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.

Steak, pasta, Panda bowl

Lunch was a bowl of chicken-flavor ramen which I found hiding in the office cupboard. I enhanced this with one-third of a bell pepper, diced, which was in the fridge. I swiped this from the GSU one day, feeling righteous affront in the face of Dining Services' wasteful habit of using bins of fresh vegetables as decoration. Hot water from the Keurig, and half a sachet each of mustard and ketchup. Really, really horrible.

Then Ryne came by and said, let's get lunch. Not wanting him to go without a peer, I joined him at a table in the GSU. I had a "Panda Bowl" from Panda Express: a scoop of vegetables topped with a scoop of sickly-sweet "orange chicken."

Over the course of the day, perhaps 8 Hershey's miniatures.

Dinner: a slice of wheat bread with oleo; 2/5s of a steak, broiled in the oven, with a small amount of fresh chopped onion, salt and pepper, and olive oil for flavor. A helping of braised "baby" carrots (butter and brown sugar). About one-and-a-half servings of pasta, cooked whole-wheat noodles with fresh grated parmesan, canned peas, and a small amount of spicy brown mustard and mayonnaise. With, yes, a tall glass of Keurig-made iced tea. 

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.

If it hurts, don't do it

No better reason to restart this exercise in self-observation, than this article in the Atlantic, on the secretly piggedly natures of foodies. Here's B.R. Myers quoting Todd Kliman from one of the Best Food Writing anthology:

I watched tears streak down a friend’s face as he popped expertly cleavered bites of chicken into his mouth … He was red-eyed and breathing fast. “It hurts, it hurts, but it’s so good, but it hurts, and I can’t stop eating!” He slammed a fist down on the table. The beer in his glass sloshed over the sides. “Jesus Christ, I’ve got to stop!” 

Back to a more disciplined habit of consumption with me. We'll start with lunch. 

Grazing like a gazelle at the holiday party

Feeling colicky, I stayed at home from work, the nearer (my god) to be to thee (the restroom). Louisa, if she's reading this, will probably blame my crap diet for my crapulous gut, but I know better: bacterial conspiracy, deliberate, clandestine, dangerous.

Before Jenna left for her day, I made a five-egg omelet with a small handful of shredded cheddar cheese, condimented by ketchup and Frank's per her preference. I ate less than half of this.

After a few hours of waxing and waning (bed-rest and sickness), I roused myself because, under the weather or not, I had to prepare for the party at night. I cleaned the house and prepared food, much of which I nibbled on in a small way during prep. The menu:

• turkey keilbasa pan-fried with garlic
• turkey keilbasa pan-fried with grape tomatoes
• cocktail meatballs, in a sweet-and-sour sauce made of ketchup and grape jelly
• crudité, consisting of cucumber, celery, baby carrots, and steamed green beans
• bruschetta of whole-wheat Triscuit crackers (rosemary, and black pepper flavors, I think I recall), with a topping of roasted diced tomatoes with vinegar, oil, sugar, salt, pepper, and herbs
• bean dip, of cannellini white beans, vinegar, olive oil, herbs, a bit of mayo, and a bit of horseradish cream sauce
• fillo cups with a filling of smashed white potatoes with broiled bacon, horseradish, and cheddar cheese
• baked ziti, with low-fat ricotta, an outofajar ragout with onions, peppers, and mushrooms, and shredded mozzarella
• brownies

There were cookies, of course -- dulche de leche and coco Maria cookies, generic sandwich cookies, some fudgey crisp graham cracker things Erin brought, the whole gamut -- as well as other nosh: caper berries, stuffed olives, cashews. A real colorful mish-mash it was. And much to drink; I stuck mostly to calimocho or plain diet cola. Jenna obstructed my plan to sneak a glass of low-fat eggnog. Horrid of her, I know, but people get crazy around the holidays, you know. Many sips of the open bottles were had -- a raspberry ale Ethan and Erin had brought, a muscadet from our own wine rack, whatever was being passed.

I didn't eat so much, really; just browsing throughout the evening. When I went to bed, I wasn't groaningly full (not like the day before, as I pushed away from the table, admitting defeat to my enchilada), but I still felt pleasingly decadent.

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.

Back again with two quick meals

Breakfast: a packet of Hostess Twinkies given to me by a faculty member with more brains than appetite. Lunch, at 11:30: a slide of cheese pizza from T Anthony's, purloined from the faculty grading party going on in our conference room, washed down by a mugful of Sprite I found in the fridge. I will now have some water. There, that should neatly cancel out the calories from the soda. Right? Help.

I couldn't resume my blogging earlier? As last week, when I had a lovely meal with mah gal over at Grafton Street? Or earlier this week, at a birthday party in Allston held at a great Indian restaurant, or last month when one of the faculty shared leftovers from a Persian class dinner the night before -- khoresht e baamieh, oh la la. No. I had to restart with Junk Food Friday. 

* 

A question for the day: in the long run, will the money I save by scavenging food and eating food gifts, by more than the money I have to pay to remedy all the health problems I develop from eating pizza and snack cakes regularly?