Category — Healthy Eating

Some time between laundry loads No. 4 and 5 this weekend, The Man and I found a great farm stand just 10 miles from our house. (Don’t even bring up the fact that 10 miles from my house is 40 minutes away. I don’t want to hear it.)

Along with mini purple sweet peppers—yes, they’re insanely cute—I got a bunch of super ripe peaches. And then The Man started to feel sick, leaving me with almost-smooshy peaches and no peach-eating partner.

So I decided to make this breakfast-slash-dessert I saw the other day. Go ahead, tell me I’m a horrible wife for baking something so incredibly delicious (because it was) when my husband is living off of Saltines. I’ll just point out that I saved him a bite. Really.

Honestly, this thing is so good it counts as dessert. But I think technically—because of the fruit and oatmeal—it’s breakfast. It’s kind of like how chocolate chip pancakes with whipped cream pass for breakfast at IHOP. Don’t ask. Just eat.

First, slice up some peaches. Or apples. Or pears. Whatever. Just take the skin off and make sure they’re sliced real thin.

Next, drizzle some melted butter on the bottom of a baking pan. I used only a teensy bit though the recipe calls for ¼ cup. Go light or go wild, then layer your fruit on the bottom.

Next up: a sprinkle of sugar. Instead of Demerara sugar, which I don’t own, I used brown sugar. And I used less than called for since I’m a rebel.

Good. Now that that’s over, set it aside and get working on the wet ingredients. Mix ’em all together in a bowl. (The recipe calls for way more butter than I used again—that’s me living on the wild side.) Warning: The maple syrup will turn the mix all brown, which isn’t pretty. But don’t worry—it’ll all taste good in the end.

Add the dry ingredients to another bowl. (Yes, there are many dirty dishes involved. It’s the price you pay for a good meal, really.)

When that’s all done, pour the wet into the dry and mix it up.

Then pour the mixture over the fruit. Top with almonds—slivered are best but use what you’ve got. And sprinkle some more brown sugar on top.

Pop the whole thing in the oven for 40 minutes and voila. Breakfasty, desserty goodness.

And of course, The Man made an exception to his stomach ache diet to try some.

With milk, naturally.

And it was good.

I’m not really sure what could say summer more than this. Maybe some hamburgers on the grill and a couple Coronas, but really? This is much better.

A few weeks ago I saw Jenna’s recipe for zucchini pizza and thought, Hey, I could make that. And then I remembered I didn’t have pizza dough or ricotta.

So I improvised. That’s tip No. 1: Know when to trust your instincts.

First, I grated a zucchini. It’s a lot easier than it sounds. Thank goodness for squishy flesh. (That’s as opposed to Parmesan, not some other flesh. Eeew.)

Then I patted the zucchini dry because that’s what Jenna said to do and she’s all schooled in food and all. That’s tip No. 2: Know when to trust people smarter than you.

Next, I smeared goat cheese all over a corn tortilla. Yes, I’m still obsessing about goat cheese.

Mound the zucchini on top of the goat cheese. Be generous. No one likes a stingy chef.

And top with salt, pepper, and mozzarella. You can use real mozzarella—which I did the first time—but if you’re out, don’t sweat it. Disclaimer: You can also add onions or garlic or whatever. If you like that gross sorta thing.

Bake in the oven at 375 degrees until the cheese is bubbly.

Cut into quarters because you’re six still.

And enjoy.

photo by darwin bell

Before I go any further into this post, lemme remind you that the final beauty giveaway is almost over. Tonight, that’s it. So go here and enter one last time. Or three, really, since there are three ways to enter per day.

Besides, isn’t there some big and wondrous question you’ve been fixating on but had no one to ask? (Like, for instance, who would win a physical throwdown between Paula Deen and Bobby Flay?) Well, that’s what your entry is for. Ask away.

There, you’ve been reminded. My job is done.

I’m erring on the short side today because A. It’s Friday, and thus my brain is fried from too much work (it’s a real syndrome), and B. I’m still mentally exhausted from the rollercoaster ride that was Mockingjay. And if you haven’t already bought The Hunger Games series, then take my word now that I’m totally done: STOP EVERYTHING AND GO READ IT NOW.

Ahem. Right, so this is a health blog, yes? And you expect more than a book review. So how about this:

Natural compounds in berries may protect against age-related memory loss or a drop in mental functioning. Not that you all don’t eat berries, but consider this another reason to mix ’em into your smoothie. Or shovel them into your mouth by the handful.

Or grab a partner and take turns throwing them into each other’s mouth.

What’s your favorite berry? Right now, I’m loving my morning oatmeal with blueberries.

OK, and finally—because it’s Friday—here you go:

Insanely cute puppy photo from cute overload

You’re welcome.

You should know some backstory before I recommend something incredible to you.

I love cheese. I’m like an anti-vegan when it comes to cheese. I could eat it by itself every day. Some days I do that. Some days I add a cracker or fruit to make me seem less—oh, what’s the word?—pathetic.

I’m especially a huge fan of goat cheese, which is great in a salad but even better in a veggie sandwich. Even The Man loves goat cheese on his veggie sandwhich, which is saying a lot.

But this?

This Trader Joe’s honey goat cheese? This blows everything out of the water. It’s tangy and sweet and soft and pretty much every other positive adjective all rolled into one log. It feels like such a shame hiding it on a sandwich with other flavors, so I’ve been eating it on seeded crackers. Here’s what you should do:

Go buy this. It’s not expensive. No, I don’t have my receipt so I can’t reveal the price. But whatever I paid, it’s worth it.

Next, get some plain crackers. No onion or garlic or other flavors that will steal the spotlight. These seeded ones are just right.

Give it a hefty spread. Lick the knife. No honey goat cheese should be wasted.

There—it’s perfect just like that. But you can also add thinly sliced pears. Tart not-yet-ripe pear + sweet-tangy goat cheese = ohmygoodness.

And if you’re feeling crazy, go ahead and drizzle some honey.

Or, you know, cut off a slice and eat it as-is. No one’s looking. And I won’t tell.

What’s your favorite type of cheese?

P.S. There is still time to win my last Totally Awesome Beauty Contest. Head over here and leave a question in the comments, shoot off a tweet, or become my friend if, ya know, you aren’t already.

Forgive the iPhone pic. Oh, and if you live in Northern Virginia, head here and eat this right now.

Hey there friends. Before you read on, I think you should know that today is the second-to-last day you can enter my Totally Awesome Beauty Package Contest. Remember, you can enter once a day in up to three ways, so if you want to up your chances of actually winning, click on over here.

In other news, I fear I’m getting sick. My head’s about 45 pounds heavy and I know from Jerry Maguire that the human head weighs 8 pounds. On top of that I’m the kind of exhausted I imagine comes from spending 48 hours awake. Only I’ve slept soundly each night.

That’d be just like me, too—getting sick right in time for the weekend.

But because of all that, this post will be super short. (Trust me, you don’t want me rambling on and on while my head is officially turning to sickly mush. It’s nonsensical. It’s not funny.) I want to address something…

Thanks to the Healthy Living Summit that some of you attended in Chicago, the blogosphere has been peppered with photos of deep-dish pizza. No offense to any Chicagoans out there, but that ain’t pizza. That’s crust cake with marinara.

Real pizza has four things:

1. San Marzano tomato sauce.

2. Fresh mozzarella.

3. Fresh basil.

And of course, 4. A crust so thin it droops when you pick it up.

Period. No 6-inch crust that sits in your stomach like a rock. No knives necessary. Kapiche?

Remember! You can still enter to win my Totally Awesome Beauty Giveaway. That is, if you like beauty products. Or if you have friends who like them. (Never underestimate the ability to regift.) Interesting in entering? Click here.

Sometimes I see a new health food creation on a blog and I’ll think, That’s genius! Sometimes I’ll sigh, Why didn’t I think of that genius first?!

Example A: Egg whites in oatmeal. That’s genius!

Example B: Almond butter–stuffed dates. Why didn’t I think of that genius first?!

Then sometimes I think: You crazy.

Example C: Kombucha. Ha, yeah right. You crazy.

Talk of the fermented tea is just about everywhere, and as much as I wanted to hear the health benefits all I really heard was this:

Bacteria.

Big giant colony of living bacteria.

Big vat with tea and a giant mushroom of bacteria and yeast.

Mama bacteria patty breeds baby bacteria patty.*

See where I’m going with this?

Drinking it sounded about as appetizing as eating a vat of worms. And in case you don’t know me, I’d rather scoop my eye out with a spoon than eat a vat of worms. (There. That was your daily dose of yuck.)

Anyhow, I really didn’t see the point of drinking tea spiked with bacteria even if it was laced with water from the Fountain of Youth. And then.

You knew that was coming right? And then a family friend said she swore by it. And Averie pinkie promised that I would love it because A. I love tea and B. I love vinegar and this tea tastes vinegary.

Hmm, she had a point. Sometimes I drink tea while eating a salad with vinegar. Kombucha couldn’t be much different than that, right? Besides, I take a probiotic. Isn’t this bacteria just like that? Or the live cultures in my yogurt?

I wasn’t about to just get over my fear, but then I came across this at Whole Foods.

Low and behold, Kombucha exists at the grocery store. So I got it.** (That is, I got it after I checked the bottle to make sure there weren’t any weird floaty mushroom babies in there. All clear.)

I went with the flavored variety so maybe any disgustingness would be masked. At least that’s what I told myself before I took a sip: Oh, Tracey, don’t worry. You won’t taste yeasty bacteria. It’ll taste just like quince.

And you know what? It was good. It tasted like fruity beer. And beer tastes good.

Even The Man liked it. And that’s saying something.

I don’t think I’ll be making my own any time soon—the mushroom still freaks me the heck out—but it’s good to know the bottled version is refreshing and (dare I say it?) tasty.

*No, I did not steal that from a National Enquirer headline. Swear.

**How’s that for carpeing the diem?

Have you tried Kombucha? Thoughts? Do you believe the hype? And now that Kombucha is more or less MIA at the grocery store, how do you get yours?

photo by memckimmy

Well, I’ve lost all faith in Americans.

So the other day, my friends and I were riding the elevator to the parking garage. A man got in on the fifth floor and eavesdropped on our conversation. The whole thing went like this:

“I made an amazing granola bar the other day,” my friend said when I mentioned breakfast.

“You made them yourself?” a random man in the elevator asked. He was staring straight at my friend, a rusty orange chair in one hand.

“Yup,” she said with a shrug.

“Like at home?” He asked. Confusion played across his face. “You can do that?”

In other news, cookies don’t grow on Keebler trees.

A note: Don’t forget to enter my Totally Awesome Beauty Giveaway. Click here to enter to win a package with 13 never-been-used beauty products. Yippee!

photo here
That, my friends, is cheeze. With a z.

There’s something I want to tackle today, and it mostly applies to women with husbands, though all the single ladies can take this as a warning of impending doom.

How’s that for a cheery, upbeat lead?

I’ll just go on and say it: Getting married makes you eat like crap.

Or, at least, makes you eat worse than you ever used to before you got hitched. It’s scientifically proven, which is saying something. I’m not implying that marriage makes you eat like a man, all burgers and beers and frozen meals that include orange cheeze (in which the z indicates its obscure origins and characteristically un-cheese-like qualities). I am implying—no, stating—that getting married makes you eat stuff you may not have eaten before. Because someone bought it. Or someone brought it home. I won’t mention any names, but it’s usually someone known as The Man.

(Brief pause … the same can be said of men who eat healthy and marry junk food lovin’ women. I don’t have experience with that, but I’m 99.9 percent positive it happens. So I’m not picking on men in general. I’m just more experienced with being married to a guy, you know?)

That’s been the case around here for the past few weeks because I’m at the mercy of The Man’s grocery trips. (And yes I appreciate that he does the shopping and spares my knees and does just about everything else around here. Disclaimer, disclaimer, disclaimer.) But I’ll tell you what: There’s been a sort of chip and bread overload the likes of which this body has never seen.

All of this backstory leads to one good question: How do you eat healthy when your husband is—oh, how do you say it?—a meat and potatoes kinda guy? (And when I say meat and potatoes I mean hamburgers and fries, of course.)

Here’s what you do:

1. Do the grocery shopping. This is an obvious answer for anyone with two legs that happen to work. (Hear that, knees? Other people’s legs actually move without pain. Just sayin’.)

2. Make a grocery list. It’s a good way to take the focus off the Hostess Cupcakes that happen to be on sale and happen to be on an aisle end cap, staring your husband in the face. With a list in hand, he’ll be better able to resist the magnetic pull of the discount aisle and march along to fruits and veggies. It helps if your grocery list says in all caps DO NOT BUY JUNK OR ELSE. No, it’s not necessary to explain what the OR ELSE is. He’ll get the idea.

3. Cook separate meals. This idea doesn’t thrill me, and here’s why: When you make two separate meals you’re not encouraging one another to eat healthy. Sure, The Man can eat a cheeze dog and barbecue potato chips while I munch on a salad, but consistently doing that isn’t any good for him. Besides, it just feels more like a family dinner when the family is actually eating the same dinner.

4. When all else fails, do one of those sit-down serious talks you see on Oprah or Supernanny. I had “The Talk” over the weekend with The Man, and he’s agreed to support my healthy eating. (I’d like to note that The Man and I were at a chain restaurant on our way home from his sister’s and we were munching on jalapeno and cheese poppers during this conversation. Yes, I see the irony.)

There you have it: Simple steps for getting your husband on board with your healthy eating goals. 1. Do it yourself. 2. Give good instructions. 3. Do your own thing. 4. Beg and plead—and lay on the guilt.

By the way, there’s still time to enter my Totally Awesome Beauty Package Contest. Woo hoo. So head here and enter if you’re a girl and want to add 11 beauty products to your arsenal. Or if you’re a guy (thanks, Armbar) and want to regift.

Do any of you have a spouse who’s, um, less than enthusiastic about healthy eating? What do you do? If you fly solo, do a girl’s or guy’s eating habits determine whether he gets a second date?

Brief public service announcement: You can still enter to win 16 makeup, hair, and skin-care products in my Totally Awesome Beauty Package here. It’s open for entries until Friday so head over there and leave a comment, tweet about it, or become my friend (officially).

And a dilemma: What to do with a perfectly good yet overripe white nectarine.

Here’s the thing. I love nectarines and peaches, I really do, but the white nectarines that The Man picked up at the store a couple weeks ago just aren’t the same. They’re missing the citrusy bite of the regular variety and I’m all about tart flavors (as evidenced by my love letter to vinegar).

White peaches are perfectly lovely fruit but when ripe the flavor more closely resembles those sugary peach gummies I used to load up on at the candy store when I was a kid. (Note: Not that my mother bought us candy or anything, because that would be bad. Or awesome.)

So last night I had a super ripe and ridiculously sweet white nectarine that was about to either die a slow death on my table or be eaten right then. I’m generally against death (unless it involves cockroaches or mice, in which case I say, Die, Suckers, Die!). I decided to spare its life.

If you’re wondering, cutting up a white nectarine and putting it in a glass of ice water is a very good idea. The water gets lightly flavored. The nectarine slices are tamed.

Cutting up white nectarine and putting it in a glass of iced tea is an even better idea. Just so you know.

I’ve made this before with watermelon, which rocks but was missing from my fridge. I can only assume other fruits—raspberries, blueberries, kiwi, whatever—would be equally as good.

What are some interesting ways you guys get your fruit?

photo by ryantron

I’m going to admit something here, but first:

You can still enter to win 16 makeup, hair, and skin-care products in my Totally Awesome Beauty Package here. It’s open for entries until Friday, which means you have T minus 96 hours to mosey on over there and leave a comment, tweet about it, or become my friend (officially).

And also, the crazy end-of-times weather we’ve been having in Virginia left me without power last night. It’s always nice to have a reminder at just how terrible of a pioneer you’d actually have been.

So, there’s that.

Anyhow, my confession: I break the don’t-eat-after-6-even-if-you-haven’t-eaten-all-day-and-are-on-the-verge-of-passing-out rule. It’s quite the rule, I know. Not eating late night is, like, the golden rule of healthy eaters right? It’s what magazines tell you to do in order to Wittle Your Middle—Fast! or Drop Pounds In No Time.

Don’t hate me (or, um, do hate me, but don’t tell me), but that’s a load of baloney. I’m one of those crackpots who thinks a calorie is just as much a calorie at 11 a.m. as it is at 11 p.m.

For a very long time I figured that if I ate at, say, 8 p.m. I’d wake up a size larger. Don’t ask me how I assumed that worked. It just did.

Since The Man started his new job we’ve been getting home too late for that rule to apply. Unless, of course, I wanted to give up on food in general. Which I don’t. So after we do the gym thing and the making dinner thing it’s about 8:30 p.m. I know.

However.

It’s not that bad. Sure, I basically zero free time before I head to bed and do it all over again. But the whole late-night dinner thing? Not bad at all. By the time I’m done eating dinner, I’m too full to mindlessly snack.

This sugar fiend doesn’t even eat dessert most nights. Yes, I just wrote that. And I’m not lying. See, before I started this late night eating thing, I’d finish my meal around 6 or 7 then have plenty of time to get hungry and fill up on all sorts of unnecessary yet delicious desserts.

Therefore the point of this long post is this: Eat late curse dessert cravings.

Or, you know, do what works for you.

When do you eat dinner? Do you set a cutoff point for nighttime eating?