the anti-costco

Disliking Costco probably makes me un-American, but I've always felt more at home in Europe than I have here, so, I'm going to tiptoe out on this limb, here. (Italy, I'm coming for you if they revoke my citizenship...)

There are so, so many things I dislike about Costco. It is always busy, like Starbucks, only with far worse ambiance. Speaking of ambiance, the number of screaming children present at Costco on any given day is enough to convince me never to have any of my own. It also always smells like bad pizza and burnt popcorn. On top of all of that, it's so intimidatingly cavernous and industrial that I sometimes worry I'll get lost in the giant refrigerator, possibly with some of the aforementioned children, never to be heard from again. 

I mean, look at the place...

 

(from here)

 

But my real issue with Costco, at least for the purposes of this (theoretically) food-based blog? The obscene quantities in which they sell food. Let's be serious, nobody ever needs that much of anything, except maybe wine and ice cream, unless they are a)running a restaurant or b)raising the Duggar family, and really, that's what wholesalers are for, right?

I find myself on this tangent/rant because I've finally decided to get my behind back in the LKTC to make something OTHER than a baked good (although there are still plenty of those on my list, too). At the top of my "to-try" list are a few curries I found on a new (to me) cooking blog. Most of the recipes call for some quantity of coconut milk in the neighborhood of half of a cup. A can of coconut milk is more like 2 cups, so you're looking at some serious waste there, unless you want to be eating curry for a week.

This excess materials thing is a common problem in my life. So as someone who hates to waste, has a guilt complex, and is a bit obsessed with miniature things, I think we need an anti-Costco type store out there for those of us who: 1)are single, 2)often cook for just one person, 3)live in tee tiny apartments that can't accomdate Costco quantities, and/or 4)need built-in portion control. A store full of single-use size things. Except wine and ice cream, which can be Costco-sized, because if you're single, well, you need plentiful quantities of those staples in your life.

Who's with me on this, and what can we name this glorious mecca of all things tiny?

where are my people?

On the morning of earthquake day, I had a long conversation with one of my two bosses.  It started out as some sort of briefing, but somehow ended up being about of our frustrations with grown up life. (Note: she has way more ground to stand on, as she is married with kids, owns a home, and leads a large team of eccentric auditors.)  


But we both agreed that even though we had some suspicion that post-college life wouldn't be easy, we assumed we'd be compensated, at least in some small part, by the company we would keep.  We figured we'd find ourselves among smart, funny, successful, kind people, and that would dull the pain of mortgage (or rent) payments and the 9 to 5 grind.  


Instead, we have found ourselves consistently surprised by how unintelligent, disappointing, and/or hurtful people are.  Where in the world are my people? we want to know. Probably not in this office, we concluded. And then the earth rumbled. Big day, really, between existential crisis conversations and building evacuations. 


So when I got home from the earthquake, I decided to go ahead and make the jacked up cookies and cream ice cream, and realized that this is the kind of ice cream you make for your "people."


It's a labor of love, what with the sticky, messy affair of coating (football-shaped!) oreos in melted chocolate...

And letting vanilla bean pods steep in warm milk for an hour...

And then there's that whole egg yolk-cooking step that I have yet to execute gracefully (not to mention photograph successfully).  The dulce de leche-making step should go on behind the scenes of the rest of this, cooking up nicely in the oven while you melt chocolate and steep vanilla.  Unless you're me, and forget to cover the pan of sweetened condensed milk with foil.  And then you pull the oven open an hour later to find curdled sweetened condensed milk. After having had to smell and deal with that business, I'm here to tell you that stuff should be reserved for whatever the opposite of "your people" is.  

But even without the dulce de leche, it is divine...

I've made plenty of tasty ice cream with Fiona, but this was a new level of success.  This is the ice cream you make for the people who are there for you when those dumb/hurtful/disappointing people have you in a bit of a tizzy.  For the people who let you rant and rave and complain, even when they've heard it all before.  For the people who force you to eat even though you've stressed yourself out so much that you barely remember what an appetite feels like (and may have given yourself an ulcer...).  For the ones who remind you that you're actually very lucky after all.  Bless all of you, especially the ones who I haven't been able to give a container of jacked up cookies and cream yet.  

zen busters

(apparently I have not always been a big lazy bum)

The minute I thought of that title, the Ghost Busters song popped in to my head for reasons unbeknownst to be (I've never so much as seen it).  And now it's in yours, too.  You're welcome. 


Inspiration?  The rapid decline of my first post-yoga zen in, shudder, nearly a year.  When I left DoD last summer, I had to give up my awesome gym membership.  While at State, I never quite found a replacement for either the Pentagon gym or its staggering array of free group classes.  I think we've discussed that I'm on the lazier side of the spectrum, yes?  But now that I'm back in the DoD fold once again, I'm able to re-join the much-loved Pentagon gym.  I did so on day 2 at the new gig, feeling some odd sense of healthy momentum that I feared would swing back in the direction of my comfy couch far too quickly if I didn't wholeheartedly embrace it.  And I ate a couple dunkin donuts that morning and was feeling guilty.  Details. 


Since I don't work at the Pentagon proper, I plan to make the trek over there a few days at week for what I fondly call Pentagon yoga. If I can't do something, anything, healthy two days a week, well, that's just shameful (I never would have guessed my waistline would benefit from my Catholic guilt).  Other days, I'll try to use the little outpost of the PAC near my office.  If it's anything like the PAC, I will be one of the only female, non-military people sweating it up over the lunch hour.  Even yoga, which I think of as being much more popular with women, was roughly 85 to 90% male tonight. 


I digress.  So, since this was my first yoga class in nearly a year, it took every ounce of strength (not much) and energy (even less) that I had to keep my balance and not just give up when we did the bajillionth plank to downward dog.  Not only did I feel proud of myself for making it to class even though I was exhausted and had missed the shuttle (meaning it would have been easy to go on home and just forget it), every last ounce of my concentration was spent trying to do all the moves.  Normally one of the hardest parts of yoga class for me is keeping my mind clear the entire hour.  Tonight, it flew by. 


I floated out of the studio, feeling a little sore already, but in that good "I'm sort of doing something healthy" way.  I floated right on down to the metro, where I read my way through what would have normally been an obnoxiously long wait on for the train (thanks again for that Nook, parents!). I didn't even mind that my phone was dead, meaning I couldn't check to see if a bus was coming.  I'd take the much longer walk home from the metro.  See me being all healthy?  


As I emerged from the station, I was suddenly not so over the moon about my trek home.  I knew it was hot today, but I don't think I had acknowledged just how hot it would still be at 7pm.  Correction: I didn't realize it'd be like walking through pea soup.  That was still simmering on a stove. 


And then I found myself walking between the real zen busters.  


The couple in front of me was carrying large, greasy bags from Five Guys.  I don't even like burgers and fries that much, but I was so hungry that I briefly debated tackling them and making off with what I could. My sore muscles (and maybe some good sense) won, and I accepted that I'd be following the scent of dinner all the way home (where I had, of course, forgotten to defrost something to cook).  


The woman behind me was on her phone the entire 10+ minute walk (apparently she lives in my building).  I'm the first to pick up the phone to help a long walk pass more quickly, but I am hyper-sensitive about what volume I am using.  I loathe strangers hearing me talk on the phone (and generally assume most people don't want to hear me yammering away, either).  This girl, however, had no qualms about giving her friend a detailed play by play of her disastrous dates of late, her fears of being alone forever, her curiosity over why guys aren't fond of her etc.  Based solely on what I overheard on the walk, I could give her a few ideas regarding her more, umm, off-putting, qualities.  In case you're worried about her fate, she plans to (and I quote) "just join the dark side and become a lesbian." 


Between my hunger pains and the Dr. Phil episode unfolding behind me, I felt the yoga zen quickly melting away.  I think this means I'll just have to go back for more next week.   

brain dead

I have no pictures of my first dinner in the LKTC post-vacation.  This is because a)it wasn't even close to pretty and b)I got home in a state of frightening hunger, and I just didn't feel like risking starvation in the name of blog photography.   

Today just plain kicked me in the behind.  I would be over the moon if I were on the dock at the lake fishing (hence the wistful/nostalgic picture).  Instead, I woke up before 6 am, drove out to Ft. Belvoir (~20 miles away, but a one hour trek each way), filled out a lifetime's worth of paperwork, drove to Crystal City and filled out even more paperwork while enduring a day's worth of vague/pointless briefings, then finally drove home (which took 45 minutes.  I can't even talk about it yet).  

See, I really, really abhor driving.  Especially when it is traffic-tastic and/or I don't know where I'm going.  Both of said conditions were present today.  And I had to pay $20 to park in Crystal City.  Which pretty much just did not even phase me, I was so drained by that point.

So by the time I walked in the door to my already messy apartment, I just stepped right out of my shoes, threw my jacket somewhere near the shoes, dropped my tote bag (with copious paperwork) in the vicinity of the couch, and headed straight for sustenance.  

And now I am sitting amongst the piles of mail and paperwork and I can't even turn on the tv.  I am so tired of hearing people speak...I swear I almost spontaneously combusted at some point today during all the briefings.  Clearly my attention span has waned significantly since college.  Luckily, I managed to avoid creating a scene (cue self-congratulatory pat on the back for maintaining adult-like composure).  

As I sit here all but brain dead and exhausted, I'm left wondering what became of my glorious week off.  It ended in spectacular fashion with my second farewell happy hour and a wine festival.  I'm particularly bad at saying goodbye, so the farewell event was a bit tough, but it was very sweet of everyone to come send me off.  I'm particularly good at drinking wine, and the weather on Saturday was beyond perfect, so that definitely temporarily took my mind off of being sad about saying goodbye to my old office.

Now I'm going to go to do some yoga (and/or have a drink) to mentally prepare myself for another long day of briefings and paperwork tomorrow.  I'll be the one quietly repeating "you wanted this job...you wanted this job...you..."

the perils of eating out

(I wish I could claim that I made all of this)

(But it's the Georgia Brown's leftovers)

Knowing that mom and dad's visit coincided with the end of Lent, I scheduled a full weekend of eating out, capped off with a visit to Georgia Brown's for Easter Brunch today.  Sophie and I have been attempting to go to brunch there for over a year, I kid you not.  


Her manager first told her about the genius concept: you get all you can eat for brunch, and you get an entrée to take home.  After a birthday brunch scheduling debacle last May (we learned the hard way that this brunch thing only goes down on Sunday), I realized a month ago that I should hurry up and make reservations for Easter Sunday.  


Luckily our dinner at Acqua al 2 was early-ish Saturday, because we were due at Georgia Brown's at 10 am yesterday. Even though I mis-advised Dad on a parking spot, we still arrived before the restaurant technically opened.  I knew our reservation was early, but I didn't realize they'd still be mixing up the peach tea and firing up the chocolate fountain.  


I maneuvered around a huge group of tourists to secure one of the outdoor tables under a big umbrella, and the gluttony began.  After a quick planning session, Sophie and I decided to attack the buffet in three rounds: breakfast foods, lunch foods, and desserts.  


The food was incredible.  The "best breakfast food" award goes to the pecan syrup covered french toast, although the breakfast potatoes (my first in 40 days) get honorable mention.  I loved the jambalaya and the green beans in the lunch round.  Somewhere between breakfast and lunch, I had to order coffee to refuel.  But by the time our third round came along, I didn't have hardly any room for dessert.  I still made a good faith attempt, and put a little spoonful of peach cobbler on my plate, and added a mini carrot cake to keep the cobbler company.  Then Sophie and I played at the chocolate fountain.  I watched a guy expertly cover a speared marshmallow with a thin coat of chocolate, and tried to copy his skilled application.  We wanted to keep coating things in chocolate, but were too stuffed to justify it.  


We realized quickly that chocolate coated marshmallows were difficult to eat gracefully (and this was the kind of place where you really do want to be as well-mannered as possible, after all, jazz is floating through the windows on to the patio). I made Sophie try first, and was just getting ready to try mine when a huge commotion came from the end of the patio.  


A waiter and one of the valet guys were trying to move a patio light away from an umbrella, and one of the globes fell off of the light pole.  Unfortunately before it crashed into the sidewalk, it hit a woman in the head. Without even checking on his wife, the woman's husband pretty much lost his marbles.  


So here's the thing.  I bet it hurt.  Probably a lot.  I'm sure it was embarrassing (I mean everyone on the patio was staring).  But this guy really did go out of his way to articulate his anger.  It quickly became very awkward for all of us on the patio.  


Our table and the table next to us seemed to be in unspoken agreement that the man overreacted.  It was an accident, and fortunately the globe of the lamp was more aluminum than cast iron in nature.  The valet clearly looked completely bereft and in need of a pat on the back or a hug.  


It makes you wonder how you or your fellow brunchers would react.  I'd like to think we would have shaken it off and handled it a bit more eloquently than this couple did, but it's hard to say.  Lord knows I've had my moments with, say, Comcast. {To be discussed in the future, but I feel like the past 6 months or so of my life have been full of revealing moments like this one}


Anyways, we (and everyone else on the patio) managed to shake off the incident (and I managed to subtly eat my chocolate covered marshmallow during the commotion--score).  We took everyone's advice and took our entrée "to go."  In a moment of groupthink, we all ordered the fried chicken and mashed potatoes.  


After an afternoon of wandering Old Town Alexandria and "last call" mass in Capitol Hill, we came home to our leftovers.  I heated everything up in/on the stove, and we had a huge and delicious dinner.  Although brunch was a bit expensive, we decided that it was entirely worth it, and that next time, we'll be more deliberate and strategic to get even more out of the buffet.  


Look out Georgia Brown's, we'll be back.  Just don't seat us near those patio lights, please. 

and then i watched oprah

{i've graduated to the real stuff}

You know how sometimes, you know bad news is coming, and at least you get to brace yourself?  Yeah, today was not that day.  


Today was the kind of day where the bad news comes out of nowhere and just kind of taps you on the shoulder and says "surprise!!"  


The lectures I received at the beginning of my current assignment instilled in me the fear of blogging about work. So I'll keep it simple and vague.  My team is undergoing an internal merger right now.  It is not going splendidly.  Something that I have devoted significant time to has fallen victim to this organizational change.  I am incredibly disappointed and frustrated.  


I stuck around work, not quite sure what to do or how to react (I had some ideas in mind, most of which would have gotten me escorted off the property). Finally I threw in the towel as the nagging headache refused to dissipate and I worked myself further towards an unfortunate temper tantrum. I threw on my flip flops, packed up my bag, and declared that I'd be back when I felt like it (not entirely sure what the time frame is on that).  


I decided some stress baking was in order, intending to send some cookies to my friends in Afghanistan.  I stopped at the Safeway near my office prior to my walk home.  Fresh bread is an essential part of cookies arriving in edible fashion to a place that far away (it keeps them fresh), and yet I walked out of Safeway with sour cream, milk and tic tacs (don't ask, because even I'm not sure).  So I popped in to the CVS on the next block, and strolled around with a new tooth brush in hand, but couldn't find bread.  On to the CVS at the top of the punishing hill on Clarendon Blvd.  I found myself paying for bread (finally!), a tooth brush, and a less than snack sized bag of puffy cheetos (which I consumed in embarrassingly short order on the remainder of the walk home).  


It was at this point that I started to feel like the crazy train wasn't jut pulling up to the station.  It had arrived, I had climbed on, and there was no telling what I might buy (and/or eat) next.  {not only am I stress baker, I'm an angry eater}


I made it home, had a conversation with the door man about my love for cheetos (only the puffy kind, of course), and came upstairs to discover that I was out of butter.  I think I stood forlornly in front of the fridge for 5 minutes pathetically thinking to myself but I needed to bake but I have no butter but I needed to bake but...


Naturally the last thing I want to do when I'm already stressed is jump in my car and go to the grocery, so I found the downstairs convenience store calling me despite its exorbitant prices.  Closed due to an emergency. Oh FINE.  


And then I watched Oprah.  


Well, in case you don't also make a habit of walking out of work at abnormal hours because you hear the crazy train calling, I'll tell you what Oprah was broadcasting today.  The story of a family whose baby daughter received a heart transplant due to the selfless decision of a woman to donate her baby son's organs after he unexpectedly died.  The two families met for the first time on the show.  


Well, let's just say if I wasn't a mess before that...  


I need a drink, and it's finally five o'clock. {and happily, my parents will be here soon to recreate the "cheers" from the picture at the top}

busted

So, before I delve into the (more recent) meaning behind the title, let me just say I love my sister.  I realize this picture, in which I'm clearly attempting to thwart her attempts to crawl, might lead you to believe otherwise, but I promise, it's all good these days.  I'm not really sure what was up in this particular shot...maybe I was just mad that my parents were dressing me in suspenders (no, really, guys...what was up with this wardrobe choice?).  But obviously I was busted, on film nonetheless, trying to keep my sister down back in the day, so, that's a little embarrassing.  


My rebellious streak continued well in to kindergarten, when I was busted for my monopoly on the play doh "restaurant" in my classroom.  I have apparently never been a fan of delegation. 


After my otherwise kind kindergarten teacher chastised me, I kept much more on the straight and narrow (if you think I'm joking, you obviously don't know that I went to an all girls' high school and lived in fear of our headmistress and her propensity for dispensing demerits). 


So in the spirit of full disclosure, this past Thursday, I bucked my long-standing trend of relatively upstanding behavior and I ate out.  Yes, I tumbled right off the proverbial Lent wagon.  It was far from glamorous.  No, I fell hard.  Right in to a big old plate of Paolo's spaghetti alla bolognese (yes, I actually make a mean bolognese myself).


I could make excuses (there was a lot of wine involved, I was still traumatized from the rotten potato incident, I've been punishingly stringent with the rules up until now, etc), but there's no getting around the rapid descent from the original Lenten guidelines.  


Listen, I'm not proud of it, but, it happened and I have spent plenty of time feeling guilty over it.  More importantly, I can't take it back, so I see no point in apologizing excessively or trying to explain it away.  


I still know why I decided to try this adventure in the first place, and I've clamored back up onto the wagon.  


PS--I actually did some time-consuming cooking this weekend, maybe in an attempt to clear my conscience(?).  I made spaghetti and meatballs for a friend's birthday Friday, and baked what turned out to be a tasty blueberry buttermilk cake for girls' dinner Sunday. 

the shutdown showdown

This is the picture I was hoping to find when I was having a particularly grumpy day last Friday. I think it is hilarious.  No one quite remembers why my sister and I looked so ticked (although maybe it was those shoes?), but we look like someone just told us we had to give up all our barbies or something.  

I'm glad I didn't find it last week, because it's a far more appropriate photographic summary of my feelings on the government shutdown showdown than anything that was going on last week.  

I don't know how many of you live outside of DC/VA/MD, and subsequently how much news coverage the potential government shutdown received in your town (although I'd love to know--comment!).  In the news (print, radio, tv) here, it was ALL ANYONE TALKED ABOUT FOR DAYS.  

It was also all anyone talked about at work (and away from work). Nothing productive was accomplished--it was like the day before summer break around my office for at least a week.  

Will it happen? How long will it last?  If they don't introduce the new budget by Tuesday, they won't have time to vote on it...  Will I be deemed "essential?"  How will I pay my rent?  What will I do if I can't work and all the museums are shut down? (ok, maybe it was just me asking that one)

I think the significance of a shutdown was/is lost on a lot of people outside of Washington.  

Setting aside your political opinions, your ideas that all federal government employees are lazy and overpaid, think about what you would do if you unexpectedly lost your income indefinitely, and with very little prospect of backpay?

Just because Congress can't compromise, life, and more importantly, expenses, go on.  To know that you have to sit on your hands at home, and eventually dip in to your savings to pay the rent and the bills, is frightening.  I know that I personally had a "danger zone"--the point at which I'd no longer be able to pay rent if the government was shut down.  And compared to most people I work with, my bills are practically non-existent.  I have no debt, no kids, no real responsibilities. 

I remember watching the news and seeing some slightly extremist congressman surrounded by supporters with crazy signs.  At the end of his speech, he said "if the other side doesn't want to compromise, I SAY SHUT IT DOWN" and everyone behind him cheered wildly.  I would be shocked if those people were anything but tourists.  

No one I know in the government, Republican or Democrat, wanted it to shut down. It is, simply put, a massive undertaking full of uncertainty and questions.  

Can you imagine all the things you would need to wrap up if you knew that as of midnight, it would become illegal for you to touch your work Blackberry?  email? any work at all? (note: it is illegal for one to incur any expense while in a non-pay status) What in the world should your out-of-office say?  (one coworker suggested "I will be back in the office when Congress passes the budget and successfully completes the ONE task they are legally bound to undertake each year")

Friday was one of the busiest days I've had in recent memory. I left work later than I normally ever do (and especially late for a Friday).  I had guests coming over to celebrate a friend's birthday, so I didn't really have much time to process my impending "unemployment."  We all talked about it a bit at dinner, but everyone here is pretty weary of it, so we quickly moved on to birthday celebrations. 

Later that night, sitting at a booth at a bar, one of my friends said "so, how do you know that it's officially shut down?" and it just so happened to have just struck midnight.  We decided to check the news to make it official.  

I nearly dropped my Blackberry when I saw the headline that a deal had been struck.  

Not that I was over the moon about an indefinite break from work... But I had spent the entire past week hearing of nothing but the shutdown.  I had spent Wednesday and Thursday trying to concentrate on work as we received conflicting guidance that put everyone in a tizzy.  I spent Friday frantically wrapping things up. By the time midnight rolled around, I was no longer in denial about the situation, and had gotten to the point that I was optimistic about what I could accomplish in my personal life while it was illegal for me to touch work. 

The total 180 by congress threw us all for a loop, but it was a welcome last-minute compromise (although I will be singing a very different tune if we're facing yet another shut down next Friday)

Naturally we celebrated the news by dancing the rest of the night.  

captain grumpy pants

It's Friday.  I got to wear jeans to work today.  All the bosses were out of the office.  It's Allie's turn to cook Friday dinner.  I have friends in town this weekend and next.  My family descends on DC in a couple weeks.  


And yet I am captain grumpy pants lately (not, sadly, an April Fools joke).  I can't decide if I need a little vacation from work (possibly I told a coworker "use your WORDS" today...) or if it's the weather (I swear, for the past three or four days, it looks like the same [indeterminate] time all day long because of the non-stop clouds and drizzle).  Either way, I'm hoping Allie's risotto and a little bit of wine will snap me out of this rut.  


Until then, I leave you with the evidence that I was destined to be a messy cook. 

a la carte (catholic)

In the lead up to Lent, I focused more (at least in the blog) on the looming "sacrifice" than the religious imeptus behind it.  Unfortunately that only highlights my concern that I've become a little bit of an "a la carte Catholic."   By that I mean that I don't go to mass nearly as often as I used to, and the church and I disagree on some key points (especially the roles [un]available to women). I worry that I'm trolling buffet-style through my religion and cherry picking the parts I like (instead of educating myself on the tenets of other religions).  But the bottom line is, I find myself selecting from the "buffet" the majority of the things Catholicism has to offer, and that's why I keep going back.  Nevertheless, it's time to be a little more active (i.e. going to church regularly). 

So today Allie and I went to Ash Wednesday mass, and I'm already getting all sorts of funny looks due to the ashes remaining on my forehead (I imagine the look will only improve after yoga tonight).  I really appreciated what the priest had to say in his homily--aside from a funny comment about how the church hadn't been so full since this time last year, his words were refreshingly absent of criticism for those of us who are less than regular attendees.  Instead, he emphasized that this was the perfect time of year to "get your house in order with God."  For someone often plagued by "Catholic guilt," that is a welcomed sentiment. 

That said, I'll never be an evangelical Catholic.  I find religion an intensely personal choice, and I don't feel compelled to persuade others to make it a part of their lives.  So I hope this doesn't come across as preachy--I just wanted to recognize the fact that Lent (for me) isn't just a convenient excuse to try and change some specific behavior.  Instead, it's a chance to get my house in order, so to speak, which I hope will come to mean more than just cooking more often. 

copy cat

It's no secret that my mom, sister, and I are major shoppers.  But we haven't yet driven ourselves into debt (unless there's something my parents aren't telling me) because my mom taught us from before I can remember that whatever it is you think you can't live without will eventually go on sale.  If you genuinely cannot stop thinking about it, then you're allowed to think about buying it full price. 


More recently, our refrain has become "you could totally make that."  I'm serious.  You spot it and covet it, my family can likely knock it off with a can of paint, some sandpaper, and an AC Moore coupon or two.  Case in point--I pretty much spent last weekend (with the parents' help) painting and crafting.  (See, for example, the before/after photos above of the bar towel turned cork board)   


So as I forked over just shy of $10 for a decent-but-nothing-special salad today, I thought "I could totally make this."  Logical progression, right?  If you can recreate a piece of furniture you saw for 3 times the price, why couldn't you do the same thing with the salad you get for lunch at least once a week?  I'm sure normal people who eat at home regularly have this thought ALL THE TIME.  


Well, consider me on the bandwagon, albeit a littttttle late.  Not only do I spend too much on eating out, I spend too much on mediocre food.  Don't get me wrong, DC has a myriad of really great restaurants, but I've had less than amazing food at some of them, and just plain bad food at the less than great places. I don't mind forking over a hefty sum for a great meal every once in a while, but I need to do it less often, and I need to be more selective.  


But I digress.  The point is, I'm slowly accumulating more reasons to look forward to this Lent project.  And the timing couldn't be more fortunate since Lent starts in less than 2 weeks.

sometimes i eat like no one is watching

I'm still a few weeks away from the beginning of Lent, but I'm already looking for reasons to be enthusiastic about giving up eating out (I'm not sure about the grammar in this sentence, but let's not talk about that). 


Today's reason?  Sometimes I eat like no one is watching.  No, really, it's (sad but) true.  This can happen for a variety of reasons...time constraint, excitement about the food in question, or sheer ravenousness being the most common. This worked out a lot less awkwardly for me when I sat in the back corner cube of my office at Pentagon, and could tell long before anyone rounded the corner.  Now that I sit in what I refer to as the Bermuda Triangle in my new office, I have to be a little less demonstrably enthusiastic about my love and hunger for, say, breakfast potatoes (I have a well-known addiction to said breakfast food, but that's another story).  


Luckily I managed to stave off ravenousness until tonight, though, and could eat in the privacy of my own (currently very disorganized) apartment.  That Subway "turkey on oat with peppers and cucumbers" didn't stand a chance.  And yes, I got a foot-long.  At least I put it on a plate first.  The only time in recent memory I ate with less decorum was my very late (very solo) Valentine's day lunch at Chipotle.  And that happens pretty much every time I go to Chipotle.   


Anyways, as I'm prone to do, I digress.  The reason I worked myself into such a state of hunger was a lengthy trip to Pentagon City after work.  (I'm sure my "meal" of rice and trail mix for lunch didn't do me any favors).  I was on the hunt for a few birthday gifts for a certain mother of mine (happy belated birthday, Mom!).  Somehow I ended up at World Market at the end of the adventure, despite my (pretty frequent) pledge to rein in my spending.  


I decided that if I'm going to be cooking most of my meals, I'm going to need some spices.  And World Market is all about some bargain spice prices.  So I may've been a little heavy handed in my purchasing, but in my very limited culinary experience, it's incredibly frustrating to find a recipe that both sounds good and seems feasible, only to realize I'm lacking in one (or more) of the required ingredients.  The picture above is of my World Market loot--check out all that good stuff!  Olive oil (I'm almost out), curry powder, beef rub, thyme, rosemary, cumin, and paprika.  And the packaging is charming, especially the olive oil.  Side note: I am a marketing department's dream customer.  Package it up nice and pretty, and I will buy it.  Cliche, I know. 


I'm particularly excited because my cashier was fantastic.  Possibly I was still a little bitter over the bad customer service experience at Nordstrom Rack (my mental rant went something like this: I'm sorry, but who doesn't do an extra discount for damaged items? You want me to buy this dirty pair of suede shoes for the same price some other girl is going to pay for clean shoes just because the dirty pair is THE ONLY ONE LEFT in my size? I think you're just jealous I have tiny, cute feet, you rude sales lady, you). 


Anyways, I get to the register at World Market and the lady starts ringing up my many, many items and when she pulls out the "Herbs de Provence," she says "have you tried this?" and I said "nope." She proceeded to warn me that the lavender overwhelms all the other herbs, and it tastes "like you're eating a flower."  I mean, the herbs were only $2.99, but I'm still grateful that she spared me the money and the eventual disappointment.  AND she gave me $10 off.  Shopping karma.  Take that, Nordstrom Rack.  


Now that I've bored your socks off, I'm going to go watch Gossip Girl and dream about the Girl Scout cookies in my freezer (I'll stop dreaming and start eating when I get back from Miami and no longer have to wear a bathing suit).