Most of the time sizzling bacon and bleeding yolks find their way to the food porn label. This time though, it’s the sly smile and sexy lean in of John Stamos that ignites my hunger, for um, yogurt. Way to bring it, Uncle Jessie.
I often make my fiance buy a large tub of Greek yogurt when he makes his weekly milk and cereal run to the grocery store. I know not what I will do with said yogurt, but I know I will put the thick substance to use, be it mixed with fruit for lunch or turned into a sauce over a grain and vegetable salad.
But I’ve never thought about substituting chunks of eggplant, cucumbers and oven-dried tomatoes instead of peaches, blackberries and blueberries. And I should have stuck with that.
Instead, I shredded cucumbers into the yogurt, tossed in diced eggplant and roughly chopped oven-dried tomatoes. I sprinkled in salt and pepper and lemon thyme. During this incorporating period, I thought I was genius.
Then I took a few bites. It wasn’t terrible to start, but it just didn’t work. Especially the tomatoes. The tang of tomatoes and the extra oil that still clung to them made for a uncomplimentary creamy versus acid nightmare.
Both the Indians (raita) and Greeks (tzatziki) somehow make yogurt work at dinner, but this part German girl just couldn’t swing it. Any ideas how to turn yogurt savory?
I’m a 1950s housewife these days. I’m writing (unemployed-ish) and therefore find my schedule fairly flexible. Bennett signed up for a work training in Cleveland, but since he would finish by 4pm and we have our friend Heather living there now, I decided to jump along for the Midwestern vacation. I know that’s what my grandmother (housewife) would do when my grandfather traveled for work.
On vacation I rarely think about choosing healthy foods. Fuck it, right? I’m on vacation. But my aunt said something during last Thanksgiving that (unfortunately?) stuck with me. It’s easy to think of a special reason to turn to treats—birthdays, anniversaries, vacations, holidays, break-ups, fights, good days, bad days—so soon every day there can be an explanation to eat dessert or go for that second helping.
So for my second lunch in Cleveland, where the first screamed indulgence, I chose a light dish at Lucky’s Cafe. Something I could be proud of: yogurt with berries and house-made granola. Heather oozed with excitement after I placed the order and my worries of a boring meal on vacation soon diminished. (Heather, by the way, keeps an eating-in-Cleveland blog.)
We sat outside on a wooden picnic table, under an umbrella and next to the restaurant’s large garden.
Then the yogurt came and holy shit.Read More›
I thought it was a genius move. Actually, I thought it was the second genius move in just one dish.
At first I panicked when I saw only a 1/4 of a box left of the whole wheat squiggle pasta. How could I complete a proper salad for a birthday party with only a 1/4 box of pasta?! But then I spied some orzo. Who said pasta salad must only carry one type of pasta?
I thought, like I just said, that it was a pretty smart move. I compared cooking times and knew exactly when to drop each pasta into the salty cooking water. Bravo, Gansie, I said to myself. Actually, it might have been out loud.
Anyway, that worked out.
I run a mostly no-mayo zone in the kitchen. It’s not a strict rule, just something we don’t buy. (For fear that Bennett will suddenly make 14 peanut butter and mayonnaise sandwiches in a row. That’s right. I said peanut butter and mayonnaise sandwich.)
With the no mayo in my fridge, I reached for yogurt as the base. Oh, you darn nasty yorgurt. I think you fucked me.Read More›