palace of winds

As I was drifting to sleep last night, pondering the state of my refrigerator, I realized all of the tidbits I had lingering there — a few green onions, a fifth of a block of tofu, some fresh pineapple, and half a bag of baby carrots — added up exactly to the Pineapple Fried Rice (good enough for caps, definitely) I’ve lauded before. It’s from Nancie McDermott’s Real Vegetarian Thai. I’m a big believer in this cookbook; I think I’ve bought more copies of it to give as gifts than any other book, fiction included. It’s worth buying for this recipe alone — the entire book will cost you about the same as ordering a plate of this in a Thai restaurant, and then you can make it yourself to wow your friends and neighbors. Especially if you take the extra few minutes to serve it in a hollowed-out half-pineapple. (…when did this turn into a sales pitch?)

I’ve just started listening to Kingsolver’s Animal, Vegetable, Miracle (briefly: a book about her family’s year-long adventure in trying to eat only locally-grown/raised food), and it’s an excellent time in my life for it. Spring is (ever) just around the corner, and I’ve recently been trying to get back into the swing of meal-planning and out of the habit of eating out, for the sake of both my waist and my wallet. Most of what I’ve been making at home lately has been just thrown together: simple salads and stir-fries and pastas, the occasional peanut butter and jelly sandwich, a plate of roasted veggies. And it’s all fine, but it’s lacking a certain satisfaction. I miss the completeness of my old process, of menu-planning and neatly-regimented shopping, the preparation and cooking and then apportionment of leftovers. My weeks now are lacking in structure; I come home from the barn hungry, prowling the cupboards, uninspired. I have fallen into a serious snacking habit.

So, back on track for spring. I’ve started getting up before work to exercise as well, and I think I’m nearly home-free on that being such an agony. I’m at the end of the third week today and I feel utterly exhausted — so much so that I took this morning off for the extra sleep and to give my aching muscles a chance to heal. In future, more sleep: check.

(So I thought I was going to mention this incident briefly and then ask y’all to help me name my horse, but it turned into a big old vent so, you know. Feel free to move along.)

Saturday a bunch of us went to the Bulldog NE. I heart the Bulldog — in fact, I did a quick search just now and am shocked to discover that I apparently have not yet sung the praises of truffle tots here. They may be one of my favorite foods ever. Tater tots, parmesan-crusted and finished with truffle oil. Sinfully delicious. I am a fan of their whole concept, and the vibe of their menu, and in the last month have delighted in their black bean burger and Venezuelan not-dog — a tofu dog finished with mayo, mustard, ketchup, onions, cabbage, and crushed potato chips. It’s a wonderful dog variation, and the Bulldog’s the only place in the Cities that I know of that serves veggie dogs (I’m sure other places exist; I just haven’t found them).

So on Saturday I ordered the Venezuelan not-dog again, and when it came took a delighted bite, and chewed and froze. It tasted real. Really real. I eyed it, and poked at the dog part a bit, and it looked really real too — sort of pinkish and whirled and pulling apart in that way beef hot dogs have. Tofu dogs, if you don’t already know, are shaped like hot dogs but they’re much more processed-seeming — the texture is — mealier, softer, more pureed — more like bologna. And they taste tofuish. This? This tasted like a beef hot dog. I consulted with Jo, and she poked at it a bit, and agreed that it looked just exactly like beef, and after some uncomfortable conversation she (bless her also-vegetarian heart!) tasted it, and agreed it tasted like beef. So I consulted the waitress, who was all Oh yeah, we’ve been getting that a lot, it’s a not-dog, it just looks really real. And I pressed, because hello I’m the vegetarian, I know how tofu dogs are supposed to taste, and she said she’d ask the kitchen and she took the basket and rolled her eyes and went to double-check. Rolled her eyes. Seriously?

And she brought it back a minute later and plunked the basket back in front of me, sort of snotty and triumphant-like, and said They say it is absolutely a not-dog. And off she flounced. So I poked at it a little more, and squirmed and was unhappy, and finally got someone else at the table to try it, and she also agreed it was beef. And I still couldn’t believe the waitress had actually rolled her eyes at me — seriously. Seriously. Like it’s so inconceivable that a vegetarian gets served a meat product in a restaurant, like these things never happen, like it’s not a pain in my ass to have to be so vigilant about this kind of crap — and furthermore like maybe I should just shut up and eat the possibly-beef. So next time she came around I told her again, I’m sorry but we all think this is beef, so she went to get the manager, who was really nice and also said that they’ve been getting that a lot, but then went on to explain that they’ve just switched vendors and doesn’t it taste really real?

And yeah, it does taste really real, which is why I can’t eat it. She offered to have another one made but I thanked her and said no, that I just couldn’t eat it, it tasted too real, and she was very nice about the whole thing and didn’t look like she was even thinking of rolling her eyes at me — but also didn’t take it off my bill, which I thought was a little…well, whatever, I ordered it and didn’t like it, my loss I guess. But I think they should give some warning in the menu or something. I don’t know. The thing about tofu dogs is that they’re not really all that good. Their taste and texture is not fabulous, but they’re a hot-dog-shaped vehicle for tasty condiments like cabbage and potato chips, and there are times when it’s about nostalgia and not taste, and something glorious about being able to order a fake hot dog at a restaurant. Same goes for most fake meat products, for me. They’re not usually my first choice in vegetarian dining, but sometimes I want something called chickn that’s prepared just like the usual thing and looks and tastes almost just like it. Almost. Because it’s creepy if it’s exact. Really, really creepy, and kind of disgusting. I guess the kind of vegetarians who wish they could still eat meat and long for the exact taste and texture and all that would be delighted about this, but I don’t know any of those kinds of vegetarians. (Well, wait. Maybe — Bryce? Not that you long for it, necessarily, but it probably wouldn’t squick you out.)

Anyway, it just seems a little misguided. And makes me sad. I still very much love the Bulldog, and will be hoping for the day they go back to their original not-dog vendor, with dogs that are almost but, you know, not.

Western diet increases cancer risk for Asian women.

I also highly recommend The China Study for — well, I was going to say for anyone interested in the link between diet and cancer, but I hope everyone’s interested. So I highly recommend it, full stop.

04/08 Sun: 50 min C+S
04/09 Mon: riding
04/10 Tue: riding
04/11 Wed: rest
04/12 Thu: riding
04/13 Fri: riding (lesson)
04/14 Sat: 45 min C+S

Also on Saturday? Best vegetarian fajitas ever. In Chanhassen, of all places. Mmm cactus paddle. I am so in love. I want cactus paddles in everything I eat from now on. (Okay, yeah, not everything, but they’re very tasty!)

It’s a good day. Sort of. Weirdly. Between these random crabby bouts of really wanting to throttle someone, I’m in a great mood.

I got my hair cut last night, which is always always a fabulous experience at Moxie. I love love love my stylist (who always makes my hair decisions for me when I ask her, which is so awesome), and the woman who washed my hair (best scalp massage ever), and the receptionist, and just the whole vibe. Everyone always seems happy to be there. It’s like a present to myself to get my hair cut. (Which is good because I have been spending money like a drunken sailor this month and being really happy with how I spend it eases the raging guilt.) And then Jo and I went to Jasmine Deli, where I ate way too much but it was all fabulous — I’ve been craving their mock duck curry sandwich for months, and the day demanded noodles (the snow never did really stop).

And today? Today is a day for finding things. After weeks of waiting for my watch and ring to turn up (and worrying about it surprisingly little, considering it’s the ring I’ve worn almost every day for the last six and a half years — some things I just trust to the universe, though, and stuff turning back up is one of them), it occurred to me that I hadn’t checked the pocket of one of the hoodies I almost never wear, and there it was! Not ten minutes later I was heading out, and there on the bulletin board by the back door were two little rusting keys stuck up with a safety pin: the very two that vanished last fall while I was swapping some things in my storage locker. (They were the two extra for my locker and my bike lock, so I wasn’t without a way into either, and again — there are some things that aren’t worth worrying about.) I’m very excited about what else I might find today. Spring, perhaps?