There are two basic methods of shifting to a shampoo-free lifestyle:
1. Cold turkey, or
2. Baby steps.
Normally, I'm the cold turkey type. I like to do my homework, make a decision, then act without further hesitation. This time, however, the need to look decent at the office requires me to take the baby steps route.
So, here's how Week One looked:
Saturday -- No poo. Just a good, hot-water rinse after a day of sweat and dust among the horses. Next morning, my hair was reasonably manageable, if a little greasier than usual.
Sunday -- Poo. Hey, I was off to see Ironman and didn't want to subject him to the slimier side of my experiment. Yet.
Monday -- Poo. Date day. See above.
Tuesday -- Poo again. I didn't want to, but wasn't willing to risk an experiment just before heading to the office.
Wednesday -- No poo! I telecommuted and was therefore free to test what I've come to call the Salad Treatment. I "washed" my hair with baking soda and "conditioned" it with apple cider vinegar.
Details:
I scrubbed about 2 Tbs of dry baking soda into my hair, focusing on roots rather than ends, and rinsed it out. This is not supposed to remove grease, but simply neutralize any odors. (I later learned that most people make a paste by mixing the soda with water, or else dissolve it in up to a cup of water, either of which is probably easier than trying to work dry soda down to your scalp!)
To condition, I diluted about 1/4 cup of apple cider vinegar with 3/4 cup of water in a large, plastic cup. Into this I dipped the ends of my long hair, then tilted my head to allow the vinegar concoction to run through the rest of my hair while taking care not to get it in my eyes. I left the vinegar in my hair for several minutes while shaving, then rinsed thoroughly.
I was pleasantly surprised by the clean look and smooth, slightly heavier-but-fuller-than-usual texture of my hair post Salad Treatment. The only downside was a faint vinegar odor that lingered even after drying (everyone says the smell goes away with the moisture, but that didn't work for me!) Furthermore, when my hair was re-wetted with sweat later in the day, the vinegar smell increased. It wasn't overwhelming, but I'll be interested to see what Ironman thinks!
Thursday -- Poo. Office again.
Friday -- Salad Treatment. AND office. Encouraged by Wednesday's success, I once again applied baking soda and vinegar (not at the same time!) with very satisfactory results.
Saturday -- Egg wash.
Details: Egg, unlike the Salad Treatment, is supposed to remove some oil from the hair without being as harsh as shampoo. I tried it after another dusty, sweaty day in the round corral. While I wasn't in love with the eggy smell, I found the farm-fresh white and yolk easy to work through my hair. I let it sit a minute, then rinsed very thoroughly with COOL water (no need to poach a snack while showering). I followed up with vinegar for conditioning, then braided my wet hair instead of blow-drying. Interestingly, it was the eggy smell that followed me this time, more than the vinegar. Maybe it was mental. Either way, it was subtle. Next time, I might try adding a few drops of lavender extract to the egg.
Sunday -- No poo. Hot water only. Next morning, my hair was a bit greasier than normal (too greasy for me to trust to a Salad Treatment before going to work.) But, it was not nearly as oily as I'd have predicted.
Monday -- Poo. I tried following the wash with a vinegar conditioning treatment, but that was insufficient and I ended up applying a bit of leave-in conditioner before blow-drying.
All things considered, this is going better than I expected! Stay tuned...
Sunday, July 11, 2010
Saturday, July 10, 2010
Duck Hunt! (Hoo boy, do we know how to have fun!)
Remember when Duck Hunt was just an Nintendo game? It's your lucky day! Duck Hunt is now available in real life, right here at In the Night Farm.
[No animals were harmed in the making of this game.]
You see, when Ironman and I brought home our box of fuzzy ducklings, there were a couple things we didn't know. First, ducklings eat three times their own weight every 24 hours (or at least they seem to, judging by the feed bill). Second, Khaki Campbells and Rouens are not flightless. The breeder pamphlets say they are, but I assure you, it's a lie.
Just ask me how I know.
What's that?
Okay, I'll tell you: Because I've seen them do it!
A couple weeks ago, when I went to Chicago and left Ironman in charge of the farm, he came around the corner to the fenced (but not roofed) duck yard and startled up a couple of Rouens. One lingered nearby and he nabbed it, but the other was last seen on a wobbly flightpath into an oncoming thunderstorm.
Tonight, I did the same thing. Came around the corner, and up went a Khaki Campbell. She flew northward over the horse paddocks and disappeared. Well crap, I thought. Those buggers are worth their weight in gold, after all they've eaten! Better keep them locked in their indoor pen until we can get a roof on the yard.
I resigned myself to the loss of yet another member of the poultry brigade (it's been a rough year for chickens, too), collected the eggs and mail, paused to inspect the garden, and climbed wearily up the to the main level of my farmhouse.
...and I heard a duck. Quacking. From beyond the horse pens.
Well, what did I have to lose? I trotted back down the stairs and through the pasture, circling around behind a patch of weeds at which all the horses were staring curiously. Sure enough, there was little Khaki, a female, panting and obviously distressed by the unintended separation from her flock.
I approached slowly, sure my chances of catching her were close to nil, and was surprised to get within 6 feet before she panicked. She blundered against a nearby fence, flapping and squawking, the managed to slip through.
Dang it! I hurried around to the sheep pens, where there's a spot of fence strong enough to climb over without tearing down the wire or getting zapped with electricity, and caught up with Khaki near the stallion paddocks. She didn't seem to want to fly, but watched me warily, waddling away and occasionally skimming along with her wings outstretched and flapping if I got too close.
Right then. Nice and easy does the trick. Feeling like a large and unwieldy sheepdog, I herded her carefully up the path toward the gate, wondering what on earth I'd do if I managed to get her through. The fences seemed to guide her, but a long stretch of open land lies between the paddocks and the poultry housing.
As it turned out, that was one bridge I didn't need to cross. Khaki waddled right past the gate and into the round corral I use for training horses. I managed to direct her to the uphill side, where the panels are set into the hill and the earth shored back with planks to make a solid wall about as high as Khaki's upraised head.
Still unwilling -- or too unfit? -- to do so, Khaki scrambled back and forth as I weaved to stay ahead of her, repeatedly blocking her path as though she were a fractious filly. In the back of my mind, I couldn't help wondering how hard the neighbors were laughing.
Slowly, slowly I crept nearer. Near enough to...
GRAB!
Missed. Blast! Khaki slipped through my hands and scuttled away -- but blessedly, she didn't fly.
On my second try, I got her. Pinned her wings right to her sides and gathered her against my chest, where she rested without a struggle, peering up at me with a shiny, button eye. She sleeps safely now amid her flock.
Maybe I should add duck wrangling to my resume. I think I will. Who wants to work for an employer without a sense of humor?
Besides, cool I am not, but if you're in the market for a renaissance woman, I've gotcha covered.
[No animals were harmed in the making of this game.]
You see, when Ironman and I brought home our box of fuzzy ducklings, there were a couple things we didn't know. First, ducklings eat three times their own weight every 24 hours (or at least they seem to, judging by the feed bill). Second, Khaki Campbells and Rouens are not flightless. The breeder pamphlets say they are, but I assure you, it's a lie.
Just ask me how I know.
What's that?
Okay, I'll tell you: Because I've seen them do it!
A couple weeks ago, when I went to Chicago and left Ironman in charge of the farm, he came around the corner to the fenced (but not roofed) duck yard and startled up a couple of Rouens. One lingered nearby and he nabbed it, but the other was last seen on a wobbly flightpath into an oncoming thunderstorm.
Tonight, I did the same thing. Came around the corner, and up went a Khaki Campbell. She flew northward over the horse paddocks and disappeared. Well crap, I thought. Those buggers are worth their weight in gold, after all they've eaten! Better keep them locked in their indoor pen until we can get a roof on the yard.
I resigned myself to the loss of yet another member of the poultry brigade (it's been a rough year for chickens, too), collected the eggs and mail, paused to inspect the garden, and climbed wearily up the to the main level of my farmhouse.
...and I heard a duck. Quacking. From beyond the horse pens.
Well, what did I have to lose? I trotted back down the stairs and through the pasture, circling around behind a patch of weeds at which all the horses were staring curiously. Sure enough, there was little Khaki, a female, panting and obviously distressed by the unintended separation from her flock.
I approached slowly, sure my chances of catching her were close to nil, and was surprised to get within 6 feet before she panicked. She blundered against a nearby fence, flapping and squawking, the managed to slip through.
Dang it! I hurried around to the sheep pens, where there's a spot of fence strong enough to climb over without tearing down the wire or getting zapped with electricity, and caught up with Khaki near the stallion paddocks. She didn't seem to want to fly, but watched me warily, waddling away and occasionally skimming along with her wings outstretched and flapping if I got too close.
Right then. Nice and easy does the trick. Feeling like a large and unwieldy sheepdog, I herded her carefully up the path toward the gate, wondering what on earth I'd do if I managed to get her through. The fences seemed to guide her, but a long stretch of open land lies between the paddocks and the poultry housing.
As it turned out, that was one bridge I didn't need to cross. Khaki waddled right past the gate and into the round corral I use for training horses. I managed to direct her to the uphill side, where the panels are set into the hill and the earth shored back with planks to make a solid wall about as high as Khaki's upraised head.
Still unwilling -- or too unfit? -- to do so, Khaki scrambled back and forth as I weaved to stay ahead of her, repeatedly blocking her path as though she were a fractious filly. In the back of my mind, I couldn't help wondering how hard the neighbors were laughing.
Slowly, slowly I crept nearer. Near enough to...
GRAB!
Missed. Blast! Khaki slipped through my hands and scuttled away -- but blessedly, she didn't fly.
On my second try, I got her. Pinned her wings right to her sides and gathered her against my chest, where she rested without a struggle, peering up at me with a shiny, button eye. She sleeps safely now amid her flock.
Maybe I should add duck wrangling to my resume. I think I will. Who wants to work for an employer without a sense of humor?
Besides, cool I am not, but if you're in the market for a renaissance woman, I've gotcha covered.
Friday, July 9, 2010
The Organic Pocketbook: A Struggle Survived
You've heard of debtors prison. Even if it still exists somewhere in the world, I will never go there. I was reared to be responsible with money. Very, very responsible. If a fool and his money are soon parted, count me among the wisest folk you'll ever meet. For me, a major spending spree runs about $150.00 and involves durable goods. I'm positively allergic to debt.
My dad once told me that money is choices. For me, like many women, it is also security. In my case, this means not only my own security, but also that of the 40 of so critters that depend on me for everything from fencing to feed.
I'm telling you this so you can understand what it cost me to go grocery shopping today. Normally one of my favorite activities, today's shopping trip made my stomach literally ache with indecision.
There sat organic avocados, $1.89 apiece. Beside them, conventional for $.78. Organic tomatoes, $1.99/lb. Conventional, as low as $.89. Cherries, $1.99 for a pound of organic, or the same price for two pounds of conventional. Baby spinach, $4.99 or $3.50? Zucchini, $1.29 or less than a dollar?
But I said I would do it, and if there's one thing I hate more than irresponsibility with money, it's irresponsibility with words. Integrity is doing what you said you would, even when no one is watching. Even when it hurts.
And so, despite sufficient stress that I'm considering downing an extra teaspoon of fish oil before bed, I checked out of the store with $23.86 worth of produce. Even though my garden is currently languishing between early crops (greens, peas, rhubarb) and later ones (tomatoes, squash, peppers, beans), that should last me a week.
So, let's multiply that up to about $100 per month for produce. Huh. Not so bad, actually. My former food budget was $200 per month. (Yes, it's possible. I live alone and cook virtually all my meals.) $100 for produce is steeper than my comfort zone -- I need to spare funds for meat and a few extras, like coconut milk and nuts! -- but it's not outside the realm of reality.
Because I'm not really that crazy about money. My bedroom walls, alas, are not stuffed full of hoarded cash. I'm quite content to spend money on priorities: my horses, my farm, adventure, knowledge, and certain people.
Including myself, I suppose. My health. My choice not to slowly poison my cells with daily doses of pesticides and genetically modified mystery plants.
If money is choices, there aren't many more secure than that.
____________________________________
Hungry for more? You might also like A Tale of Oregon Elk: On Food and Gratitude.
My dad once told me that money is choices. For me, like many women, it is also security. In my case, this means not only my own security, but also that of the 40 of so critters that depend on me for everything from fencing to feed.
I'm telling you this so you can understand what it cost me to go grocery shopping today. Normally one of my favorite activities, today's shopping trip made my stomach literally ache with indecision.
There sat organic avocados, $1.89 apiece. Beside them, conventional for $.78. Organic tomatoes, $1.99/lb. Conventional, as low as $.89. Cherries, $1.99 for a pound of organic, or the same price for two pounds of conventional. Baby spinach, $4.99 or $3.50? Zucchini, $1.29 or less than a dollar?
But I said I would do it, and if there's one thing I hate more than irresponsibility with money, it's irresponsibility with words. Integrity is doing what you said you would, even when no one is watching. Even when it hurts.
And so, despite sufficient stress that I'm considering downing an extra teaspoon of fish oil before bed, I checked out of the store with $23.86 worth of produce. Even though my garden is currently languishing between early crops (greens, peas, rhubarb) and later ones (tomatoes, squash, peppers, beans), that should last me a week.
So, let's multiply that up to about $100 per month for produce. Huh. Not so bad, actually. My former food budget was $200 per month. (Yes, it's possible. I live alone and cook virtually all my meals.) $100 for produce is steeper than my comfort zone -- I need to spare funds for meat and a few extras, like coconut milk and nuts! -- but it's not outside the realm of reality.
Because I'm not really that crazy about money. My bedroom walls, alas, are not stuffed full of hoarded cash. I'm quite content to spend money on priorities: my horses, my farm, adventure, knowledge, and certain people.
Including myself, I suppose. My health. My choice not to slowly poison my cells with daily doses of pesticides and genetically modified mystery plants.
If money is choices, there aren't many more secure than that.
____________________________________
Hungry for more? You might also like A Tale of Oregon Elk: On Food and Gratitude.
Wednesday, July 7, 2010
All In: Taking Primal to the Next Level
About this time last year, I was beginning to accept that grains and legumes should not be counted among healthful foods. I'd added fish to my flegan diet in order to support an intense workout schedule. And I read a lot.
By August, I understood. Primal/paleo made sense, I'd applied it, and it was working. I'd long since nixed alcohol except for the occasional social event, I hadn't consumed an appreciable quantity of processed food for years, and refined sugars rarely passed my lips. To those auspicious beginnings, I added grain- and legume-free eating, shifted up to 70% of my daily caloric intake to healthful fats, and increased my focus on getting adequate sunlight and sleep.
I've since added in some judiciously researched supplements (magnesium, CoQ10, alpha-lipoic acid, Vitamins E and C, and fish oil). I've become more strategic in balancing my formal workouts with the rigors of summertime on the farm, and 14-16 hour intermittent fasts are a near-daily habit.
So, I'm ten months in and pretty well on track. Right? Well, that depends who you ask. Sure, I eat and exercise more effectively than the vast majority of westerners (and I have the lipid profile to prove it), but there's no denying that more that can be done.
So, for at least a month, here's what I'm going to try:
1. Going Grassfed. The only excuse not to is money. Maybe it's a good excuse, and maybe not. I'm determined to find out.
2. Going Organic. See above. Hopefully, I can apply sufficient savvy to make this affordable.
3. Going with Better Fish Oil. Enough with the Costco capsules. My bottles of lemon-flavored Carlson's just arrived from the Vitamin Shoppe, and they aren't half bad. Four teaspoons a day surely beats 20 gelcaps. (Yes, 20. See Robb Wolf's fish oil calculator for details.)
4. Going Pooless. This is a scary one. I have both a professional job and long, somewhat fine hair that's subjected to plenty of sweat and dirt -- facts that seem incompatible with shampoo-free living. But, I hear it can be done, and my early experiments have been (mostly) positive. Stay tuned.
5. Going Shoeless. Well, sort of. The much-lauded Vibram Five Fingers aren't an option for me, thanks to my severe bunions. So, I'm in the market for a pair or two of soft-soled moccasins. I doubt I'll be wearing them with business suits or among the horses, but for indoor wear and dog walking, they'll be a big step closer to barefoot.
So. Some little things, some big things. Some things that will certainly be sustainable, some that might not. All I can do is try it and find out.
Anyone care to join me?
By August, I understood. Primal/paleo made sense, I'd applied it, and it was working. I'd long since nixed alcohol except for the occasional social event, I hadn't consumed an appreciable quantity of processed food for years, and refined sugars rarely passed my lips. To those auspicious beginnings, I added grain- and legume-free eating, shifted up to 70% of my daily caloric intake to healthful fats, and increased my focus on getting adequate sunlight and sleep.
I've since added in some judiciously researched supplements (magnesium, CoQ10, alpha-lipoic acid, Vitamins E and C, and fish oil). I've become more strategic in balancing my formal workouts with the rigors of summertime on the farm, and 14-16 hour intermittent fasts are a near-daily habit.
So, I'm ten months in and pretty well on track. Right? Well, that depends who you ask. Sure, I eat and exercise more effectively than the vast majority of westerners (and I have the lipid profile to prove it), but there's no denying that more that can be done.
So, for at least a month, here's what I'm going to try:
1. Going Grassfed. The only excuse not to is money. Maybe it's a good excuse, and maybe not. I'm determined to find out.
2. Going Organic. See above. Hopefully, I can apply sufficient savvy to make this affordable.
3. Going with Better Fish Oil. Enough with the Costco capsules. My bottles of lemon-flavored Carlson's just arrived from the Vitamin Shoppe, and they aren't half bad. Four teaspoons a day surely beats 20 gelcaps. (Yes, 20. See Robb Wolf's fish oil calculator for details.)
4. Going Pooless. This is a scary one. I have both a professional job and long, somewhat fine hair that's subjected to plenty of sweat and dirt -- facts that seem incompatible with shampoo-free living. But, I hear it can be done, and my early experiments have been (mostly) positive. Stay tuned.
5. Going Shoeless. Well, sort of. The much-lauded Vibram Five Fingers aren't an option for me, thanks to my severe bunions. So, I'm in the market for a pair or two of soft-soled moccasins. I doubt I'll be wearing them with business suits or among the horses, but for indoor wear and dog walking, they'll be a big step closer to barefoot.
So. Some little things, some big things. Some things that will certainly be sustainable, some that might not. All I can do is try it and find out.
Anyone care to join me?
Monday, July 5, 2010
Beyond the Cave: Primal Thoughts on Corporate Travel
Primal living is easy -- beyond easy! -- when I'm at or near home. I pack large salads laden with protein and healthful fats for my midday, post-IF "breakfasts" and conjure up large roasts or pots of stew that serve as dinner throughout the week. My refrigerator bursts with eggs and vegetables, my freezer with meats, and my pantry with coconut milk and spices. I have a farm full of work and a gym full of iron at my disposal. I'm living large.
And then comes corporate travel. Most people seem to view trips to the big city as occasions of culinary opulence. What a beautiful city! they crow. So much to do! So much to eat! I seem to be the only one wondering where people who actually live there forage and hunt. (To this day, I have yet to locate a single grocery store in Washington DC.) Airports and restaurants seem quite unaware that it is, in fact, possible to construct an entire meal that contains neither grains nor frankenfats nor heaps of fruit. Hotel management is so paranoid of lawsuits that you're lucky to find a set of dumbbells in what I've come to call the "Fitless Center" with its never-ending stream of cardio-bunnies bounding righteously along on glorified hamster wheels.
Nevertheless, sometimes, one must travel. I just returned from a four-day jaunt to Chicago, where I spent my days at a professional conference. Here are my observations:
1. It is possible to locate salads -- albeit anemic, low-protein, low-fat, unimaginative ones -- in airport kiosks. However, they all come with sugar and soy/corn oil-laden dressing packs. I need to dream up some way to pack reasonably healthful salad dressings. Most likely, said dressings will need to be homemade. Leakproof. Safe at room temperature. And 3 oz or less. I'm open to suggestions.
2. Packing my own "paleo kits" was a lifesaver. In anticipation of inedible conference food, I packed a baggie of beef jerky, almonds, walnuts, macadamias, and a few home-dried apricots for each day of the trip. As the box lunches provided by the conference each contained at least as many carbs as I would normally consume over 3 entire days (mostly in the form of potato chips, sandwich rolls, and cookies), these paleo kits came in mighty useful. Next time, however, I'll pack the jerky separate from the nuts and fruit, as they all decided to exchange moisture levels in the shared space, resulting in extra-tough jerky and slightly mushy nuts. Thanks to the conference breakfasts of fruit and fried burritos, I was also glad to have packed plenty of kippered herring and unsweetened coconut flakes.
3. The primal lifestyle makes one look rather hot in summery, business-casual dress, which has the useful side effect of enhancing networking capability. Play to your strengths.
4. Speaking of strengths, effective bodyweight workouts can be squeezed in among the ridiculous contraptions (read: ellipticals and bowflexes) the fill hotel Fitless Rooms. Bonus: free entertainment in the form of disbelieving expressions when you bang out more decline pushups, pistols, and renegade rows than any of the boys. For extra fun, surreptitiously post a notice above the stack of free Tribunes: WARNING -- Working out while reading the newspaper makes you look like an unproductive idiot.
5. A few days of calorie restriction has its uses. My trip provided an interesting shakeup of my typical eating schedule. Instead of consuming my usual quantity of fuel during an 8-hour eating window, I instead consumed a reduced amount spread throughout the day. As a result, I returned home visibly leaner -- albeit ready to plow through several pounds of steak without coming up for air.
There's more, of course: Seek out greenbelts for sprinting, strategically apply a long run to drain glycogen stores if you do give in to a burger and fries, remember your supplements (including extra fish oil), keep your mouth shut about being paleo unless someone asks, focus on intellectual pursuits rather than obsessing about food, keep the bloody television off, etc.
But you know that stuff, right? Happy trails.
And then comes corporate travel. Most people seem to view trips to the big city as occasions of culinary opulence. What a beautiful city! they crow. So much to do! So much to eat! I seem to be the only one wondering where people who actually live there forage and hunt. (To this day, I have yet to locate a single grocery store in Washington DC.) Airports and restaurants seem quite unaware that it is, in fact, possible to construct an entire meal that contains neither grains nor frankenfats nor heaps of fruit. Hotel management is so paranoid of lawsuits that you're lucky to find a set of dumbbells in what I've come to call the "Fitless Center" with its never-ending stream of cardio-bunnies bounding righteously along on glorified hamster wheels.
Nevertheless, sometimes, one must travel. I just returned from a four-day jaunt to Chicago, where I spent my days at a professional conference. Here are my observations:
1. It is possible to locate salads -- albeit anemic, low-protein, low-fat, unimaginative ones -- in airport kiosks. However, they all come with sugar and soy/corn oil-laden dressing packs. I need to dream up some way to pack reasonably healthful salad dressings. Most likely, said dressings will need to be homemade. Leakproof. Safe at room temperature. And 3 oz or less. I'm open to suggestions.
2. Packing my own "paleo kits" was a lifesaver. In anticipation of inedible conference food, I packed a baggie of beef jerky, almonds, walnuts, macadamias, and a few home-dried apricots for each day of the trip. As the box lunches provided by the conference each contained at least as many carbs as I would normally consume over 3 entire days (mostly in the form of potato chips, sandwich rolls, and cookies), these paleo kits came in mighty useful. Next time, however, I'll pack the jerky separate from the nuts and fruit, as they all decided to exchange moisture levels in the shared space, resulting in extra-tough jerky and slightly mushy nuts. Thanks to the conference breakfasts of fruit and fried burritos, I was also glad to have packed plenty of kippered herring and unsweetened coconut flakes.
3. The primal lifestyle makes one look rather hot in summery, business-casual dress, which has the useful side effect of enhancing networking capability. Play to your strengths.
4. Speaking of strengths, effective bodyweight workouts can be squeezed in among the ridiculous contraptions (read: ellipticals and bowflexes) the fill hotel Fitless Rooms. Bonus: free entertainment in the form of disbelieving expressions when you bang out more decline pushups, pistols, and renegade rows than any of the boys. For extra fun, surreptitiously post a notice above the stack of free Tribunes: WARNING -- Working out while reading the newspaper makes you look like an unproductive idiot.
5. A few days of calorie restriction has its uses. My trip provided an interesting shakeup of my typical eating schedule. Instead of consuming my usual quantity of fuel during an 8-hour eating window, I instead consumed a reduced amount spread throughout the day. As a result, I returned home visibly leaner -- albeit ready to plow through several pounds of steak without coming up for air.
There's more, of course: Seek out greenbelts for sprinting, strategically apply a long run to drain glycogen stores if you do give in to a burger and fries, remember your supplements (including extra fish oil), keep your mouth shut about being paleo unless someone asks, focus on intellectual pursuits rather than obsessing about food, keep the bloody television off, etc.
But you know that stuff, right? Happy trails.
Saturday, July 3, 2010
Primal Jambalaya
Fast, rich, and easy. Sounds like a Hollywood starlet, but alas, it's just a recipe. This primal version of jambalaya (no rice, of course, though you could serve it over cauliflower rice if you wished) makes for a filling, one-dish meal in about 20 minutes.
The recipe makes 2, dinner-sized servings. For a savory breakfast, split it into four servings, each topped with a fried egg or two.
A word of warning: when shopping for Polish sausage, be sure to check the label. Some brands contain an appalling quantity of high fructose corn syrup or other sugars, while others contain little or none.
Primal Jambalaya
2 chicken thighs, cooked and cut into chunks
2 Polish sausage links, sliced into coins
1 cup red bell pepper, diced
1 cup yellow onion, diced
1 jalapeno, sliced (with seeds)
1 (14.5 oz) can diced tomatoes (not drained)
1 tsp smoked paprika
1/2 tsp dry mustard
1/2 tsp cumin
1/4 tsp thyme
1/4 tsp creole seasoning (plain salt works too)
4 Tbs fresh cilantro, chopped (optional)
Brown sausage in a large, deep skillet or Dutch oven. Add onion and peppers and saute over medium heat for 3-4 minutes. Add dry spices and continue to cook, stirring constantly, for 20-30 seconds. Add diced tomatoes and chicken, scraping bottom of pan to deglaze, and simmer until chicken is heated through. Serve topped with cilantro, if desired. Serves 2.
The recipe makes 2, dinner-sized servings. For a savory breakfast, split it into four servings, each topped with a fried egg or two.
A word of warning: when shopping for Polish sausage, be sure to check the label. Some brands contain an appalling quantity of high fructose corn syrup or other sugars, while others contain little or none.
Primal Jambalaya
2 chicken thighs, cooked and cut into chunks
2 Polish sausage links, sliced into coins
1 cup red bell pepper, diced
1 cup yellow onion, diced
1 jalapeno, sliced (with seeds)
1 (14.5 oz) can diced tomatoes (not drained)
1 tsp smoked paprika
1/2 tsp dry mustard
1/2 tsp cumin
1/4 tsp thyme
1/4 tsp creole seasoning (plain salt works too)
4 Tbs fresh cilantro, chopped (optional)
Brown sausage in a large, deep skillet or Dutch oven. Add onion and peppers and saute over medium heat for 3-4 minutes. Add dry spices and continue to cook, stirring constantly, for 20-30 seconds. Add diced tomatoes and chicken, scraping bottom of pan to deglaze, and simmer until chicken is heated through. Serve topped with cilantro, if desired. Serves 2.
Friday, July 2, 2010
Why.
I blog too little lately
because I haven't enough time
energy
effort
heart.
Which makes me wonder why I blog at all
because I could always fill time
in other ways
real ways
always.
Still, I return to fill not time but minds
not space but souls
bodies
because people matter
even though, some days,
I hate us all.
I blog for the fatties!
the chronically ill, the dissatisfied
for the stubborn bodies that refuse to respond
to mindful
willful
relentless
useless
adherence to spoon-fed, corn-fed, never-dead
lies.
I blog for the primals!
the paleos already freed
but also dissatisfied
always alone
because no one still bound can understand.
Do they want to understand?
I blog to break free!
You.
Us.
Me.
because I haven't enough time
energy
effort
heart.
Which makes me wonder why I blog at all
because I could always fill time
in other ways
real ways
always.
Still, I return to fill not time but minds
not space but souls
bodies
because people matter
even though, some days,
I hate us all.
I blog for the fatties!
the chronically ill, the dissatisfied
for the stubborn bodies that refuse to respond
to mindful
willful
relentless
useless
adherence to spoon-fed, corn-fed, never-dead
lies.
I blog for the primals!
the paleos already freed
but also dissatisfied
always alone
because no one still bound can understand.
Do they want to understand?
I blog to break free!
You.
Us.
Me.
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