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And my journal just became a time warp. I wrote this entry on Sunday, but am posting it this morning, so tomorrow’s news got posted here. LOL
July 21, 2013 (Sunday)
It’s funny how your perception changes over time. Having been a calorie counter before being Primal-ly oriented, my servings of rice have been small for a very long time. 90+% of the time if I’m cooking just for me, I’ll use ¼ cup dry. Sometimes when I’m really in the mood for rice and it’s not being used to mellow a stir-fry, I’ll use ½ cup dry. I like my rice gooey rather than fluffy, so I kind of cook it twice. IOW, when it’s done cooking the first time, I add water and cook it again.
But I digress. I was watching Guy Fieri’s cooking show because it was about tomatoes and I loves me some tomatoes. He made a meat dish with some peppers, blah blah. Anyway, it was to go over rice. When he put the huge freakin’ quantity of rice on the plate, all I could think was that it was enough rice to feed a small army.
However, except for the ¾ cup of flour, I think I’m going to try his Heirloom Nitro Tomato Soup Recipe : Guy Fieri : Recipes : Food Network .
Oh, the Guido's Lomo Saltado Recipe : Guy Fieri : Recipes : Food Network that he made puts french fries over rice. Geez, Guy, do a push up, wouldja? For all the fuss that folks make about Paula Deen (because fat women are the punching bags of the culture), no one ever says anything about some of his recipes. <<<< Oh look – it’s a bitch for the Bitchapalooza.
The egg diet in the Nutrition forum reminded me of one summer in my youth. It was either the summer between 10th and 11th grade, or the one between 11th and 12th grade. I had been given the option to go (further) upstate and spend the summer with my mom and grandparents, or to stay home with my father. Since I had slimmed down and become one of the popular hippie girls, I decided to stay near my friends.
My dad at this point was pretty much a hands-off parent. Two rules: Get good grades and don’t get pregnant. I could do that. Occasionally he’d look into my room and leave me a note saying that he couldn’t see my floor, so I would throw all the crap into my closet to keep him happy. He didn’t even get upset when my friends and I painted a big sun with zodiac signs on my ceiling. His only comment was that he was glad we didn’t do it on the hardwood floor.
All of this meant that I was basically on my own for the summer. Which at 16 or 17 was very cool indeed. Every morning, we’d either have coffee together, or he’d leave before I was awake. But regardless, every morning, he’d leave me a $20 bill.
To put that into perspective for those lucky enough to be much younger than I, $20 in the early 1970s could buy you an ounce of brown Mexican pot. It wasn’t nearly as good as today’s marijuana, but it got you high, and it was what was most available to me at the time. Cooler yet was that for $45 you could buy a quarter pound of the stuff. This meant that if you had even a smidge of enterprise in you, you bought the quarter pound, sold two ounces, and had two ounces for yourself for a measly $5. And in the barter world, a few joints could be traded for a hit or two of acid.
What does all of this have to do with eggs? I lived on them for that summer. Wiki says that a dozen eggs cost about 65c at that time and that jibes with what I remember. I learned to make scrambled eggs with just about anything else that was in the house. This was easy because my dad ate all kinds of neat stuff in jars and cans. There was also usually some kind of lunch meat around and that goes into eggs very well. Fried, poached, basted, or scrambled – I was the egg girl.
I find it interesting that people think this might harm a person. For years, even though we’ve been getting fatter and sicker, people have been living on chemical-ized fast foods and not even questioning the nutrition. We stuff bread and potatoes fried in nasty over-used oil into our mouths and call it food. So by my way of thinking, making eggs a mainstay, or even the only thing one eats for awhile, is totally healthy.
By the end of that summer, I could have written a book called “How to Stay Wasted on $20 a Day.” I discovered LSD, speed, and even drinking to excess (my least favorite high). I learned about supply and demand. And amazingly, my savings account grew quite a bit. The occasional slice (of pizza) or even a hero (sub) certainly didn’t eat into my newly found wealth, and the eggs kept me from needing to spend much on food unless I wanted to do so.
I realized quickly that the $20 a day was a tacit agreement between us that I could do as I pleased (add don’t get arrested to the Two Rule list) because he was going to do what he pleased which meant he sometimes didn’t come home at night. This saddened me, but since I lived pretty much by my rules at a young age, I didn’t judge him as much for this as one might think.
Summer came to an end. Mom and little brother came home. And my allowance shrank back to its more normal sum of $20/week. This was a little tough until I learned about part-time jobs. And of course, my newly-found talent of getting two ounces of pot for $5 helped quite a bit. Heh.
Another example of liberal parenting not being a bad thing. My parents always told me that if all my friends were wasted, I could call them at any hour for a ride home and there would be no repercussions. I only tested this once. And sure as shit, my father arrived in that boat he drove (Plymouth Fury III) in his bathrobe and slippers.* His hair was standing straight up (a Brylcreem user) which means he literally jumped out of bed and came to get me. No recriminations for being at a party where people “drank.” Nothing but a ride home and his expressed relief that I had called him instead of taking a chance with one of my “drunken” friends.
*My father slept in the nude, but my teenaged brain put boxers on him under that robe. Surely, even as batshit crazy as he was, he didn’t get in the car with his junk waving freely under his robe!
In the end, my relationship with him ended badly, but his hands-off style of parenting his fiercely independent and opinionated teenage daughter worked for us.
Saturday’s food: Coffee with a half tbsp of butter. An avocado. Ummm… er… okay it’s true. A 12” Spicy Italian from Subway. :::hangs head in shame::: I have no excuse. There’s plenty of food in the house. There’s even ground beef and eggs, so I could have cooked something that didn’t take much time. I just wanted a hero. Their bread is doughier than I remember. I’ll probably wait another three years to eat another one.
P.S. It’s Sunday and it’s raining. My favorite weather and day of the week. The only way this day could get better would be if I could spend it in bed with someone for whom I had genuine affection. Gettin’ laid is easy. Gettin’ love-laid is a much tougher gig to find.
OMG, this is so cute. In a “My Life was Saved Because You Can’t Get a Good Confit Out of Me” kind of way. Hahaha (It’s only a minute and 50 seconds)
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