Cereal war; Chinese revolutions; afternoon snacking

When I wandered into the kitchen, J. was there finishing a bowl of Cinnamon Life cereal. I poured in about a serving of Frost Mini-Wheats, thinking to stretch her milk -- but when I turned back around after returning the box to the cabinet, she'd already eaten most of the new cereal! It's like a war zone sometimes. So, breakfast before brunch: a few bites of cereal. The remnants. The survivors.

On the way to brunch -- with the Greater Boston Humanists, in Cambridge -- I had a diet Mountain Dew. Once there, we shared in a meal service Chinese-American-lazy-Susan-style: dumplings, scallion pancake, battered fish in a tangy sauce with peppers and onions, beef with broccoli (!), shrimps with noodles, another noodle dish, canned chunk pineapple served in a heap with toothpicks, fortune cookies.

After, a half-pint of "Le saisonniere" at Cambridge Brewing Company. On the ride home, some comfort food -- a NutRageous bar split with J.; a few swigs each of her diet cola and her fusion hot drink, a blend of 7-11's bananas foster-flavored cappuccino and hot cocoa; a very few of her sachet of honey-roasted peanuts; four of her vanilla-wafer cookies.

At home, between rounds of cat care and laundry sorting, I made a dinner of sauteed chicken flavored with turmeric, with peas and some whole wheat, shell-shaped pasta, in a sauce of mayonnaise, Parmesan, and herbs. Cat care left me without an appetite, so J. had dinner and I kept sorting laundry.

On the drive back to Lunenburg, we stopped for gas and I got the now-too-sleepy-to-live J. a bottle of zero-calorie cola, which we shared.

In bed, processing books for online sale, I knocked back a can of the ol' diet Mountain Dew. I have to kick this stuff.

Bridal shower crumb-collecting, and pizza for two different reasons

In the morning, I swigged half a bottle of kiwi-strawberry fizzy water from the nightstand. Also a chocolate truffle from a dish in the kitchen... they were just there.

Foregoing a real breakfast -- perhaps discouraged from eating by the crap habits of the past two days? -- I was next made to feed when Joe and I stopped by the aftermath of J.'s sister's bridal shower. I had a mouthful of warm mimosa that taste and smelled like cooled sweat; a glass of cranberry juice and another of water; a vanilla bridal shower cupcake; an Italian anise cookie; a bite or two of pecan roll; a wheat mini-bagel with cream cheese; some kind of ruggalah-like pastry; and a bite of an intensely pink, crumbly Italian cookie. Realizing that man was not meant to live on cookies alone, I walked next door and bought a slice (well, they come in orders of two slices each) of barbecue-chicken pizza from Sal's, and had a bottle of diet cola with that.

We went to a movie, J. and I, and avoided buying concessions: a small victory. AFTER, though, we stopped at Taco Bell, and I had a "Fresca"-style chicken burrito, and my part of a large diet cola.

Back at the house, we snacked late in the afternoon. I had two slices of reheated pizza, and a sip or two of J.'s chicken-and-stars Soup at Hand product. Also half of a peanut-butter-and-banana sandwich on wheat bread.

At around ten o'clock, a knock on the door was heard knocking on the door -- J's mother wanting to know if we want some of the food they'd brought back from Texas Roadhouse. So, J. and I toddled downstairs, and split a plate of chicken-fried-chicken and mashed potatoes, covered (not heavily) with a white gravy. I had a can of diet Mountain Dew, just like I did earlier in the day with that reheated pizza.

As I'm typing this entry (and as I experience a flush of consternation, at how erratic today's eating was, and how unhealthy), I'm looking forward to a midnight snack of water and vanilla-frosted cookie.

Continental breakfast, chicken lunch, a nonsensible dinner

I woke J. up to go to Dunkin Donuts with me -- her favorite way to start the day, in these days before the days when we'll have a griddle in the kitchen and the luxury of time to use it -- but I realized there was no time so breakfast had to be skipped again.

When I got to work, parents on campus with their incoming freshmen were milling about with paper plates in the lobby outside my office. I put my things down and helped myself to a little of their continental breakfast -- a cinnamon raisin bagel with light cream cheese and marmalade; a small piece of poundcake; two apples. I ate the pastry, but the apples sat on my desk all day -- Monday snacks? I drank water with this.

But then, oh happy day, J. shows up after her job interview, and in high spirits. Off to Raising Cane's chicken restaurant! [J. says: "It's not a restaurant."] I had three chicken fingers with their tangy sauce, fries, cole slaw, and a piece of greasy Texas toast. Great stuff, right? J. had brought food from the convenience store next door for herself, and shared her pretzel-filled M&Ms. I drank diet cola with this feast.

At Panera, during poetry discussion with the one other person who showed up for workshop, I had a half a turkey sandwich, with a bowl of their new (conveniently low-cal) soup, chicken orzo with lemon. Also diet cola with lemon.

At North Station, J. met me with a diet Mountain Dew, and shared a slice of pizza from the concourse with me (buffalo chicken with banana peppers?) on the train.

Before bed, we were goaded into sampling princess-crown-shaped sugar cookies. I had just the one.

Qdoba for lunch was more than enough

Skipped breakfast, so around one o'clock I made a peanut-butter-and-reduced-sugar-raspberry-jelly sandwich, on wheat bread.

J. eventually arrived at campus, and we went to Qdoba in Kenmore Square for lunch. I had a poblano pesto chicken burrito, and I asked for only a light helping of cheese and sour cream. We also split a chocolate chip cookie, she and I, and, on impulse, a cheese quesadilla. I had a bite of her taco salad, and did not like it much; no tortilla for architectural interest, and an overwhelming salsa. Diet cola with lime.

During the workday, the department director came into the office with a free sample of some new Starbucks concoction -- about two ounces of thick coffee drink over ice, with a drizzle of chocolate or caramel over some whipped cream. It was gone in an instant.

I also drank water during the day. After work, for the train ride home, I got a diet Mountain Dew, and a Nutrageous bar to share with J.

The Qdoba was hearty enough, so I didn't feel any need for dinner. At home, at around eleven, J. whipped up two batches of microwave mini-bags of popcorn, 100 calories each. We shared these in bed, and went to sleep.

Unlock achievement: sherbet glut

Breakfast, courtesy Patty Dee's Kitchen Griddle, was four pancakes with oleo and (corn-syrup-based) syrup. Wait, no, five, since when my back was turned, someone -- J.? -- placed an extra flapjack on my plate. Sneaky. Also a can of Coke Zero, since my feet were dragging after a restless night sleeping in a stuffy room. I've learned that feng shui is a barrowful of bunk, so there's probably no solution to the stuffiness problem.

Lunch was a bucketful (alright, a take-out-container-from-Olive-Garden-ful) of Sunday's leftovers: one-and-a-quarter chicken breasts, a single strip of grilled sirloin [For efficiency's sake, let's call that "grilloin"? - Ed.], and two cups or so of spicy Zatarain's rice mix. Also several mugfuls of water, essential for washing down the aforementioned rice.

Dinner was a spontaneous stop into the Beantown Pub, where we'd previously enjoyed an evening with raucous compatriot Ryne H. I had a turkey reuben sandwich of sorts, with turkey breast, Swiss cheese, and sauerkraut, on a bulky roll. Also a nice cauliflower side, and I had one bite of my sad-looking pickle. Sad.

We went to a movie -- X-Men: First Class, a tepid and overly-expository affair made a little prettier by a gleefully serious performance by Michael Fassbender as Magneto -- and then we went home. I make a note of this only to point out that we did not glut ourselves on concessions, which is, by any account, an improvement to our record.

At home, though, the gnawing sensation of hunger began to nibble in J.'s trunk. I hopped out of bed to reconnoiter the freezer, and brought back a good kill: half a half-gallon carton of black raspberry sherbet. She was put off by the ice crystals which had formed inside, though, so set it aside on the nightstand. Where I found it at 3 in the morning when I couldn't sleep.

So ad to my kill count for the day, about three-and-a-half servings of sherbet. The disappointment I feel is matched in intensity and depth by the distress of my GI tract.

Tomfoolery at Texas Roadhouse; a Zachary-Daiquiri

Breakfast was a bowl of Frosted Mini-Wheats in skim milk, with a coupla blue berries.

Lunch: a reheated bin of leftovers, consisting of sweet-and-sour pork strips, two tired teriyaki chicken wings, vegetables in a gooey sauce, and white rice blended with the Zatarain's jambalaya dish from Sunday evening.

On the train ride home, I had a package of Keebler's peanut-butter-and-jelly crackers, and a bottle of Diet Mountain Dew.

For dinner, J. and I redeemed a meal voucher at Texas Roadhouse in Leominster. I had a few forkfuls of her sweet potato (undressed, meow) and of her baked beans, and a little dish of steamed veggies, two of their fresh-baked rolls with butter, two-and-a-half glasses of diet cola, half of the half a roasted chicken we split, a Caesar salad, and my portion of the basket of jalapeno-and-cheddar "Rattlesnake Bites" we ordered as an appetizer. Below, Jeremy Teel of Texas Roadhouse shows Good Morning Kentucky's Kellie Wilson how to make these tasty little fat pills:



We had some fun with our meal, since we quickly got bored with the restaurant's entertainment options (namely, shell-your-own-peanuts and make-goofy-faces-at-the-kid-in-the-adjoining-booth). Photo, copyright 2011 Jenna Dee:

At home, before bed at 11 or so, I made J. a daiquiri, with an ounce of rum; a splash each of Chambord, lemon juice, and Chardonnay; a cup of cube ice; fresh sliced strawberries, and a few chunks of watermelon. It was the best damn daiquiri I've ever tasted. J. thought so too, since she only gave me a taste. Greedy thing.

No cookie before bed tonight.

Bun scraps, French-Cambodian fusery, the whole damn cookie

Part of the "rind" or outer whorl of a Pillsbury cinnamon bun, rejected by J. in a fit of culinary pique. A Pillsbury biscuit, left over from dinner the night before, with oleo and apple butter. A can of diet Mountain Dew.

A work lunch at Elephant Walk, Brookline -- salad of spring greens, pamplemousse with a drizzle of balsamic, and a goat cheese galette. Entree, a pan-roasted cod fillet over a raft of spinach, with cheddar cheese gnocchi and a cheddar-wine sauce. Also five pieces of the little baguette-ette bread they brought to the table, with butter, and five glasses of water. Five!

At the Clarion meeting at Panera at six, a toffee-chip cookie, recommended by the counter girl as "the best kind'.

At 10:30, when we had arrived back in Lunenburg (following a failed attempt to redeem a gift certificate at Texas Roadhouse in Leominster -- they'd closed early!), dinner was two inches of (I think chicken) kielbasa with a half cup or so of vegetables -- red potatoes, mushrooms, green beans. We hotted up some fish sticks in the microwave to augment our meager portions: four for each of us, with a 'tartar sauce' concocted out of bottles I found in the fridge -- a smidge of cream horseradish, some buttermilk ranch dressing, some sweet pickle relish, a dollop of asiago-peppercorn dressing.

Feeling my oats, I had a WHOLE vanilla-frosted cookie before bed. Also another glass of water.

*

J. has been calling me out for explaining this or that trait or preference as "faux flaws", that is, things I'm actually proud of but about which I'd feel boastful if I didn't seem to apologize for them. I think she's full of beans, as a rule, but it is a useful thing to watch out for. Maybe it is a faux flaw, this affected report of having been tortured by the feelings accompanying my consumption of an ENTIRE cookie? Or maybe I'm trying to perform indignation, so that my relationship with food eventually changes to align with my false outrage. Maybe a cookie would help me think about this.

Beginning again, with two cinnamon dishes

Two iced Pillsbury cinnamon buns in the car ride from Longwood Drive to the Shirley commuter rail station, with a can of diet Mountain Dew (followed by immediate cardiac arrest, or nearly). At work, a slice of cheesecake around 2 PM, courtesy Sassan's wife's aunt. Then a round piece of chocolate flavored with orange bits, from England I'm told by the Dean that offered it from the package when he passed by my desk. Perhaps three-quarters of a liter of Diet Pepsi during work on the Core journal, with student editors hovering around me. Dinner was Taco Bell: a "$5 box" with a hard taco, a cheesy, greasy burrito, and some kind of two-ply taco consisting of hard taco wrapped in refried beans, frijoles refritos, and a flour tortilla. Also a paper sack of cinnamon twists, a bite of J.'s chicken burrito, and a cup of Diet Pepsi. A day without vegetables; sigh.

Leftovers for lunch, Longhorn later

After skipping breakfast -- knowing all the while that this is not a good way to start the day off good -- I had lunch at 11 at my desk, a binful of last night's leftovers: a strip of broiled steak, a serving of braised carrots, and two or three cups of that warmed pasta with Parmesan and peas. Water from my tin bottle.

Then Jenna arrived to campus, clamoring (agreeably enough) for companionship during HER lunchbreak. So off to the GSU, where I watched her eat a Subway sammich. When she wasn't watching, I had a bite of it. Also a bag of cheddary Sun Chips, and half of a Mrs. Field's chocolate chip cookie ice cream sandwich, and some swigs from a bottle of cherry-flavored Coke Zero.

After work, we walked over to Longhorn Steakhouse with Ryne. I had an 8 oz NY strip, with seasonal vegetables swimming in thin butter, and a Caesar salad. When a salad is overdressed, let's start saying that it "wore tux and tails to the backyard barbecue." I know the red meat is fortifying, but I really do not enjoy the facts of its origin. I drank diet Coke, and had two slices of the complimentary wheat bread (full disclosure: it was heavily buttered).

When I picked up Jenna from Panera later, I had a few bites of her citrus chicken. She observed to Ryne that she is weary of having to eat faster and faster, lest the wolves descend. (In this scenario, we, Ryne and I, are the wolves.)

I had a few baby carrots before bed.

Sunday: brunch, coffee shop, late-night dinner

Brunch with the Dees at T. W. Food, which Jenna thought we should go to after seeing it reviewed favorably in that digest of gustatory quality, the Metro, Boston edition. I understand the restaurant has gotten press elsewhere, but really, once you're in the Number One Daily Free Paper in Boston, the light of attention from other outlets is simply wan, dimmer.

After sampling from the bread platter -- a chocolate-pecan scone, a muffin of some bran-apple variety I think, and two pieces of oaty bread, each with butter, and some with cranberry compote -- I ordered the feuillantine of leeks with slow-poached eggs and black trumpet mushroom cream. My "Crimson Haiku" cocktail was sake with sharp ginger beer and hibiscus syrup. I also had a bite of J.'s goat cheese omelette, and complained that I do not have a nice pan for making nice omelettes.

After brunch I stopped by Starbuck's for an hour of writing, or rather, of staring out the window. There I had a mocha frappuchino and a slide of reduced-fat banana chocolate chip coffee cake. Nothing at the movies; I'm trying to stick by my sense that concessions shorten one's lifespan and greasen one's fingers. Both unacceptable consequences.

Dinner at home, round about midnight, was a kind of chicken francaise. I boned and skinned thighs, and cut the meat into two-bites-and-it's-gone-sized chunks. After a dunk in flour, they went into a dip of whole eggs beaten when tangy mustard. Cooked on the stovetop in butter, seasoned with salt, pepper, lemon juice, and dried basil, and then after being flipped, finished with two minutes of poaching in a splash of blush wine. The batter worked excellently -- eggy, rich, buttery, and holding its form. I was just really happy with it, after a long day of doing laundry and cleaning cat mess. Sides were roasted potatoes -- olive oil, salt and pepper -- and sauteed kale (boiled for ten minutes, then cooked quickly with a little olive oil and garlic powder). Washed it all down with Keurig iced tea, our new innovation: four cups of warm tea in the pitcher with Splenda, lemon juice (sad, that we used the fake kind in the plastic squeeze, when I HAD lemon in the pantry), and ice. We went with green tea, peppermint tea, and two doses of English breakfast. Refreshing.

Before the meal, we made quesadillas for starveling J: corn tortillas, in oleo on the stovetop, with diced tomato, cumin, olive oil, and shredded cheddar.

A single-meal Sunday

Brunch with Julie A. at Border Café up on Route One, before we went to see The Fighter. My usual -- a tumbler of their orange soda (not diet -- shame, shame) and Gulf Coast seafood enchilada, with black beans instead of jambalaya, and a scoop each of sour cream and guacamole. Toxic, savory, creamy, delicious. Recognizing my folly halfway through the meal, I pulled up short, and set aside a little less than half of the plate to take-away. That, later, was dinner, reheated, with Jenna on the couch. Also three pastelitos with a sweet cilantro dipping sauce -- Julie was on the prowl for an appetizer. Following her lead, I also ordered and emptied a Corona light.

In the car on the way to the cinema, Julie shared her stash: a baggie of cake balls, leftover from a party the night before whose culinary theme had been just that: balls. Red velvet cake from a box mix, shaped into truffle-sized spheres and rolled in icing and candy sugar. Crazy good. I had maybe five.