This is not dessert.
I know, I know. You read vanilla, you instantly think creme brulee.
And so even though the ingredient list calls for chives. And parmesan cheese.
You are still pretty sure that this will end up with a caramelized sugar crust on top. Somehow.
To all of you diligent, menu-planning people out there. Who have had your Thanksgiving menu planned for months. (Unlike some of us who finalized it…err…who will finalize it next Wednesday at approximately 8PM.)
I am about to throw a wrench in your best-laid plans.
I like to think I’ve become an expert on running pains. Really, they come in a lot of flavors. There are the aches and the stabs, the fractures and the strains, the wandering shooting pain that radiates up and down the entirety of your gastrocnemius muscle whenever you stand on your tiptoes or try to walk up and down steps (you know, for example).
I also have a very high threshold for pain tolerance. Which is both good and bad. Good because it means that I might not tell my husband that I wish he were dead quite as much as the average woman during the whole birthing process. (Ahem. Eligible bachelors – are you reading this?) Bad because there are certain pains that you just shouldn’t tolerate. And I am not very good at distinguishing those from the ones that are just normal everyday pains because, well. They feel the same to me.
When Sophie walked into the kitchen on Sunday morning to find me at the stove cooking four pans of risotto simultaneously she did not realize that she had implicated herself in a very serious, life-altering double blinded randomized control trial. In fact, I’m pretty sure she didn’t even bat an eye.
Although she did look at me suspiciously when I handed her a waiver to sign. And asked her to put her hand over her heart and swear on an uncharacteristically cute butternut squash that she was not actually a spy working for a competing risotto rice reviewer and that she would answer all of my questions as truthfully as possible. To the best of her abilities. So help her god.
Hey, if you’re going to do a double-blinded randomized control trial in the safety of your own kitchen. You have to do it right. No reason why it shouldn’t comply with FDA standards. That is my motto.
Yesterday I plunged myself into an ice bath.
It was very out of character. I was living on the wild side.
But sometimes, after you run 13 miles. You just can’t predict what you’re going to do next.
In my case, I filled the tub halfway with lukewarm water. Got in, wearing nothing but a sweatshirt. And then poured two of those huge bags of ice cubes all over myself. This is what I like to call “icing it where it counts”.
My calves are still in serious amounts of pain. So I’m not quite sure that it counted.
I have what I like to call “perfect timing”.
Like, remember when I decided to cook Indian-Style Chili on the exact same day at the exact same time that my lovely adorable Indian roommate happened to invite every single Indian member of our med school class over to eat some Diwali pastries?
No? Really? You couldn’t feel my embarrassment from all four corners of the globe? It was palpable. Tactile, even. Cut-it-with-a-knife thick.
Welcome to Eats Well With Others, where we take a vegetable-and-cupcake laden approach to life (always with a bit of laughter on the side)!
