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K is for Koekje

August 23, 2010

I googled English words borrowed from the Dutch.  Koekje is Cookie. 

C is for Cookie, it’s good enough for me – the dulcet sounds of my favorite muppet, Cookie Monster, ring in my ears.  He could grumble about cookies forever.  He is my blue furry food soulmate.

He too was put on a diet some years back – for his own good.  I happen to empathize with his out of control consumption of cookies.  He eats so fast; cookies falling every which way and, quite literally, cannot taste a thing.

I too have been known to eat without tasting.  That’s why I have to have that second cookie – so I know what I just ate.

Trying something new today – something very French.  3 meals, no snacks.

Can I make a meal out of cookies – oatmeal is practically cereal and peanut butter is protein afterall.  Perhaps I will, but not today.


Carbo carbo carbo carbo chameleon

April 13, 2010

I think it’s no secret, given the title of this blog, that the three months of veganism have passed.  My mostly vegan lifestyle, mostly vegetarian lifestyle has also gone by the wayside. The past few months have been a dieter’s nightmare – an orgy of artisan baked bread, cheeses, pork of every variety and sweet, delicious butter. I made pies, cakes, tarts, piled high with fresh fruit and creamy fillings.

I wrapped everything but the silverware in puff pastry.

It was a little slice of heaven while it lasted.  The time has now come to modify, drastically, my carbohydrate intake. In this land of bread and cheese that is Holland it’s a bit difficult to eschew carbohydrates entirely, but I must try.

Green vegetables galore, lean meats a plenty and calorie reduction in general is my recipe for health and I’m going after it for the win this time.

Odd things happen in 3’s

November 19, 2009

Walking to work this morning I passed the craziest, yet most stylish homeless lady I have ever seen.  She’s anywhere between 45 and 108 years old, long witch hair, layers of clothing color coordinated to her shoes.  Her shoes were pristine, brand new lilac old school New Balance.  The layers were all the colors of spring.  Her face was covered by a thin blue open knit scarf – possibly mohair.

I was staring at her shoes and we were about to pass when she suddenly shouted at the garbage can to my right, “Kill it, kill it ‘til it’s dead!”

We parted ways.

Some hours later I overheard part of a conversation of our resident “formerly homeless” paper seller who stands outside our building all day hawking the independently published Homeless Newspaper.

I was crossing the street when I thought I heard her say to the lady buying a paper, “Meat is evil.”

I was still getting my head around that as I picked up the lunch for my boss’ meeting. I had requested from our staff 6 Turkey Sandwiches and chips.  The order placed by helper – 5 sandwiches, 3 soups, 6 cookies.  WTF?

(un)Holy, holy, holy – lord god, almighty

November 16, 2009

Churchy people always seem to know the exact recipe for making something so wonderful into something so completely disgusting.

Churchy bible study lady was talking in the breakroom about her weekend. She went on an adults retreat to the Smokey Mountains – home of Dollywood, clog dancing, religiousity of the overly zealous variety and moonshine. In addition to a rousing bible study on Friday night the group of twenty faithful did a lot of cooking.

One brutally detailed concoction involved pancake batter poured in a bread tin with a sausage link every two inches.  Everyone got a pancake with a sausage embedded in it!!  Am I the only one who is repulsed by this?

Apparently so, because the recipe has been making its way around the office email.

Now while I am no stranger to pancakes and sausage the visual of a wane slice of batter with a bas relief sausage link is wholly unappetizing. 

The upside is you could say, “What is this piece of shit?” and mean it as more than just a figure of speech.

How soon is now?

November 13, 2009


17 more days, unless you already count this day as one down.  In which case then it’s 16 days which is just two short of 14 so I may as well just call it two weeks.

A fortnight.


November 10, 2009

For the sake of those who are unaware, I love food and I love to organize. Therefore it has always brought me immense pleasure to keep my refrigerator tidy and few things are as pleasing or fulfilling than cleaning out my refrigerator and organizing same.

The first thing I do when I enter the house is check the refrigerator, if I know you well I will check yours too. It’s just something that fascinates me – not necessarily because I am hungry, but because I like to see what’s in there. It’s a glimpse of your attitude on food and quite possibly a window to your soul.

Your refrigerator tells me what you like to eat and how you like to eat it. Do you have a ton of take out containers? A vast array of condiments? Do you have hidden moldy tidbits in the back? I take great care to keep my refrigerator free of anything older than a few days. The condiments are thrown out regularly, unless they have great packaging and then I will make a mental note to keep and not use. In fact, my refrigerator is always so clean and organized that I have used it for further organizational purposes. I keep my passport in the butter drawer and important papers in the crisper. My night cream and facial spritz are nicer cold. I keep my fancy jeans in the freezer overnight because I read an article that you shouldn’t wash them for several wearings and the freezer will rejuvenate them.

The refrigerator is my go to for all things important in my life and on Sunday it was carted away to its new owner. Not surprisingly, despite the fact I have been prepared and/or preparing for my overseas move for some time, the loss of the refrigerator has hit me the hardest. My stainless friend is gone, an empty spot where it used to live reminds me that in 20 days I leave the Dirty South for Clogidonia.

It’s oddly liberating this fresh start.


November 6, 2009

A gay homeless youth roaming downtown this morning loved my black and oxblood houndstooth trench and felt the need to stop me and comment upon how “Fierce” it is.  Do they have Project Runway in the shelters?  Maybe he wasn’t homeless.  Maybe he was just a dirty hipster.

At any rate – I am not sure how I feel about this.

A) Flattered.  It is a great coat; or

B) Self concscious. This boy was dirty, but he did have kind of great style for a street urchin.

Maybe the homeless, a population often filled with mental disorders, just have no filter. Maybe everyone likes my coat, but they know it would be awkward to stop me on the street and comment – at length.

Maybe I am over thinking this.