The Salad Standby

OK, so let me tell you about my personal trainer. His name is AC and he rocks my fitness right now. I work out at a gym called Balance here in D.C. It's not your average Life Circuit rotation gym, it's hardcore. A bunch of rugby players own the place and there is nothing cute about it except for, well, the rugby players. At my first session, he had me push a sand bag across the basketball court, benchpress my own body weight, and run while he held me back with the rubber band wrapped around my waist. Not to mention the chinups, pushups, and skipping rope. All exercises at which I'm not particularly stellar. All with the exception of skipping rope. Every girl is a pro at that one. AC works just about every muscle in my body without me even knowing it. The day after, I am always a little stiff, but it's not so bad. It doesn't get brutal until the day after that.


I can't lie, the best part of the workout is the salad after. When I was working in New York City, the salad I ate everyday came from Metro Cafe on 7th Avenue. It was my own freaked out, pared down combination of a Caesar, Cobb, and Tuna Nicoise. "May I have a small mixed greens with tuna, hard boiled egg, parmesan, and extra croutons, please? Caesar dressing on the side, thank you."


I swear, it was like a mantra.

When I was courting the Godfather, I ate this salad almost everyday and it totally worked for me. The protein boost in the early afternoon was exactly what I needed in order to walk back into Ralph Lauren and keep up that insane, Fashion Avenue, Devil Wears Prada pace without morphing into a complete bitch.


A few years back, a friend of a friend opened Chopt. They basically expanded on the idea that is one of many stations in establishments like Metro all over NYC. Chopt offers the same "make your own" salad concept, but takes a mezzaluna to your salad so that scarfing seems charming.


So that's where I head after the gym for my freaked out Cobbsar Nicoise. It's like the Red after the J (a nod, Sarah). I'm already high from the incredible workout and that protein packed salad makes me feel as strong as some of those cute rugby boys.


The salad is probably one of the easiest salads to put together. Grab about three generous handfuls of mixed greens, drained and flaked canned tuna (one can will suffice), two chopped hard boiled eggs, two tablespoons of grated or shaved parmesan and a handful of croutons. Have your dressing on the side. You can make your own dressing, if you are so inclined, or just choose your favourite. I find that when I have my salad dressing on he side, I end up consuming really no more than a teaspoon or so. It's a good deal.

The Deal:

Calories: 378; Fat: 21g; Carbs: 14g; Protein: 34g

The Fall of Modern Convenience

I'm embarrassed for America. There. I said it.

Let me give you some background...

I do believe my 34th was the best birthday I have ever had. I just got back from an amazing experience in Africa. I visited a very dear friend of 28 years who teaches in Moshi, Tanzania. We did all the things old friends do when they haven't seen one another in a while... We laughed over white wine, reminisced about past shenanigans over red, and stayed up way too late for chicas in their mid thirties... She took me all around Moshi where I met her students and her newest friends. When my birthday rolled around, we took a 2 day safari to Tarangire. It was sort of spur of the moment, but the minute I lifted myself through the Land Rover's sunroof, I realized I was probably embarking on the best leg of the trip. I was in the Garden of Eden. Literally.

Zebras, Elephants, Giraffes, Lions, Leopards all living together in accordance to the natural order of things. Was the Lion the king of the jungle (plain)? After the kill of an unsuspecting gazelle that day, it may have been. Although we did get into it with an Elephant protecting its child and a couple of Monkeys that performed a flawless bait and switch to steal some snack packs and juice boxes from a few amateur lunchers in the park (I wish I had gotten a polaroid of that, it was absolutely hilarious). The kill was the talk of the day. The lion plucked up the gazelle, most likely sickly or slow and separated (ejected?) from its pack, validating the notion that only the strongest survive. After the Lion had his fill and other carniverous animals had feasted from the remains, in came the vultures to pick the carcass clean. I know it sounds

brutal, but it's all a days work. As natural as it seems, not all animals strolling the plains would partake in the feast. The giraffes were totally content digging on their tree leaves.

After a glorious game ride, we went back to our lodge where we were greeted by people from the Maasai tribe. We stayed in a tented lodge armed with flashlights, while Elephants and Leopards leisurely made their way past our tent. Needless to say, there were plenty of instructions to follow while staying there and it was advised that civilians not leave their tents alone. If you wanted to go to the main lodge, a Maasai warrior would have to lead the way.

You see, the Maasai live amongst the Leopards, Elephants and Zebras and have done so for thousands of years. They are well versed in protecting themselves and live in complete harmony with their wildllife friends. They are reluctant to assimilate into a modern (read: Western) way of life. Their traditional diet is meat, milk and blood, but as of late, there is less meat and more grain. Basically, they live in accordance to the natural order and are healthy because of it. The average Maasai runner is Olympic ready. There is no excess here. There is no waste. There is no carbon footprint.

Driving back to Arusha, I start to notice the disheartening influence of Western culture. The plastic bottles and plastic bags strewn on the side of the street. The Coca Cola bottles and Fanta bottles casually discarded. I smell the garbage being burned in small fires and notice all the western signs for beer, potato chips and other processed "foods". I'm slowly beginning to miss Tarangire and suddenly want to be called Eve and bitch about my banishment from paradise. However, within all the cultural confusion, I also witness people walking two miles with buckets to get their water for the day. Men dragging carts of heavy crates in wooden wheelbarrows uphill for hours in the African sun. Women with grains, vegetables and fruits on their heads to feed their families. Little girls walking miles on the supple dirt roads amongst the greenest of banana trees to go to school for half day.

Now, I have never had to endure any of this. I've never had to wait for water or sweat for food. My guess is, neither have you. Sarah and I had a lively debate on the fine line between helping and imposing that began with Maasai children asking for candy from the Muzungu driving by in their Land Rovers. Why do we give them candy? Because we are bringing something from our culture to make up for the fact that we view theirs as limited? What's the candy going to do besides rot their teeth? Yes, in America there are certain conveniences that make our daily lives easier. Certain amenities that allow us to focus on non-immediate needs. However, at the end of the day, does this help or hinder? And, may I ask, whom?

Upon our return, Sarah and I had dinner with her African family in Moshi. Mama had prepared a traditional Tanzanian dish of meat and bananas over rice, coconut beans, spinach (that I should have investigated further, as it wasn't the spinach I was used to albeit utterly delicious). She had undoubtedly cooked for a good amount of time to welcome me to Tanzania. Baba had killed a rooster for the feast and had not let us see. There was no easy way out. No convenience that made the effort less than what it should be. I was humbled that they had gone to such lengths to welcome me to their home. Needless to say, the meal was incredible and made me feel at home, somewhere I would return shortly thereafter.

I got off the plane at Dulles and was appalled at the difference. One of my questions in Africa had been answered. Our conveniences have bred an apathetic and lazy people. There were obese people everywhere, huffing and puffing to get to their gates. Being driven by those beeping carts that seem to almost run you over at any given airport. The only food options being fast and fried. Burger King, Dunkin Donuts, Chick Fil A, Five Guys. A six year old, way too big for her age, was being pushed in a stroller, while her chubby legs and feet dragged on the ground. Note to readers: If you have an overweight child whose feet drag on the ground from her stroller, that is a HUGE sign that she doesn't need to be in that stroller. She needs to WALK. Run, actually.

I was born in 1975. I grew up in the 80s and 90s. I can remember when microwaves were new and my grandfather was insistent that I not stand in front of it because the rays would kill me. I can remember when takeout was rare and fast food was something little kids got after a morning of intense exercise. It was not dinner on a Tuesday.

As I watch my fellow Americans gorge themselves on krispy kreme cheeseburgers and microwave meals, I am disgusted. We've become so jaded and so apathetic that we can't even recognize decent, honest food anymore. There is a commercial out that touts real, true, chinese takeout in less than 10 minutes from your microwave. Seriously? If you think you are too busy to go down to the Fung Wah for some takout lo mein, then you need to re-evaluate your priorities. You just aren't that slammed, I refuse to believe that you are. You may be tired, yes, you may be so fucking exhausted that the very thought of opening your refrigerator to chop anything seems like moving a mountain, but you are not too busy. In the time it takes to heat up that non nutritional, glorified bowl of ramen, you can make yourself a healthy meal. So can we please stop complaining, explaining and making up ridiculous excuses? We all know the problem and it is totally up to us to solve it.

There is a horrible reality show (another product of our useless societal norm) that's basically The Bachelor but for "real people". Since when did "real people" translate to "fat people"? There is nothing normal about eating processed chemicals made to taste like food, gorging yourself until you can't walk and then calling yourself a real American. Then again, maybe there is.

Is this what we're trying to teach the rest of the globe? How much better life can be with the conveniences of the Western world? It makes me sick and honestly, it's making everyone sick. Literally. Yeah, I'm talking about the guy who eats at Carl's Jr because it's fast and cheap. The same guy who's rationale is that the fast food is cheaper than the fresh food, making it easier for him to pay for his Diabetes prescriptions. Seriously? That's the biggest circle jerk I've ever heard. Eat the fresh food, you won't have diabetes. I'm a Democrat and believe that everyone in this rich ass country deserves decent health care, however, I'm quickly changing my tune. Why should you deserve the best health care when you can't even be bothered to meet your health care provider halfway?

Get it together people. Take care of yourselves. I'm not telling everyone to live like the Maasai. I'm not telling you to walk two miles a day to retrieve water for the day. I'm just asking you to take a step back and evaluate the way you live your life. Asking you to take a look at they way others live their lives. Take back some control and be mindful of what is put into your body. Just because it's fast doesn't make it good. Just because it tastes good doesn't make it good for you.

Pretty Little Moose Killer?

Ok, so you've got to be thinking, "I dare this chica to link gastronomy and the 2008 election for President of the United States". But there is common ground, I assure you. I, like the majority of us, feel privileged to have seen Barack Obama elected President (regardless of political party) and I have just come out of the electoral haze that has enveloped me since late last August. I was obsessed with the election before Barack was named the Democratic nominee, but as soon as McCain drew back the curtains and introduced us all to Miss Sarah Palin, obsessed is not the word. I was mesmerized with so many aspects of this election, The Huffington Post became my daily crack. Arianna had morphed into Perez Hilton and I couldn't get enough. From "terrorist fist jab" and "baby mama" to "joe whomever" and "first dude", this was the ultimate in gossip, scandal and drama.

Sarah had barely gotten off the stage at the Republican National Convention when the skeletons started fighting to spill out of the closet. Among many, many other controversial outings, it was revealed that she supports the sport of aerial hunting. Totally living up to the horrible impressions I had of hunters in general. Bambi started off the uppity, democratic, liberal prejudice I'd developed against hunters and Cheney had confirmed it by nearly killing his friend, shooting off his face, then having the nerve to accept his apology.

But you see, I am a carnivore, as I have previously mentioned. I offer no apologies for enjoying a good flame broiled piece of meat every now and again. But how can I be so judgemental as I request gruyere instead of roquefort on my bistro burger? Intellectually I knew that meat didn't come neatly packaged in cellophane at the market, but I'd never been face to face, let alone exchanged greetings, with the meat I was eating. Could I be any more of a hypocrite?

So I became obsessed with ways to be a participant in one's own sustinance and my views on hunting soon took a complete 180. My views on Sarah Palin, however, pretty much remain the same.

I don't know if the woman eats what she hunts, but I've decided that I have no problem with hunting as long as you eat what you kill. Extra cool points if you personally prepare the kill with your own bare hands. My friend Beverly is that kind of girl. She's a sweet and sugary Southern Belle that has a penchant for shotguns. She regularly hunts and prepares her kill for a proper meal. Bev's ideology was totally validated when I picked up the book Jamie At Home by Jamie Oliver. The photographs in the book are brutally honest and exhibit a way of natural survival that is, sadly, often overlooked, if not discounted, in other cookbooks. The personal relationship and responsibility involved with actively and independently providing for yourself is something that most people of my age have no concept. Interestingly enough, the generation that is all too familiar is not too far behind. Those of you that are lucky enough to have grandparents still alive will know what I mean. My grandmother's childhood memories totally included going out back to grab the chicken that would be dinner that evening. Not "can you run to Trader Joe's and pick up some chicken breasts", but "go out back and grab that chicken, ring it, pluck it and bring it to me for dinner". Both my Dad and my Aunt Sanny have stories about trying to ring a chicken's neck with only their bravado and not much else. Anyway, point being, Sarah Palin got me thinking...

sorry, I think I just hallucinated a little...

Sarah got me thinking about my own participation. Though my views on hunting have shifted, I don't actively participate in the sport and there are no chickens to chase in my backyard.

I can't help but think that my grandparents, their siblings, and Beverly are all much more knowledgeable about food prep that I can ever hope to be. Who knows, maybe one day I'll be brave enough to tag along when Bev goes out for a hunt. Ultimate survival without dependence on Whole Foods or Safeway. Imagine that.