and smothered with homemade BBQ sauce (compliments of Mel's Kitchen Cafe.)  We served them up with a side of  roasted Yukon gold potatoes and steamed broccoli. What's not to love?

But halfway through this very American meal, Andy looked over to find me dutifully, but not very enthusiastically gnawing my way through my steak. "You don't have to eat it if you don't like it," he said. So I sawed off one more bite of steak and gave the rest to him. 

As much as I appreciate Andy's woodsmanly ways that filled our chest freezer with venison last fall, I really don't care for venison steak. I mean, I love it in stew, in pasties, in sausage, in stir fry, in just about anything. And I feel that way about about all meat. If it's part of recipe, great! But a piece of meat plunked down on my plate as the main dish? Meh.

I'm not a terribly picky eater (although Andy probably disagrees . . . I do get turned off by food's texture on occasion), but there are a handful of foods that make me feel like Sam I Am of Dr. Seuss fame:

"I do not like them in a box.
I do not like them with a fox.
I will not eat them in a house.
I do not like them with a mouse.
I do not like them here or there.
I do not like them ANYWHERE!"

 

1) Dark chocolate

I want my chocolate smooth and creamy. If I wanted bitter chocolate flavor, I'd just stick a spoon into my baking cocoa. And no, washing that spoonful of cocoa down with some milk is not an acceptable alternative to milk chocolate.

2) Cake balls/pops

I like cake just fine, but it doesn't seem to be my go-to dessert.(That would be ice cream and/or pie, apparently.) Still, while I do enjoy a nice cupcake or slice of homemade cake, I have a low tolerance for boxed cake mixes and I despise canned frosting. So who's brilliant idea was it to take a box cake, mix it with a can of frosting, then dip it in chocolate? Cake balls look so pretty and they taste so horrible. Holy preservatives!  

3) Beets

I have a deep appreciation for vegetables. But when it comes to the beet, well, I might as well just go get a clod of dirt and gnaw on that because the "earthy" goodness of beets is spoiled on me.

4) Macaroni and cheese

There was a time, a long, long time ago, when I used to eat macaroni and cheese . . . a lot. And then, I hit my tipping point and suddenly, I could not stomach it . . . at all. It's probably been 15 years since I had my last bite of mac and cheese and while I do think I could choke some down if it was the last food on Earth, I still avoid it like the plague. And no, I don't mean just Kraft Dinner. I mean all the Mac and Cheese.

5) Shrimp 

That smell! That texture! I have tried shrimp many times, prepared many different ways and it still kind of revolts me. The other day I was listening to NPR's The Splendid Table and heard the host, Lynne Rossetto Kasper, say that everyone likes shrimp. The result? I no longer trust anything Lynne Rossetto Kasper tells me.

What foods don't you get? 

 

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Why Women Need Fat: a book review

Queen was right. Fat bottomed girls really do make the rockin' world go 'round.

At least, that's the claim Drs. William D. Lassek and Steven J. C. Gaulin lay out in their new book, Why Women Need Fat: How "Healthy" Food Makes Us Gain Excess Weight and the Surprising Solution to Losing It Forever. The book grew out of Lassek and Gaulin's anthropology study on why men prefer women with an hourglass figure. (Like all things evolutionary, it boils down to babies.)

Through the study's research, the authors noticed that women started to lose their hourglass figures when Americans began increasing their  consumption of vegetable-based (or omega-6) fats in 1950s. Vegetable oil is cheap and used in many of our processed foods. At the same time, we've been reducing our consumption of the fat we really need, omega-3 fat which comes from animal based fats such as butter and lard. While omega-3 fat is stored in our hips and legs until it's needed during pregnancy, omega-6 fat tends to go to our waists, Gaulin and Lassek say. 

With its catchy title, it's tempting to use this book as an excuse for seconds of dessert. But as much as American women should likely be increasing their omega 3 fat intake, the authors state that an increase of omega 3 fat needs to met with a decrease in omega 6 fats, especially corn and soybean oils.

The book doesn't offer a quick fix diet. In fact, the authors claim that dieting as it's practiced in the U.S., with attempts to drop significant portions of weight in a relatively brief period of time, is destined to fail. Instead, Lassek and Gaulin outline a compelling, easy to read argument for permanently changing our eating to center around whole foods. By moving away from processed foods and bad fats, they say, over time (we're talking years here) you'll shed unnecessary. One the things I most enjoyed about the book was how articulately it encouraged women to look at their weight in a more thoughtful way.

As long time member of "Team Butter," this book confirmed many of my suspicions - that the best thing you can do for your body is ditch the diets, make a permanent change to your eating habits, and keep real food on the table. 

You can join "Team Butter" yourself over at the BlogHer Book Club. Here's to a healthy lifestyle that's surprisingly delicious!



Disclosure: I participated in this review for the BlogHer Book Club. I was compensated for my time and received a complimentary copy of the book, however all opinions expressed in the review are my own.

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Knock Yourself Out Mark Zuckerberg

We watched The Social Network the other night and it got me thinking about a lot of things; namely, Mark Zuckerberg. Before watching the movie, I'd heard a statement that Zuckerberg's goal for the year is to eat only things he kills with his own hands. Huh?

Now we all know by now that I'm a little idealistic when it comes to trying to live locally and sustainably. I love the idea of cracking open a can of my own locally grown canned goods or pulling some local cut of meat out of the freezer. I feel that if we all ate a little closer to home, the world just might be a slightly better place.

But I also live in northern Minnesota, where eating locally means some wild rice, a lot of blueberries, and a bit of meat when you can get it. And there's just only so much venison with blueberry sauce that a 21st century palate can take. While we eat a fair amount of meat which Andy has shot, the majority of the meat we consume at the cabin isn't even organic.

Why? Well, it takes a lot of food to feed two people for an entire year.

The venison Andy got last Novemeber was all gone by April and we only used about a pound of the meat a week. During grouse season, Andy and I went out hunting nearly every night and while we managed to get enough poultry to provide one or two weekly dinners, we never even stockpiled enough grouse to have any in the freezer for "later." Believe it or not, all that's left of last year's blueberries is less than a cup of berries, rattling around in a gallon bag in the back of the freezer. Even what, at the time, can appear to be massive amounts of food can disappear quickly.

Then there's the price issue. In a world where time is money, we can't afford to spend every waking moment scrounging for food. And much as I'd like to eat only organic, that ideology is a little rough on my pocketbook.


Just yesterday I came back from the grocery store with a nominal amount of food in my (reusable) bags and one honking total on my receipt. "That's it," I declared. "No more fresh produce for us." Forget the yummy red strawberries at $3.65 a pound; next week I'm just going to pick up some cans of Flavorite fruit cocktail in lieu of all the (expensive) fresh fruit salad ingredients I picked up yesterday.

Now, I'm not sure what Zuckerberg means when he says he's only eating food he shot with his own hands. Is he counting produce too? Because let me tell you, as Andy and I ran around last night covering up the gardens to protect them from the latest frost advisory, I realized even a little garden can demand more of you than you ever expected.

With his unlimited funds, maybe Zuckerberg is in a better position to succeed at this "with your own hands" eating game. But while I may consistently cry "busy", I have a feeling Zuckerberg has a couple more obligations and commitments than I do.

Mark, if you figure out how to do this: 1) You're a better man than me and 2) Let me know how you did it.  

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Four Star Meal at Five Below Zero

Who doesn't the love the mid-winter?

Oh, that magical time when you can't remember a world without snow and you cease to believe there ever will be a world without snow. When you start looking at your significant other as though they have a second head and begin to believe they were placed on this earth, in this cabin with the sole intent of driving you bonkers. That my friends is the indicator that your cabin-fever-o-meter might just be soaring off the charts. Run, don't walk, out of that front door. It's time to get out of the cabin.

On Sunday, Andy came home prematurely to deal with the whole ice dam situation and effectively threw the remainder of the day into a tailspin. I don't know about you, but I can't get anything done when Andy's around, even when he's quietly sitting in the other room. I knew as soon as he walked through the door at 12:30 that my work day was done.

Just the other day, Andy had declared himself "in the mood for a Crooked Spoon dinner."

I needed to record my latest radio commentary in town and neither I nor my stomach were up for the fare served at our usual restaurant haunt that Andy was clamoring to "get a quick burger at." "Why don't we go into town and go to the Crooked Spoon," I suggested. It was an idea about as logical as the time we set out to drive 30 miles, one way, for a beer.

Still, we set out, in the Corolla, on glare ice roads. The Corolla does impressively well on snowpack conditions, but gets a little shaky on glare ice. As we moved forward, I could feel the car slipping ever so gently. "Oh this was a good idea," I muttered. Town was 55 miles away. We were going about 27 mph. This was going to take a while. 

But we did make it to town. I recorded my commentary in the peace and quiet of the Sunday afternoon radio station and then we headed down to the Crooked Spoon for a winter feast of duck on alfredo pasta and homemade meatloaf and mashed potatoes.All those nasty, cabin feverish moments started to slip away as quickly as a bit of melted butter on my tongue.  

"Look at us," said Andy, swirling his glass of cabernet. "Having a four-star dinner in five below zero."

Full of good food, we headed home. I shimmied on down the road at a reckless 35 mph. As I poked long, a car behind me quickly caught up to me, raising the hackles of my type A driving personality. Who did they think they were? "Back off buddy," I yelled into the rearview mirror. I planned to pull over at the next feasible stuff, but the vehicle had other plans. They passed me.  It was the county sheriff. (You know you're a cautious driver when . .  . .) We hadn't laughed that hard in a long time.

How do you battle cabin fever this time of year?

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Wordless Wednesday: Meat and Potatoes

I didn't grow up in a meat and potatoes kind of household, but with a chest freezer chock-a-block filled with venison, things are changing around the cabin. No more prissy stir-fried tofu stuff. We're talking venison steak and mashed potatoes.

 As you can see, some of us are more enthusiastic about this than others.

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From Sea to Shining Sea

We've been keeping ourselves busy. Yesterday we took the subway (metro? I'm not sure what they call it in these parts, especially for the bits of track that are above ground) all the way out to Coney Island in the south of Brooklyn where we ate hot dogs and went to the New York Aquarium (The Seattle Aquarium is better, with considerable less school children.) The trip to beach in Brooklyn made it official: I've been from sea to shining sea this month.

We came back into Manhattan to get Broadway tickets, then stopped by Grand Central Terminal and the lobby of the Chrysler building, then grabbed a bite to eat and squeezed in some souvenir shopping before the evening's show.  I've developed an unnatural affinity for Magnolia Bakery cupcakes and as such, am beginning to look like one. 

We saw In the Heights on Broadway -- it was fine, not my favorite musical. I found some knowledge of the Spanish language necessary to full appreciate it. Unfortunately, I opted to take French in high school and college. In hindsight, that really wasn't my best choice, especially since my handle of French is so poor, I can barely understand a word of the French dialogue that swirls around me whenever we're at the hostel. 

The hostel is fine. Now that all the Europeans stranded by the volcano have gotten to go home, we have a fresh influx of French to take their place.

Today is the Sex and the City tour, then the Met, Central Park, and maybe some shopping. I have a dinner date with a hometown friend tonight as well.

The weather has been gorgeous. I think we're all a little sunburnt. It's been a great adventure so far. I fear the travel bug may be biting me again, hard.

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End of an Era, Ushered in by Marshmallow Fluff

Sunrise after a rainy day 

It’s official: I will go a-waitressing no more. Yesterday I worked my last lunch shift. This means a couple things. For one, today I plan to hand-wash all of the sweaters I wore this winter so I can pack them on the trip and not have them smell of French fries. For another, it means I can start making decent food choices again.

This goes without saying, but when you waitress, your shift always corresponds with mealtime. Although you could grab little snacks as you work, the days I worked, I inevitably didn’t eat lunch until after 3 and dinner often got dished up around 9:30, if not later. By that time, I was always starving and ate the first calorie laden food I spied in the Shack’s kitchen. As much as it pains me to say it, the regimented life of a temp in a cubicle where I was able to schedule each meal and snack was far better for my waistline.

At the Shack we tried to make decent food choices. We try to get around to eating all of the fresh produce before it turns.

 But sometimes, even when we know what’s the right eating decision, our desires get the better of us. There is no better case in point than the fact that we have teeny tin of organic, fair-trade cocoa sitting next to the super family size Swiss Miss.

(What is a super family size any way? 4? 6?) Guess which one gets dipped into more.

I have read The Botany of Desire and while in high school, I read a book called A Teenager’s Guide to Going Vegetarian. I want to be that person who subsists on organic fruits and nuts and who is unmoved by a plate of French fries. I pretend I’m the girl who orders salads when she goes out, but in actuality, I’ve been known to order things called “The Grizz Burger.” (Yup: ½ pound of burger with cheese, more cheese, bacon, mushrooms, tomato, lettuce . . . ) I use the term “loaded” when I talk about baked potatoes. Deep down, I am just American enough to create things in my kitchen that look like this:

 That’s right, marshmallow fluff. A couple neighbors moved out last week and one of them left a 16 oz. bag of marshmallows and a box of Rice Krispies among the groceries for the taking. On Thursday, I couldn’t resist the urge to make a batch of Rice Krispy bars or “crispy cake” as they call it in England. That’s all well and good, except I didn’t need the entire bag of marshmallows to make the bars and have now spent the last few days eating my way through the remaining marshmallows with a marshmallow here, five marshmallows there.

This morning, in a fit of disgust, I threw out the remaining bag of marshmallows. (I think there were about four left.) With the restaurant life behind me, I have much greater control over my schedule and with that comes tighter reigns on both exercise and diet. There’s tofu marinating in the fridge as I write.

Of course, I’m about to embark on a month long vacation. Might not be the best time for such resolutions.

In other news, I’ve found myself missing the novel. After so many months (years) spent with these characters, I feel a little lost without them.

Ah well, I’ll get over it. I have plenty of little tasks to keep me busy today and all week. Both Andy and I are anxious to be far away for a little while and the trick will be to get stuff done this week so there’s nothing to fret about while we’re away.

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