I tried to think of how to include a photo for this post - a nice snapshot of me drooling and snarling at the refrigerator, perhaps? Black and white food porn of the object of my desire? Perhaps just a simple, tasteful pic of the size 16 pants I'm going to have to wear if I don't get it under control over here?* But no. If for no other reason than I don't want to get drool on the camera, I'll stick to words this time. Here's the cold truth of it:
I've got a fever, baby, and the only prescription is...pepperoni.
Holy mother of pizza toppings, that stuff is good! I hadn't eaten pepperoni since probably 1993, when I gave up red meat. I started eating a little pork and beef when we moved to Japan so that I wouldn't get sick or miss out on cultural experiences like gyoza and ramen. Anthony Bourdain put me over the edge with this video, which I've linked to before:
I know the video quality is bad, but the audio works.
Still, I hadn't had pepperoni. Not until Saturday night when I went to a party where there was a cheese tray, with two beautiful little lines of red discs, just calling to me. Since then I've bought a fourteen ounce package from the commissary, eaten half of them cold out of the bag, and I'm saving (most of) the rest for pizza tomorrow night.
I'm pretty sure pepperoni, at least the commercial variety I've found, is an EFS, but honey, I don't care. I'm off to sprinkle some on my cereal.
*Just for the record, I'm not hating on people who are bigger than me. I think we can all agree that going up to a size 16 because of unhinged pepperoni consumption would be a bad move, can't we?
UPDATE: Having eaten my animal-fat quotient for the day, I made a bulgur salad for lunch. I think my heart is beating again - thanks, Smitten Kitchen.
Tuesday, June 9, 2009
Sunday, June 7, 2009
Love...true love
At the risk of sounding more self-involved than I actually am (which, let's face it, would be hard to do), I offer this real-life definition of love:
True love is when, after agreeing to clean the kitchen after having cooked so that one's dear husband can go to sleep, and having found (and then lost) a giant evil Japanese cockroach in said kitchen, a wife proceeds to spend an hour scrubbing, scouring, and sweeping that kitchen rather than vacuuming, so the late-night cleaning wouldn't wake her husband up.
No?
True love is when, after agreeing to clean the kitchen after having cooked so that one's dear husband can go to sleep, and having found (and then lost) a giant evil Japanese cockroach in said kitchen, a wife proceeds to spend an hour scrubbing, scouring, and sweeping that kitchen rather than vacuuming, so the late-night cleaning wouldn't wake her husband up.
No?
Saturday, June 6, 2009
The naked gaijin
I had a very Japanese experience last night - it involved sushi, toll roads, semipublic nudity, and lots of staring. I, at long last, have been to a nude public bath.
I didn't bring the camera this time.
But Internet, it was so fantastic. I was a little nervous going in, especially since we went with our friends Kelsey and Mack (Kelsey of the fantastic sleepover) and it has been a long time since I up and got nekkid with a friend. Turns out, though, once everybody around you is naked - and once you've washed ALL your bits and pieces in front of each other, which is the first thing you do at these places - it's just not that weird. We did refrain from bathing each other, which the Japanese ladies do - U.S. culture is pretty darn repressed in some ways, compared to here. The men, of course, were on the men's side.
The onsen (well, not technically - these were hot tubs/spas, not natural hot springs) was amazing. There were massaging jet tubs inside, and stone seats with hot water running over them for relaxation and cooling off a bit. And a tub of ice-cold water! ICE COLD. These women are TOUGH, I tell you, and many sat right down in the ice water to, I don't know, invigorate themselves?!
The real draw was outside. High walls and trees surrounded the grounds and separated the men from women. There were seven or eight tubs outdoors under a light sprinkle of cool rain - hot spas made of stone with waterfalls pouring slowly in, small round tubs for one person, like sitting in a big bowl of water. A scented steam sauna, hotter than any I've seen in the U.S., and a popular spa full of cloudy water with some skin-softening mineral or something. My dry arms feel like babies' bottoms this morning. And best of all, long, wide stone tablets, constantly washed in hot water, under a little roof, where you can lay and relax, even fall asleep while the breeze keeps you cool.
It was so nice. Kelsey and I had a great talk, and we both liked to move around a lot. We were glad to see that everybody looks funny naked, including the beautiful, thin Japanese women who populate this land. As the only non-Japanese there, though we did get some stares - neither cellulite nor freckles seem to be a Japanese affliction. The little kids were especially unabashed, and I suggested we should charge extra admission for the Naked Gaijin Show.
OH, speaking of the kids? Parents are allowed to bring their kids of opposite gender into the onsen - up to AGE THIRTEEN. We didn't see any adolescent boys, thank goodness, but thirteen?! That's a sexual being, a thirteen year old boy. I'd rather not lean over to get a drink from the fountain, or sit in a spa with any teenage fellas, thanks.
By the time we got home, Josh and I just piled into bed and slept for about ten hours. Kelsey and I made a pact to go back there more often, and I want more girlfriends to come! What a treat.
I didn't bring the camera this time.
But Internet, it was so fantastic. I was a little nervous going in, especially since we went with our friends Kelsey and Mack (Kelsey of the fantastic sleepover) and it has been a long time since I up and got nekkid with a friend. Turns out, though, once everybody around you is naked - and once you've washed ALL your bits and pieces in front of each other, which is the first thing you do at these places - it's just not that weird. We did refrain from bathing each other, which the Japanese ladies do - U.S. culture is pretty darn repressed in some ways, compared to here. The men, of course, were on the men's side.
The onsen (well, not technically - these were hot tubs/spas, not natural hot springs) was amazing. There were massaging jet tubs inside, and stone seats with hot water running over them for relaxation and cooling off a bit. And a tub of ice-cold water! ICE COLD. These women are TOUGH, I tell you, and many sat right down in the ice water to, I don't know, invigorate themselves?!
The real draw was outside. High walls and trees surrounded the grounds and separated the men from women. There were seven or eight tubs outdoors under a light sprinkle of cool rain - hot spas made of stone with waterfalls pouring slowly in, small round tubs for one person, like sitting in a big bowl of water. A scented steam sauna, hotter than any I've seen in the U.S., and a popular spa full of cloudy water with some skin-softening mineral or something. My dry arms feel like babies' bottoms this morning. And best of all, long, wide stone tablets, constantly washed in hot water, under a little roof, where you can lay and relax, even fall asleep while the breeze keeps you cool.
It was so nice. Kelsey and I had a great talk, and we both liked to move around a lot. We were glad to see that everybody looks funny naked, including the beautiful, thin Japanese women who populate this land. As the only non-Japanese there, though we did get some stares - neither cellulite nor freckles seem to be a Japanese affliction. The little kids were especially unabashed, and I suggested we should charge extra admission for the Naked Gaijin Show.
OH, speaking of the kids? Parents are allowed to bring their kids of opposite gender into the onsen - up to AGE THIRTEEN. We didn't see any adolescent boys, thank goodness, but thirteen?! That's a sexual being, a thirteen year old boy. I'd rather not lean over to get a drink from the fountain, or sit in a spa with any teenage fellas, thanks.
By the time we got home, Josh and I just piled into bed and slept for about ten hours. Kelsey and I made a pact to go back there more often, and I want more girlfriends to come! What a treat.
Friday, June 5, 2009
I don't think he's even a real captain!
Someone actually tried to sue because she though Cap'n Crunch Crunchberries were real berries. I wonder what effect the Western Diet has on brain function?
Wednesday, June 3, 2009
Well, it doesn't itch anymo- zzzzzzzzzzzzzz
The mosquitoes in Japan LOVE me, and they are doozies. Whenever I get a bite, which is frequently during the summer and fall, it swells up into a hot, angry, red welt the size of a half a tennis ball and stays that way for a couple days. I got the inaugural two of the season earlier this week, and ouch.
So I have some fantastic lavender balm from Blue Moon Lavender in Sequim, Washington, where Josh's family lives. This stuff is amazing; it's gentle and natural, smells great, and it really relieves itch. But the bites were still driving me nuts, so I found a tube of Benadryl cream and put a dab on each bite.
Guys, I was asleep within a half an hour.
It was 2:00 in the afternoon. There was bright sunlight streaming in the windows. There was loud construction on two houses on my block. And I KONKED OUT on the couch, fully clothed, for two hours. I know I'm sensitive to antihistamines, but really? LOTION?
Le sigh.
Maybe I was just tired, maybe it's a coincidence. But there is a pretty good chance that I am the biggest wimp who ever lived. And that I'll never need a prescription for Ambien - but if you see me smearing anti-itch cream on my forehead like Jimi Hendrix did with acid, go ahead and stage an intervention.
So I have some fantastic lavender balm from Blue Moon Lavender in Sequim, Washington, where Josh's family lives. This stuff is amazing; it's gentle and natural, smells great, and it really relieves itch. But the bites were still driving me nuts, so I found a tube of Benadryl cream and put a dab on each bite.
Guys, I was asleep within a half an hour.
It was 2:00 in the afternoon. There was bright sunlight streaming in the windows. There was loud construction on two houses on my block. And I KONKED OUT on the couch, fully clothed, for two hours. I know I'm sensitive to antihistamines, but really? LOTION?
Le sigh.
Maybe I was just tired, maybe it's a coincidence. But there is a pretty good chance that I am the biggest wimp who ever lived. And that I'll never need a prescription for Ambien - but if you see me smearing anti-itch cream on my forehead like Jimi Hendrix did with acid, go ahead and stage an intervention.
Tuesday, June 2, 2009
Mostly Plants
Food I've cooked since reading that Michael Pollan book:
*Veggie burgers (processed, I know) on whole-wheat bread with homemade barbecue sauce
*Slaw made of cabbage, broccoli, local carrots, and homemade buttermilk-dill dressing
*A big salad of accidentally-purchased iceberg lettuce - ew! - cherry tomatoes, pea pods, peas, Filipino mango, bean sprouts, hard-boiled egg, sunflower seeds, and more of that dressing
*Broccoli-stuffed mushrooms with Gruyere, served with another big salad
*Traditional coleslaw for a command cookout tomorrow.
I'm really enjoying focusing on the veggies in my cooking. The fridge is brimming with green, and I've got plans for zucchini bread later this week. I even got Josh to drink a glass of wine with dinner last night, thanks to Mr. Pollan and his good work. Amen!
Oh, and we've made one important discovery: salad is not filling on its own, even with boosters like egg and sunflower seeds. We polished off a huge bowl, made eye contact with each other, and headed for the bananas and peanut butter. Good to know.
*Veggie burgers (processed, I know) on whole-wheat bread with homemade barbecue sauce
*Slaw made of cabbage, broccoli, local carrots, and homemade buttermilk-dill dressing
*A big salad of accidentally-purchased iceberg lettuce - ew! - cherry tomatoes, pea pods, peas, Filipino mango, bean sprouts, hard-boiled egg, sunflower seeds, and more of that dressing
*Broccoli-stuffed mushrooms with Gruyere, served with another big salad
*Traditional coleslaw for a command cookout tomorrow.
I'm really enjoying focusing on the veggies in my cooking. The fridge is brimming with green, and I've got plans for zucchini bread later this week. I even got Josh to drink a glass of wine with dinner last night, thanks to Mr. Pollan and his good work. Amen!
Oh, and we've made one important discovery: salad is not filling on its own, even with boosters like egg and sunflower seeds. We polished off a huge bowl, made eye contact with each other, and headed for the bananas and peanut butter. Good to know.
Monday, June 1, 2009
Edible Foodlike Substances
I know I'm a little late to the Michael Pollan party, as his latest book has already come out in paperback. I picked up In Defense of Food at Camp Zama this weekend, and now I can't put it down.
His message is pretty simple: the Western diet of highly processed, scientifically refined and then fortified foods has made Americans obsessed with nutrition as well as sick, and fat. The answer he offers is three rules: eat food, not too much, mostly plants. Seems simple, right? And I think it is. Josh and I already endeavor to do those three things (although "not too much" often gets overlooked), but after reading 3/4 of this book, I am going after healthy, whole-food eating with renewed vigor.
Edible Foodlike Substances is my new favorite term. It refers to much of the food in the commissary, or American supermarket: Pop-tarts, Go-gurt, cereal bars with milk-like non-dairy frosting strips. Colorfully packaged edible items engineered to trick our senses into thinking they are food, with long, unintelligible ingredient lists and health claims splashed across the front and side panels. Pollan states that avoiding foods which make health claims can, on its own, improve one's health. Eek!
I'm ready for a paradigm shift. It's not a big one for me or Josh, since his weight struggles and my crunchy tendencies (plus unemployment) have already led us to a mostly whole-grain, homemade, vegetarian lifestyle. I'm not giving up white rice in my sushi when we eat out, nor will I start bringing my own food to dinner parties or preaching in other peoples' pantries. I'm going to start cooking more leaves than seeds, though, and eating ice cream rather than "slow-churned low-fat dairy dessert*." I cooked our veggie burgers with a little butter instead of olive oil last night, and made a big colorful bowl of slaw alongside.
Unfortunately, it may be expensive. It should be, apparently: Americans spend ten percent of our income on food, according to this book, while the French spend 14.9%. Avoiding meat saves us some money, accidentally, but I'm through choosing my fruit by cheapness instead of diversity, season, and plain old-fashioned craving. Instead of taking the train to Kurihama Flower World (a garden/amusement park not far from our house) yesterday, Josh and I** bought some potting soil and improved on the little container garden growing on our balcony.
Hoo, I'm excited! Who wants to borrow the book when I'm done?***
*I seriously didn't know Edy's (or Dreyer's) wasn't ice cream until I looked the other day. What the hell?
**That is, I repotted and improved the little garden. Josh carried the soil up the stairs.
***I'd borrow The Omnivore's Dilemma if anyone has it laying around.
His message is pretty simple: the Western diet of highly processed, scientifically refined and then fortified foods has made Americans obsessed with nutrition as well as sick, and fat. The answer he offers is three rules: eat food, not too much, mostly plants. Seems simple, right? And I think it is. Josh and I already endeavor to do those three things (although "not too much" often gets overlooked), but after reading 3/4 of this book, I am going after healthy, whole-food eating with renewed vigor.
Edible Foodlike Substances is my new favorite term. It refers to much of the food in the commissary, or American supermarket: Pop-tarts, Go-gurt, cereal bars with milk-like non-dairy frosting strips. Colorfully packaged edible items engineered to trick our senses into thinking they are food, with long, unintelligible ingredient lists and health claims splashed across the front and side panels. Pollan states that avoiding foods which make health claims can, on its own, improve one's health. Eek!
I'm ready for a paradigm shift. It's not a big one for me or Josh, since his weight struggles and my crunchy tendencies (plus unemployment) have already led us to a mostly whole-grain, homemade, vegetarian lifestyle. I'm not giving up white rice in my sushi when we eat out, nor will I start bringing my own food to dinner parties or preaching in other peoples' pantries. I'm going to start cooking more leaves than seeds, though, and eating ice cream rather than "slow-churned low-fat dairy dessert*." I cooked our veggie burgers with a little butter instead of olive oil last night, and made a big colorful bowl of slaw alongside.
Unfortunately, it may be expensive. It should be, apparently: Americans spend ten percent of our income on food, according to this book, while the French spend 14.9%. Avoiding meat saves us some money, accidentally, but I'm through choosing my fruit by cheapness instead of diversity, season, and plain old-fashioned craving. Instead of taking the train to Kurihama Flower World (a garden/amusement park not far from our house) yesterday, Josh and I** bought some potting soil and improved on the little container garden growing on our balcony.
Hoo, I'm excited! Who wants to borrow the book when I'm done?****I seriously didn't know Edy's (or Dreyer's) wasn't ice cream until I looked the other day. What the hell?
**That is, I repotted and improved the little garden. Josh carried the soil up the stairs.
***I'd borrow The Omnivore's Dilemma if anyone has it laying around.
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