Whine.

I hate buying toilet paper, hate it. There's nothing fun about it, it's not all that cheap and it's a hassle to carry, especially when you buy enormous quantities, like I do, because I don't want to have to go back to buy more for a long, long time. One of the happiest times in my life was when I bought something like 144 rolls of paper and didn't need more for almost two years. That was great. So, yesterday, I had to buy toilet paper. It was definitely time, because we had been passing one roll from bathroom to bathroom and, really, each bathroom should have its own roll, for convenience. I try to avoid big box stores, but I try to avoid buying toilet paper even more, so I get it wherever they sell the biggest package. I had to take Baby J; it was not fun. I was feeling put out.

I love that phrase, "put out." I'm pretty sure it's exclusively Southern. It's used to describe someone who acts like they're being asked to do something entirely unreasonable. When I was younger, and whining about cleaning my room or something even smaller, like putting my own dish in the dishwasher, my mother would say,

"Oh, stop acting so put out."

Like many things my mother used to always say, that's become one of my catchphrases, because I've become my mother. Anyhow, yesterday I was feeling put out, after having to buy toilet paper in a big box store with Baby J. Still feeling put out, I went to my favorite non-hippy grocery store to buy a mix to make cupcakes for the X-Man's birthday today. The big box store didn't have lemon cake mix, which is what he wanted. I am ashamed and embarrassed about what happened next.

I wasn't concerned about going into the second store*, because every grocery store in town, including that one, has free cookies for kids and shopping carts with trucks on the front for toddlers to ride in. The truck carts are hard to push, but well worth the effort when you have a toddler who likes to be held every moment of the day. Baby J loves trucks and cookies and started talking about them as we pulled into the parking lot. I was really looking forward to peeling him off of my neck, strapping him into the truck and quieting him with a cookie. When grocery stores first started putting the cookies out, I whined about it to anyone who would listen.

"Why must we reward kids with unhealthy food just for doing something they have to do anyway? It's normal to go to the store and they have to accept it. When I was little, they had broken cookies every once in a while, but it was a special treat and a surprise, not a given. Ugh."

Which is why my behavior yesterday is so embarrassing. When will I learn that acting superior never, ever pays? Baby J was in the truck, chanting,

"TOOKIE! TOOKIE! TOOKIE!"

There were no cookies. I waited at the deli, thinking for sure they would give me one. I was going to buy one if they had no free ones. I'm not an unreasonable person. I thought everyone behind the counter was busy. Baby J got louder. And I noticed one of the employees pouring himself a Mountain Dew and poking at it with a straw. That really got my goat (another Southern expression for you). I marched over and said, "Excuse me!" rather aggressively. I asked about the cookies. I got a long, boring explanation about people taking more than one and how they just couldn't put cookies out anymore because of blah, blah, blah, blah. I said that was fine, but that I was switching grocery stores, forever.

I was going to buy the cake mix anyway when Baby J informed me that it might be best if we left the store, right that second. On my way out, I ran into L, a nice, polite lady from my church. I needed to vent, so I told her why I was leaving. L. has three (redheaded) children of her own and sympathized with my plight. She thought I should talk to a manager, but Baby J was about to lose it, so I had to go.

The very efficient L. sent a very brave grocery store employee out to my car to explain the cookie situation and ask me to continue shopping at the store, which I will. Mainly because she told me the cookies will be there in the future.

L. and the grocery store employee should start a PR firm; they saved the day. I called her on my cell phone and left a message, apologizing for my temper tantrum and thanking her for talking me down off the ledge and saving me from having to find another store. She left a message back saying that she hadn't noticed any sort of tantrum and that she had done similar. Did I mention what a kind person she is?

Namasté, y'all!

* I should have been concerned. It was five o'clock and I have three children. When will I learn? maybe next week. *sigh*

Business with a heart.

The other day I went to Rosewood Market, macrobiotic cookbook in hand. I was in the produce aisle, trying to figure out which yucky looking root was burdock. One of the most excellent and informed employees came over and asked if I needed help. I asked her a few questions about macrobiotic cooking and various ingredients. It is so nice to ask questions in a store and actually get the answers. Last week, I went to the big box office store where my husband bought his laptop. I needed a new charger thingy. The manager had no idea if they carried one that fit. As luck would have it, the two of us were able to sort it out, but what should have taken two minutes took fifteen. Grrr!

So, I'm not naming the employee, because I wouldn't want to get her in trouble for simplifying macrobiotics for me so well. She said it was really just a bunch of whole grains and fresh, seasonal produce. When I expressed my dismay that most of the soups were made with water instead of stock, she assured me that cheating was allowed. She showed me the burdock root and explained several different ways to prepare it and informed me that I should probably skip it, because it tastes gross. When I said I was interested in it for the healing properties, she told me how to make it as palatable as possible. Since we'd been chatting for a while, I felt the need to explain myself.

"I have to admit that I actually have no interest in macrobiotic cooking. Most of it seems really nasty and you know how much I love food."

Someone I love is sick with pancreatic cancer. Although I wish I had more faith, I don't believe that macrobiotics will heal him. I wish it was that easy. I do know that he needs to eat and I was hoping to find a way to make it a little bit healthier. Cheating at macrobiotics seems the way to go. And this is what touched me: I don't know the employee who helped me very well. She knows my name and I know hers, we have a few mutual friends and we see each other around town sometimes. I like her. She said that, knowing my love for food, her first thought when she saw me with the cookbook was, "Oh no! I hope someone isn't sick!" And that is one of the bazillion reasons to shop local.

She also showed me which cookbooks were best for tofu, because I have all these pesky pescetarians in my house*. She even went to the trouble of looking up and writing down the name of an out of print vegetarian cookbook she thought I'd like. I'd say it was a much better experience than the computer store, but I didn't ask the manager there about food, so I guess I shouldn't compare the two.

I bought the burdock and a bunch of other stuff that was vaguely macrobiotic-y. When I got home, I decided to make cabbage stew, because I read that round vegetables are considered to be good for the pancreas by macrobioticists**. And I didn't use plain water, I used some turkey stock I had made and frozen a while ago. The vegetables I used to make it were organic, though. Do I get points for that?

Namasté, y'all!

* My kids. We are not vegetarians, but they are. This came about gradually, but the deal was sealed when O read Chew on This, by Eric Schlosser, author of Fast Food Nation. The slightly less puritanical X-Man soon followed in his much admired older brother's footsteps, but has recently declared himself "the kind of vegetarian that eats saucisson." That's my kind of vegetarian.

** Did I just make a new word? Oh, it would appear not, as a quick Google provided me with a few hits, thirty eight, to be exact.

Give Me a T!

What starts with a "T," is awesome and, but for one syllable, rhymes with "lederhosen"?* That's right...TRADER JOE'S! A few of my lady friends and I made a short shopping/talking/eating/drinking trip to Charlotte this weekend. On the way out of town, we stopped at Trader Joe's to stock up on low-priced treats. I'll spare you my list, but I think the four of us spent about a thousand dollars all together. That isn't an exaggeration. If you love TJ's like I love TJ's, or if you care about me and want me to be happy, please email them and let them know how much you would like them to open a store here in my town. Thanks.

One reason TJ's is able to keep the prices so low is by cutting out the middle man (or woman, as the case may be) whenever possible. Guess what! You, too, can cut out the middle entity, right here at home! How? By going to the All Local Farmers' Market! It happens twice a month, on the second Saturday at Gervais and Vine and on the fourth Saturday at Yo Burrito. I may have mentioned it a few times before... The fourth Saturday of this month falls on January twenty sixth, the day of the Democratic Primary in South Carolina. But I digress.

Oh, wait, no I don't digress, because the primary is on my mind. Yesterday afternoon, my children and I got to see Senator Hillary Clinton address a group of local women. Baby J was not interested and left after several minutes. O and the X-Man, on the other hand, were riveted. I was thrilled to see them feeling so involved in an election. The Brave O got in trouble for weaseling away from me through the crowd Hillary's autograph and a handshake. She asked him his name and looked him in the eye.

Ladies and gentlemen, this may or may not be the moment you have all been waiting for. The Daily Digress has decided to officially endorse Senator Hillary Clinton for President of the United States. I rarely admit so openly which candidate I support, mostly because I hate discussing politics. If you want a long conversation with me, ask me about the dress I bought at Coplon's big sale in Charlotte (It is so totally awesome that I might have to have a party for it). I won't bore you with all of the reasons I've decided to place myself firmly in Hillary's camp, because I'm pretty sure no one reads this for the political insight.

The woman I hope will become president talked about a lot of things yesterday, including several that are close to my heart. She talked about health care, how we fall short and how we can do better. She talked about teen pregnancy and the need to prevent it. She talked about the need to support local and minority-owned businesses by including them. She specifically talked about small, organic farmers and how we can make sure they survive and thrive. I think she'd really like our twice monthly market. Maybe she'll stop by the day of the primary for an all-local breakfast: Anson Mills grits, Wil-Moore Farms eggs and Caw Caw Creek sausage with a side of hot coffee. She'll need a good breakfast for the long day ahead!

And that's all I'll say about that, but for a short Public Service Announcement for South Carolina lawyers:

The South Carolina Bar Association conference in Charleston will be going on during the primary. If you plan to be at the conference and will be unable to vote locally, please make sure to get an absentee ballot. Democratic absentee ballots must be received by January 25th, I think.

Namasté, y'all!


* It comes closer to rhyming with the singular version, lederhose, but who refers to lederhosen in the singular? Nicht ich, mein Freund, nicht ich.

Childhood Mystery, Solved

When I was growing up, junky snack food was rare in our pantry. I was the oldest of four children. By the time my brother, the youngest, was born, mom and dad had gotten looser with the grocery budget and he got all kinds of good stuff, like Pringles and fancy cereal. When there was good snack food, you had to be very careful not to eat the last of it, because you would then be accused of "EATING IT ALL!"

You would open the pantry, hoping for something good, even though it was usually filled with healthy (i.e. tasteless) cereal, canned vegetables (the only kind we ate), canned soup and boxes of stuff like instant mashed potatoes and Hamburger Helper (bought on sale and saved for a special occasion.) Once in a while, what to my wondering eyes should appear, but a box of Triscuits! Or a bag of Cheetos! Or something crazy like Apple Jacks! And I would want to eat it, all, but I wouldn't. Not because of some innate sense of fairness, but because I was afraid of being humiliated. So I would eat half, or slightly less than half, leaving a thoroughly respectable amount for the next lucky snacker. And if the bag wasn't open yet, I wouldn't touch it, because I wouldn't want to get in trouble for eating something that was being held in reserve for a higher purpose, like bridge club.

Whenever my mom had bridge club, there were treats, none of which were for us kids, not even a bite. There were never any leftovers, either, because drinking heavily and telling dirty jokes playing bridge makes ladies very hungry. I remember seeing the milk carton of Whoppers on the counter, reaching for them in awe and immediately hearing my mother yell, "Stop! Those are for the ladies!" Apparently, ladies eat a hell of a lot of Whoppers. And you thought they just ate little sandwiches. Now that I'm a grown up, I have Whoppers at all of my parties. And I let my kids eat them. I even let my mom eat them, because I'm not one to hold a grudge.

Sometimes, I would open the pantry, see some extravagant trans-fat-filled delicacy and eagerly reach for the box, only to find it was surprisingly light. I would look in to find four Doritos or a half of a Fig Newton. Torn, I wouldn't know what to do. If I alerted anyone to the presence of this paltry amount, I'd have to share and I'd probably be accused of eating the rest anyway. If I ate it stealthily and someone walked in, I'd hear, "UGH! WHY DID YOU EAT ALL OF THE FIG NEWTONS?!!" That would alert mom, who would give me a lecture on health and the dangers of eating an entire bag of Doritos in one sitting, which I HAD NOT DONE, but never mind. As my sisters got older and more athletic, I was hesitant to incur their wrath, because they could and would beat me up. I hate pain.

Whoever it was that ate (nearly) all of the forbidden fruit knew exactly what they were doing. They never ate the last one or took the last sip, so they never had to leave a tell-tale empty container in the garbage. And if it was something that came in a bag, like chips, they would roll the top of the bag down an inch or two, leaving a large amount of empty space, and put a chip clip on top. When the next hopeful child came along, they would reach for a seemingly full bag, alerting the household to the presence of junk food with the crackling sound, only to have everyone rush in and accuse them of "EATING IT ALL!!" It was very, very scary.

So, my sister is staying with us right now. I've always begged my sisters to come stay with us if they ever had time. I envisioned a warm, fuzzy bonding time for my boys, who adore their aunts and don't get to see them enough, because they live out of town. For the most part, this visit has been lovely. Oddly, around the time she got here, I began to find boxes of crackers with only three crackers in them, cereal with less than a tablespoon left, apple sauce that could only be obtained with a rubber spatula and even a bag of these, with only three left*. When I found a chip clip, carefully clipped to the top of an empty bag, I knew. I knew that the mystery had been solved. It was her, it was always her. But I didn't say anything, because I was afraid she would beat me up. Frankly, it was enough just to know the truth.

Namasté, y'all!

* By the way, I'm totally aware that this stuff doesn't exactly qualify as junk food, but I'm mean and don't buy actual junk for my kids to eat at home. I have this theory: If I feed them really healthy at home, then I can let them eat whatever they want when we're out. Just today, for example, my husband and I took these to Sunday school, to make the kids like us to share with the students we teach.


I let my big kids have two, each. I even let Baby J have one, a whole one. Not my finest moment, but it was so cute when he toddled over to the box (which he recognized, which should tell you something about the purity of my commitment to healthy eating) and grabbed one. After shoving the small piece I had given him into his mouth, he toddled off mumbling, "Mmmmm...mmm...mmmmm," the sugary snowman getting crushed in his tiny grip. Please do not call Child Protective Services. I'm ashamed and embarrassed and I'll never let it happen again.

We were doing Savasana (AKA Hippy Mommy's Little Helper) and the teacher told us not to think about our grocery lists, which I was. How did she know? Thing is, I like thinking about my grocery list. It actually clears my mind. I like going to the grocery store after Yoga, without kids, and eating a cookie while I shop. It is an especially awesome day if they have the cranberry orange oatmeal cookies. Otherwise, Virginia Spice or oatmeal raisin is just fine. Last night, as I napped (yeah, yeah, I know you're not supposed to, but I have a one year old who still nurses at night) in Savasana, I did NOT think of my grocery list. This turned out to be a big mistake, as I did not send the grocery energy out into the universe and ended up having to come home without making it to the store. Grrr. So I'll go today with the three boys, which is fun too, but means I won't get a cookie. Here is my list:

pine nuts (for pesto to make with the basil we got in our CSA bag)
parmesan (ditto)
cherries
bananas (yuck. but I am the only one who despises the vile fruit)
bagels
pizza crust (the yummy sprouted wheat one to make eggplant mush pizza. I already have the eggplant mush in the freezer. Yay.)
apples (green, because they're pretty)
tea (the expensive kind in the pink can, because it tastes good and I recently realized that it isn't more expensive, because there are twice as many bags)
dried figs (for salad and snacks)
slivered almonds
feta cheese
mixed greens

Ahhhhhhhhh...do you feel as relaxed as I do now? And here is one of my favorite salad recipes:

mixed greens
slivered almonds
chopped dried figs (the good unsulphured kind in the bulk section)
feat cheese, crumbled
balsamic vinaigrette

Sounds like a lunch.

Dinner is a bit more challenging these days because O is a vegetarian. I will admit that I tried to talk him out of it. I taunted him with visions of delicious barbeque (nay, not just visions, but the physical manifestation, which the rest of us ate, with glee.) he didn't take the bait and has been a vegetarian for a week. But, I am a good Hippy Mommy (well, a Lipstick Hippy Mommy, more on that later. I know you are on the edge of your seat now.) So, I have to be supportive. I'm no short order cook, so I'm just bulking up the vegetarian portions of our regular meals. Luckily, the Eggplant Mush Pizza we're having tonight is vegetarian. I've got to rename that thing; it's really quite good.

Eggplant Mush Pizza

Heat some olive oil in a big frying pan (I love this one, 14 inches)

One by one in a food processor, ground the following, adding it to the pan as you go:

one eggplant, peeled and cubed before it goes into the food processor. Let the eggplant cook for a while before you add the other stuff. You may want to salt it slightly, too. It should absorb all the oil before you add other stuff.
an onion
one box of good mushrooms, like crimini
one or two red peppers (or one red and one yellow), seeded please
a hot pepper or two, if you like, NOT seeded, because the heat is in the seeds
if you have fresh herbs growing (oregano, basil, thyme, chives, whatever) toss those in the pan too

As this mixture gets less liquid, add a can of tomatoes, drained (Rotel if you like it spicier or plain if you don't) and cook the mixture until the liquid is mostly gone.

This makes enough mush for four pizzas, so divide it up and freeze three of them for nice easy meals later.

Take out a pizza crust (or make your own, you over achieving freak.) I love this one (Alvarado Street Bakery California Style Sprouted Wheat Pizza Crust) Put it on a pizza stone or pan. Duh. Unless you are one of those pretentious chef-types who believes the pizza must be cooked directly on the oven rack. Frankly, this makes no difference and just leaves a mess on the bottom of your oven. There is nothing you can say to convince me otherwise.

Spread basil pesto on the crust (I like to make my own and freeze it in ice cube trays. I use 4-5 cubes for this pizza. Ready made pesto is just ducky, too.)

Spread one quarter of the eggplant mush on top of that.

Sprinkle mozzarella on top. You can mix in other cheeses too, if you have them and are trying to use them up, like if you're about to leave town for vacation or to avoid arrest. Fontina and parmesan or asiago are good. You can use shredded mozzarella or, if you have fresh, slice it thinly and use that.

Cook it according to the instructions on the package of crust. It's not rocket science, so if you already threw away the bag, ten to twelve minutes at 400-450 should do it. Just make sure the cheese is melted, dumb dumb.

Other variations:

My sister in law likes to add ground beef to the mush mix.
You can use tomato sauce instead of basil pesto and leave the can of tomatoes out of the mush mix. I would recommend adding fresh basil if you do this.
I sprinkle dried red pepper on top of the finished product, but that is no great innovation.

Okay, off to the store. Namaste, y'all.