Back to Earth

A dear friend told me that it's easy to get way wrapped up in the stats/analytics of blogging.  You can obsess over every new visitor and your average time on site and all that.  Considering that I've mostly limited my readership to close friends and friends of close friends, my numbers aren't exactly high.  They could be with some self-advertisement, but I'm just not there yet.  Maybe I will be one day.  Maybe not.

Anyway, regardless of my relatively small readership, I still took great pride, and great pleasure, in my regular handful of folks checking in on me, even when I hadn't posted in a while.  In fact, I felt pretty darn special.  Until the following exchange:

From: Mom

Subject: sniff

Date: January 14, 2013 10:18:26 AM CST

To: Me

Hi there, I am sad that your blog journey is over.  Guess I'll have to change my home page now :-)  You are great!

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From: Mom

Subject: hooray

Date: January 14, 2013 10:23:09 AM CST

To: Me

Oh!  I am so excited!  Just got online and there was your new posting, with more to come!  Hot doggies.  PS, you make me laugh.

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There is so much to be concerned with here, not least of which is
someone with multiple doctoral degrees using the phrase hot 
doggies, but if you were paying attention, you will have noticed
that my mom has this blog as her home page.  Which means that
everytime she goes on line to check the weather, which I can
assure you is several times a day, she hits my blog.  Which
therefore means that my mother is something like 98.2% of my
readership.  Perhaps a little bit of self-advertising is in order.

Hmmmm.

21 Days of Get Your Shit Together

They're starting another 21-day challenge at my gym today.  You sign up, you commit to workout and to eat well, and you track your progress.  As the single most competitive person alive, I fall victim to these challenges all the time.  I either out-compete everyone and get super shapely for those 21 days and then reward myself for the next 30.  Or, more often, I set totally unrealistic goals for myself and then fail epically to meet them.  Sound familiar?  Who, me?

But it's January, and I ate so much bread and drank so much wine in France and Germany that when we got back, I swore I wouldn't even want them anymore.  Tell that to the cereal and toast I had for breakfast this morning.  So, I'm challenging.  I'm challenging at the gym, and I'm challenging myself, too.  Most of the people I live with will also tell you that I'm challenging. 

Here's the plan:

Much of what was going on in this picture was a to-do list of all the projects, piddly and not, that I have lined up.  Many of them are small, some of them are easy, all of them are achievable. See that composition book there?  That's THE LIST as it looks today.  THE LIST changes and evolves, as you might imagine, as things are completed (a/k/a I write in pencil so I can erase things that I don't want to do).  THE LIST includes things as small as e-mail the landscape guy about the weevils in the agaves and things as large as 

stain and recover the new (old) chairs for the dining room.  That I bought in 2010.  Whatevs.

So, in addition to the godforsaken challenge at the gym, I am setting myself a 21-Day Get Your Shit Together challenge.  I will purposefully engage in one of the projects on this list every day, reminding myself that not all projects will be completed every day.  So, instead of The Project, I will have the projects.  

AND I am resolving to blog about it. Everyday.  For 21 days.  I've been hot and cold on these pages lately.  Excusable?  Yes.  Understandable?  Yes.  It's all okay, but I do love this blog, and I believe in what I'm trying to do here, so I need to back up my belief with some commitment.  They say it takes 21 days to make a habit.  

We'll see.

The. End.

If you're new here, for some context, you could read this or this.  You should definitely read this. 

Well, we went out with a whimper, not a bang.  And maybe that's a good thing.  It's a good thing because this project shouldn't have ever been a big deal in the first place.  For thousands of years, people got their food (sometimes more easily than others), cooked it at home, ate it together, lather, rinse, repeat.  Even Julia Child, in all her brilliance, didn't take off from the start.  In the '50s and '60s, housewifery and homemaking had become such drudgery that many home cooks had turned to packaged, boxed convenience food.  She had to convince home cooks that they could do better even in their own homes.  But whatever its incarnation, most food was still being cooked at home.

Not anymore.  There's so much quick, easy food available that your mind almost automatically defaults to running by the Sonic or picking up the phone to order pizza.  Intentional or healthy eating only means choosing Jason's Deli or Subway rather than the alternative.  And we were regular, if not habitual offenders.  I was always turning over new leaves -- ordering/buying fresh food/ making meal plans -- always with the best of intentions.  Mondays usually worked out, Tuesdays were iffy, and by Wednesday, we were off the rails.  Week after week.  And it wasn't until I stopped working that I could see the pattern.  Good intentions on Monday, rotten chard by Friday.

Let me say up front that the project we undertook and the lifestyle it has grown into would have been exponentially more difficult if I were working full time.  I volunteer quite a bit, am active in my community, and am physically active almost every day, but I still do have the time to grow food, shop for food, prep food, and cook food, all in the same day (except for the growing, of course).  There's no way I could have so rigidly kept to the project while working a full-time and stressful job like teaching.

But I wasn't working, so the project began with the intent to decrease our retail food footprint and increase our home food footprint.  And we did.  It was really hard at first.  Harder for some than for others, but definitely something we had to work at, to think about, to find our way around.  But somewhere along the way, and I couldn't tell you where or when, it just got easier.  Maybe not even easier, going out just wasn't what we did.  At some point, I didn't really have to think so much about it, to fight the urge to pull into every Sonic I saw, to dream about orange-peel beef, to obsess over the perfection of every cooked item.

It just became not a thing. Some nights I had wine and microwave nachos. Actually, many nights I had wine and microwave nachos.  But I had control over the quality of the cheese, the amount of salt in the chips, and with my own homemade salsa and an apple, it made a pretty satisfying meal for one.  Somewhere along the way, I became okay with the idea that this project didn't have to be about presenting three-course, five-star meals every night.  Clearly, I didn't.  Sandwiches, pick-ups and leftovers featured heavily in the QC rotation.  What eventually began to matter more (to me, at least) was an intentionality to our eating.  We knew where it came from and what was in it.  Period.  If that's where you start, it's pretty easy.

The Project By the Numbers:
Days on the Project: 329
Dishwasher total: 353
QC entries: 280
Percent of time we ate pickups or leftovers: approximately 25-30
Money saved:  My estimate is that we saved about 1/3 of our total food bill over the previous year.  My dear friend DD suggested a money saved total along with the Daily Dish, but T and I couldn't ever find a way to calculate it given the multiple variables, such as we were spending much less on restaurant food but much more on groceries, the quality of the groceries was probably better because I was cooking everything from scratch which added value to each meal but cost more, etc.  And honestly, I really hate math.


The girls have adjusted about like you'd expect.  G still eats out more than the rest of us - she goes out to see friends, have study groups, and generally likes fast food more than we do.  With her drivers license in the summer came the privilege to make her own decisions.  Does she always make the ones I'd choose for her?  No.  But she is armed with knowledge and control over what she does choose.  S has always loved the project because no one loves her mama's cooking like that one.  She has always had a better palate, and I think, a tenderer tummy.  She doesn't feel well when she eats crap, so her poor choices often come with more physical consequences that her sister's.  Transition is not her issue.  And T has been a trooper.  It squeezed my heart a little today when, at the arrival of some little gratin dishes for baked eggs, he asked how to make them so he could try them when he's away.  Sniff!  My thinking is that the project may appeal to him more from the financial aspect, but he appreciates good food as well, so that's a win-win.

We've just returned from our long-awaited Christmas trip to Germany and France (the one we were saving for when we started this thing), and I was absolutely blown away by the cost of a dinner out in Europe.  These were not super-fancy places but weren't fast food by any stretch, but each one cost anywhere from 80-100 euros for a family of four (with wine, duh), which is about $104-130US.  A regular, good quality meal (and let me tell you, they were delicious) was still about twice what we'd expect to pay here.  From what I can glean, there are two reasons for this:  one, the French expect high quality dining everywhere, so they are willing to pay a higher premium for quality meat, fresh and local produce, etc., and secondly, the French don't eat out much.  Some of this is because they have access to the most wonderful bread, cheese, meat, and produce on almost every street corner (bakeries) and certainly in every neighborhood (markets, butchers, etc.).  They're starting with ingredients that make it much easier to prepare quality food at home.

They also eat out like I think we all should be.  They eat out for truly special occasions.  Not twice a week, or even weekly.  So, their per-meal costs over the course of a week or a month can handle the higher price of eating out because they do it so much less than we do.  This, I think, is changing considering that on the Avenue des Talles, I saw a gorgeous, model-thin woman wearing an impossibly chic outfit and carrying a GIGANTIC Louis Vuitton bag with another in a LV shopping bag, holding a cake box.  Perched on top of the cake box, carried by this iteration of La Belle France, was a big, ole brown sack from Mickey D's.  Quel horreur!  And so it goes.

Back here at home, we've settled back into our routine.  I'll tell you that I did run into the Sonic last week (riddled with jet lag) and ordered a grilled cheese, a tiny tator tots, and a soda.  It was fine.  It was even pretty good, but it just doesn't hold the fascination that it once did.  I'd been out for five hours on a measly breakfast, and it was all that was close.  Could I have made a better choice?  Maybe, but I knew what my choices were, and I chose Sonic.  Intentional, and reasoned.  And it was fine.  But I haven't been back.  We may start to eat out more than we have - I don't know.  T and I didn't use our date exemption as much as we'd have liked, and there is something to the French way of making a dinner out something special rather than Plan B on a bad day. To be honest, I'm not really sure what eating out looks like post-project.   We'll just have to see.  I'm going to continue to QC, if only to keep myself honest.

When the kids started school this week, we shifted without discussion or discomfort right back into our pattern - meal plan, shopping, dinner at home.  We've made it an entire week without wanting to fall back into our old ways.  Maybe the true test wasn't if we could be successful while we were on the project.  Maybe the test is if we can be successful when we're off it.  I think I survived the first test well.  Tuesday's planned meal was roast chicken, which I had pulled out of the freezer Sunday thinking it would thaw.  That sucker was FROZEN SOLID Tuesday afternoon.  In the past, that would have been the most satisfying excuse to grab some take-out or head to Jason's Deli.  It wasn't until Wednesday morning that I realized that I hadn't even thought to go out.  I just grabbed some of my own chili (approaching its way-too-long-in-the-freezer date), thawed it, boiled the hotdogs I'd bought for S's sleepover the previous weekend, and roasted the cauliflower like I had planned.  It was a little weird - chili dogs and roasted cauliflower - but I knew where it came from and what was in it.

I'll call that progress.

What the Hell Happened to December?

So, you'll notice that this post is dated from somewhere in mid-January.  It appears that the last time I stopped to take a breath or look around or, God forbid, wrote anything was six weeks ago!  This has happened before (a/k/a June).  The funny thing is that when I look at it, it looks like nothing got done when actually that's the problem.  I was so busy doing it (what ever "it" is) that I was too busy to chronicle it.

And it is what it is.  I can't bring back time, and since I can barely remember what I had for breakfast yesterday, it seems unlikely that I can reconstruct the entire month.   So, with the help of my handy calendar and even more handy iPhone photos, this is what I figured out I was doing while I wasn't doing anything.

Tower of Fleece

Board Meeting
Friend for Tea
Dispense with TOWER OF FLEECE
Symphony
Can 4 quarts of salsa

Tomatoes-in-waiting

Order duffel bags for trip
Haircut
Make quiche for French class
Send kids' school pictures to grandparents (only two months late!)
Gym (x12)
Run (x12)
Make 5 fleece blankets
Make dog sweater (oh, Jesus, I have become one of them.)

Game Day Sweater.  For a dog.

"Homework" with the cousins

Tennis (x6)
Knitting Club (x3)
Retirement Party
Crochet/Knit
Christmas Party
Band concert
Church event set-up
Pick up Texas foods for Europe hosts
Presents for Texas hosts
Housesitter meeting
Kids to dentist
Return duffel bags for trip - too small
Dinner with the cousins!
Birthday party

Found this little gem
returning the bags.

Order different duffel bags
Prepare spreadsheet for meeting
Board meeting
Christmas party
Brunch with friends
Get girls warm clothes
Get more clothes
Eagle scout ceremony
Meet landscaper about sad agaves
Dogs to vet
Clean house to be gone
Pack clothes
Pack yarn
Pack presents
Pack
Pack
Pack

Go.

I Am A Bad-ass

Ghastly IPhone lighting, but still.
Impressive, right?

So, early last week, I made a cake.  From scratch.  As in flour, butter, eggs, the whole shebang.  And it was awesome.  Cream cheese buttercream.  Lemon curd filling (more on that later).  Almonds on the side to cover up the really hideous frosting job. And it was awesome.  Not everyone liked the cream cheese frosting.  Not everyone liked the lemon curd.  Not everyone had a leftover piece at lunch and at dinner for three days.  What?

And then later last week, T and I finally made the leap into the cash-only-everything-accounted-for-beans-and-rice-hard-core-like-when-we-lived-in-an-Airstream-trailer-because-we-had-no-money budget process that we like to call getting ready to pay for college.  And let me tell you that every $18 purchase you ever made because it was only $18 makes you feel really, really stupid.  It is amazing how much money I was spending on absolutely nothing.  They were nothings that I thought I really wanted/needed, but they were nothings nonetheless.  So, in less than a week, I have become an obsessive, miserly shrew. "No, you can't have new Vans, we don't get clothing money until November 9." "Okay, I've bought five bags of candy for Halloween, but we're only opening them one at a time.  I need the $7.50 if we can return the ones we don't use."  I'm not wearing this at all well.  Financial discipline is not my color.

But the short of this long story is that the budget COMBINED with this project is turning me into some kind of Depression era loony, as if the massive amount of canned goods in my pantry weren't enough evidence.  The cake recipe called for 5 eggs -- one whole and four whites.  Now, I buy the organic eggs from chickens with beaks and access to sunshine.  It's important to me, not as much to others.  I don't judge.  I merely point this out because those eggs are almost $5 a dozen, which translates to roughly 41 cents per egg.  Which means that for the four eggs that I'm only using the whites for is a waste of 82 cents, if you assume that the white is half the egg.  And 82 cents is almost a refill of a Diet Coke at the Sac-N-Pac.  I just couldn't let that kind of waste happen.  It is also possible that I desperately need a job.

So, unlike Washington, I took steps to achieve full utilization.  I made lemon curd.  And no ordinary lemon curd, either.  I made Martha Stewart's lemon curd.  Now, this link isn't the exact recipe in the original bible that is the 1995 Martha Stewart Cookbook (don't hate), but it's close.  And if I were better at math, I could actually verify that it's the same recipe increased by a third.  Potato, potato-ah.  It was good.  Dangerously good.  Heart-attack good.

And this isn't even why I am a bad-ass.  Can you believe it?  All of above was performed in the line of duty as part of my job as amazing, freaky, wheat bread and granola, no-baggies, composting mom.  It doesn't even count.

I am a bad-ass because I discovered today that if you stir one little teaspoon of lemon curd into your low fat Greek yogurt, which you don't even like but are required to eat because you get no dairy and therefore no calcium and because you need the protein, it transforms said yogurt into a culinary masterpiece of untold delight.  And I have convinced myself that such a little tiny bit of cholesterol-laden, sweetened fat droplets is totally okay.

If I'm wrong, I don't want to be right.

Dear Ina,

Okay.  I'm back.  And I'm sorry.  It seems like having no actual job would make it easier to sit your ass down and write, but apparently  I'm wrong. I've made a shitload of notes.  I've started some stories, but other things got in the way.  I'll start filling in the gaps as I can, but tonight, it's time for a love letter to Ina.  Because, let's face it, only Ina can bring you back from the depths of writer's block (or laziness.  Whatever. You say potato).

Dear Ina, 

I love you.  There, I said it.  You probably already knew that since I cook from your books and link to your recipes way more than anyone else.  But I love you more than that.  I love that all your recipes come out looking just like they do in the book.  I love it that you DEMAND that people enjoy themselves while cooking, that you insist that I buy some parts of my dinner party and focus on some really good food.  I love that you've been married to your high school sweetheart for 44 years.  

And mostly, I love it that you're a little chubby.  I love it a lot.  Because no one that likes food and wine as much as we do (see how I called us "we"?) is going to look like Giada.  All due respect to her, but sister ain't really eating all that pasta, if you know what I mean.  I love it that you're real, and that you make fun of yourself.  And I really, really, really love your Basil Chicken Hash, which BOTH of my children ate the shit out of tonight.

Love,
Me

Myth Busters

Okay.  So, I cheated.  I bought unsanctioned food from a restaurant yesterday.  My head hangs in shame.  Here is my story.

Hi.  My name is Mama O.  

Hi, Mama O.

I'm a roll-a-holic.

It's okay.

No, it's really not.  You see, I used to work right across the street from this magical place called Golden Chick.  And Golden Chick was the place where you went when your students were mean to you.  Or when you had a bad day.  Or when you had a good day.  Or when it was Fuzzy Friday.  Or really, any day.  

What did they have there?

Golden Chick had yummy, fried tenders.  They had creamy, peppered white gravy.  And they had yeast rolls.  Yeast rolls that were better than any white-flour carb you ever put in your mouth.  And they were brushed in butter.  No, not butter, but some kind of even better fake oil/butter hybrid that got all over your fingers and never went away no matter how often you washed your hands.  They were like crack.  I would stop by on the way home from work and get a large diet coke and two rolls.  Sad.  Sad.  Sad.  All I can say is that on the eighth day, God created Golden Chick. And it was good.

So, what happened?

I wish I could say that I just gave it up because it was not good for me.  But I didn't.  First, I quit working across the street.  This was sad, but I still had friends there, so I would drop by for a tender snack from time to time (2 tenders, sub the fries for an extra roll, and a large diet coke).  Then, they switched to Pepsi.  This was the first sign of Satan in the garden.  

So, you stopped going?

I did.  Our family was on the project.  I wasn't working.  There was just no reason to go.

Then, why are you here?

This afternoon, I was so tired.  I've started running again, and I go at 5:15 in the morning, which makes you tired.  And when I'm really tired, I want yeast rolls.  No, I didn't actually run today, but who's counting?  I was headed to the girls' tennis meet in Wimberley, a town nearby, the turnoff for which is dangerously close to Golden Chick.  I tried to resist, but I needed a notebook.

They have notebooks at Golden Chick?

No, they have notebooks at the Dollar General, which shares a parking lot with Golden Chick.  So, you see, it wasn't my fault.

It wasn't your fault that you drove through the parking lot to Golden Chick, ordered a roll and a large iced tea, paid for the roll, what?  Two rolls?  Took them from the cashier and pulled out of the parking lot with your yeasty, greasy booty?

Huh, when you say it that way, it sounds much worse.  But here's the good news.  They weren't very good.  Yes, they were still hot and really greasy, but somehow they didn't live up to the memory of them.  I had built them up so high because they really did make me feel better when things were tough (emotional eating could take up three more years of therapy, but I'll leave that for another time). This time, they tasted fake and overly salty.  Could the quality have dipped?  Sure.  Could I have attributed powers to those rolls that they didn't actually have?  Maybe.  But I realized that maybe this project is slowly retraining my tastebuds not to need fast food.  And maybe it's okay for a yeast roll not to have to be my savior anymore.

So, did you eat them all anyway?

Fuck off.

Some Catching Up

So, it wasn't so nutty that I just sat around in my pajamas for an entire month and actively chose not to blog.  It actually felt like the opposite of lazy.  It felt like mass chaos all the time.  Well, except for the weeks that the French Open was on.  And the weeks that Wimbledon was on.  Okay, so basically for the 12 days between the tournaments, it was busy.  It seems only right that I catch you up on a few things.

1.  The Garden - I am actually pretty pleased with how things turned out.  And given my overwhelming need to control everything and everyone, I have been able to look at this first summer season as a great experiment.  Had some failures:  got tomato herpes, got round, orange cucumbers (?!), got squash borers, and had some deer damage.

We also had some great successes:  had bees, had some squash before the borers hit, had green beans, had LOTS of tomatoes, as in way more than I can eat (as in I become the tomato Unabomber, wearing dingy clothes and dropping off unwanted baggies full of the things), had LOTS of tomatillos (we're swimming in salsa), and finally, just before everything got pulled for high summer, had pickling cucumbers, and had a fair pepper yield.  And above all, I learned a lot of lessons.











But the best part has nothing to do with gardening.  The best part is that S, my little one, who is not always the first one to volunteer for hot, sweaty work or really any work at all, has become my right-hand farmer.  She's got a great eye for which tomatillos were ready to pick and was always willing to help or harvest or water.  Her enthusiasm and joy got me through on those days when it was just too hot, or too much trouble, or just too much period.   It's been a real gift to get to spend that kind of time with her, the kind of time that will hopefully lead to her having her own garden some day. Or at least will keep me from locking her up in her room for rolling her eyes.  Or arguing with everything I say.  Or not emptying the dishwasher after I ask.  Five times.  But I digress.

2. The Pantry - Looking back over the last month, my fallow period, in the words of a dear writer friend, I do realize that I might have been really busy doing exactly what I set out to do with this project.  With the time required by the garden, and the time required to put up food whose origins I can trace to my back door, maybe I wasn't so much not writing, but brainstorming!  Yeah, that's what we'll call it.

Anyway, it seems like at least twice a week, I would have so much produce that I had to can before it went bad.  Now, I love canning, especially when it comes with a group of friends and some cold beer, but I'll tell you, I wasn't necessarily prepared for twice a week.  Those folks who had to can to make it through the winter were not fucking around.  With all my own produce and some plums that a friend brought and a couple of pounds of organic strawberries on sale, I've put up gallons of tomatillo salsa, quarts of tomato salsa, sweet-hots (cucumber and jalapeño pickles that are the best things in the world.  On goat cheese.  All I'm saying.), pickle relish, jalapeño jelly, plum jam, strawberry jam.  It's fucking 10 o'clock at night, and I'm leaving for vacation tomorrow morning.  And I'm still canning.

3.  The Project - Well, I'm proud to say that we haven't fallen all the way off the wagon.  We are still not eating out when we are in town although I have gotten caught a once or twice six hours out from our last meal.  It's been an interesting dilemma:  do I literally starve my kids to make a point?  Isn't that just as bad as feeding your kids fast food?  I'm not sure what the answer is, but we haven't ever cheated with a full meal.  We did, however, one day a couple of weeks ago, have to buy a snack at a convenience store.  Not sure where, but it did amount to some food that hadn't come into our possession in an approved way.  I think it was some nuts and some peanut butter crackers.  Admittedly, those are both items that would have been in our house or even our car had I gotten my shit together.  But I didn't.

4.  The Miracle - It's been a tough summer for G.  A super-hard worker and awesome kid, she struggled with math in middle school, which put her behind a little for high school.  And because she has mean parents, she is taking Algebra II this summer.  Yep.  That's right.  Summer school.  And not just summer school.  Summer school in the subject that you hate the most.  Not only that, but she missed camp and an opportunity to go see her friend play softball in Colorado, where we spend most of July.  Things are sucking for her right now.

That said, she's been a real trooper.  She hasn't complained much and has even formed a pretty good relationship with her teacher, which will be helpful next year.  During all this, she turned 16.  Which meant that she had earned a dinner out.  At a restaurant.  Of her choosing.  But, as awful and miserable as most of her summer has been, the kid chose to eat at home.  Can you believe?  Now what she chose to eat were some insanely expensive steaks, but they were worth every penny, and we had a wonderful time.

So, this crazy experiment that has made her so miserable, this attempt to recalibrate and reset our eating priorities may, just possibly, have caused the teeniest, tiniest shift in her eating choices.  And in the rest of ours as well.  I'm almost afraid to say it out loud.

This just might work.

Mutiny

G this morning had a total meltdown when she asked when the project was over.  For whatever reason (a/k/a I didn't tell them because it would cause unnecessary pain), she wasn't aware that the project is intended to be 11 months long.  She asked how long we've been on it.  I said 95 days.  She said it seems like much longer, and I told her that it just seems like it (a/k/a I wasn't going to count the 3 month trial we did last fall).  But then T reminded her that we had done the trial last fall (thanks) to which I replied, "we sure did the trial last fall and then for the next 40 days, we ate out about 30 times."  And I'm not exaggerating.  Clearly, we didn't stay on the project long enough to change our bad habits.  Hence, the almost-a-year without unnecessary restaurant eating.

And hence the meltdown.  G said that she thinks about restaurant food all time, and she gets jealous of all her friends who get to eat fast food all the time.  I am so very proud of myself that I chose not to point out that that wasn't really something to be jealous about and that it's a pretty first-world problem to have.  Golf clap.  I am an excellent mother and not just because I chose not to pick an even bigger fight.  And then I said that in two months, when she can drive, she can go buy an over-priced, unhealthy meal everyday if she wanted to.  In a loud, judge-y, shrew-like voice, dripping with irony and filled with disappointment at her failing me.  In short, exactly what works with almost-16-year-olds.  Um, you can cancel that Best Mom Ever plaque.


Once she had left for school, T and I discussed the meltdown, and he, very astutely, said that it's about control.  And isn't it always?  Being about the most controlling person IN THE WORLD, I should have seen that coming.  And yes, this project is about controlling what we eat and how much we spend.  And yes, as the only cook in the family, I am pretty much the Idi Amin of our kitchen (although I do take requests).  But it's still control that I have and she doesn't.  Lifestyle change clearly doesn't come easy.  In fact, it sucks.


So then, I began to ask myself, am I really doing the right thing by legislating everything they are eating for an entire year?  Or am I creating food issues that didn't exist before?  As a kid with weight issues who grew up into an adult with weight issues, it's hard to find the line between educating your kids about diet and exercise and just pissing them off, pushing them to eat just to get back at you.  And I still don't know where that line is.   


But I do know this.  When I picked G up from school today, I offered to take her to the new (okay, now, not so new) Schlotzsky's that all the kids were talking about and making her jealous.  And I was seriously okay for her to go, even if it meant having to own up to it here.  I almost wanted her to say yes because I wondered if the sandwich in her head really would match the reality.  But she turned me down.  She said she really didn't want it now.  She just wants to be off the project.  She wants to be able to have fast food once in a while.  But she also said that we aren't very good at once in a while.  So, she thinks she can wait.  She's very focused on our beach trip.  Only 30 more days.  And I may let her choose where we go for Mother's Day.


I love that kid.

I'm Getting There. Locally.

All the way home from my errands and Costco, all I could think about was Mighty Fine Burgers.  There is a specific taste and smell to the entire place, just the right size burger, no cheese required, crispy crinkle fries, salt and pepper on the tables.  Now, even the quickest glance at the QC will tell you that we have hamburgers quite often here at Casa O - they're easy, they're quick, they're tasty.  And with the lean beef or ground sirloin, not all that bad for you.  But they never quite measure up to Mighty Fine. So, what is the magic to eating out?

I don't know the answer to that question, but it pervades.  G was telling me last week that she dreams about eating out in class.  When I asked her what restaurant she dreams about, she said, "all of them.  I think about it all the time.  Texican, Dan's, Maudies, Taco Cabana.  I spend whole classes thinking about it."  Now, she's the one that wasn't going to be in love with the idea of the project from the get-go, but I have to say that even I can kind of get what she's saying.

Because fast food/restaurant food is absolutely pervasive.  On my circle trip of errands while the kids are in tutoring, I pass the following:

Taco Bell
Chipotle
Mama Fu's Chinese
Subway
Schlotzsky's
Mighty Fine Burgers
Carino's
River City Coffee and Bakery
Zen Japanese
Longhorn Steakhouse
BJ's Brewhouse
Doc's Backyard
Which Wich (I think)
Dickey's BBQ
Wendy's
Serrano's Mexican
Potbelly Sandwiches
Mandola's Italian kitchen
Taco Cabana
Wings To Go
Chuy's Mexican
Cheddar's
Firehouse Subs
Kerbey Lane
P Terry's
And that's just the ones I can think of right now.

All of these are located on the maybe two mile loop.   And they were mostly all busy, or at least occupied to some degree.  This business makes money, and a lot of it.  It also, to be fair, employs a lot of people.   Here's the reality, according to the restaurant industry themselves:

2012 RESTAURANT INDUSTRY OVERVIEW

• Sales: $632 billion
• Locations: 970,000
• Employees: 12.9 million — one of the largest private-sector employers
• Restaurant-industry share of the food dollar: 48%

TOP TEN FACTS IN 2012

• $1.7 billion: Restaurant-industry sales on a typical day in 2012.
• 1.4 million: Number of positions the restaurant industry will add in the next decade.
• Restaurant-industry job growth has outpaced the national economy in 12 consecutive years, from 2000 through 2011.
• 93%: Percentage of eating-and-drinking place businesses that have fewer than 50 employees.
• 7 out of 10 eating-and-drinking place establishments are single-unit operations.
• 66% of adults say their favorite restaurant foods provide flavor and taste sensations which cannot easily be duplicated in their home kitchen.
• One-half of all adults have worked in the restaurant industry at some point in their lives, and one-third got their first job experience in a restaurant.
• 80% of restaurant owners said their first job in the restaurant industry as an entry-level position.
• $2,505: Average household expenditure on food away from home in 2010.
• 38%: Percent of adults who said they would be likely to utilize a smartphone app if it was offered by a quickservice restaurant.

Get more details in our 2012 Restaurant Industry Forecast.

Source:  http://www.restaurant.org/research/facts/ (highlighting is mine)

All that food, with all that salt, all those calories, all those preservatives, or not, as far as you know.  I'm not sure if it's a plus or a drawback that you don't know what's going into your food when you eat out.  And maybe people don't care.   If that many people think they can't replicate the taste at home, maybe that's a tradeoff that they're willing to make.  And how can you not think about outside food when you're bombarded with it all the time?

And I'll be honest, I almost packed it in today.  Not for any real reason other than I really, really wanted an over salted, over greasy, over large meal.  But I didn't do it.  Mostly because today was LOCAL DAY!  Well, that, and I'd already made dinner.

Okay, there's no such thing as local day.  I made that up.  But I'd be lying if I said that I didn't kick some locavore ass today.  I started the day with R. at the market day at Boggy Creek Farm where there was chard!  And eggs!  And spring onions!  And little, bitty, baby squashes!   There's only one thing you can do with that:  Quiche!  Squash and onions!

Other than the whole wheat pie crusts from Central Market and the low sodium bacon and parmesan from the Costco, everything in our dinner tonight was local.  The eggs were from JFTB's sister's chicken, the leeks from the farm box and the chard from Boggy Creek.  Our veg was tiny baby zucchini and yellow squash and spring onions sauteed in olive oil.  We did have some multigrain toast from the La Brea bakery, but that's usually a breakfast item, so I'm letting it ride.

T. was home, and we actually sat around the table, all four of us, and ate our local meal at our local home.  And it was wonderful.  But does that mean I'm not going to miss the Mighty Fine?

No, it does not.

Dammit.

Why My Feet Look Like This

So, this past week, T. and I embarked on a little project.  Well, not so little.  As in it took both of us two full days to actually build the things not to mention several days to plan, amass materials, and return items several times to actually get the right thing.  The returns lady at the Lowe's knows my first name now.  Sigh.


In addition, I can't get the mud off my feet.  I wore rubber clogs the whole time, but the long hours in the mud/clay of Central Texas and the permanently gooey state of my shoes has left these horrible brown (burnt siena in the 64 box) stains on my feet.  It's so bad that I had to wear socks at yoga yesterday, which never leads to good things.  And I will save you the description of what's under my toenails.  And I've showered every day since Sunday.  Maybe.  Okay.  Just once.  Okay.  Yesterday.

Everything took a really long time because we were creating this design from scratch, incorporating ideas from gardens we liked the looks of but couldn't afford and gardens we could afford but didn't like the looks of.  The basic premise and what we used for our fencing (cages) came from Square Foot Gardening (also the reason for the small beds and grids), the Suwanee, GA extension service and the Austin Food Bank.  There's also great information at the SFG Forum.  


I also had a most expert tutorial and demonstration from my friend, R, another recovering lawyer turned mom turned gardener.  It really does help to actually SEE what you're going for. If you can, go find someone who's doing the square foot thing and ask to visit.  She might even offer you her leftover seed.  Most of R's seed love has already sprouted in the front bed.
  
And for our new beds, what started as a mish-mash of ideas has turned into something really beautiful and that we're really proud of.  Even the girls are excited to help keep the gardens going.

We started with bare ground along the edge of a new granite gravel pathway.
The poles are electrical conduit (a/k/a/ cheap fencing) is for the garden cages that we built later.

After tilling the soil where the beds would go, we built a frame from UNTREATED pine (cedar was crazy expensive) boards 12" high.  We bought these handy, dandy (but NOT cheap) corners from Gardener's Supply Co.  We decided to spend the money here because having a place to put our supports kept us from having to build a giant deer fence around all three beds.  Because the damn deer eat everything.

We removed about half of the tilled soil and supplemented with several bags of organic Hill Country Garden Soil from Natural Gardener and Turkey Compost, which is what Larry told us to buy.

After making my square foot grid, I planted both transplants and seeds.  My goal was to grow only what I will be able to either eat or can for later:  tomatoes, tomatillos, and peppers from transplants, pickling cucumbers, radishes, and squash from seed.

So, the final product (late on day 2) was beautiful.  We also spent some real money on the fence panels because they provide structural support.  Still far, far cheaper than fencing the entire area.  Other than the fencing, all the metal caging and hardware came from the electrical aisle at the Lowe's.
T. has promised to put together a materials list.  Check back for details.

Now, I just have to wait to see what all comes up!


And get a pedicure.

Dear Maudies,

How I love you.  How I love your tortilla chips and spicy salsa.  How I love the queso even though it doesn't have any discernible peppers or other bits to entice me.  Or perhaps because it doesn't have any vegetables in it to spoil it.


I miss you, Maudies.  I miss the Maggie's Plate with the one beef taco and the one cheese enchilada, yes, with onions, duh, and the chips with queso.  Didn't I just mention queso as an appetizer?  Yes, and I'm having it with my meal, too.


I drive by you almost every day.  Some days I get really close to you because you are on the way to math tutoring.  And you are right by that grocery store that I only go to in emergencies and on Sunday afternoons when I just need a couple of things because it is too expensive and, therefore, never crowded.


I want you to know it's not you.  It's me.  It's not you.  IT'S ME!


You see, we want different things.  You want me to eat there, and I cannot because I am on the project.  I know it's not fair to ask you to wait for me.  You deserve to be happy with your other paying diners and people who come for happy hour and free chips.  But I will always love you.  I think about you everyday.  You will always be in my heart.  I just wish you were in my tummy, too.


Love,
Me

I love you. Now, get out.

No one believes me when I tell them that I am an introvert.  I am loud and love a good party, as long as I know and like everyone there, which means that I don't go to many parties.  I talk a lot if I feel comfortable.  I love cuss words.  None of these things, however, makes one an extrovert.


I am an introvert in the classic sense that I get my energy (or recharge my batteries) by being alone.  I can be at your party, or teach your class, or spend the weekend with you, but as a result, I will have to lie in a fetal position in my room for the rest of the week.  Alone.  I will not be able to answer the phone or go anywhere.  Or do anything.  For a while.


Which makes lengthy school holidays tricky.  And vacations.  Because as much as I love my family, and I do, passionately, I also don't really want to be around them for that long.  Four people sharing a hotel room and a car and a dining table for five days is rough.  And then, when the vacation is over, they come home with me.


Which makes tomorrow the best day ever.  The first day of school after a holiday.   Last kid gone by 8 am.  First kid not picked up until 5 pm.


Don't call me.

Small Victories

So, we're back.  We had a wonderful time, if 33 percent shorter a time than expected. We had pool time.  We had spring training baseball.

We had the Phoenix Zoo, which was great.  Our super-cute waitress had told us it was only "okay."  Then she asked us if we'd been to the San Diego Zoo.  We hadn't.  "Oh, then," she said, "you'll love it.  Everything's kinda lame after San Diego."  We loved it.


We made some friends.

And I will call you Squishy.  And you will be mine.

Just like at home.

In the car on the way to the airport, G said, "I think I'm ready to go back on the project.  I don't feel so well."  Score.


She's not kidding.  Let me just tell you, turns out that this project is about more than saving money and living sustainably.  It's about much more than that.  Why?  Well, at the risk of going all Supersize Me on you, there's nothing "regular" about that regular-sized combo meal.  Ugh.  I can't button any of my pants.  My face is a mess.  I've got zits in some places and freaky dry scaly patches in others.  It's like Jurrassic Park IV.  The kids feel like shit and so do T and I.  And we did not go all crazy vaca at every meal.  Yes, there were some desserts.  There were some sandwiches.  But there were also salads.  And vegetables.  And some lean meats that did not necessarily come on a bun.


There is something that goes wrong with that much eating out.  I don't know if it's salt content or preservatives or just portion size, but there's almost no way, no matter how mindful you are, to eat "right" when you're forced to eat out for every meal.  Yuck.


And if G is glad to be back on the project, you know it's big.


Welcome home!