OK, it's official: I'm feeling better since my post-Prozac depression. Whew. Sigh. Thank goodness. If you don't believe me, just look back at what a cooking monster I've been all week. And today was no exception.
For breakfast I used a new kind of almond milk and diced up some strawberries for my oatmeal. I also added cinnamon and vanilla extract. I like to watch it bubble...mmm.
Before I eat it:
To be honest, I've never really understood the craze about oatmeal. I mean, when it's covered in sugary things of course it tastes good--duh. But I hesitate to pour brown sugar on anything so early in the morning and thus I've never really thought oatmeal sounded that good. I'd much rather have toast and peanut butter with some fruit. But lately I've started eating it because it keeps me full for a long time. And when you eat every single f-ing bite with some kind of nut butter it really pumps up what can be a pretty boring food.
After breakfast I went for a run at the gym, followed by a Body Pump class. Instead of beeline-ing it to Whole Foods after class, I was responsible and came home for lunch. David says we can't afford to spend 90% of our income on prepared foods at Whole Foods anymore, so today I ate a bunch of beans that I cooked in the skillet, along with some asiago cheese, hot sauce, and brown rice chips. Geez I'm a hippy freak.
Dinner was another pasta dish. Again, I don't usually like pasta, but I'm really giving it a whirl since I had pasta at our friend Rob's house. Tonight I tried making my own pesto to throw on some pasta and zucchini.
This looks all professional and clean. But this is what the countertop looks like:
Yah. That "pesto" is really just me throwing cashews, basil, asiago cheese, and a boatload of olive oil into our blender. I'm too lazy to even get out the nice food processor my Mom got us for last Christmas. I can't even imagine cleaning the f-ing thing. (Sorry, Mom.)
Everything was going really well, and I had everything cooked and ready to throw all together when Haruki decided to go MIA on us. So instead of tossing the pasta, the zucchini, and the pesto together in one orgasmic Italian-esque pasta moment, I had to leave everything sitting on the counter while David and I walked around our house calling for the dog. We found her, eventually, freaking her shit about some little creature hiding underneath some boards stacked up at our neighbor's house.
Anyway, by the time we got her back and I tossed everything together, the noodles had hardened a bit and looked like this:
Sigh. At least it tasted good, and David seemed to enjoy it.
Seriously! I swear it was good and he did like it!!
*How much do you care about how a food looks? i.e., will you still eat something even if it looks like vomit?