Monday to Sunday I hit all the clubs

Dear Food Diary,

I went to a Christmas party last night and ate one of the following things.  Guess which.

 

You said it was like Christmas, but you were wrong.

Dear Food Diary,

For all you know, I haven't eaten in the past ten days.  Let's keep it that way.
There may have been a bucket of cookie dough that I saw and interacted with in some way.

I've been down in Albert Lea and over at work.  I went to a show at a place full of stuff like this:

I ate this:

Festive!  And this:

Both were lovingly crafted by Sarah.

I have nothing else to report at this time.

Your pal,
Matt

I'm tired and I want to go to bed.

Dear Food Diary,

Why don't we have one more drink and go down and cut that shark open?

Busy Busy Bah Bah Bah

Dear Food Diary,

The past four days have been super-ass busy for the folks at my work -- me included.  I've honestly spent most of my waking hours working, driving to/from work, or eating.  That's actually one of the reasons Sarah crafted the Celebration of Pork on Thursday.  I was locked away in the office most of the afternoon, working orders.

Anyhow, while I was away at work on Friday (4:00 am 'til 7:00 pm), Sarah put up the Christmas tree and wrapped presents.  Pretty much all day.  Here's a sample of her efforts:

Then on Satuday I woke up grumbling because I knew I'd have to work most of the day again, but I got up and dutifully started my reporting anyway.  Round about 1 pm, Sarah and I decided to take a break from all the housework and workwork we'd been doing and head up to the Springbrook Nature Center for a jaunt around the trails.

We spent a lot of the drive up and the first few minutes of the walk complaining about how much work there was going to be in next few weeks -- lots of staring at computer screens, planning for family stuff, driving to staring at computer screens, driving to staring at family, stuff. 

Then we realized we were surrounded by an acre of actual work:

We were in the middle of a forest that had been essentially de-forested by a few fuzzy critters using nothing more than their goddamn teeth.  It makes clicking through internet orders or staring at chromosomes all day seem like chump work, and definitely nothing worth complaining about.

This doesn't really convey the extent of their strategic gnawing, but there was a lot of it.  And it put everything I've done in my life (with my teeth) to shame.

Speaking of teeth, after another day of (relative) work on Sunday, Sarah made a throwback meal.  It's a recipe we call "Devonshire Chicken" since that's where it was born.  ...oh, by the way, I'm talking about Devonshire apartment complex in Mankato, not Devonshire, England.  One of those places is full of mid-afternoon drunks with unintelligble accents who drive on the wrong side of the road and would sooner run you down than look at you... the other is in England.

This meal was pretty good though.  Chicken braised in stock, white wine, garlic, onions, and bay leaves, topped with sauted mushrooms.  

Anyway, Food Diary, I've got several weeks to go (hopefully) before the insanity at work lets up (hopefully), but I'd guess the worst of it is over.  And really the worst of it was like nothing compared to felling a fricking tree with my bare teeth, then dragging it (again with my teeth and tiny beaver legs) across the forest into the water and across the river to my damn dam. 

I think I'll make it.

Thank You Consequence

Dear Food Diary,

Our theme for this year's Thanksgiving was "A Celebration of Pork."

For breakfast, Sarah made french toast and sausage.

Then we tried to recreate a tostones plate we had at Conga a few weeks back for lunch.  I ventured out into the cold temperate November air to deep fry some plantains on the grill's side burner while Sarah put the rest of the elements together. 

It really only turned out okay.  The pork could have used a little more marinade time, and the plantains were pretty meh.  Really, though, any time you combine lime, avacado, and cilantro it's hard to complain too much.

Sarah put a lot of thought into supper.

We closed out the pork-related portion of our "Celebration of Pork" with some Banh Mi.  It was awesome.

Darker with the day

Dear Food Diary,

Today I quartered a bunch of potatoes and onions, then dumped them in a baking dish with several cloves of garlic and some chopped carrots (plus salt & pepper).

I put that in a 325-degree oven and left the house for about 90 minutes, pretty sure that when I got back I'd either have the beginnings of a good meal or one hell of an insurance claim.

After 90 minutes, the house was still intact and our veggies were mostly roasted, so I added a few chunks from this bag of turds and tossed it all back in the oven.

Actually, that's half-frozen cubes of Surly Darkness from the bottle I opened a couple weeks ago.  Not a bag of turds. 

After 20 minutes back in the oven I added some unpronounceable sausage from a Ukrainian deli in Coon Rapids.  Then, 15 minutes of additional oven time later, there was this:

They Can Only Do Harm.

Dear Food Diary,

This weekend I turned 30.  I had planned on complaining about it to you long and loud... but now that I'm at it I find I don't have the energy.  Yikes.  That's probably a bad sign for what's left of my youthful vigor.  On the bright side: if 30 marks the death of my youth, at least the cake was good at the funeral.

Sunday we ate at home. 

I made steak and scallops.  Sarah created a vaguely asian "what the hell is in this (in a good way)" salad, and a vanilla vodka-infused berry/mint/lime dessert.  Since you probably wouldn't be able to get to sleep without knowing (and joylessly analyzing) what was in that salad, stupid asshole Food Diary, I'll tell you:
    a Granny Smith apple
    a carrot
    a parsnip
    dried cranberries
    cilantro
    honey
    rice wine vinegar
    salt and pepper

See?  It was the very picture of healthful side-dishery.

Speaking of pictures -- then we had two Byerly's desserts.

I know and I don't care.

Monday, we both took the day off and returned to the Arboretum (again) so Sarah could take some more awesome pictures. 

To summarize:  Now I'm practically ancient, I eat too much meat and sugar (and fat), and I'm too tired to even complain about it.   Life is good.

Your (old) buddy,

Matt

Fear is a Man's Best Friend

Dear Food Diary,

Last night Sarah and I went to Biff's after work because we both really wanted to eat but neither of us really wanted to cook.  Biff's used to be a dive bar that, depending on the night, was either full of half depressing (and mostly drunk) local MGD enthusiasts or mostly depressing (and half drunk) local couples on the hunt for the cheapest possible meal that doesn't come in a bag handed to you through your car window.

I say "used to" because Biff's has recently undergone a major renovation, adding classy five-star amenities like light and ventilation.  They replaced their smoke-stained ceiling tile with shiny new copper panels and put bright rows of track lighting up in place of... well, I'm not even sure what it was before.  I think the waitresses walked around holding their lighters in the air.

Anyway, it was great before: super affordable and really friendly.  Gross, worn down, and boozy... but cheap and approachable.  Like Sandra Lee.

The rows of giant HDTVs and ability to see what you're eating have definitely classed up the joint (and the staff is still really friendly), but it's come at a literal expense: prices have gone up a lot, I think by as much as 40% for some things.

But not on Mondays.  Mondays are home to Biff's insane "$1 hamburger, taco, or pizza slice" deal... and 2-for-1 domestic beers... and half-price appetizers.  It's like what Thanksgiving dinner would be if the Pilgrims had invented deep fryers.

So Sarah and I went to Biff's last night, Food Diary, and we enjoyed several of their promotions.  I'll spare your sensitive eyes the details, though.  Sufficed to say it was all delicious and there was a lot of it.

Today I suffered from some traditional post-gluttony guilt, and I thought back to all the pizza and cookies I ate Friday (and Sunday).  Then I did some quick math and came to the realization that my heart is likely to explode at any minute.

I decided that I'd atone for the questionable food choices I've made recently by eating as healthily as possible today, hopefully reversing all the damage (and fatness) that's accumulated to this point.

For lunch, I had a bunch of vegetables and fruit:

Then tonight I threw together a salad with homemade dressing, garden-grown carrots, and just a few chunks of bacon.  (It was the last of the bacon.  I couldn't just throw it out -- I had to use it out of respect for the pig.)

I made a side of garlic bread for two reasons: one, I was starved for carbohydrates after my ridiculous lunch.  Seriously, how did Triceritops survive for millions of years eating only leafy plants and without the ability to create bread (or pastries)?  I barely made it through the afternoon.

Oh, and two:  A wise owl once told me that garlic is good for the heart, and I've heard that olive oil reduces cellular damage from the kinds of free radicals an unhealthy diet can unleash on a person's body.  So I roughly chopped three huge garlic cloves and dumped that, along with a quarter cup of olive oil, into a giant loaf of bread, then stuck the whole thing in a warm oven while I prepared the salads.  It turned out pretty great.

Now we totally reek (and Sarah's not too happy about it), but I feel great.  My heart is so relieved that it's pumping out a loud wild rhythm as I write this. 

Da-dum. Da-dum. Da-dum-dum-dum. Dum (pause). Da-dum...

(Irregularly) yours,

Matt

I'm Glad I Spent It With You

Dear Food Diary,

After our solo adventures on Friday, Sarah and I decided to spend most of yesterday afternoon at the Minnesota Landscape Arboretum.  We walked several miles and saw some nature.  It was pretty, and the exercise made us both feel a little better about all the sitting, eating, eating, and sitting we'd done the day before.

As soon as we got home, Sarah started working on a turkey pot pie. 

She chopped fresh celery, shallots, garlic, and some carrots from the garden (now taking up lots of space in the fridge's veggie tray).  After sweating the root veggies and celery, she browned some flour in the same pan, then added a few ounces of Surly Darkness and let it reduce.  Then she added chicken stock and simmered that until it thickened a bit.

She transferred it all to a baking dish with some fresh green beans and chopped leftover turkey, popped it in the oven for 20 minutes, then added frozen peas.

 We topped that with puff pastry and tossed it back in the oven.

Twenty minutes later, this happened:

It was by far the best meal I've had in the past month.  Better than the squid rings at Sawatdee, better than the roasted pork at Conga, better than the plate of cookies I had for lunch Friday.

Sarah made some genius choices with this one.  Like when the Darkness reduction turned out slightly too bitter (Darkness '09 is much hoppier than '08), she added a teaspoon of honey along with the chicken broth. 

In the end, the whole thing melded into this super-deep and complex combination of flavors and textures.  The puff pastry stayed crisp and buttery, each vegetable was cooked to its perfect texture, and the flavors spiraled into stupifying depths of, um, awesomeness.

Darkness was a distractingly rich side beverage -- the stuff, which pours like lightly carbonated maple syrup and tastes unlike any other liquid intended for human consumption, added plenty of depth to the pot pie.  On its own it was almost too complicated to actually enjoy.  The 2009 batch is sweet, hoppy, earthy (like confusingly delicious mud), and hoppy.  Refreshing it's not. 

It played its part, though, in what turned out to be a pretty much perfect Fall day.

Yours truly,

Matt

Burning Down the House

Dear Food Diary,

Today Sarah went down to the hinter to see family, leaving me to fend for myself for approximately 30 hours.  I know you don't have a husband, Food Diary, but if your compulsive internet dating ever works out and you land one, keep this grim statistic in mind: 

There's a six-hour safety threshold for leaving people like me (dudes) home alone.  Every two-hour interval after that approximately doubles the likelyhood that we'll break something important, burn down the house, or die.  After 24 hours, we're almost certain to do all three.

So Sarah is taking a calculated risk abandoning me here for as long as she is.  But she's overdue for some mother/sister time (no, they're not going to watch Chinatown), and I could do with a few hours of the faux-bachelor life.  I listened to sports talk radio really loud all morning while I worked, and tonight I spent several hours playing piano.  It's like Animal House over here.

Foodwise, I'm making due with whatever is within reach and doesn't require any elaborate preparation.

Breakfast was a Tony's Crispy Crust cheese pizza.

The secret to enjoying things like this monstrosity and its retarded cousin, Totino's Party Pizza, is to forget that it's supposed to be a pizza.  It's not one.  It's something else, something terrible.  Something oddly delicious and addictive, full of unrecognizable elements that are technically edible but non-nutritive.

Speaking of which, this was lunch:

I know.  But just look at them!

Plus trans fats will kill me much more slowly than burning to death in a fire would.  I already took a chance putting that pizza in the oven earlier -- I'm not going to tempt fate. 

As the hours wear on, I'm being extra careful.  I didn't even open the Oreo bag with a knife.